What can we reason but from what we know? -Alexander Pope
What can we reason but from what we know? -Alexander Pope
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Happy New Year! No, I’m not late getting this column to the editor, nor am I celebrating the Chinese New Year, which, by the way falls on Jan. 22 this year. Not that I would mind joining in the festive event. I don’t know if you’ve noticed before but it’s hard to keep track of. Last year it was Feb. 1, the year before Feb. 12, the previous one, Jan. 25. I’m sure these are pre-determined dates but to a guy who can’t remember his wife’s birthday, keeping up with a floating holiday is too much t...
The Christmas season is upon us. It’s a wonderful time of the year. Brightly lit Christmas trees surrounded by presents wrapped in colorful paper and bows join traditional school programs and church services honoring the reason for the season. Each family has their own special traditions that mark their Holiday Season. The Hodgson family has their own unique way of celebrating the upcoming season of gift giving. You can tell Christmas is just around the corner. Everyone in the family begins t...
This story will sound like it is going to be sad. Don’t worry. It is just the opposite. A few years ago Christmas Eve, my mother passed away. She had lived a long, happy and challenging life. A few days from her 97th birthday, she had emptied her bucket list. In fact probably several buckets, maybe even a barrel or two. Her life was happy because she and my father were married 67 years before he passed on. Another big source of her happiness was my little sister, Pam. Adding to her source of g...
I must share a secret with you. When Christmas season rolls around I feel, well, to be honest I feel kind of smug. Superior even. To be downright honest I think my Christmas is probably better than most. Christmas is a time full of traditions rooted in past life on the ranch, in the country, surrounded by nature. “Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house we go,” symbolizes our desire to return to a rural setting for special events like Christmas. “Jingle Bells,” “White Ch...
I just made a startling discovery this morning. Many of you may already know this. In fact you probably have known it for years. I’m usually the last on to find out. My revelation? Most people here in our great state of Colorado were raised in, of all places, California! How did I discover this fact? It was easy. It snowed today. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not accusing them of bringing the white stuff with them. Instead, I was able to tell because, in a quest to find a part I needed for a stock...
Darn, it’s that time of year again. Thanksgiving is here. That means another Thanksgiving column. Bummer. Now, don’t get me wrong, I like Thanksgiving. Heck, a day centered around eating a giant bird with bread, celery and spices stuffed where the sun don’t shine is hard to beat. Add to that foods most of us never see any other time of the year such as cranberries, sweet potatoes and my favorite, giblet gravy. Ever come in from a big day of branding calves, moving cows or baling hay to be greet...
Regular “Under The Wire” readers know I write a lot about cattle. They are a big part of any rancher’s life and I suppose we do tend to spend too much time thinking, talking or, in my case, writing about them. Today, as a surprise to no one, I’m going to do it again, however, from a different approach. This column is going to be about cattle being a big pain in the, how can I delicately say it? OK, just to be straight out honest, cattle can be a major pain in the “derriere.” Staying with the ho...
Closing The door? A book? The possibilities are limitless! Excuse me for playing word games with myself. I have developed a habit over the years of turning every significant event that happens to me into a column. Not real sure how this one is going to unfold, or more likely, unravel. The event prompting this column was Sue and I just returning from a closing with son David and his wife Kathy, who bought our cute little second house and the acre or so it sits on. I know such events take place...
If you live in the country you probably share a bond with everyone else who lives outside city limit signs. This common denominator is the lowly mailbox. Since prehistoric times (which means longer than I can remember) the mailbox has been our link with the outside world. Unlike our city friends, rural mailboxes have character. In town, a mailbox may be just a slot in the front door or a metal box on the front porch. Country mailboxes have character. Mailboxes are a sentry assigned to a lonely...
Today’s title is half of a thought that has been lodged in my mind all morning. The complete thought is “What do you do where there is nothing to do? That is where I find myself at the moment. No irrigation water to tend to. Cows all turned out on the hay meadows at home. I can watch them from my rocker in the sunroom, sprayed all the weeds around the corrals and buildings yesterday. Been to town to get the mail earlier. Mowed the yard a couple of days ago. It’s so hot and dry it isn’t even tr...
Alone. On foot. The Eastern Colorado Sandhills stretching as far as you can see in any direction. The second scariest sound a person can hear at that moment is the buzz of a rattlesnake somewhere very close by. Most would admit the thought of that situation might send shivers up quite a few spines. If this is the second scariest sound one could hear, what, you might ask is number one on the list? What bone-chilling, blood curdling sound could possibly top the rattler? A simple click. No more....
Well, she’s gone. I don’t know what I ever made me fall for her in the first place. Can’t remember what I saw in her. I must have been crazy. Ten years of battle, disagreements and constant irritation. The noise of tires taking her down the gravel driveway was music to my ears. I never really liked her, anyway. Yep. Old cow number 68 is gone. What’s that? You thought I was talking about something else? Shame on you. Number 68 was the most cantankerous, all around mean four-legged creature ever t...
Today has been an unusually boring day. That is notable since I have no doubt few could ever equal the number of days I have spent doing … darn near nothing! How I got this way is my own darn fault. I’ve always been a stickler for doing things just right. Admittedly, that rarely happens but I hang on to that goal. I truly don’t have the skill set required to pull this off but I still try anyway. Cattle, of course, are a big part of my world. Yesterday we gathered them all, sorted off the cows...
Sometime in our lives, we all have met someone we immediately connect with. Something just meshes and a sense of appreciation between both parties develops. I have been very fortunate to add several people to my list of close friends this way. A couple of days ago, however, I added someone whom I knew immediately would be on that list. His sense of humor and mine would be carbon copies. There was one thing, however that would complicate our relationship. I never really met him. He came to me in...
Today’s “Under The Wire” begins with a question. “How would you like to work at a job requiring 24/7 attendance at largely manual labor? As a reward for your tenacity your salary will arrive as a check once a year.” Yep, one annual payday every year. No bonuses, 401 K or retirement plan of any kind. “You would have to be out of your mind,” is probably most reader’s response. I said most but not all. One group will recognize their own occupation. That group, of which Sue and I happen to be me...
Everyone has their weaknesses. For some it’s chocolate, others cave in when it comes to caffeine. There are, of course, several very serious addictions that can affect lives. I have one of those. My addiction, while not as widely publicized as some, is not all that uncommon. I am addicted to ... horses. I consider myself a fairly ‘got it together’ type of guy until a horse gets close by. Then I’m gone. This is a habit, as many of you know, that is hard to break. It’s sneaky. Let me give you an e...
“Hello, Mr. Hodgson?” the voice on the telephone asked when I answered the ring. “Yes, sir. That’s me,” I said. “My name is I.M. Fullabulla. You recently filled out a questionnaire in response to a fax we sent your office,” he began. “Oh, are you the guy selling weed spray that keeps the thistle out of my hay field for seven years, or the man who was selling the oil I could put in my pickup and never have to change it again?” thinking back over the amazing deals I have been offered this week...
I was riding my horse checking cows a few days ago in a pasture bordered by a corn field. The cows looked great, every so often old “Freckles” was grabbing a mouthful of grass high enough he didn’t even have to put his head down to get it and the sun was beginning to take the fall chill out of the air. In this idyllic setting, guess what I was thinking about? Cutting corn silage. How weird is that? Stranger yet, it wasn’t my corn field. In fact, I have never owned a cornfield. If life keeps me o...
A good friend who lives several hundred miles away and I keep a pretty steady stream of emails back and forth between us. We met as college freshmen, had similar college experiences, went our separate ways upon graduation and with hardly any contact the next 30 years, wound up living nearly identical lives. He on his ranch in southwestern Colorado, me on our ranch in northeastern Colorado, both running red cows. Recently he emailed an account of taking his grandson on an elk hunt in the...
Earlier this morning I returned from, of all places, Heaven. No, I didn’t “bite the big one," “croke” or “pass on.” I suppose that is rather obvious since I’m writing this at the moment. While that coveted location is envisioned differently by nearly all, my idea of Heaven is a half section, 320 acres for those not familiar with the description, of Southern Colorado Sandhills. This particular morning the 12 inch tall clumps of wide bladed grass were covered in droplets of water from the ligh...
“Under The Wire” columns quite often generate some very interesting responses. Most notable recently is one from “Jean.” She emailed a most fascinating response to my “Miller Moth” column from a few weeks ago. Her husband remembered reading about millers in Yellowstone National Park being eaten by, of all things, bears. The harvest takes place in August, according to the article taken from a book by Fred Bear, evidently a well-known outdoorsman and archer. According to this article, bears climb...
Decades ago, our youngest daughter, then around 12, uttered a question to her mother and I that became part of family history and just this week popped back into my mind. Her question was, “when are we going to take a real vacation, you know, one without horses?” In those years we were rodeoing pretty hard, traveling across the country, not only pulling a trailer full of horses but also dragging along our young one, too little to leave alone. Horses, vital to our reason to travel, were always fi...
I have never considered myself a superstitious person, in fact I have made fun of friends who believed in any type of that behavior. I will admit, however, if it is genetically heritable, I may have the gene. My grandfather with whom I was able to spend lots of wonderful time, would hardly leave the ranch house on Friday the 13th. I do always try to carry a “lucky coin” in my jean pocket. Usually lose it in a few days. These coins come from a variety of origins. Sue gave me an Irish coin onc...
OK, I know this is a weird title for a column, even for me! As I sat at my desk cranking out a few “Under The Wires” Sue called from her office a few feet down the hall to announce, “it is time to eat.” always on the lookout for a new topic it hit me, “I’ll bet nobody has written a column about an activity everyone engages in at least three times a day (for me at least), every single day of their life! Here goes the first ever attempt at it. We may all be about to learn why no one has ever do...
An old joke asks the question, “Why do cowboys roll up the sides of their hats?” Answer: So three of them can sit together in the front seat of a pickup. I’m pretty sure there’s no truth to that since cowboy hats pre-date the crew cab dually. I wouldn’t have thought about it at all if something strange hadn’t happened many years ago. In an odd twist of fate, a large city newspaper began running this column. I was their first cowboy writer, I guess, because when the first column came out, my pic...
