Monday, September 16, 2013
Friday, August 2, 2013
Real Cowboys: Old traditions, modern ways
Joe Southern
Amarillo Globe-News
Lane Oles, 8, skewered some freshly extracted calf fries and roasted them over the fire that heated the brand used to mark the calf they came from.
The pre-lunch delicacy was his reward for helping the adults round up calves on Bill Weems' ranch, brand and medicate them and castrate the bulls.
"Those calf fries are good," he said after taking a bite. "I helped with the calf fries and then I ate some."
Lane and his 10-year-old brother, Dee, are following in their father's footsteps, prints made by a pair of cowboy boots with the clink of spurs.
The sons of Jim Oles, dressed in brown vests, boots, spurs and straw cowboy hats, are more than wannabe cowboys. They're the real deal, the next generation of modern-day cowboys, keeping alive the Old West traditions that made the Texas Panhandle what it is today.
The tools have changed, but the methods of raising cattle have remained consistent since the early days of ranching and cattle drives of the mid- to late-1800s. The whole process is a family affair with neighbors helping neighbors.
"There's less stress on us and the cattle when there's plenty of help and people know what to do. We all help each other," Oles said.
Recently, a caravan of pickups and horse trailers pulled up to one of Weems' plots of land, parked by an empty pen and began unloading horses while the cattle migrated to the far end of the pasture. A group of cowboys, cowgirls and youngsters - all friends and neighbors - rode out on horseback to bring the herd into the pen.
With the gate shut, the cows were separated from the calves and lined in a chute where they were sprayed with a wormer. The attention then turned to the 30 or so calves huddled at one end of the main pen. Two branding irons warmed up on a portable propane heater while Rick Jones rode into the pen.
With a toss of his lasso into the herd, Jones backed away with a calf roped by the back legs. A team of cowboys then sprang into action. Though they rotated duties, a typical scene had Fred Irby taking the calf down and pinning it to the ground by the neck with his knee while getting a firm grip on one of its front legs.
Joe Watkins grabbed a hind leg and pushed the other back with his foot so the animal was spread-eagle and couldn't move. J.R. Blanchard stuck a tube into the calf's mouth and squirt a worming medicine into it.
Cooper Christophersen, 9, injected the calf with a vaccination for black leg while Ron Dyer applied the brand. With each branding, a cloud of smoke rose with the stench of burning hair and seared flesh, a far cry from the mouth-watering smell of sizzling steaks that will one day be carved out of the young animal.
If the calf were a bull, Weems would take a knife and castrate it while an Oles would powder the wound with a clotting agent. Also helping out were Scott Waddell, Bob Miller, Scott Myers, Wes Sharp, 10-year-old Logan Johnson and 14-year-old Kelsee Watkins, among other children and wives.
The whole process took seconds and within 30 minutes the black Angus calves were returned to their mothers and released back to pasture.
"I've done it ever since I was a kid," said Miller, a pastor by day. "I get out as often as I can."
Most everyone in the crew has a day job. Watkins, 53, is a full-time rancher.
"I worked in town for a while but I've always had some cows," he said.
On this day, three generations of the Watkins family worked together. Sharp is his father-in-law and Kelsee his daughter. He said he loves what he does and that he doesn't do it for the money.
"I'm just doing what I like to do and I'm pretty fortunate to be able to do it," he said.
After chowing down on some fresh barbecue brisket, the crew loaded up and headed off to the next pasture.
"A bunch of good people get together and do a good job and nobody complains about the job they're doing," Watkins said.
Amarillo Globe-News
Lane Oles, 8, skewered some freshly extracted calf fries and roasted them over the fire that heated the brand used to mark the calf they came from.
The pre-lunch delicacy was his reward for helping the adults round up calves on Bill Weems' ranch, brand and medicate them and castrate the bulls.
"Those calf fries are good," he said after taking a bite. "I helped with the calf fries and then I ate some."
Lane and his 10-year-old brother, Dee, are following in their father's footsteps, prints made by a pair of cowboy boots with the clink of spurs.
The sons of Jim Oles, dressed in brown vests, boots, spurs and straw cowboy hats, are more than wannabe cowboys. They're the real deal, the next generation of modern-day cowboys, keeping alive the Old West traditions that made the Texas Panhandle what it is today.
The tools have changed, but the methods of raising cattle have remained consistent since the early days of ranching and cattle drives of the mid- to late-1800s. The whole process is a family affair with neighbors helping neighbors.
"There's less stress on us and the cattle when there's plenty of help and people know what to do. We all help each other," Oles said.
Recently, a caravan of pickups and horse trailers pulled up to one of Weems' plots of land, parked by an empty pen and began unloading horses while the cattle migrated to the far end of the pasture. A group of cowboys, cowgirls and youngsters - all friends and neighbors - rode out on horseback to bring the herd into the pen.
With the gate shut, the cows were separated from the calves and lined in a chute where they were sprayed with a wormer. The attention then turned to the 30 or so calves huddled at one end of the main pen. Two branding irons warmed up on a portable propane heater while Rick Jones rode into the pen.
With a toss of his lasso into the herd, Jones backed away with a calf roped by the back legs. A team of cowboys then sprang into action. Though they rotated duties, a typical scene had Fred Irby taking the calf down and pinning it to the ground by the neck with his knee while getting a firm grip on one of its front legs.
Joe Watkins grabbed a hind leg and pushed the other back with his foot so the animal was spread-eagle and couldn't move. J.R. Blanchard stuck a tube into the calf's mouth and squirt a worming medicine into it.
Cooper Christophersen, 9, injected the calf with a vaccination for black leg while Ron Dyer applied the brand. With each branding, a cloud of smoke rose with the stench of burning hair and seared flesh, a far cry from the mouth-watering smell of sizzling steaks that will one day be carved out of the young animal.
If the calf were a bull, Weems would take a knife and castrate it while an Oles would powder the wound with a clotting agent. Also helping out were Scott Waddell, Bob Miller, Scott Myers, Wes Sharp, 10-year-old Logan Johnson and 14-year-old Kelsee Watkins, among other children and wives.
The whole process took seconds and within 30 minutes the black Angus calves were returned to their mothers and released back to pasture.
"I've done it ever since I was a kid," said Miller, a pastor by day. "I get out as often as I can."
Most everyone in the crew has a day job. Watkins, 53, is a full-time rancher.
"I worked in town for a while but I've always had some cows," he said.
On this day, three generations of the Watkins family worked together. Sharp is his father-in-law and Kelsee his daughter. He said he loves what he does and that he doesn't do it for the money.
"I'm just doing what I like to do and I'm pretty fortunate to be able to do it," he said.
After chowing down on some fresh barbecue brisket, the crew loaded up and headed off to the next pasture.
"A bunch of good people get together and do a good job and nobody complains about the job they're doing," Watkins said.
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