Pioneer Woman has some kindred spirits here in Texas

Head out I-10 West, turn south where the Smokehouse stands, wind your way through a few towns seemingly unaware and visually unaffected by progress or time, follow some lazy bends this way and that and you'll find yourself at the JTW Ranch, where this awaits you.



Talk to me about the green of that grass. No Photoshop here. That, my friends, is the real deal from the divine hand.

JTW Ranch is all about Texas Longhorns. Fat, sassy, lumbering, happy, grazing, ever-hungry Texas Longhorns. Did you see the picture of that big-ass bull I posted on Monday? My friend's father looks at that big-ass bull, aka, Fatty Lumpkin, as a sort of cuddly pet he can call to when he wants some company, or when he wants to scratch the head of an 1,100 pound barrel of fun with an enormous stretch of horns that can pierce him in any minute. Some people live on the edge. I was taught this weekend that if the ear of the beast you speak to recognizes your voice to mean food, then the lovin' is yours to receive. And it's perfectly fine to hand-feed a devil as long as he's acting like an angel.



However, if the ear of the beast you speak to hears vaccinations in your voice, well, all promises are broken and it will take containment.



As a matter of fact, they get a bit fussy if it's anything at all that does not have to do with hay or food. I learned last weekend that there is a whole lot going on behind the idyllic scene of cattle grazing in green green pastures. There's vaccinating and worming and protecting them from something called Black Leg. There's straws of semen, and, as it would go, artificial insemination. There's estrogen and progesterone and hoping for heifers and getting bulls. There's butt plugs that just the sight of make your own butt clench in horror but the mention of will send you and your friend into giggle fits. There's even horn conditioner.

Do you think that these creatures sit still for any of this? Hell no. That's why there's the chute. And even when they're contained there, there's still no guarantee. And that's where the cursing come in. It goes hand in hand, working the cattle and cursing. One minute, the little beauty in front of you is Butter Cup, and the next minute when she's squashing your arm against the rail, she becomes YOUDumbSumBITCH. The cursing sent us into giggle fits as well.



All cattle-speak aside for a moment, I learned last weekend that I can give a cowboy named Ray my phone number on a Friday night and he'll call me on Sunday and awe shucks apologize for not calling me on Saturday because he couldn't find my number. And I learned that after such a phone call, taken in the back of a truck while we were looking at the property and trying to count the pastures, I feel completely honest when I say to my friends, I still got it, and snap my fingers. And they are completely honest when they laugh at me.



Can we go back to the property again? Seriously people, look at that land. I sat outside on the porch and watched the sun rise Sunday morning. It was 39 degrees outside and as quiet as an untold secret. Slowly, the land, the grass, the sky, even the fencelines were illuminated by the sun. Long shadows stretched across the pastures. It was quite a show.




The whole of Sunday was like that. Beauty, colors and life everywhere.



But then again, the beauty of the weekend was not only what nature showed me, but what my friends showed me, what they gave, what they shared and what I thank God I am lucky enough to experience.