As one season wanes and another somehow, almost imperceptibly, creeps into my consciousness and then into my reality, I’m often given to moments of reflection. First of all, especially in the transition from summer to autumn, I’m quite often rudely reminded by the weather and the ever-shortening days that there remains a very long list of things I failed to get done over the summer. As the nights grow longer and cooler, the cows on the mountain invariably drift down to lower country and hang on the fences, begging for the luxury of the easy life that awaits them in the fields of the home place. And, as the icy recognition of that fact slaps me in the face like a frigid blue norther, I become all too aware that a good share of my finish-before-fall summer projects still remain on the list, just as undone as they were when I placed them there last spring.
In those occasional moments of serious introspection, it would be easy to fall into the muck of self-pity and mild despair. And, I must admit, I sometimes find myself dipping my toe into that fetid puddle. Usually, though, I’m able to step back before I end up wallowing in the mire. As easy as it may be to get lost in the deep, black forest of negativity and self-doubt, it’s nearly just as easy to relish the goodness represented in the changing of the seasons in ranch country.
I love the last set of shoes I tack on my horses in the fall. There’s satisfaction in pulling off the old shoes, worn thin from a summer’s worth of endless miles spent following cows through the dust and rocks of the foothills and the surprisingly green grass and cool of the aspens in the higher country. The sound of a new set of irons when they first hit pavement as the cow ponies are loaded into the trailers on a dark, early October morning brings a familiar, happy contentment to my soul. And though I rue the disappearance of the long shadows of the setting sun during the heavenly, long hours of the blessed summertime, there’s an unmatched sort of reserved excitement that accompanies the fidgeting of a young horse in the early morning as he snorts out a light mist of steam in the low beams of the old diesel pickup – patiently and steadily rumbling in the soft light of a new day.
The Fall Gather is more of a season unto itself than a mere event. Neighbours, family and day help all fall into their natural, proper places as the cattle converge in the valleys. They drift out of the high elevation, drawn with encouragement from a cowboy’s shrill whistle and an occasional anxious bark or slightly aggressive bite from the overanxious, undertrained, ever-faithful and ever-present heeler or border collie. And even though it’s a harbinger of the hard work, cold fingers and grey days of the impending winter, there’s not a prettier, more picturesque sight, nor more able hand, than the Great White Cowboy, represented by the soft white blanket of the first snowfall on the dark green hues of the pines in the high country. The resolve of the few high-country holdouts generally erodes at a rate that coincides with the falling of the temperatures and the advent of snow.
The Gather is a reunion; a reacquainting of dear old friends and nemeses of the bovine variety. It brings with it anxious anticipation, trepidation, welcome surprises and occasional heartbreak. It can bring validation to a cowboy’s instincts and husbandry heart when the same old faithful cows amble toward home with a stout set of calves in tow. At the same time, there’s always some bitter disappointment that accompanies the handful of leppy-looking calves at the sides of a good share of the first-calf heifers, too many of which will no doubt be open at preg check. Then there’s the lump in your throat you need to overcome when you have to tell your daughter that her first show heifer, now a 14-year-old cow and family pet, didn’t make it home this year. Maybe you’ll find her bones and her eartag next summer, but most likely you’ll be left with only the memories she helped create and the family bonds she helped form and strengthen.
So, yeah, I invariably whine as I lament the passing of the fairer season, but at the same time, I’m always left in just a bit of awe as summer gives way to autumn. It’s more than just the superficial appreciation of nature's visible elegance, such as the beautiful mosaic created by the changing leaves. It’s a recognition of, and a tipping of the hat to, the possibilities that life’s changes grant us. It’s an appreciation for the comfort of the familiar and the challenges of the unexpected. And it’s always an opportunity.
