A101. Rocks Cows & Elk

Friday, March 14, 1997

My Frien's, I had thought that the Epistles from Paul would end with my retirement. As we were walking up the gangplank to get on the Marine Ferry (Haines, Alaska) I knew a new phase of our life had truly begun. Unfortunately, I did not express this too clearly to Diana, "Do you realize that we are now jobless and homeless?" The epistles had begun with explaining Alaska and, I thought they would end with our departure from the "Last Frontier".

The folks started asking me, "Why did you stop?"

When I explained, "I have nothing to write about now."

Many disagreed and my one of my former supervisors said, "I love your epistles. You can describe what most people see as a routine happening, and make it humorous."

So, My Frien's, we shall see if Lorraine was correct.

Diana and I have been busy the past year or so getting the ranch in order, bush hogging, fence mending, planning to plant too much garden ─ as we did last year. We did make some plans for fun things ─ such as stocking one of our ponds with catfish (100 of them should be ready for fishing this fall). There are 6 ponds on the ranch and we plan on stocking them. Diana loves to fish and I love to eat them. My CPA says that I should charge the neighbors a buck or two to fish. Then, I could take all the costs for the fish off my income tax. I knew of a few guys interested in leasing the hunting rights on the place. Told them they would have to take the fishing rights too. When they said they would, but were not interested in fishing, I thought of my tasty catfish and just smiled. Now and then even a blind hog finds the slop.

Last year I found a new source of income to supplement our retirement. I was bush hogging near the house when an old truck pulled onto the property. Now folks, the only people coming back here are the mailman, someone looking for us, or they are lost. I did not recognize the truck and assumed this one fell into the "lost" category. I drove over to see where he was headed.

After the preliminary "Howdy's", he looked around and said, "You got lots of rocks."

"I was just thinking the same thing, as my bush hog kept rumbling over them," I answered.

He was quiet for a minute and said, "I could get them out of the way for you."

Sure would be nice, I thought. But looking around, Damn, there are a lot of them. Probably cost a fortune. "How much?" I questioned.

"Oh, probably about $20.00 a truckload."

Twenty a truckload, cost a fortune, better to pick them up slowly myself, I concluded ─ sadly. But, wanting to be nice, "Tell you what, I will think if over and let you know."

"How much land you got here anyhow?" he asked.

"There are 650 acres."

"Well you do have lot's of rocks, and with that much land ─ tell you what, I think I can pay $25 a load." he observed.

Communication or the lack thereof ─ that's the world's problem these days. "Come on up to the house, have some coffee and let's talk about this," I happily urged. No more bush hogging today. I found out there is more money in rocks than cows. I never imagined that I would be in the business of selling the one thing there are plenty of here in the "Holler".

Was life in Alaska really different or is the observation of difference something that is haunting me individually? Or, hopefully, is it that when you live back off the beaten track, you tend to become more intrigued by the little oddities of the human species?

We had an incident on the mountain above us about a month ago that illustrates this point. A pepsico driver was late for work and headed out just before daylight. There was a full moon and he only had to pass through the shadow of the house ─ he did not bother to turn on the outside light, just hurried on toward his truck. However, he was brought to an abrupt stop when he ran into something big and hairy (not a situation encountered in your average driveway). Whatever it was, let out a loud grunt and all of a sudden he could see something coming up in front of the moon. His confusion turned to pure terror as he realized that he was seeing big, long, multi-spiked horns.

Now, it's not just good Christians who might imagine the worst in this situation (horns in front of a full moon will bring up anyone's belief in things not fundamentally good) and it's not just your soul that you're worried about! Without having to give it a lot of consideration, he turned and ran in the opposite direction. Was making good progress too, until he ran into the picnic table. Even though it took all of the skin off his shins, he managed to somersault over the tabletop and continue his retreat. The collision did slow him down enough so that it did not hurt too bad when he hit the barbed wire fence.

Still more than a little bit apprehensive ( but also resigned toh is inability to escape) he decided his only hope was prayer. The demon was about to get him. He had to face it ─ and is happy to report seeing that big bull Elk clear the opposite fence was a beautiful sight.

Somewhat ashamed of the whole incident, he decided to keep it to himself. In spite of all the missing skin on his shins (the major injury ─ not counting his pride), he did not require medical attention and his clothes hid the wounds ─ only a few tears here and there. He decided to keep quiet. And it worked ─ until he got home.

His wife insisted on knowing how he got all of those scratches. Now, he really got scared! The true story seemed a bit far-fetched; but, it seemed a better alternative than what his wife was imagining. The embarrassing truth became the most logical of his few alternatives. My final observation was that he is definitely in favor of an Elk Season in Arkansas.

You know the old saying about idle hands and hands being the Devil's workshop? Well .... At Least I can consider myself a fertile field. Nothing else to do the other day, so I wandered over to the sale barn to watch. A bunch of heifers were herded in and I was sorely tempted. The prices are way too low and have got to come up. No way could you lose. Luckily, I resisted temptation returned home a non-rancher (the gods were taking pity on fools that day).

That evening, one of the brothers who lease pasture from us came by and asked me if his brother had brought me any hamburger. I told him that I was not expecting any. He said that I would get some anyway as they did not know what to do with all they had and were giving it away. I thought he was trying to pawn some old meat off on me until (to quote Paul Harvey) I learned the rest of the story.

His brother, Floy (not misspelled) was repairing fences when he looked up and saw his brother's (James) bull had busted the fence and got in with the young heifers (later in the story I discovered the penalty for the bovine equivalent of statutory rape). He ran the bull out and continued with repairing the fence (irritated somewhat that the bull was insuring his job security in fence mending). Then he looked up and found that the old bull had not lost his interest in young heifers (a few strings of barb wire were not sufficient to keep him from fulfilling his destiny).

In a flash of brilliance, the Cattleman determined a course of action. Use your truck to herd Romeo clear up into the cove (bovine equivalent of a cold shower). It was working until the herder got frustrated with the herdee's maintaining his romantic interest. He decided to bump the bull in the butt with his truck. Romeo moved out in a hurry. This seemed to be the solution to the Cattleman's problems and, if a little bit does a little good ─ then a lot will do a Iota of good! Right? Wrong! Just as he bumped the bull for the second time the animal slipped and the truck ran over its leg. A three legged bull definitely cannot fulfill his intended role. The two brothers now have 800 pounds of hamburger taking up space in their deep freeze and the clear understanding ─ no bull equals ─ no calves!

Maybe I'll stick to raising catfish and rocks.

My Frien's, after composing ─ uhhh ─ recording happenings in Arkansas; I have come to the conclusion that the Epistles may continue.

Diana said to send her greetings." She also said, to me, "Being a former interpreter gives you some leeway in telling stories ."

I did not have to ask her what she meant, "I did not embellish them too much."

She said, "No you didn't, not for a Coon Ass.

This seems a good time to end this epistle from Paul.