Getting to Graceland
My daughter, Abby, and I planned to fly out of Missoula, three and a half hours away, at 1:30.
We were on our way to Memphis to celebrate Abby’s 13th birthday and see a few faraway family members. We had been looking forward to this trip for months.
My brother, Roger, would take care of chores and attempt to keep the cattle and sheep home.
I had enough hay in the horse mangers to last a week.
The lambs were weaned and back with the ewes.
I would wean the calves as soon as we returned.
The cattle were on good grass and the water was working.
I had repaired the fences where drifts from the last snowstorm had knocked them down – at least repaired them as well as I could until the rest of the drifts melted.
We had a reliable flight with good connections.
Abby and I were looking forward to an unhurried drive after a good night’s sleep.
We planned to leave at 8 am.
At 8:05, I still needed a shower, but otherwise, we were ready to head out the door.
At 8:06, my good neighbor texted that I had cattle on the county road that runs through the ranch.
Abby and I jumped in the truck to investigate.
Two heifers grazed in the tall roadside grass while the others looked like they were watching the summertime ice cream truck come into sight.
The fence looked exactly like it does after every snowstorm – broken wires and leaning posts offered a suggestion of a boundary to the rebellious teenagers. For the first time in two weeks, the nighttime temperature had remained above freezing. The rest of the snowdrift had melted.
“We have two choices,” I outlined to my worried daughter. “We can fix this fence or we can put the whole bunch across the road where the fence will hold them while we’re gone.”
We decided moving heifers would be faster and probably keep them where they belonged while we were gone.
Abby knows how to quietly, gently gather cattle. She knows slow is fast when cattle are concerned.
As I hurriedly meandered in a wide circle around the heifers, I watched Abby swing wide around the other side. The heifers moved into a quiet bunch, spotted the open gate and I smiled. We would still have time to stop for Abby’s favorite hot chocolate in Lincoln.
A jack rabbit popped up and darted through the heifers.
Heifers busted ranks, tails in the air, heads high, scattering nine different directions.
Abby kept her hands at her side and trudged out and around. I did the same.
The heifers forgot where the gate was.
I glanced at my watch: 8:47.
Fortunately, we have another gate to the pasture across the road.
The heifers ran past that gate, too, but bunched in the corner.
Abby slipped past them to open gates on both sides of the road.
The heifers watched suspiciously, tails out, ready to fly.
But they didn’t move.
Abby moved out of the gate. I took small steps toward the heifers.
One turned her head toward the gate, took three steps, then trotted up the fence, past the gate.
9:13.
A couple more aborted attempts challenged our bovine handling skills, but the heifers stayed bunched against the fence.
A truck came down the hill.
Please don’t honk or wave!
9:37.
The heifers ambled through both gates and bolted, reveling in their escape.
A quick shower for me, then we buckled our seatbelts to make our takeoff time.
Recently, I have enhanced an unwanted familiarity with the Montana Highway Patrol. I crossed my fingers that our relationship would not grow within the next few hours.
We skidded into long-term parking and ran to the ticket counter.
The smiling, relaxed ticket agent said we had 10 minutes to make it through security before she would start boarding the plane.
Abby celebrated her 13th birthday at Graceland.