Soapweed's Ranch
Ramblings |
The evening of March 31st was the last shift for our night calver, Kenneth.
He has been steady every night since February 21st, from dusk to dawn. On only
one occasion during this six week period did he leave the ranch, and that was
for just a few hours when he went to town to buy groceries and to do his laundry.
He was totally dedicated, and I think there were very few calves born during
the nights that he didn't watch as they came into the world. There was not one
dead calf that came while he was on duty. He turned 60 years old sometime in
March.
Kenneth has always been a loner. He worked for us full time from the spring of
1988 until late summer of 1992. When he signed on with this outfit, he leveled
with me and said that his track record was not too good and that he was making
no guarantees of how long he would be here. He said right up front that he had
a bad temper, and would probably not give any notice when he quit. I had met
him at spring brandings in years past, and knew him to be a good hand. I told
him that would be okay, and that every day he worked here we would have that
much more work done than we had the day before. He ended up staying four years
and three months, and he gave me two weeks notice before he left. I was proud
at the time, because that was the longest he ever worked for any one ranch, and
I was the only one he ever gave any notice to when he quit. One time, on another
ranch, he got a feed tractor and stack mover big time stuck out on a soft hay
meadow. He solved the problem by walking back to the bunkhouse, packing his suitcase,
and driving off down the road. His boss at the time owed him for two weeks of
pay and had to send the check to Kenneth's mother.
When Kenneth came to work for me in '88, he was recently divorced and was paying
child support on four kids. He was a hard worker, and the best fencer I've ever
had the privilege of being around. He had his own fencing tools, and they were
well taken care of. His most prized possession was a hand-made brass tamping
stick, with proper spacing measurements for 3, 4, 5, and 6 wire fences. I issued
him his own ranch pickup for fencing, but every night he would clean out the
pickup and unload his personal fencing tools. Guess he figured there was always
an off chance that I would abscond with his pickup, and he didn't want the fencing
tools to get away from him.
In his spare time, I had Kenneth tackle our somewhat messy shop. He diligently
cleaned it corner by corner. He built shelves and steel racks, and spiffied up
the place until it shined. Each tool had a special home, and he guarded the whole
deal like a mother hen would her chicks. Even though I still liked to think of
myself as �the boss� and �head honcho� of �my ranch�, it was with fear and trepidation
that I entered the shop. It was almost like Kenneth was a librarian, and any
books (tools) that I wanted to use, would have to be checked out and returned
in a timely fashion or penalties would be due. I complied to the best of my ability,
because it was nice to have someone around who cared so much.
Kenneth worked hard, but when he went to town he also drank hard. One day when
he worked here the first time, he needed to go to town. His birthday was in March,
and he needed to renew his driver's license and pay the taxes and licensing fees
on his car. He fed early that day, and went to town before dinner. He was back
home by five o'clock and I could see him unloading groceries at his house where
he batched and did his own cooking. We were getting a big run of calves that
day. Our kids were little, so Mrs. Soapweed was not able to help much outside.
Kenneth was the only hired hand I had at the time, and I was feeling pretty swamped
and under-the-gun with work that afternoon. I was happy to see Kenneth drive
in the yard earlier than expected, so I slipped into the house and called over
to his house on the telephone. When he answered, I asked if there was any chance
he could get in the heavies before dark, as I had many other chores yet to do.
He refused. Needless to say, I got instantly mad but fortunately held my tongue.
After I hung up the phone, I was stomping around the kitchen, grousing about
poor help. Then it occurred to me, �I'll bet he's drunk.� I went on about the
business of ranching, and got in way after dark. Several night checks also had
to be made, and sleep was a rare and highly-prized commodity.
The next day, ranching carried on as usual, and I said nothing to Kenneth about
my disappointment in his actions. Later in the day, we happened to be riding
together in a pickup. He said, �You know, I'm sorry about not helping you last
evening. I was so drunk, I couldn't even have saddled my own horse.�
I said, �I suspected that you were, and that is why you were let off the hook.
If I had thought you were sober when you turned down my request, you'd have probably
been fired.� He said, �I know.� To use Spike Van Cleve's words, we decided to �let
sleeping, by God, dogs lie.�
It was shortly after that incident that Kenneth quit drinking, cold turkey. As
far as I know, he hasn't had a drink since.
A year ago, in early February, Kenneth called me out of the blue and wondered
if I could use any calving help. When I asked if he would consider doing the
night calving, he jumped at the opportunity. It worked good last year, and it
worked equally as well this year. He left with a pretty protruding pocketful
of pay, as I compensated him well and he sure didn't spend much while he was
here. Just hope he wants to come back again next year, as he is top of the line.
Copyright © 2005 Steve
Moreland
All Rights Reserved