Netting Grasshoppers

My daughter, Abby, and I have been laughing a lot lately.

Well, Abby has been laughing.

At me.

She thinks I might be crazy.

Or maybe she is laughing at my grasshoppers.

I wouldn’t mind a few grasshoppers, especially those that eat dandelions.

Typically, the dandelions poke their heads up in early May.

This year, I spotted them right after the Augusta rodeo at the end of June.

The grasshoppers arrived just as the dandelions decided they had enough moisture in the ground to send up a leaf.

I wouldn’t mind if the grasshoppers only consumed dandelions – after all, everything needs a bite of salad.

But the grasshoppers favor the grass that finally greened up about the same time.

My cows and sheep won’t eat the grasshoppers, despite my encouragement, preferring instead to compete with them.

The population of grasshoppers at my ranch nudges the number of stars in the sky.

The population of my cows and sheep keeps declining.

My cows and sheep are losing the grasshopper competition.

So I declared war on the grasshoppers.

First, I built plastic bottle traps.

They caught a few, but it soon became apparent that bottle traps are the plastic butter knives of a sword fight.

So I went to the Dollar Store and paid $1.25 for a butterfly-grasshopper net.

Each evening, when Abby and I walk out to the pasture to gather the sheep, I hold my net just above the disappearing grass.

When the net is full, I dump the captured grasshoppers into a plastic bag held by the Abby, who was recently anointed the Queen of Grasshopper Storage.

At least I eliminate a thousand mouths instead of just walking through them, listening to their jaws crunch and chew through the grass that protects my land, feeds my livestock and pays my bills.

Netting grasshoppers is silly.

It’s childish.

It’s futile.

And it helps keep me sane.

It’s all about maintaining a semblance of control during a completely uncontrollable situation.

Netting grasshoppers is utterly ridiculous, yet I feel better when I stick a heavy, plastic Ziplock full of grasshoppers in the freezer.

I watch how people who don’t ranch or farm react to out-of-control aspects of their lives, too.

Inflation.

Death.

Summer road construction.

Rides at the county fair.

Those people aren’t used to flying blind, being battered by random weather and events like farmers and ranchers are.

Some people expect to make a plan for life and stick to it.

At least, that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never actually seen it.

They attempt control strategies that are as silly, childish and futile as netting grasshoppers.

Some people battle inflation by hoarding food and toilet paper.

Again.

Some people war against death with nutritional supplements.

Some drivers who are delayed by road construction immediately turn off their pickup and jump out to stretch, attempting to bait the pilot car into sight.

Some people voluntarily strap themselves to a ride at the county fair.

Those people don’t count.

They are just crazy.

Drought, grasshoppers, inflation, death, summer road construction and rides at the county fair command resistance.

Resistance might be silly, but it is better than wringing anxious hands in defeat.

It’s a mental game, far more than physical effort.

Some days I win that game, some days I lose.

Those losing days are the days that I must find a friend.

I’m not particularly good at seeking out conversation, but when I do trust someone enough to share my worries, talking helps.

I have no idea why.

On winning days, I laugh.

That’s why I bring my grasshopper net along when Abby and I get the sheep in.