We recently attended a Birthday Party for a Dear Friend who turned 100. While quite a milestone in human standards, I find this wonderful lady possesses one of the most balanced attitudes of anyone I know. Keep in mind that she was born in 1922 and that means she has seen quite a few things most of us have not, or only read about in books. The celebration was very well attended, and I found myself looking for a corner and then moving out into the foyer of the building where her Great Grandchildren were manning the guest registry sign in duties. Since some of the kiddos were quite young, it seemed like a plausible excuse not to be in the “visiting room”, which was large but still crowded. At the end of the day, Ms. Elizabeth commented that she only failed to recognize one person out of the well over 100 attendees. I got lost in the “name recalling” after about the first 10 folks! In reflecting the viewpoint of this wonderful role model, I came away with a little less dread about the growing numbers of candles on the B-Day tortillas each year and decided to put on a different outlook. Accept the ever-growing limitations, laugh at them, and keep on plugging along. I really took that attitude to heart and bought my much older than me Brother-in-Law (11 months) a T-shirt for Christmas to reflect that new outlook. It says…I Am Too Old to Fight and Too Slow to Run. But I Am Still a Pretty Darn Good Shot. Strikes me that may describe more than just him in our family tree. Just as an important side note, he is a Navy Seal!
There are sure a whole lot of things I don’t know much about. And it seems the older I become that fact is more evident. But one of the points I am confident in is that when I run out of fingers counting off the days of December, the rut is about to get going in our little neck of the woods. Based on that “truth” I headed south recently when the wind was going to be right for a particular location. It is bordered on two sides by some heavy creek bottom country and joins an irrigated high fenced oats patch on another side. There is also a nice +/- acre food plot between the blind and feeder. Sneaking in and getting settled that afternoon, the wind was coming straight into my face. And that is a good thing most of the time when hunting in my experience. The first deer out was a really nice 3 ½ year old 8 point with a wide spread and good body size for his age. One brow time was half broken off and he was missing a G2. Clearly, he had been involved in some “brawling” already. He was “checking out the scene” and walked off within a couple of minutes, since there was nothing of interest for him at that location. Given there is only one main thing on his mind right now, I was not surprised. Interestingly he came back well over an hour later, arriving on the opposite side of me, having circled completely around. My thinking is he was taking a stroll and looking over his scrapes. Multiple does and yearlings plus several younger bucks were out by then. One young fellow kept chasing a particular doe all around the feeder area. No one else joined in. About the time it was “getting dusky dark” another 8 point, also 3.5 came out. Those two older bucks took a real interest in that same lady. The 3 of them began the age old “dance” of the rut. Back and forth and round and round they went. I am not sure of the outcome as the doe finally took off out of view with those guys right behind her. There are many funny things I have observed over the last 60+ years outdoors in La Brasada during the whitetail breeding season. It never gets old for me, and the actions of the deer are just plain and simple different, both for the males and females during this time. So, Good Lord willing, I am planning on heading out there regularly these next few weeks to see what kind of antics I might get to observe. It sure beats the heck out of the shows on TV!
I spoke today with the son in law of one of the finest men I have been blessed to know. His name is not of significance in this Tale, but his legacy is. Knowing OF him for many years, and then Knowing HIM personally for a pretty long spell as well was a true gift. This fellow Aggie created things that will impact the lives of others in positive ways for a very long time, and it is an honor to call him my Friend. We know two of his children, and while of different personalities, are likewise exceptional individuals, no doubt in part to the role model of their dad. Thus, part of him is still active and contributing in life. In visiting with his son in law, a person I likewise greatly admire, we discussed how the entire family was at peace with the soon to occur passing. I commented that we had lost all 4 of our parents and letting go was a hard thing to do.
Our daughter and her family have been under the weather for a while, courtesy of two kids in Elementary School. In our earliest days of marriage, the Boss Lady began her 26 year career as a public school employee, starting as a First Grade Teacher. She would spend several weeks to a month on some form of medication from an illness she caught at school and once recovered, become victim of another “bug” of some sort or another. The Germ Scene was alive and well in the elementary grade levels at The Leming School north of Pleasanton, and still is today in Northside ISD in San Antonio. When I stopped by their house recently to deliver some new meat from the annual ½ a steer we buy from a longtime neighbor and real estate partner, the girls, ages 6 and 8, asked me for an update on what was going on out at our Family Ranch in Miguel. I began my recount and was just getting started when the youngest, Ms. Oakley, turned to her sister, Stevie and asked is Poppi Rumbling again? Let me give a brief overview of these beloved young ladies personalities. Stevie is a carbon copy, looks and personality of her Mom. Most days are full of rainbows and butterflies. But the occasionally Dark Day hits and it is the End of the World as we know it. Oakley is either going to grow up to become a wonderful health care provider for people or animals OR go on tour as in the Professional Women’s Wrestling Association. Get on her wrong side and it is Katie, Bar the Door! So, when she asked that question, I admit to being confused. Rumbling is something my Unhappy Tummy does on occasion. Or it is a brawl, or maybe can describe how my old truck sounds on a rough dirt road. But I did not get the use of the word within the aforementioned context. Stevie giggled that crooked little killer smile of hers and quickly explained that Oakley meant Ramblings. You see Poppi, she said with a grin, Mimi tells us sometimes you get to thinking you are still back in a lecture at your college and forget we are just little kids. Upon reflection, both her and Mimi are 100% on target with their comments. I can get pretty wordy, either verbally, or with a keyboard. I will TRY to Rumble/Ramble less. But don’t bet the family farm that I will be successful at it!
Ms. Holder’s story about her Mr. Tucker becoming a cowboy brought back to memory a tale from over a quarter of a century ago regarding another new rider. Our daughter, now in her late 20’s, was about two years old and being slowly walked around while sitting horseback by herself. She had already been riding in our arms or sitting in a halter slung over the saddle horn for a while. But this “By Myself Daddy” stage was just starting as it related to horses and LOTS of other things. We had finished up a ride, checking fences and cattle on a couple of pastures, unsaddled our horses, except for Old Sonny. He was a big sorrel gelding that spent virtually all his 27 years on our place. Gentle as could be and a bit on the lazy side, he was the Designated Baby Sitter for our God Children and Children for many years. The other horses had walked back towards the Horse Pasture, but we kept him up so Jessica could walk around bit while sitting alone on his broad. After a while, I pulled her off, unsaddled and brushed down Sonny, so he could go join his partners. Jessica headed off to “check on the horses” and proceeded to motor along in that unsteady little kid gait that occurs when they are walking on uneven ground in a new kind of footwear for her, called boots. The trail between the fence and some light brush was kind of narrow in a spot or two and Jessica got ahead of Sonny on that red dirt path. I watched him get right behind him and patiently let her navigate the journey. Of course, for every step he took she had to take six or eight, so he was mostly on hold waiting to get to his buddies. I noticed he was encouraging her with a very gentle nug to her little back with his nose every few steps. I quickly walked over and picked her up so he could get by, have a drink at the trough, and then roll like most tired horses like to do. Of course, she was unhappy not to be on the adventure by herself, but I reminded her a good cowhand takes care of the needs of the animals first. Some readers might think of this event as negligence on my part for allowing the little one to wander on her own and/or to allow the horse behind her so close. Could something bad have happened? Of course, but I knew it would take something VERY unusual for that old gelding to do any harm to her. And it was important to support her start at independence while she also was beginning to understand the need to take real good care of the animals she loved so much. These days she is having to teach that lesson to her own young ones. And I hope they figure it out as well as she did. As an aside, that “funny gait” she demonstrated in those new red boots sure looks a whole lot like how her old Dad walks these days with bad knees and missing toes!
By the time you kind readers are seeing this, Opening Day of the 2022- 2023 Whitetail Rifle Season will have come and gone. Over the last 60+ years I have only missed a handful of those magical times. This one due to a Big Toe blister which turned into a bone infection. Besides losing half an appendage, the disappointment of being sidelined for a few days at this time of the year is acute. Let me quickly say there are folks far more inconvenienced and in worse shape than this Old Aggie. But still the “pain” of not being out in La Brasada will be felt. Due to a variety of factors, none of my family or “regular guests” will be out either. I doubt the Venados living out on our little piece of heaven will be watching, nor notice our absence. Although, there have been times during my long hunting career that I have thought those animals have a Bank or Oil Company calendar nailed somewhere on a mesquite tree with that day circled in red! Never have found one but do admit to having my suspicions. In my efforts to find a bright light in this sudden and unexpected development 48 hours before November 5, I can find one consolation. Maybe the increased activity on surrounding ranches and the potential of a gunshot or two there will “alert” the Big Ones to head over our way for a sanctuary spot along the creek bottom that runs all the way through our place. Whether that is a delirious pipedream found only in my old brain or a real possibility will likely never be known. But one thing I know FOR SURE. Once that Foot Doc gives me the green light, I won’t waste much time before heading south!
After a career in Higher Education that lasted 44 years, I have spent more than a few hours pounding on a typewriter or computer keyboard. 6 different textbooks with 14 editions as author or co-author, plus many professional articles and reports came from those days. Once finished with that chapter of life, my writing “itch” has been satisfied by doing stories like this one that have accumulated into Volume 1 and 2 of books called Tales From La Brasada with Volume 3 on the horizon. That is not a “sales pitch” as much as an acknowledgment of production. The Cover Logo for the books is a deer that the Boss Lady killed on our Home Place about a dozen years ago. He has a 5 + inch drop tine that is off his right main beam. Middle aged at the time of his demise, it would have been interesting to see what he might have become if he lived for a couple of more years. Given we have NEVER had anything close to a drop tine buck on that ranch since it became ours in 1938, with yours truly managing it from 1976, I am glad she took the deer. I put out my first Fall 2022 trail camera about 10 days ago at one of our all year long corn and protein combo feeder spots. We keep it fenced out when cattle are on the place and then open the wide gates once they are gone every September. Lo and Behold, there appeared several shots of a 10 point that was an almost carbon copy of the previous buck. This one is also middle aged, and I shared his “mug shot” with ALL my regular guests and family members who hunt with me out there. In addition to my antler and age comments, a statement was made that he was 100% Off Limits to anyone that wanted to ever come back through the gate to that property! I can’t control for a moment what happens off our little low fenced place, besides appealing to a couple of neighbors who are also kind of wildlife managers. I know that fellow may end up miles from our spot come rutting season. Rather than fuss and fume on what I cannot do, I have decided to record my amazement and wonder of Mother Nature. For an almost twin in terms of antler design to appear after 12 years with nothing close to that during that period is remarkable to me. One of my passions when raising horses for about 40 years was the study of genetics. Truth be told during the 2 Summers down at College Station as part of the Residency requirements for my Doctorate, I spent WAY TOO much time with the Horse Barn and Wildlife Department folks than I should have been doing. But I did manage to learn a good many things that helped me in my mare and stallion choices when raising some really fine saddle horses. I know there are instances where a genetic trait or characteristic can be latent for years and years. And to reappear all of a sudden for one time, only to then disappear again for a good while. I believe that is what is happening with this Second Drop Tine buck. But someone much smarter than me might have a better and more accurate perspective. The Boss Lady often says that about 99% of the World’s Population is wiser than me on many things, and I am sure she is correct. But in this instance, I just might be on to something. And if not, it is still sure enough fun to speculate. One thing I do not have to wonder about is that I know I am looking forward to laying me eyes on that buck. And I cannot wait for that opportunity to arrive!
We spent some time in the high mountains of the North West at the end of September. Coming from a country where we usually see trees and brush of mostly a shade of green or brown, we were taken aback with the vibrance of the changing colors presented before us on a daily basis. The variety of the shades of yellow were especially on display for most of our travels. It was almost breathtaking to experience entire mountain sides showing off the different types of trees and their response to the change of seasons. To be sure, we saw some red and orange in a few of the locations. And they were just as astonishing. It sure got me thinking that besides those magnificent mountain ranges with their crevices and peaks, The Good Lord decided to use them as a backdrop for these brilliantly colored trees. In south Texas cowboy terms, that country up there sure had its Sunday Clothes on. And The Almighty is quite artistic this time of year. We felt blessed to once again experience Fall in the mountains and be reminded of the beauty that can be found there.
I scheduled a fishing trip with a couple of my amigos, and it was agreed that it was my time to drive. I informed the Boss Lady of the arrangement and she commented it was good because taking other people around was the ONLY time I ever really cleaned up and out Old Whitey. In retrospect, like most things she is not wrong. I always taught in my real estate marketing classes, as well as practiced in my own long ranch sales career that people don’t mind their own dirt but don’t like other folk’s messes. In doing that “clean up and out” project I got to thinking me and my truck are a lot alike. I never did like change too much and so pretty much bought the same “make up” of truck for over 40 years. Same design, with a few improvements as they came along, same color, same most everything. The current one has been “kept around” longer than the others because there is now much less time with “my bucket in the bucket seats” due to retirement. In truck years I guess we are about the same age. WELL past our prime, neither are nearly attractive nor powerful as when we were newer. Scarred up with a good many bumps and bruises adorning our carriages, both internal and external. But we both “start up” MOST days and can still rumble on down the road. Maybe a little slower and with more maintenance than in times past. We have pulled some pretty heavy loads with livestock or farm equipment in or on a trailer behind us. And gotten into some pretty “hairy” drives in deep sand and mud or on a few rocky slopes. But we made it out most of the time without incident and the few times we did not make it, not a lot of serious help or repair were needed. And I reckon we BOTH could be replaced, but I don’t think it would be worth the time, trouble, and cost to trade either of us in just yet! Yep, me and that old truck sure do seem to have several things in common!
Heifer Hunting
With the start of a new school year, it is a bit more complicated to arrange trips down into La Brasada with my Grand Kids. The 3rd Grade and Kindergartener girls have scholastic duties that outrank our country runaways. The nearly 3 year one is not quite so restricted with his weekday obligations. Our daughter said she was taking the kids down on Saturday to feed the gentle heifers we have on the place before they go back to their “real home” next week. On Friday I left a bag of cubes and some corn out there so they could feed the livestock and wildlife. Much to my dismay we had obligations that precluded me enjoying the weekend event with them. I asked Jesscia to report back to us after their adventure and it seemed like in a fairly short period of time, we received a video call from our Home Place. As luck would have it the cattle were around the Water Trough by our Pens not far from the front gate. So “the hunt” was not too hard. There was a great debate on who saw the animals first between the two oldest. The youngest seemed happy to be yelling into the phone “Look Mimi, Look Poppi, it’s the “Hifers”! After a quick count we agreed there was one missing. Our nearly 6 year old said it was because she was mad at her Friends. The older one was afraid she got lost or was hurt. The youngest seemed to have no concern about the absence. That, in a nutshell, tells you where those 3 are in this phase of personality and life development. There was a significant debate on where to put out the corn and who got to carry the Big Old Coffee Can that is our official deer corn holder when feeding by hand. I wisely decided to let their Mom sort that out without my interference in such an important negotiation. On a “just today” level, I am hopeful they had a real good time. But on a longer- term point of view, involvement with those activities has a different perspective for me. It is my fervent desire for those precious little ones to develop a deep- seated love and connection with that place and the animals who roam around on it. That way heifer hunting and other similar activities can continue, Lord Willing, for another generation or more. Seems like 5 generations is just a good “getting started” goal for our involvement out there on our little piece of red dirt and creek bottom country.
I heard a person recently refer to their opinion as being “ambivalent” on a certain topic related to current events. The statement reminded me of a term not heard nearly as often as it was a few decades ago. Straddling The Fence means about the same thing to many of us old timers. Just not sure which “side” to be on. I can truthfully say that term brings back a very vivid Tale from La Brasada for me. I was between 8 &10 years of age and had helped my Grand Dad build a new fence that summer along the county road boundary of a small pasture he leased that joined our Home Place. I ultimately bought those acres, and it has been included in our operations for many years. School had just started and dove season was beginning. That tract of land had and still has some big old Bull Mesquite trees and Live Oaks along a drainage that runs through it and continues to flow across the county road, ultimately joining into San Miguel Creek. Charlie Rosenauer and I went “sneaking” along that creek bottom in hopes of seeing some doves sitting in those big trees. He was never one to “waste shells” on flying doves. That aspect of dove hunting was left to his family and guests out in the fields or by the Big Stock Tank. I don’t recall if he harvested any birds or not, but we finally came to the road where that new barbed wire fence was stretched tight. I was gingerly trying to get between those wires, hoping to not get cut with those razor spikes, still shiny and sharp. With one foot on each side, I looked down to discover a BIG Rattler coiled up right there under that fence. I cannot tell you which side I ended up on, but I do recall “yelling loud and moving fast”! Grand Dad sent Mr. Rattler into the Great Beyond courtesy of a 12 gauge with # 7 ½ shot. Fired from about 15 feet away there was a pretty big and bloody mess left to confirm the story. After a quick check that there were no fang bites or other permanent injuries, we walked back along that red sandy road up to the Farm House which had been built in 1866. Grand Dad relayed the events to Granny who had 2 questions and 1 statement. Are you hurt? No Ma’am. Did you tear your clothes anywhere? No Ma’am. Good. Now take better care to watch where you are going and STOP straddling them fences! Good practical words still all these years later.
Where did that come from?
I am not too sure that all who are reading this rambling will relate to the content. But I feel pretty sure a good number of you will. And just FYI, if you don’t already comprehend the experience, hold on to your hat…it’s coming to many of the rest of you. And just maybe faster than you want it to arrive! I find myself routinely “stumbling” across things that seem significantly “out of place”. Or maybe discovering something that has no business being where it’s found. There were times in the past when I could put the blame on my children, and more recently on my 3 young grandchildren. But truth be told, I find stuff way too often in the “wrong place” when no person, save yours truly, could be the culprit. Now I guess I could blame Aliens or Ghosts, but in my rational moments, few and far between as they sometimes can be, I think it is has to do with my “Some Timers” stage of life. My reactions upon these finds run quite a gambit. From happiness to know where a certain lost item is found, to bewilderment of how it got there. And then there is those moments of frustration at having no ideas the steps that lead to the placement in that spot. But the thought just occurred to me. Why not just accept that it is part of the aging process and enjoy having the opportunity to live long enough to experience this stage. Seems like the best solution. But on second thought…I wonder where THAT idea came from????
