Weekly Posting of the Conservative Cow Doctor

Signs of Spring

Driving to the foot of Wyoming’s Big Horn Mountains each weekend for the past year has revealed how slowly the seasons change. It has been agonizing. Last summer was hot, dry and persistent. We were framing the second floor of our house renovation and the afternoons were bumping 100 degrees, temperatures unheard of in September on Pass Creek. Fall did hit one week in January, but it was quickly followed by three months of solid winter. I previously wrote of the snow-covered pastures south of Lodge Grass which contained no tracks because nothing could navigate the winter wonder land. Last week, it appeared winter had given up and spring had finally arrived. Consider these:

Because I knew ours would be a dry camp for most of the winter, I asked grandson Grant to dig a deep outhouse hole last summer. He dug so admirably it took the entire winter for the construction crew to fill his handiwork. This weekend it was time for a new hole but because Grant lives in Texas, it was my turn to dig. I used the backhoe. Surprisingly, the frost was out of the ground, and I was able to excavate down about five feet. No one digs in winter, so a new privy hole is a certain redneck sign of spring. Now to the second.

The Wal Mart bags are in full bloom across the Little Horn valley. After the winter snow smashes the forage and then melts, the emerging grass is too short for a couple weeks to hide the roadside debris. Much could be learned about a community by studying the garbage stringing the roadsides leading to town. There is a parking area south of Wyola which always contains collectibles such as sofas, easy chairs, appliances, tires, and car seats. Surprisingly, the inventory seems to turn regularly as if it were a neighborhood garage sale. Even though the Wal Mart bag bloom disappoints me, it is still a reliable sign of spring.

Horses slipping their winter coat is my final sign of spring. It is amazing. When you pull your saddle after the first ride in spring there is more hair stuck to your cinch and blanket than left on the horse. It generally takes three hard rides to slip off each horse’s winter coat. With all the hair floating around the horse barn, I am surprised cowboys do not spend spring hacking up hairballs like a barn cat and this brings me to my point. I have no point other than being thankful this nasty winter is finally in the rearview mirror.