The corner gate

"It is impossible to please all the world and one's father."

Jean de La Fontaine Fables (1668)

Family owned ranches and farms demand a familial unity not found in most professions and trades. The quantity of work requires help from everyone, and hired labor is expensive.

Decades back it was always the father/son who performed most of the jobs, but over time, women assumed a larger role in the operations. They still held themselves responsible for domestic work, they just added more to the demands of running a ranch.

A common phenomenon of this dynamic is that the father/son relationship is often tested until the son learns that "The Old Man" isn't all that stupid, and might have an idea how to run a ranch. For the father, he eventually has to be satisfied that the son won't run the place into financial ruin as soon as he gets the checkbook in his hands.

The differences in approach become most salient with the management and handling of the cattle. It's in the corrals that minor differences come to the surface.

My father didn't like black cattle, preferring the Herefords he grew up with. When a black cow or heifer threw a hissy fit in the chute, he'd curse the crazy breed and mumble to himself much of the day. But a Hereford could get crazy and upside down for no reason, and he'd complain that the crew was pushing too much on the herd.

We never took issue with each other about the cattle. When we sorted replacement heifers, he'd conveniently wander off for a while and let me select some blacks. After a dozen or so blacks, I usually strolled away and let him sort on his cursed Herefords. It kept the peace.

We have a small meadow where we usually put the cattle before we took them to the corral. It was always a minor wreck because the cows refused a corner gate that put them on the road for the 200 yds. to the to the corrals. It usually took about three turns around the meadow before they'd go out the gate. This had been going on for generations.

One time we were going to corral a couple hundred head and I took my horse out before my father and uncles showed up. I noticed that the cows ran to another gate that led to the same road, and stood there waiting for someone to let them down to Nevada Creek. Seeing that, I trotted my horse over and opened the gate, spilling the herd out onto the road and to the corrals.

When my father and uncles showed up, they had nothing to do. They were accustomed to chasing the cattle around the meadow for a half-hour or so before they went out the gate. They were trained – both the men and the cows, I think.

When they asked how I managed to get the herd out of the meadow, I explained my epiphany of bovine behavior. I thought that they would be pleased after all the years of fighting the cattle out of the corner gate.

But, no. They were irritated because by their rules, the cattle went out the corner gate if they were going to the corrals, and out the middle gate if they were being turned out onto Nevada Creek. They acted like they never heard of such a transgression. They were sullen all day, so I didn't rub my cowboy finesse in, although it was tempting.

A year later we planned on working a bunch of the cows. They gently let me know that we'd use the corner gate like always, which meant chasing cows around the meadow until they decided to do what was wanted of them. Knowing I'd get irritable if I had to participate in that operation, I stepped back and let them take the lead.

I was leaning on the fence getting ready to watch the show when a friend showed up. We visited and I told him the story of the gates and the progenitors. Wilbur was a good, solid cowman, and appreciated the situation.

So we watched as an ATV, a pickup, and a 1949 tractor followed the running herd around until the cows figured they had done their job and went out onto the road. Wilbur loved it.

After the old timers got done, Wilbur said, "You know, Dick, those guys aren't ranchers. They're cattle farmers."