My husband was pulling his hand through his tangled hair. My children were imprisoning themselves in the panels--kind of playing, kind of not. I was using pliers in lieu of a missing crescent wrench. Even our dogs lackadaisically crashed down into a shady spot beneath our tractor. With a tone of confusion, Wyatt muttered, “I thought this was going to be a weekend-long chore, but it feels like we’ve been doing this forever.” His optimism annoys me yet always gives this realist hope.
If it weren’t for his sunny outlook on our lives, we probably wouldn’t attempt much. I wonder if all ranchers have that innate sense of confidence. He dreams big and simplifies the manpower during the planning process. These corrals were no small feat; though time-consuming, they weren’t difficult. “They will just take time and money that we don’t have,” as we told everyone who asked about the unfinished project.
This is the third weekend working on the third leg of a four-phase, four-year project.
The Back Story
When I was pregnant with our first baby, we were building the first corrals. I clearly remember lifting panels and bragging about how strong I was several months into pregnancy-ha! We spent every bit of our profit on the working facility: tub, alley, calf table, and squeeze chute. We built two pens with continuous panels and old power poles.
The next year, we bought the most ridiculous three-point attachment that passed as a post pounder. With that baby now a toddler, we built our hand-me-down arena--myself and the toddler in the tractor and my husband blissfully ignorant of his risking life and limb to pound drill stem every 20 feet on a 100’ x 150’ arena.
This spring we are finally increasing the size of our working pens to accommodate a larger cow-calf and bred heifer herd. Though the two new pens and an extended run up alley are nice, they wouldn’t be useful without gates!
Perfecting a Project
Lifting the free side and swinging the gate 180 degrees to let Wyatt ratchet the clamp closed, I could see the sanguine shine wearing off of the project. He looked at each gate and had me swing it the other way. Looked at it another time. Adjust. Swing it back and look once more. Readjust, PERFECT! Do it all again on the next gate. Five more to go. The monotony would wear on anyone, except the realist. Four more to go.
When the optimist dreams with his head in the clouds, the sky really is the limit. The one I’m married to has planned out the most amazing arena for both working cattle and for his own and his kids’ rodeo futures. Every gate swings the right way; every post is aligned with the panel’s joints; and the alley is the perfect width for sending bred cows or bulldogin’ steers through. Three fourths of this plan is now the view out our back window, and I know there is more to do.
As a realist, I know there is always more to do. Nothing is ever done all the way, and like a marathon runner, I know these things take time and endurance. I know it’s my job to support and remind optimists that jobs will get done in time, maybe it will take more time, but it will get done. Or, maybe we can’t afford it now, but we will always make more money as long as we work and God provides. My favorite joint effort as a realist is helping weigh out the negatives that he’s overlooked. It takes a special attention to positive details for the optimist to justify buying a combine or haystacker “for the future” while the realist’s attention to detail is in possibly, just maybe spending that money elsewhere more effectively for the time being. That's more realistic; I’m a realist. Every ranch needs one of each, and these are the things an optimist needs to hear to become a perfectionist.
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