“Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”

A common observation repeated frequently the comment takes on even more meaning with today’s worldwide health concerns.

Moms have always insisted kids wash before mealtime, afterwards and in-between doing chores and work around the ranch.

Highly educated professionals, doctors and the like, insist germs are readily spread to others in many ways. Of course that includes touching anything which another person might have been in contact with.

“Stop the continued increase of bacteria by thorough washing of hands,” health experts demand.

Those in the agriculture profession have likely been most lax in strategic spotlessness. Breakfast, dinner and supper are typically on time around all of the chores and other demanded ranch tasks.

With food on the table, family seated, hopefully a blessing, plates filled, eaten, while conversation centers on the day’s workload. Never a thought about the many places those hands have been cleaning the barn, greasing wheels, and on and on. All are locations with seriously high probability of health contamination.

Yet, notable sickness on ranches has been low compared to urban living. Not scientifically proven, being outside in the wind and sunlight is Mother Nature’s helpful cleansing.

Regardless, nowadays everybody has become conscious about keeping clean. Old timers even admit more frequently using the bar of soap. Report was once heard about a midweek trip to the tub on top of that traditional Saturday night bath.

Moms and office workers always conscientious about handwashing at mealtime and throughout the day are more scrupulous. One even rapidly quoted the recommended picture poster procedure.

If washing hands will help prevent contacting the vicious sickness of the time, it’s definitely worth the little added effort. Conversations with those who’ve become infected and seemingly recovered verify importance of every precaution.

“Who can spend the most money to have the biggest and fanciest horse trailer with living quarters?”

Questions similar to that are heard frequently from those driving by rodeo arenas.

It is legitimate observation considering how many big, shiny, obviously very expensive rigs are at most shows nowadays.

The family horse trailer investment is multiplied considerably when cost of the vehicle pulling it is added on.

“There must be more than $4-million worth of trailers at this junior rodeo,” one old school cowboy tallied. Not up on ritzy things, that calculation was likely quite close having seen horse trailer advertisements in freebie magazines.

In reality the trailer in which the horse and rider arrive and living luxuries of the family are of little importance. What counts is how well the horse and the rider can perform together at the optimum level.

Cost of the horse or its proven ability don’t matter either if the horse and rider aren’t working together. Champion horses often are not champions when the rider and horse are unable to understand each other’s expectations.

However, horses many times take care of their riders, especially notable with children on well trained old horses. Not all good horses are high priced. Many well broke horses can be purchased for little investment compared to their ability.

Even today horses coming in expensive rigs often get beat by the local cowboys hauling their horses in stock trailers.

In earlier decades, horses generally arrived in pickups or farm trucks with stock racks, maybe no sides at all. Occasionally makeshift panels were tacked on flatbed trailers to haul horses. When trailers became more common method of horse transportation they were often homemade or one used for hauling other livestock.

The family generally slept on the ground with a blanket under their trucks. When name was called, those cowboys and cowgirls on country horses still took home the top prizes.

“Youth are the future of the world.”

What children learn during their growing years is foundation for coming generations.

First responsibility goes to parents. It is so obvious to see and hear how young people grow up to be like Dad and Mom. Their home life goes far beyond immediate family.

Having been well acquainted with a number of families for several generations, their heritage becomes very apparent. Besides resemblance in looks, boys and girls most often walk, talk and have mannerisms making it obvious their family background.

Even second and third generations can frequently be recognized as members of certain families. If pedigrees of livestock production are as important to selection as proclaimed, family heritage is no different. Good characteristics carry from one generation to the next along with the undesirable traits.

An opinion or philosophy of a grandparent, some even long gone, many times continues in their distant relatives.

Beyond close family relatives, everybody around youth today has an influence on what they become and can often be traced decades later. Of course, this includes school teachers, family acquaintances and everybody they meet on the street.

Cowboys have always been personal heroes and mental pictures of many come readily to mind in a very positive reflection.

While name of every horse in the pasture can’t be remembered, those ridden by cowboy friends of years ago are easily recalled. The cowboys and their horses left a positive impact that has remained for a lifetime.

“Some of the very best times most people ever experience are their school days.”

Remembrances of classmates, teachers, and many special occasions remain throughout a lifetime.

There are a few who claim to have disliked school, but even those always admit memorable activities while getting their education.

Accelerated study met college degree requirements, so had just shy 17 years classroom setting.

Although there may have been occasional not-as-much-fun days, none come to mind. However, there are heartfelt memories of every year, teachers, classrooms, including high school and college instructors.

Almost two dozen classmates went 13 years together from kindergarten through high school graduation.

While several have gone to the great beyond, the others remain friends today although many at a distance. All can recall certain school events together some more than six decades ago bringing smiles of happy reflection.

Sure, school is to get a formal education, but it’s much more than learning. Friendships, good times and bad, working together, squabbles, bruised feelings, scratched knees and broken arms are what school’s all about.

Nothing can replace all of the beyond-the-book learning that takes place while attending school.

End of summer nears and fall school classes are set to begin. Never has there been so much controversy such indecisiveness in all levels of education.

Some schools are plunging forward this week with students in classrooms. There are different and unusual guidelines causing qualms, uneasiness, and health concerns for students, teachers, and the general public.

“Abundant summer rains have sure made lawns green up and grow along with every kind of weeds sprouting all around.”

While lawn mowers have been busier than ever with operators sometimes complaining, mowing is easier than it used to be.

Old family photos and memories of some relatives in earlier days indicate there wasn’t such a thing as lawns.

When there was lots of foot traffic from home to barnyard green growth became almost nonexistent, just raw soil pathway. A hand sickle or scythe, possibly a heavy corn knife, was used to chop away intruding weeds and the like.

Sometimes planted tame grasses but typically native prairie extended into farm yards with Mother Nature serving as landscaper.

So generations-of-a-century-past typically didn’t maintain yard grass, but wheel-powered, blade-reel-rotating push mowers were prominently used in the 1950s. Memories of a couple such mowers a grocery store carryout boy was forced to walk behind after work aren’t that pleasant.

Not only did it become a tiring task in short order, but the mowers didn’t do a very neat job of cutting the grass. They were always dull and sharpening the blades was an almost impossible duty, especially for a grade-schooler. Plus, although seemingly simple in design, the mowers were mechanical devices and for some reasons were always broke down inoperable.

“What’s right, what’s wrong, what’s true, what’s false, who can one believe, who should always be doubted?”

Never in this lifetime, possibly never in all time, have there been so many queries go through the mind.

All make such a qualm, causing migraines for those who’ve seldom experienced even a headache. Then incorporate inconsistently forever changing stories, philosophies and opinions becoming most stressfully depressing.

Primary voting concludes this week with squabbling over tallies likely to continue for days. Some will win, most will lose, but who would have a clue if outcome is actually the best?

Working in promotions of sorts professionally for half a century never has advertising been so blatantly depreciating. All the name slinging, backbiting, degrading, it’s difficult to differentiate those being criticized from the boasting holier-than-thou.

Frequently those who are being defamed have gotten more benefit, certainly higher name recognition, than the bill-paying, humiliating opposition.

Despite most having positive intentions in the voting booth, it is an intimidating time of sorts. So many names, so many different choices, many times the first one remembered will get the ballot mark.

Whatever will be, will be, general election advertising is already underway. Possibility it could be ruder and more truly crude than recent weeks is highly probable in this uniquely strange environment.

Added to political controversies in today’s different world uncertainties are serious health concerns. No discussion warranted about the broad negative impact of any illness let alone a previously unknown one with no proven cure.

Help House, Lyndon, continues to operate under guidelines to keep visitors and volunteers safe. Appointments are required for the food pantry and shopping, and also for donation drop offs. Two bags and two boxes are the limit on donations.

Two adults can now shop inside for each appointment. Masks are required and temperatures are now checked at the door. Hand sanitizer and gloves are provided inside.

To schedule an appointment for the pantry, shopping or donating, call Help House at 785-828-4888, 4-7 p.m. Monday, and 10 a.m.-1 p.m. Tuesday to Friday.

School supplies will be available by appointment also, during the week of Aug. 17-21, 2020, for students who will not be receiving supplies from their school districts. Please call Help House to schedule an appointment.

Upcoming mobile pantries times, dates and locations are:

• Carbondale – 12–1 p.m. Aug. 11, Carbondale Church of Christian Fellowship
• Burlingame – 10-11 a.m. Aug. 20, The Federated Church
• Melvern – 12:30-1:30 p.m. Aug. 20, Melvern Community Center
• Osage City – 10-11 a.m. Aug. 20, Osage City Community Building
• Lyndon – 12-1 p.m. Aug. 21, Lyndon Jones Park

For more information, contact Help House at 785-828-4888, [email protected], or 131 W. 15th St., Lyndon, Kan.

“Be in my yard with your saddle and bridle Friday morning at 4:30.”

Ranch manager ordered the old wannabe who’d shyly requested to help gather a couple double stocked pastures.

It’s Flint Hills “shipping time” and a typical assignment for cowboys is rounding up short season grazing cattle.

Actually the younger family-member cowboy had 19 straight days gathering pastures, including those he manages and assisting neighbor grass operators.

Two personal mounts, obviously dipping deep into the feed bucket, are “show horses” and don’t take much to “real work.” Of course that brings snide smirks from “real cowboys” including the one loaning a “safe horse” from his half-dozen remuda.

Fortunately and prejudicially satisfying that big gray gelding had been started personally and used for stallion services a time. He didn’t “cut the mustard” as a breeder, nor as a “top cow horse,” yet fine for routinely checking cattle.

“Ruger” also works especially well when checking fence and waiting patiently for flood gap repair. “Just perfect” as the old wannabe’s loaner-mount, who the owner had ridden hard for three previous days getting pasture counts.

A couple trailers with horses and cowboys were already at the pasture gate with another handful arriving in short order.

“There’s nothing like riding your horse over the hill in the morning as the sun’s coming up,” Puncher Cooper always contended.

Somewhat rough skinny steers of widely varied shapes and colors from Mexico had been turned out about three months earlier. Blue skyline with occasional puffy cloud backgrounding green native grassland was picturesque sufficient for a rich man’s office painting.

“There have been more cancelations in the past several months than all of history combined.”

While that might not be a true statement, it actually could be and definitely seems that way.

Impossible to list all of the events which have been canceled, but the coronavirus shutdown caused many of them.

“The show will go on” has generally been philosophy of cowboy events for decades. It’ll be “rain or shine” kept action continuing annually until this year. Several of the longest running attractions felt obligated to cancel rather than face the high risks.

Decision was most difficult often with strong disagreement among leaders some still not giving in yet grudgingly permitting majority rule.

Postponement was an initial action for certain groups confident “things will get better and we can go on.” However, now many of those optimists have been forced to back off. They too have decided there was “just no way” to safely host an event under present circumstances.

While many contend this has been the most unusual year of all time, cancelations are nothing new. Sporting events from baseball to swimming meets to horseshows have frequently been canceled in previous years.

Reasons for not conducting activities have also most often been for personal safety. There’s just too much risk to continue with tornado warnings, nonstop pouring rain, and lightning flashes in the sky.

“We’re still going to have a carnival but no other special entertainment for the fair.”

A county fair promotions lady commented about their plans when contacting her for advertising as in the past.

Memories of carnivals from varied aspects for nearly seven decades flowed freely during the cordial visit.

Before proceeding though, important to briefly acknowledge the many variations in typical local and more major fairs this year. Changing almost hourly, nothing is like the past due to serious health and politically-initiated concerns.

A few fairs will go on with slight medications, while many have canceled and the remaining will be vastly different.

School carnivals were always annually anticipated, as all elementary students were expected to sell advance tickets. To encourage sales each class had a contest with an award for the student selling the most 10-cent tickets.

Carrying cash box, Mr. Fisher the principal came soon after the bell rang each morning to collect ticket receipts. A big deal for a third-grader who literally made himself sick working to sell the most tickets. That blue plastic Planters Peanut cup prize remains on the bedroom shelf unknown whether it was really worth the effort.

All day students, teachers and parents set up the carnival in the gym with special attractions in each classroom. Of course, one dime ticket required for each of the fun opportunities, and it was essential to try everything.

“That weatherman sure doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

A dozen times in just a few hours similar comment has been heard.

Every forecast is different and changes within minutes.

Not a month ago: “All this rain sure makes grass grow, but dry days are needed to get something planted.”

Last week: “It sure is dry. The crops must have a rain or there won’t be anything at all.”

Thunder crashes, downpour rattles windows, road ditches and driveway potholes are overflowing with water.

First complainer: “The weather forecast was no rain for five days, so 100 acres of hay were swathed into the windrow.”

Another neighbor exclaimed, “Boy that was a nice rain last night, those soybeans should sprout and grow now.”

Follow-up grudging response, “But all of that hay will take forever to dry, especially with the humidity, no quality whatsoever.”

Farmer down the road, one of the few with wheat this year. “Crop’s ripe and no way to get in the field for days. The wind flattened some of it, too.”

Forecaster on the 6 o’clock morning Ag Roundup, “It’ll be dry and sunny, near record high, a slight breeze.”

At 7:30, loading the pickup to head to the field, completely cloud covered, sprinkles, wind bristling tree limbs.

“Cows can’t have calves unless they’ve made love with a bull.”

The comment might sound snide or perhaps a not-so-funny joke to livestock people. Still it is a fact that those unfamiliar with animal agriculture sometimes don’t know or understand.

That’s off the subject, but there’s much more to it than male bovines having romantic occasions with female bovines.

The point-in-fact has been coming apparent to many cow-calf herd managers in recent weeks. Their bulls aren’t getting done what’s expected of them. From basic animal science, cows have estrus cycles when they become bred to have a calf after a bull’s lovemaking.

For a cow to have a calf, first off all of her reproduction system must be working right. Her bull friend must want to do a little proper hanky-panky and make a fertile insemination to start calf growth.

Before bulls are turned out with cows, today’s operators generally insist on a fertility check. An infertile bull is no different than a steer really; he enjoys romance but nothing will ever come of it.

However, a lot can happen from the day the pasture gate opens, turning a bull out with a cowherd. Generally nowadays more than one bull is with a herd to serve as backup breeding insurance.

Opinions vary as with most of agriculture, but usually it’s figured that one bull can successfully breed about 25 cows. So mathematically there’d be two bulls out with 50 cows.

“Make hay when the sun shines.”

That’s a lot easier than when it’s raining. There are less problems, it’s more efficient and most importantly the hay is higher quality, more valuable.

The ranch manager and a couple of custom operators plus a hay hauler put up headquarters’ brome faster than ever.

In just three days, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, about 60 acres were swathed down, baled and moved into storage.

While tonnage wasn’t as high as a year earlier, quality appears excellent without scientific analysis. Certainly, there wasn’t any spoilage in the field or dampness in the bales.

Efficiency of the hay harvest this year brought back not so pleasant memories of putting up hay for five decades.

It was a Dad and son task in the beginning. A five-foot sickle bar mower, rattle trap rake, John Deere twine baler and pickup truck were the implements.

No hay wagon, small square bales dropped on the ground to be picked up by hand to load the pickup. It was easier if one was driving the truck and the other loading the 36 bales. That often wasn’t the case as the baler had to keep going because rain was in the forecast.

The then-younger cowboy loaded one bale then drove the truck ahead to pick up the next bale. A small open-sided shed was used for some storage with each bale piled one at a time.

“Tom Sawyer eat your heart out.”

Uncertain what books grade school students nowadays want to read or teachers require as class assignment.

Back in the day, author Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer books were generally enjoyed by student readers. Nearly 150 years ago, Twain penned the series based on his childhood experiences growing up in western Missouri.

Likely considered just entertaining perhaps funny tall tales when read six decades ago, the stories are really more. There are life’s lessons throughout the books meriting review today by young people and their parents, too.

Couldn’t help but think about Tom when painting the arena posts last week. Tom’s Aunt Pauly told him to whitewash the 30 yards of nine-feet-high wood fence. Four dozen posts with a two-inch pipe railing around the arena don’t really compare to that job labor wise. Yet there is some semblance of the water-based white paint compared to the whitewash Tom used.

Latex or water-based paint costs less, can be thinned down with water and is readily cleaned up afterward with water. Oil-based paint costs more, is difficult to mix, thin and apply, cleanup is harder, yet coverage and longevity are better.

Tom likely made his whitewash with a sack of lime stirred into a bucket of river water.

Whitewashing the fence wasn’t as much fun as fishing but Tom grudgingly undertook the assigned job. When buddies saw Tom brushing whitewash onto the board fence they wanted to help, thinking it fun not work.

“He was the best man in the world.”

With Father’s Day coming up, appropriate to acknowledge the significance of all fathers. Perhaps seeming discernibly snide, nobody would be here without a father.

Dad’s exclusive uniqueness has been reflected in heartfelt admiration. Every father is different and generally better understood, often more appreciated as children increase maturity.

Yes, Dad was the “best man” assuredly standing beside his son for an only child’s wedding. That is not common but so right because Dad was the best friend too.

Always the one first sought for advice forever confided in whatever the situation, question or need.

Married already a decade and 40 years old when his son was born, Dad was everything in so many ways.

Dad’s most noticeable characteristic was having only one hand. Whenever little kids stared at his left arm stub, hand missing, Dad always jived: “Laura Mae (Mom) bit it off.” Then he’d reach into the meat case pull out a raw wiener, handing it for the smiling little one to eat.

Actually the hand was lost in a five-foot Allis Chalmers combine accident during the mid ’40s. Dad got his left hand caught and mangled while attempting to free the combine canvas jammed by stalks being harvested.

“Time just slips way but where did it come from and where does it go?”

Annual Memorial Day weekend tradition always brings such sad reflection of long ago.

Not only the cemetery stops and standing at gravesites of loved ones gone to the greater beyond. More so are all of the other tombstone inscriptions of those who were friends or from prominent families.

Just yesterday it sometimes seems when a family member was at side, and then gone forever. Only bits and pieces of memories, a few are vivid, mostly vague, much completely unknown.

Already four decades since Dad left in the hayfield four dozen square bales for his son to put in the barn. It was such an easy expectation of a skinny wannabe cowboy after a day at an office job. Yet the procrastinator shrugged “Not now, they won’t get wet, it’s not going to rain.”

Two days afterward beside his hospital deathbed still positive tone to voice: “Did you get the hay put away?” What seemed so insignificant minutes earlier all of a sudden was the most important thing in the world.

“No.” The hay bales were still in the field, but picked up in short order just four hours later. In ample time but too late for answering “yes” in the last  conversation with the world’s most important person.

Long gone by, the only child’s simple task undone remains forever uncontrollable haunt.

“Keep the throttle to the floor and don’t dare let up on the gas.”

Passenger advice was emphatically demanding as flashflood waters rolled up over the hood splashing harshly on the windshield.

Almost impossible to see as pour down intensity increased yet lights indicated a tailgater and left lane had traffic too.

With torrential rain, racing windshield wipers, heavy traffic, nearly impossible to hear the motor running.

Then sure enough one’s greatest fear, “The car died,” exhausted driver exclaimed. “It won’t start.”

Stalled in the flashflood with other drivers honking obviously shouting inaudible orders too while only thing to do was “pray.”

Almost impossible to believe, the car started again: “Keep it going.”

Far from out of trouble yet though as bumper-to-bumper traffic moved forward on the flooded city thoroughfare. Still difficult to see through heavy rainfall while waters continued rushing across the street and then came a red stoplight.

Only thing to do was take a deep breath, say another prayer, and start again when the light turned green. Fortunately rainfall slowed and sky lightened somewhat as leaving the city limits on the main highway toward the ranch.

Not quite halfway there, traffic ahead was visibly stopped by a trailer truck apparently jackknifed across the roadway. Pulling into the highway department’s gravel lot, other vehicles went ahead but soon came back looking for alternate route.

Getting to the ranch was now the only object, turning onto interstate to the east soon finding it closed too. By this time, flashing law enforcement vehicles and highway crews with caution signs were attempting to slow and direct traffic.

It was a far roundabout yet scenic drive as sprinkles continued with ditches and draws overflowing before ranch arrival. Two hours later than anticipated but extremely thankful to be home.