The Cows Can Wait

Brief story about the recent olden days

    The Cows Can Wait

Our family moved to a ranch near the small town of Malta, Montana back in the mid 70’s. The ranch was huge. It was a cattle operation and this time of the year was pretty busy. There were calves still being born, branding dates were being scheduled and we were still feeding the herds as the pasture grass was not yet green. There were quite a few hands needed to run an operation like that. The mornings were filled with groups of two taking a pickup and trailer to one of the many haystacks on the property and loading the trailer with bales of hay. Once loaded, the journey began toward the hungry cows and calves who were always waiting near the fence gate, bawling and staring us down.

Once inside, one of us would drive the rig while the other climbed up the stack on the trailer, began cutting the bales open, and dropping chunks of hay off the back for them to eat. Feeding was the same process, day in and day out. It has been years since I have been around that life, but I  know many up in that north country who operate cow / calf operations and live that life still today. Their days are filled with feeding and branding and calving this time of year too. It is hard work, that life, but it is fulfilling. After any spring day was finished, you were tired. When your head hit the pillow it was lights out.

We had a TV in our living room in that ranch house, but when we first arrived back in ’74, there was no reception on any of the channels. So we adapted and listened to the radio. Music was our entertainment. The golden age of radio had long since passed. We had no set programs to hear like they did back in the 30’s and 40’s when everyone gathered around the radio after supper and tuned in. The radio played music, news and commercials all day, every day.  The cycle never changed. Ever. Except around noon time. It was then when we received our daily dose of actual entertainment. If we were feeding a line of cows, we would stop, gather back together in the cab of the truck, and listen. The cows could wait. This was our one and only point in the day when the radio had something different to offer, and it was always entertaining.

Most of us remember Paul Harvey coming on the radio at noon time for a few minutes every day. His stories were so meaningful, funny and thought provoking. He was so GOOD at his craft, a true professional, and we would all listen in and activate our imaginations to “see” the picture he would paint as he took us to some far away place with that.....voice.....a voice that was always so welcoming and always sounded so kind.

The story he would tell would often have a twist at the end that we didn’t see coming. His true art was in the telling. We couldn’t get to the trademark curve ball he would throw our way without the story, first. As he began his tale, his cadence marched us toward the heart of the story and the crackle in his voice would tell us when we were coming to the high spots. He would take us to a kind of Paul Harvey crescendo, like an orchestra conductor bringing the musical piece to a heightened peak. Then he would hold us there with a sort of “pregnant pause” that we all became so accustomed to over time; a pause that told us we had arrived at the twist in the story or the place where he would catch us off guard and bring a nationwide smile to each of our faces. 

His rhythm was in the stories and the stories were the songs he sang to all of us everyday. Those songs held us all together as we tuned in from coast to coast across America. If you don’t get just a little nostalgic when you hear his voice in your head, you couldn’t have been listening. Who else in our history had the ability to gain the undivided attention of everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, when we would all hear the words: “Hello America, this is Paul Harvey......standby for news!”

“The Rest of the Story” always delivered. We were never left hanging in the lurch nor did we ever miss the point he was making. He always kept it simple. He also told each story in a way which never took the chance of him losing his audience by tossing in a political rant or leveling a slur against any group or people. If he did take a shot, it was always a shot taken at all of us, collectively, including himself. His jab would be at the things that were common to everyone, like forgetfulness, the innocence of youth or the comedic wisdom of the elderly. I don’t know why we aren’t playing reruns of his broadcasts. Our kids should get a dose of this beloved storyteller. His stories were timeless.

We are so lucky those of us who can remember those days. Things were so simple then, no computers, no email, no smart phones and no internet. We KNEW less than we do today, but we LIVED in a way that gave us so much more connection with one another. You would think the internet and the information age would have brought us even closer together, and it did, in a sense, but we don’t really talk anymore, at least not like we used to.

I like going back to that time when it was all much less complicated. In my mind I can literally feel the way things were. It was different then. It was slower. The hands of time seemed to creep along and didn't race to chime in the next hour like they do today. As I go back inside my head, I can relive my place in THAT world, at THAT time. A time without fear and without worry. A time when we were all synchronized together as we tuned in to that lone voice to hear the man behind it as he spun his tale to us all.

Today, we are tuned in to the news and are bombarded with the complete devastation all around us. Our new normal has been brought on by this virus, political instability and POWERFUL storms with destruction and loss left in their wakes. It is intense, this new normal. The change has become locked into our faces, our lowered brows, our clenched jaws and our tightly squinted eyes. It has left us with a disconnect that looms over like a dark cloud that just won’t seem to move on and allow the sun to shine through.

Give me the peaceful calm of yesteryear. A time when something like a Corona virus didn’t exist. No stay at home orders, no masks, no hand sanitizer and no shortages of toilet paper. Take away the disconnect, take away the fear of mine and my family’s future. Take me back to a time when all I wanted to hear was those few words from that great American, Paul Harvey. The words that told us tomorrow will be good and that it would be much like today was; full and maybe labor intensive, but unremarkable and without worry. Take me back to a time when we were all tuned to that same gentle voice at the very same moment. Let us all hear the words as we sat in our pickup cabs in the middle of God’s country or drove through Times Square over lunch hour. The words that told us today was given by The Creator to be easy and without fear. The words which told us we were all in it together and that tomorrow WAS certain. The words that brought a smile as we got back to work without any scrunched up faces. The words that reminded us all of the deep connection we had to each other.

Shhh. Quiet. Listen. Can you hear him? ...... “and NOW you know, the REST of the story. Paul Harvey.......Good day."

 
It may be impossible to ever get back to the days before computers and smart phones, but maybe, just maybe, we can one day get back to a time when all appreciated those things which made us smile.  Paul Harvey made us smile.  If you remember his news and commentary, we are in a very exclusive club, you and I.  Memories such as these are the stuff that set generations apart from one another.  I smiled to myself as I wrote this. I hope you were a part of the Paul Harvey generation and that you were smiling too, as you read it.

Author's Note

Please feel free to offer any feedback you have after reading this story.

Reviews

[Christina Hill]

Oh my goodness ! I was a part of the Paul Harvey generation too. I grew up in a small Texas town and we loved our radio time both inside the house and in the car. Being parked down on the town square, radios on and suddenly, Paul Harvey. Many age groups could understand his message. I really can appreciate your story. You took me back to a time when life was secure and happy. Thank you for this lovely piece of work. Your style of writing is amazing. Please give us more of the good ole days. We all need more of what you have ! Bravo ! Sincerely, Christina Hill

[ToddK]

Thank you for this review, Christina. You really made my day with what you wrote. I had completely forgotten posting my story here and am very glad I checked in today. Thank you.

[augustus]

itten and so easy to be transported back in time when radio was the only method of communication. Thank you.

[ToddK]

I don't know what happened, Augustus, but your review was cut off on my end. I only see the last few words. Thank you for the feedback, I hope you can fill in the missing parts.

[augustus]

As far as I can see, the only words missing are :-
Very well wriitten and so easy to be transported back in time whwn radio

[ToddK]

I see now. Thank you for this review. I appreciate it.

[Samuel Dickens]

I was introduced to Paul Harvey by my 11th grade English teacher, whose small talk sometimes included something she'd heard PH say on the radio. Usually something clever or amusing, so I generally thought well of him. Eventually, I occasionally tuned into him on my car radio.
Hauling hay is the hardest work I think I've ever done, and I used to do a lot of it. A whole penny per bale I was paid, but sometimes a penny and a half. (We handled each bale twice--once putting on the truck, a second time putting it in the barn) Never light bales, but heavy, 60-80 pound things that consisted of johnson grass, blackberry bushes and a live copperhead. I was husky and stronger than any of my friends, but until I learned how to "buck" those bales, it nearly killed me. I'll never forget making $7.50 one day, (750 bales) the most I ever got for one day of hay-hauling. For years afterwards, I'd begin to itch and sweat when passing by a fresh mowed field of hay. None of today's 14-18 year-old's in their right mind would work so hard for so little pay. You know what, though? I earned enough to buy a few clothes and take a girl to the movies. Later, I bought a $100.00 car. (Several over time, in fact)
I relate to everything you say in this very well-written piece, and also long to re-acquire some of that which was lost. If that is to be, it must start with us. Forget the divisions we've been saddled with, and look for the good in others. Surely, there is still ample commonalty to bind us as one.

[ToddK]

WOW! A penny a bale. That's some hard laborious work for that money. But I completely understand. When I was 7 or 8, my grandad did the same thing with my brother and I. His baler made round bales...not the big ones like today, the smaller ones like those you were bucking only round. Anyway, he had a whole field of them that hadn't been picked up yet and they were starting to rot a little on the bottom. Our penny per bale came from walking bale to bale and rolling them over a half turn. NOTHING compared to what you had to do for that 7.50. Man that's a lot of bales to hump.

Thank you for the kind review.