Hot Dogs in the Rain

The saddlebronc riders sweltered and spurred in the heavy air.

The calf ropers kicked up dust as they threw three wraps and a hooey.

My friend and I watched clouds build as we munched on our hot dog and burger.

A few raindrops forced the break-away ropers adjusted to slick ropes that needed just a bit more push to slip over the calf’s head.

The open bleachers emptied before the tops of the barrel-racing barrels overflowed.

By the time bull riders splashed face-first into mud, drenched clowns and pick-up men protected them from worse than a skin-enhancing, natural facial.

Even under the grandstand, puddles formed on the wooden benches, leaked from holes in the roof.

As the raindrops fell bigger and harder and the announcer hurried the events along, I knew what would come next.

Conversations all around us turned to complaining about this incessant rain.

I cringed and bit my tongue.

For most of this spring, a lot of north-central Montana has received regular showers and a few multi-day soakers.

The grass at the ranch is sending seedheads that brush my knees.

Mushrooms sprout randomly on the prairie.

My cows that had scrounged the range for another bite are waddling contentedly through grass that tickles their bellies.

Curlews and killdeer wonder if they returned to the same place – what happened to the cracked bare ground that was here last year?

As is always the case, location is key. My neighbor about 30 miles to the north has not received nearly the rain that has fallen on my ranch. She has enough grass, but wouldn’t turn down another raindrop.

Even with all of our spring rain, the soil is still dry – estimates range from 9 to 20 percent moisture. Thirty-five to 45 percent is ideal.

Elite weather forecaster Eric Snodgrass says our entire area still needs another 5 inches of rain this summer to pull us out of the severe drought from the past two years.

As the rain poured on the barrel racers, complaints grew louder. Either people considered themselves so sweet that they might dissolve or they were so cantankerous that a recipe of raindrops mixed with their bare skin would yield a moldy science experiment.

I looked at my friend’s hot dog.

That hot dog is as essential to the great sport of rodeo as bull riding and barrel racing.

That hot dog depends on this rain.

The beef, pork, bun, mustard, onions and tomato ketchup all must have moisture to grow.

Most of the pork and fattened beef we throw into hot dogs comes from the Midwest.

Montana proudly grows mustard. The best sweet Walla Walla onions only grow in Washington. Kansas grows so much of the wheat that becomes flour for hot dog buns.

But Kansas is suffering from severe drought even as we speak. Across the South, people are dying from heat stroke.

None of this weather bodes well for hot dogs.

Just like the people who raise cattle and hogs or grow wheat, mustard and onions, people who eat hot dogs will still have something to eat, but a limited supply means more stress, higher prices and, possibly, lower quality.

As the rodeo crowd complained about the rain, I noticed that many of them were born in a good grass year – or else don’t miss a meal.

They will need to pay more for those meals that they eat in the hot sunshine.

Even though some of us are further removed from crops and livestock, we all depend on farmers and ranchers who depend on rain.

The next time I see someone eating a hot dog while complaining about the rain, I’ll buy an umbrella for him.