I’ve always felt inferior to my hubby’s sense of direction. He can be dropped into any pasture, in any state, and know exactly where he is and how to get out. I understand that the sun is our guiding light, but when I say he has an uncanny ability, I mean it. His natural intuition is phenomenal.
It is so phenomenal that sometimes he doesn’t realize others don’t share in his superhuman abilities. Take, for instance, his directions when trying to guide our new intern to where he wanted him to pick up a trailer he’d left in a pasture. “Head that-a-way. Then head south and follow the two-track.” The two-track had been covered over by grass for quite some time. I found the intern at the junction of “that-a-way and south,” scratching his head. I was able to point him to where the two-track used to be and give him directions to the trailer.
I love it when a cowboy gives true directions – I can handle north, south, east, west – especially if I can see the sun and the mountains. Piece of cake! Yet there are often other descriptors to go along with directions, like events that occurred that not everyone may understand. For example, last year we had some trespassers on the ranch who tried to set up camp. When they fled, they left a backpack at the scene. A backpack with fishing and tracking gear that was valued at $1,000. It was left at a certain cross fence, on the north end of the ranch. So last month, directions were given to head to the “backpack pasture.”
Now, these directions would’ve been fantastic if we weren’t dealing with thousands of acres and if I’d been present for the great trespasser incident of 2023. When I asked which pasture was the backpack pasture, I heard, “You know the one – east of the river?”
Well, “east of the river” is a big target.
Event directions also usually involve people. So if you’ve ever gotten a tractor stuck or high centered a truck, congratulations. You are now part of directions on the ranch. “Hey, meet me in Marci’s pasture, just north of where she got stuck.”
These amazing directions work in the corral as well. “Hey, grab that cow over there and kick her out the other gate.” This is said in a corral holding 150 cows with multiple gates. Another favorite is when I’m asked to sort out the “blacker” cow from a large group of, you guessed it, black cows.
If I’m cued in on the happenings, I can follow those directions because a conversation that provides clues often precedes it. Perhaps there was mention of a long-toed cow needing to come through the catch. That I can follow.
Yet if I get pulled from giving shots at the chute to help in the alley and get those directions, I’m going to need some more information. Or if I just get home and I’m hopping in to help but have no idea what the plan is, sometimes I get, “You’ll figure it out.”
On the one hand, this is a compliment. He thinks I can assess the situation and follow the sequence. That’s a necessary skill. On the other hand, sometimes I feel like I just wandered into Narnia and I must figure out where I am and how I can help.
It gets even better when I’m expected to interpret head nods.
Me: “Where could I be of help to you?”
Him: Flicks head back and to the right.
Me: “Where?”
Him: Repeats motion. “Over there.”
So I head to the right.
Him: “No, the other over there.” Uses the same head gesture.
That’s when yelling comes in handy because obviously yelling the same thing at a higher decibel offers immense clarity. “OVER THERE!”
Now I’ve got it. I’m supposed to go over there …
I make fun of all the directions, but the reality is that over our decades of marriage, they are now making sense. I’m hoping that means I’m getting less directionally challenged, but I also think he’s getting better at directions. Just yesterday, he said, “Over there” and pointed. That’s progress.
I jest, but there is some truth to “insider directions.” If you’ve been around here, you know. If you’re new, you’ll learn. If you’re helping the neighbors, good luck because they have their own sets of directions.
Maybe we need to start making signals like baseball teams do; that way they are universal. Any cowboy could pat his belly and rub his head and the partner would know to open the nearest gate. What could go wrong there?
Over the years, especially as we’ve had interns, my cowboy has learned to speak in a way everyone can understand. He’s a great communicator. I don’t say that sarcastically. I mean it. He’s a great public speaker and looks for ways to improve everyday communication. It’s just that sometimes the directions are situational, and they change with new events.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go get an intern unstuck. Looks like the east pasture just got a new name.
