A Bull at the Ball

February 4, 2022

Maybe it was the napkins folded like wagon wheels at the Cafe, or my first glimpse of sleeveless sweater vests and saddle purses, or spittoons in the hotel rooms, but either way I was convinced that Kremmling, Colorado (circa 1972) was truly the “Wild West” and looked forward to my annual pilgrimage to the Middle Park Annual Bull Show and Sale every November.

First a little background on my love affair and association with Kremmling …. In addition to their herd of commercial (beef) cows, my parents were purebred Hereford breeders which meant they raised and sold pedigreed breeding stock to other ranchers in addition to raising beef cattle. This meant that Strang Herefords (my folks’ ranch) had to get out there and promote and sell their bulls at consignment shows and sales every fall. The Middle Park (Kremmling) Show and Sale was one of the premier Hereford shows and sales in the region, and only top notch breeders were represented at Kremmling every November. Each spring my Dad chose his best yearling bulls for Kremmling, and preparations started right away. The first chore was halter breaking which was often a challenge with these hormone filled adolescents weighing (1,000 to 1,500 pounds) who could see and smell their future (in the cows) roaming the pastures just out of their reach. By October these gentle giants were broken to lead and show and now were undergoing bathing, grooming, clipping and preparing to put their best foot forward for show then sale.

It’s worth a visual for a little side trip down this rabbit hole to explain the bull washing facility in sub zero temperatures (November) in the 1970s. Our calving barn was set up with two concrete stalls and an adjoining drain which was converted to a wash-rack during bull sale season. We’d close up the barn,crank up the propane heater, and get busy. We had three 55 gallon drums of water for bathing, each sitting up off the ground on iron braces with room for propane torch heaters to be placed under each one. Maym and I were thrilled to be recruited at an early age to help with the bull washing chore, as it was just a matter of not enough hands on deck, we were given the “underling and safe” jobs. Someone, usually an underling, was in charge of keeping the drums full of water, and rotating the pumps so that the chief bull washer — namely Ed had warm water at his disposal at all times. There were soapers and scrubbers (also a job usually reserved for Maym and me) and Dad shuffled clean bulls off the washing rack for drying and dirty bulls on for washing. The drying, also an underling job, was done with high powered blow dryers which put yet even more moisture in the air. This highly humid environment is one I might now describe as a bovine/propane/orvis-soap type sweatbox — like none other I’ve experienced or can explain, but it’s memory is as clear as yesterday. I’m not sure the smell and feel can be replicated.

Back to the Middle Park Bull Sale….Dad and Ed usually left on Wednesday with the bulls and tack, and Mom came with all of us early on Saturday morning in time for the show and later the sale. In 1972, however, the world started rotating on a different axis as Maym and I were summoned to go early with Dad and Ed. Not only did this mean missing 3 days of school, staying at the motel, eating every meal at the Wagon Wheel Bar and Cafe, but it meant we had “arrived.” Our services were necessary and helpful to Dad and as one of 4 girls born to a tougher-than-most rancher guy who likely might have preferred 4 boys, this was HUGE in my world; this also widened the divide between us and the “little girls” who would be staying at home with Mom and arriving Saturday.

The week was unfolding even better than I could have imagined. We were up at what Ed called “Oh-dark-thirty” and out at the barns by 5:30 or so. Whatever time it was, if someone arrived at the barns earlier than the Strang outfit, we were up 15 minutes earlier the next morning. That’s just how it worked with my dad. Timeliness, or crazy-earliness, was next to Godliness and virtuous in my Dad's book. We took care to set out out clothes so as not to hold Dad and Ed up in the morning. Once we arrived at the barns Ed Maym and I exercised bulls, while Dad stayed behind to clean and re-straw beds, fill feed tubs. There was often quite a bit of snorting, guttural growling and general bull noise as we walked/led our bulls in the dark often past other bulls The fairgrounds had security lights, but it would be a stretch to call it fully light in those early morning hours. Once exercised, we tied the bulls out on the tie rail and went inside to help Dad finish the inside cleaning. We hauled the dirty straw out by wheelbarrow to the straw pile behind the building. Then the bulls were again tied inside on their clean beds of fluffy straw for the day.

With morning chores complete, and bulls tied and eating it was time to head to the Wagon Wheel for breakfast and a warm up. We were careful never never to complain about being cold, though sometimes temperatures dipped well below zero during morning chores. The woman that owned and ran the Wagon Wheel was Peg and she was such a jolly and kind woman. She helped out with the bull sale and knew my Dad and Ed and thus took particularly good care of Maym and me. We had substantially more whipped cream in our cups than we did hot chocolate and there seemed to be a bottomless cup policy as well. They had cinnamon rolls the size of a half loaf of bread that were gooey and dripping with warm soft frosting and butter.

Loaded and filled with sugar we were ready for whatever the rest of the day held — or at least until lunch when we’d return for similar treatment. Maym and I slipped right into our support roles of picking up cow pies (or bull pies as it was) from the stalls, filling and offering water buckets to the bulls. We combed and cleaned bulls and did whatever Dad and Ed needed. We were mainly housekeeping, but were just happy to be along for the ride. We were especially happy to retrieve a cup of coffee for Dad or Ed from the Cattlemen's stand which meant more hot chocolate for us.

Side note…. There had been a lot of bull talk in the barn during the week around Rod Hinman’s fancy new herd sire from Canada; Dad and Ed were no exception regarding commentary and curiosity about the Hinman's herd sire, and they looked forward to seeing the bull soon.

It was Friday evening, Rod (and Jean) Hinman, hosted a party at their place for all the consignors the night before the show and sale. Dad and Ed were stuck with taking us to the adult cocktail party, and we were thrilled. We arrived at the party and it was a hub of activity, smoke, clanging glasses and laughter. A friendly crowd for sure, but one that I hadn't seen entirely in this light (or this lubricated state) before. Dad and Ed each partook in the festivities, and got caught up in the mirage of bull (talk) circulating that evening.

The crowd was full of characters, and none more so than Whitey Burns, the cigar chewing cattleman that seemed to have an affinity for story telling. He spotted Maym and me right away, headed right for us. He greeted us both, sat us at the counter, poured us a ginger ale, and leaned over to tell us a story all-the-while chewing his cigar. Then, mid sentence without a warning, he popped out his glass eye. That’s right, he just popped it out, and rolled it around in his fingers like a fine marble a few times, chuckled and popped it back into place. Now ….. there’s nothing popping out your glass eye to make someone feel welcome, I’ll say. I looked at Maym as Whitey sauntered away to charm other guests. We both covered our mouths and laughed so so so hard in disbelief. What had we been missing all these years?

Here came Ed. ”Watch this girlies.” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

And out the door he went with a twinkle in his eye only to return a few minutes later with a very large (2,000 lb) Hereford bull on a halter. Ed led that gentle giant right into the living room onto Jean Hinman's light almost white carpet. The bull had been shown and handled so much that he didn’t miss a beat, and didn’t seem bothered in the least by the ordeal.

“Here we go folks,” a rosy cheeked Ed mused. “How about a closer look at Rod and Jean’s new herd bull?”

Our jaws hit the floor in disbelief. We rubbed our eyes just to be sure, but yes Ed had the Hinmans new bull on a halter IN their living room in the middle of a very chaotic party. Thinking back… the adults in the room didn’t seem to be rattled much by this.

We left the party in a blowing snow storm and arrived back at Bob’s Western Motel to find a small 4” drift had blown inside around the less-than-tight seal around the front door of our room. The early morning wake up call came earlier than usual the next day. We were both still reeling from the cultural enlightenment from the night prior. On the way to the barn, Dad cleared his throat and said, “Now girls, there’s no need to discuss the details of last night with your Mom, if you know what I mean?” He winked and we both giggled and nodded. Ed just rubbed his achy head and chuckled, and said, “Good plan.”

The show and sale came off without a hitch and I think Strang Herefords had the high selling bull that year. As both younger sisters Lisa and Sarah quizzed us on the events of the week and the adventures of going early with Dad and Ed, we downplayed it entirely. This was our best kept secret.

“Did you have a ball?” Mom asked

“Yep,” we both replied.

After all ….. it’s not like we were going to tell the full story of the bull at the ball.

It’s so great to being one of the “big girls.”