Paul Marchant

Three or four years ago, in an effort to keep up with the world and keep an eye on my kids, I took a bold leap and entered the modern world when I got my own Facebook page. It took some tutoring, and I had to endure a fair amount of ridicule and impatience from my kids, but I eventually learned my way around the rage of the social media world.

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.