Wish Them the Best of Luck

Carlton Ward Photography

Cracker Country is a once in a lifetime field trip destination bestowed upon elementary aged children in Central Florida. It’s a ‘Rural History Museum,’ based on the homesteading life of 1890s Floridians, with heavy emphasis on the rural. 

 

In the morning, farmhand and a mule demonstrate how a sugar cane press works, unless the mule is on loan to someone else. If it is, then the ‘strong boys’ of the class are forced to push the machine into motion while the rest of us sit in the dirt and gnaw on sugar cane stalks. In the afternoon, a lady in a bonnet and a long calico dress gives every little kid a turn churning butter on a porch. Then every little kid gets to eat one saltine cracker with a dollop of the butter spread on top. During lunch break, the kids who take piano lessons are allowed to pluck out a little melody for their peers on a rickety upright in the dim chapel. When I played, my friend Daniel sat next to me on the bench and pulled up the middle E key every time it stuck. 

 

Implicit in all this is the knowledge that while the little settlement may have been the home roost, all the true Floridians were out in the fields, driving cattle. Frankly, it’s as much of a heritage as us white Floridians can ask for. My high school friend Andrew is a proud fifth-generation rancher. His family has been raising and caring for cattle for pretty much all of Florida’s written history. 

 

Carlton Ward Photography

 Cattle take looking after. Andrew told me all about the intricacies of cattle husbandry, and which types of cows weren’t welcome in his herds because of their aggression, and which could stay until they hit adolescence, and which were the perfect animal for a pastoral life. He told me about the logistics of moving a herd of several hundred cattle to fresh grass every few weeks, and the network of cowhands and cowdogs that takes. He told me about shooting at coyote packs in the dead of the night to keep them from causing any trouble. It was a labor of love and the cattle were looked after, sustained, and cared for.

 

Our first year after high school was a big one for hurricanes. As my family stocked up on canned goods and potable water, I wondered, what did ranchers do with their herds in the face of a hurricane? The answer, according Andrew, was simple: “Take them to high ground and wish them the best of luck.” From someone who cared so deeply about the safety of his herd, it was a hysterical response.

 

It was honest, too. In a few words, Andrew succinctly described the responsibility we have to those around us, and especially those we care for. We can provide safety, companionship, food, water, and recreation, but we can’t insulate them from (if you’ll excuse an overdone metaphor) the big storms. Lately I’ve been wondering if that isn’t at the core of loving someone. My mom once told me that she worried so much because I was a piece of her heart wandering around in the world without her there to keep me safe. Loving is saying goodbye and hoping they survive and thrive until you can be together again, when you will feel slightly more control over their safety and your ability to fight off dangers. 

 

And I would be remiss if I didn’t make this piece about the COVID-19 pandemic. (Are we even allowed to talk about anything else?) We’re caring for each other as much as we can by wearing masks, staying home, and maintaining social distance, but I can’t hold the tide of the pandemic back from my parents house. I can’t stand on their lawn and beat back the droplets with a tennis racket, though I have daydreamed about it. Instead, I sit in another state and wish them the best of luck. And while, I’m sitting and wishing, I picture a clump of soggy cows on a green hill. Andrew took care of the herd everyday but the days eclipsed by hurricanes. Those days, he sat and waited. Then, when the hurricane was over, he rode out to the pastures and continued to take care of his herd.

 

Carlton Ward Photography

 

 

- Claire