Paul Marchant

I like to complain about the weather. So, with the changing of the seasons comes ample opportunity for dialogue – or at least monologue – on my part. The transition from fall to winter always offers up plenty of conversation fodder.

At the Marchant outfit, we’re not really the best farmers in the world. In spite of our botanical shortcomings, though, we try hard and we love what we do, even if we’re only mediocre cowboys.

I am by no means a farrier. But I do shoe several horses every year. Occasionally, I’ll shoe a horse for a neighbor, but for the most part, my clients reside at my house. They get my special family discount, and I get the special family bonus. I’m probably worth every cent they pay me.

In the space of five days last month, I aged nearly 30 years. At least, it seemed that way. My youngest daughter married her Marine on a Saturday, and on the following Thursday, my youngest son graduated from high school. Before anybody reads this, he’ll be in basic training with the Army in South Carolina.

As I suppose is the case with most ranches, branding time is a momentous occasion at our place each year. Despite the inevitable minor wrecks – like when 35 calves break and run just as you’re getting the tail-enders pushed into the branding trap – it’s one of those things that can be considered an event, rather than just another day.

I spent a few days in March in Fort Worth, attending the Texas and Southwest Cattle Raisers Association annual convention. My traveling partner had an old friend who makes his home in Sunset, just outside of Decatur.