How pretty things are depends upon the eye looking at them.
I have been known to say, “That sure is pretty,” about some things that would be yucky to others in different professions, or even in a culture that was far from ours.
A friend, really just an acquaintance, told me how wonderful it was to look out over the city at night to see all the lights. I went, one time, to the city, and I found not one thing worth looking out over at night.
All that was said to bring us to this question that continues to pester my feeble mind. We talk a bunch at the round table at the coffee emporium about the blood lines of cattle and hunting dogs. We go on about the pedigrees of horses and bulls for hours and inject stories that are so interesting and, we figure, important to know.
My question is, what happens to the blood of your own direct pedigree when so many of them are put in obscure and foreign places, such as towns in other states? I am veryconcerned about the love of the country, the knowledge of the life and ways of our being that could be lost in the generations that follow us.
My close relative said it would be just fine if they, third and fourth generations from us, don’t ever have to work as hard as we have, do without like we have and struggle to keep body and soul together. I beg to disagree and I won’t do it in her presence but once, and quietly at that.
I have met so many younger men who relish the fact that their grandfathers were “Keepers of the Land.” They are so proud to be from that line.It makes them pioneers in their mind’s eye, hanging on to some part of being a “cowboy,” knowing they aren’t but hoping some of the dirt and grit is still in their blood.
Did you know that the PRCA rodeos are having a rough time financially because the crowds don’t turn out like they once did? I read about the State Fair in one of the neighboring states going for all bull riding instead of any rodeo due to the disinterest. Go figure on that one!
Does the blood change colors when it gets too far from the roots? I wonder if it thins some and gets a little pinker, more pink than the dark red of us and our offspring. I guess it doesn’t but I wonder why. The poor folks that never get enough sun to produce the needed Vitamin D or even know what season changes are except by the pictures on the calendars.
In my opinion, and everybody has one, we are gonna lose out. The hours and the pay are pretty bad out here - the youngsters can’t borrow enough money to get started and the men can’t find close relatives who will stand for the lifestyle. It is gonna be all corporate farms in another 25 or 30 years. There will be “gentleman farms,” five or 10 acres with horse barns, and a few will have 4-H projects with bovine or hogs, but our kind will be gone.
And I will be gone by that time too, so here’s to them! If the young ones want that experience, they can work for a feed lot or a boss in Chicago! It won’t be my worry! After all this sad controversy, I wish you a fine day, and say your prayers!
Bill is a pen name used by the Gravette author of this weekly column.
Opinion, Pages 6 on 10/20/2010