Last week, we docked our sheep, one our favorite workdays of the year. It’s become a kind of unofficial reunion, as family making their way in Colorado, and other far flung locations, come out to pack lambs, let their kids run wild and eat street tacos. Former ranch hands show up as well.
As we took a cookie break between pens, Kem, his brother and sister lined up for a photo with a ranch hand (K.) whose been working out here for 30 years on one side, and a former ranch hand (B.) who worked out here when Kem and his siblings were about the age my kids are now.
“The OG Crew,” I quipped, as I snapped the picture. (Original Gangster, for those not up on their young-people slang.)
I swapped phones for a second picture, and they pulled in a cousin who had grown up with their dad. As I turned, I saw their mom leaning against a truck, an Original Gangster if ever there was one. I called her into the picture for a bigger OG Crew.
As I took the picture, I couldn’t help but think of the people who were missing. In the past few years, we’ve lost both my father-in-law and a ranch hand, and lifelong friend–f@&ing cancer. The two had lived most of their lives across the alley from alley from each other. Then there was the former ranch hand of the OG club vintage we had hoped to see, but his health prevented it–f@&ing old age.
Of course, this wasn’t the OG Crew at all. If we’d taken the photo thirty years ago, those guys would be looking on at a different lineup getting their picture taken. Because this is a fourth generation family ranch, we could go back like that a couple of times. I have nineteen consecutive dockings in my bucket and still, that’s nothing more than a snapshot.
The bulk of my docking years have been at this one corral. The first few years, we docked at the shearing shed corrals a mile south. Kem has pointed out docking corrals in other pastures, including the far north and northwest pastures. I’ve never been able to imagine getting up at dark-thirty to bounce along some of the roughest ranch roads to do this job. A friend used to say of another rancher’s docking, that when the whiskey came out afterwards, she’d pull a chair close and listen to his stories. With the OG Crew together, I got close to listen to the stories of the old days, to get a little closer to imagining.
K. talked about everyone taking a nap under the truck when the day got too hot. They’d finish up in the evening, when it was cooler. B. started telling stories about the inevitable runback and scattering of lambs when they tried to push them into corrals built for necessity, rather than the easy movement of livestock.
The day before docking, I’d arrived at the corrals just as Kem and a couple of guys moved the sheep towards the corrals. They’d been inching along, slowly so the lambs could keep up. I’d joined them in the buggy for the last quarter mile and was there when the sheep went easily into the trap. The lambs were looking around wildly, trying to find an excuse to scatter, but we hung back and they followed their moms.
It was as easy as they ever go in. Not one of those gathers we’re going to tell stories about for decades to come. Just a pleasant day when you’re grateful to be around the herd.
“It was because I have my A team,” Kem said.
He was moving the sheep with a ranch hand (O.) whose been out here for four years and high school kid out for the summer. O. seems well on his way to being next generation’s OG. He likes the work and the lifestyle. I don’t know how many years it takes. Just long enough, I guess, to put your stamp on a place, to get to the point when people start telling stories about you.
The high school kid will likely just be out here for a couple of summers. Not really the makings of an OG, but he’ll have stories about summers filled with riding a four-wheeler in the middle of nowhere, about these crazy rituals with sheep and cows. It’s an experience he’ll have because these OG crews keep showing up, doing the work, putting in their time.
Vegetarian Ranchwife 