October is a month I look forward to.
First, there’s National 4-H week, my birthday, the changing colors of the leaves and whatever else falls our way. Depending on how our calf crop looks, they might go to the sale during late October or early November, then Halloween. Even though the holiday looks a little different than in years past with only one kid trick-or-treating.
A new 4-H year is upon us, and we’ve made it past the last of the livestock shows for at least a couple of months. In the meantime, I’ve been reflecting on the past 4-H year. My oldest child made a remark one night as we were readying goats for the Kansas Junior Livestock Show, saying that I was “the heart of this operation and the one who had gotten us into this.”
His comment came after a heated discussion about whose turn it was to feed or water or turn out some species of livestock. I had enough of the arguing and turned on my heels to walk to the house.
“Just do your jobs,” I spat back.
As I marched toward the house, I questioned whether showing livestock was something I needed to spend time and money on and if the experience for them outweighed the expense. Lord only knows my bank account would welcome a break. My son did come to his senses and apologize later in the evening, but I was still too mad to be reasonable.
When I became a mom, there were a few things I knew I wanted my kids to experience growing up. First, I wanted them to be able to grow up on a farm or ranch. Our operation is far from traditional, but I’m happy with what it’s become and how the boys can be involved. I also wanted them to be in 4-H and experience showing, judging and participating in all the organization has to offer. And third, I wanted them to find their own way and have new experiences that I never had the opportunity to or desire to do.
When my husband and I first got married, we lived on the ranch he worked on. We later had to become homeowners after the ranch re-organized. But our new modular home was on family land and very close to some beautiful pastureland. At that time, owning much more than the five acres our house sat on was merely a pipe dream. But we were in a rural setting and about as close to agriculture as you can be without owning it ourselves. When my father-in-law died in 2012 and the Starbuck fire destroyed part of the Scott Farm in Clark County in 2017, things really got shook up and there was no looking back. We now have plenty of acres and enough cows to get by.
Early on, I counted the years until my oldest was able to enroll in 4-H, and I was sadly disappointed when my calculations showed he’d have to wait an extra year since he was born in May. When we were picking out his projects that first year, we kept it limited to those Mom could help him with, so beef was out of the question since bucket calves die unprovoked and at the time they wouldn’t fit inside my SUV. We chose meat goats since his cousins were already showing them, and we dove headfirst into it.
Now that we’re seven years into this 4-H game with Shaun and four years for Chance, we’re still feeling our way through the process, but we’re more confident in ourselves and our skills. They are still showing goats and have added steers and heifers to the mix. Will it look like this when Shaun’s a senior? What about when Chance is the only one? I’m not sure, but I hope they stick with it, and we can continue to do this show thing together.
Late October also means time for calves to go to town. As high as prices have been the last year, my husband has played nearly every scenario out in his mind. He has been paying attention to the cattle markets much more thoroughly than me throughout the year. I have noticed how high the calf prices keep climbing, and my sister (who works at a feedyard) and I bantered back and forth about how high fed cattle sold for.
The good markets have made me think back to when we sold our first calf crop and how nervous we were back then. I knew down to the cent how much they had to bring in order for us to make the real estate payment. This year, I’ve done some cowgirl math and calculated how much our calves could possibly bring this year. I’ve also calculated what we could pay on the banknotes and what else we could wipe off our plates with the calf check.
I know nothing is ever guaranteed in the cattle business. We found that out earlier this year when my son lost his former show heifer shortly after she calved. An irreparable prolapse ended her life and his hopes of having a calf to show in the future. This year, too, a couple sick cows turned into dead cows because of “bog” or “fog” fever, again showing that even though these been there, done that kind of older cows are tough, it isn’t always a guaranteed paycheck.
But what I do know is we’re grateful for the kind of life we are able to live and share with these boys of ours. It isn’t always easy. It isn’t always neat and tidy. But it’s what we make of it.
