Choice to Sell Beef or Cattle
It might be a bad sign when a person checks her rearview mirror and spots chunks of rubber flying off the road.
My first reaction was to look for a semi, or even any other car, nearby.
Not a single vehicle was in the vicinity. I owned that rubber.
This day had started several days before.
My friends and I got together to make an end-run around greedy, multinational oligopolistic beef processors.
We sold shares in a few cows with the intention to process them into beef. We would cut out the players from the middle and pocket the difference in price.
Only about a million other ranchers had the same idea. I hope we all manage to pay our bills with innovation this year.
I’ve been selling premium, grass-fed beef for more than 20 years so selling a young cow for burger was not a stretch.
Our first processing date was this week.
The cows I needed to take to the processor were still in the pasture so on Sunday my 13-year-old daughter, Abby, and I saddled up.
The sun was shining, the grass was growing and the cattle were lounging. I needed to move them to a new pasture, closer to the corral, so we gathered the herd slowly, keeping the calves with their mothers.
Dry cows feel good. When cows feel good, they run. When cows run, the natural instinct is to chase them.
Abby and I refrained. Our fences wouldn’t withstand a chase.
Slowly, oh so slowly, we cut out the dry cows and drifted them across the county road.
Three loose horses greeted us at the gate.
Fortunately, tall green grass diverted their attention so I left them on the road while we guided the dry cows to the corral a half mile away.
Drivers from four cars no doubt wondered if I think I own the whole darned road.
Actually, I do. The county only has an easement through the land I pay taxes on.
The next morning, I loaded cows into the trailer with the expectation that I would take them to their final destination and be back in time to get something else done.
The rubber I spotted in my rearview mirror would delay that plan by 15 minutes or so, but I was still optimistic.
Until I attempted to loosen the eighth lug nut.
It was frozen and stripped. The last person to tighten that lug had used an impact wrench set on high.
The conversation in my head with that person began at that moment and lasted for the next four hours.
I did a quick inventory of the miscellaneous treasures in the pickup.
Then I called the most innovative problem-solver I know.
Zane suggested chiseling the nut off. I would ruin the stud, but I had seven others to hold the wheel on.
The cows rumbled inside the trailer.
Lo and behold, I actually had a chisel and hammer in the truck. I have no idea which project I had in mind when I laid them under the backseat, but I knew which project I would use them for today.
The chisel was a bit too wide and the hammer was tiny, but I could make them work.
Hand-eye coordination is a survival skill.
My left hand can testify to that statement.
About three hours into chiseling, a stranger pulled up to take a turn..
Zane called to make sure I was back at the ranch.
Then he gathered our mutual friend who carries a torch on his service truck.
Ten minutes after they arrived, the stud was laying on the ground and the spare tire was on the trailer.
Everyone waved and I headed toward for the cows’ final destination.
Two inches of rain created a sloppy, muddy destination.
My tires dug through the mud, splashing the shovel in the back of the truck.
By then, my tired brain insisted I ask for help.
Another set of hands and a tractor helped me unload the cows and move the pickup as the sunset glistened over the mountains.
As I drove home, I realized there’s a reason people sell live cattle to greedy, processors instead of selling beef.