As a calf roper on the high school rodeo team in the early aughts, I used to scoff at other teenagers’ inability to throw a calf on the end of a rope. Countless kids would throw a beautiful loop, dismount gracefully, jet down the rope, and … struggle. “Hapless” is the word that comes to mind. It wasn’t completely uncommon for one of my fellow competitors to burn through the 30-second time limit and still be standing there, their boots planted firmly in the soft dirt next to their 300-pound Hereford cross nemesis.
It made no sense to me. How could someone so handy with a rope fail to master the simple technique of throwing a calf? Just plant your feet, bend your knees, grab the rope in your left hand, the flank in your right, lift and flip. Throwing a calf, in my mind, should not be that difficult.
Of course, my self-proclaimed world-class ground skills were rarely put on display. It should be obvious, but for the uninitiated, I’ll point out that the first half of the calf roping equation is, you know, actually roping the calf. Let’s just say that was not my forte. If someone were to refer to my roping skills as “mediocre,” they would be doing me an immense kindness. Whenever I managed to get a loop over calf’s head, I looked like a fair hand. But those occasions were, um, few and far between. Across my less-than-illustrious rodeo career, roping and ground work largely remained two disparate pieces of a puzzle that never quite melded together.
I was recently at a meeting where a panel of small and mid-sized packers were invited to explain their processes and the challenges they face to a large group of cattlemen and women. It started out pleasantly enough – a good bit of education presented by one end of the supply chain to the other. But almost the instant the moderator opened it up for questions, the session devolved into a Festivus-style airing of grievances. Two or three very vocal producers monopolized the microphone, their voices growing louder and shriller with every complaint and accusation. It was as if the four people up on the stage (who, it should be noted, had graciously volunteered their time and expertise to be in attendance at this conference-turned-ambush) were responsible for every ill in the ranching and meat-packing industries. After a few minutes of this nonsense, the moderator firmly shut it down, and cooler heads prevailed for the remainder of the presentation.
It’s sometimes easy, occupied as we are with the success of our own patch of ground, to remember just how vast and interconnected the beef industry is. And it ain’t perfect – for anyone. But everyone – whether they’re a cow-calf producer, a feeder, a trucker, a vet, a packer or a retailer – depends on everyone else to make this thing work. The pieces may always not fit seamlessly. But more often than not, they fit, thanks to people like you who make it so.
