When I first met a cute girl with blonde hair and pretty blue eyes way back in 4th grade of elementary school, little did I know that one day we’d be raising a family together while forging a long and winding trail through all of life’s sometimes wicked, sometimes beautiful twists and turns.  With our 19th wedding anniversary just around the corner, it seemed like the perfect time to share a poem that I wrote for Sam 18 years ago.  After writing the rough draft, I typed it out on an old typewriter that, if my memory is correct, my mom had used in college.  The original copy sits matted and framed on top of the dresser in our bedroom now.

She’s As Pretty As The Morning

She’s as pretty as the morning

when the sun gives you its first glance.

This woman clings to you,

your life ever longer to enhance.

Like the dawning of each day

giving chase to shadows of the night,

She helps you to envision

ideas and dreams hidden from your sight.

With the warmth of a summer dawn,

she wraps her love around your heart.

And you come to know that feeling,

is one with which you just can’t part.

She’s as pretty as the morning

when the grass is shining in the dew.

Just her laughter and her smile

makes the routine things seem new.

Like an early winter’s morn

with coolness heavy in the air,

Her soothing and quiet ways

instill and easiness everywhere.

There’s something about daybreak

that grasps and envelopes you whole.

So does this lovely lady

capture your spirit and fill your soul.

She’s as pretty as the morning,

and each one she’ll share at your side.

You’re blessed to have this woman –

your lifelong companion and bride.

Copyright ©  1995, 2013 Brad Phares, All Rights Reserved.

Some things in life are just better off being kept apart.  For instance, just consider oil and water or cattle people and chickens…

A year or so back after repeatedly passing by all the baby chicks at the local feed stores, our kids decided that they needed some chickens so that they could collect the eggs.  We finally gave in letting them get a few that we raised up and turned loose in an old dog pen for lack of a proper chicken coop.  After all, there was no long-term plan to all of this, as parents we just wanted to quit hearing about laying hens and eggs.  Parents just want peace and quiet.

In the kids’ eyes, everything was grand for a while.  Once we went through several laying rations and discovered the one and only brand that generated eggs – that also happened to be the most expensive one – we got eggs galore.  The kids were excited with their “free eggs” while we pondered this little venture knowing full well what the feed cost us.

The venture kept on going until we periodically would come outside to find scattered feathers and a partially devoured chicken pulled up close to the edge of the pen or half-alive and needing to be put out of it’s misery.  Being a rancher and not a chicken farmer, I had to make some phone calls to figure out that coons had found the chickens and would slip up during the night reaching in through to grab a chicken while they slept.  After several trips into the midnight air wearing only shorts and boots while toting a .22 rifle and flashlight along, traps baited with fish and set alongside the chicken pen, we thought the coons we no longer a problem until one more of the two remaining chickens turned up dead.  Again, I set the trap and on the second night caught one of the biggest boar coons I’ve ever seen.

Clearly, our chicken-raising prowess did not come close to rivaling our animal husbandry skills with cattle.  Down to the last chicken, we couldn’t see any point in keeping her locked in the pen and decided to turn her loose to fend for herself.  It’s at this point things take a humorous turn.

The sole survivor from the coon attacks.

This sole survivor has turned into a psychotic stalker following me at every turn.  In the mornings, a shadowy feathered figure circles the house peering in the windows and waiting for someone to come out onto the porch.  As we turn off the highway and pull up to the gate, she comes running to meet the truck.  The studio where I work on my paintings is by the barn and this freaked out fowl goes so far as to spot me through the window at which point she runs across the pasture, stops below the window, cocks her head to one side and eyeballs me as I work.

I’m beginning to think that our problem is poultry in general, as I recall some turkeys that the kids raised prior to these chickens.  Their goal was to raise them and then sell them at the auction down the road close to the Thanksgiving or Christmas holiday.  I enjoy turkey hunting so I had a higher level of tolerance for them and their antics.  Sam, on the other hand, despised them and I think the turkey’s feelings were mutual because they seemed to take great pleasure in finding ways of annoying her.  We started with a tom and hen Bronze turkey [then later picked up 3 more Bourbon Reds that were all toms].  The kids called the tom “Fatso”, which was a well-deserved name, and the hen was “Gravy”.  As I said, they loved to irritate Sam in many ways.  They would seemingly lurk around a corner and chase alongside her pecking at her rings or anything she carried anytime she came out the door.  With their long legs and necks, it was an easy, eye-level target for them.  They would sit on the porch and leave their droppings along the edge of one end of it, which further infuriated her.  Additionally, they would run alongside her Jeep at an astonishing speed while pecking at the shiny aluminum rims.  She would go walking or jogging to exercise at which time Fatso would spot her, and like a cheetah closing in on a gazelle, his pursuit was on!

“Fatso” in front with the Bourbon Reds behind him.

As Clint Eastwood aptly pointed out in his portrayal of Harry Callahan in the Dirty Harry movies, “a man’s got to know his limitations” so I’m pretty sure we’ll just stick to cows from here on out.  They’re ornery and we cuss them for their stubbornness but by now we’re at least beyond the learning curve.  I guess you’d say we prefer dealing with the devil we now versus the other options.

Copyright © 2o13 Brad Phares, All Rights Reserved.     

So… I decided to try something a bit different and set about writing some cowboy poetry with a Japanese twist.  Haiku are short poems developed by Japanese poets that utilize sensory language to capture a feeling or image that the writer has felt or witnessed.  Oftentimes, they are inspired by an experience with nature, a moment of beauty or moving experience.  Traditional Haiku poetry typically consists of 17 “on”, or sounds that are divided into three phrases containing: 5 sounds, 7 sounds, and 5 sounds.  Think of the Japanese idea that the Haiku should be able to be expressed in one breath.

Haiku have traditionally been focused on details of one’s environment as they relate to the human condition.   Considering that notion and how it merges with the subject of much of my writing or painting, and my practice in the Japanese martial art of Aikido, my curiosity and appreciation of Haiku shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone who knows me very well.  I’m not sure if anyone else has previously made a stab at something like this or not, but here is what may be the one and only example of cow country Haiku…

Summertime

Warm sun on my skin

And cool water for my horse -

Summertime at last.

Copyright © 2o13 Brad Phares, All Rights Reserved.

“How quick and rushing life can sometimes seem, when at the same time it’s so slow and sweet and everlasting.” ~ Graham Swift, English author

Just twenty words in one simple line, but they speak volumes with their brevity.  Nothing more really needs to be said… Hope you enjoy this evening shot of a full moon rising over a small water hole on the ranch [and Lake Okeechobee just beyond the horizon]!

Copyright © 2o13 Brad Phares, All Rights Reserved.

Say the words Swamp Cabbage around people living in Florida’s major metropolitan cities or to anyone from outside the state and you’ll likely find blank stares or puzzled looks in return.  A small minority might think you’re speaking of the Jacksonville-based music group of the same name.  However, every native Floridian knows exactly what those words mean – a delicious meal that in reality has nothing at all to do with the leafy green cabbage found at your local grocery store.

Swamp Cabbage is a stew made from the heart of the Sabal Palm, or as natives call it, the Cabbage Tree.  While I’ve never bothered to ask for, nor heard anyone offer an explanation of the exact origins of this traditional dish, I’ve seen in several places where the Seminole and Miccosukee tribes, along with early settlers all harvested and prepared the hearts of palm to create this meal.  Florida black bears often tear the bud end out of palmetto plants to eat the heart, and personally I’ve pondered whether the indigenous people and settlers learned about eating swamp cabbage by observing these bears and carrying it over to the larger version – the Sabal Palm.

No matter how the dish gained it’s popularity, it is a tradition that has been passed down through the generations here in Florida and is as well-loved today as it was back in those early pioneer days; so much so that LaBelle, Florida holds the annual Swamp Cabbage Festival in honor of this favored delicacy.  Despite a few variations that have come along over the years, there is one basic recipe that has been handed down from one generation to the next.  My brothers and I learned how to cut and prepare swamp cabbage from our granddaddy, and he could make it better than anyone I knew.

Without getting overly detailed or complicated, there are several ways in which to get the heart of the Sabal Palm, all of which lead to the death of the tree itself.  That being said, there is no shortage of these trees in South Florida and they grow rapidly.  Rather than a lengthy diatribe on how the harvesting and cooking process works, how about a couple of photo galleries to do the talking… after all, each one is worth a thousand words, right?

I accidentally laid these two photos down side by side and couldn’t help but smile when I saw how similar they were despite the years in between.

Getting Started:  Cutting The Cabbage

The first key to this process is to select the right sized tree – one that isn’t too tall but not too short either.  You also want to find one that has a nice, wide spacing between the boots so that you get a large heart when it’s cut.  Typically, cabbage trees in sandy areas [where pine trees are predominant] will not provide this.  They can certainly be used but it will take twice as many trees to yield the same amount as cabbage trees from marshy or open prairie areas.

The following photos in this gallery were taken in the early 1990′s.

The cabbage tree has a very high water content and as such, the ax remains the best way to cut them because they can gum up chain saws wreaking havoc on them.  Cabbage axes are made by starting with a regular ax.  Next, a wider blade with rounded edges or corners is fabricated from something such as an old bottom plow blade and welded to the original ax head.  The rounded corners prevent the ax head from sticking within the boots  and soft heart of the tree.  Regardless, there’s just something to be said for the classic methods of getting a job done.

Growing up, there were so many times that we’d ask Granddaddy to do a demonstration at school, fix cabbage for a 4-H meeting or some other gathering.  He even did it while I was in college when I needed to do a demonstrative speech for Speech class.  I filmed him and took still photos while he cut the cabbage and cooked it.  I can still remember the last place where I cut a cabbage with Granddaddy before he passed away.  The memory of that day and the countless ones just like it that came before that day are rekindled each time I cut and cook swamp cabbage.  Now, as I pass the torch to my kids by teaching them how to do it, I’m sure that he’s smiling down and enjoying it as much as I am.

A slightly blurry photo of my son Jared, as he takes a few swings while learning how to trim up the fronds on the cabbage tree.

Copyright © 2013 Brad Phares, All Rights Reserved.

~ Confucius, Chinese philosopher & Reformer

If you take the time to not only open your eyes, but to also look at things in ways other than what’s initially obvious then you will realize the full truth of this statement.  Enjoy this short photo gallery of seemingly ordinary items from around the ranch that show a much deeper level of beauty than first conceived.

Copyright © 2o13 Brad Phares, All Rights Reserved. 

The idea for this one – comparing heavy weather and the hidden, everyday burdens people carry inside that weigh them down – came to me after a few days of really wet weather streaming in from the Gulf of Mexico earlier this week.  

Heavy Weather

Heavy weather’s brewin’ in the sky

And trouble’s stirring in my soul;

Feels like my heart’s as dark and wild

As those cold, gray clouds that twist and roll.

I can’t be sure of what’s coming next,

No one ever knows what lies in store…

I’m just tired of hanging onto nothing,

Quietly waiting for something more.

There were many days now long since gone

When I was a high riding hero

But this morning I sit on my horse

Feeling like nothing more than a zero.

Running on eight years plus now,

I’ve had this run of hard living and tough luck

It’s kinda like cinching your saddle each day,

To a horse that never gives up the buck.

Like my persistent hardships and heartaches,

The rain just keeps on coming down.

It pools on horse hide shining

Then runs like little rivers to the ground.

Beneath this sweat-stained hat from Greeley,

A tattered slicker and old worn-out memories

Remain loosely draped around me

While heavy weather’s brewin’ on a coastal breeze.

Copyright © 2o13 Brad Phares, All Rights Reserved.

As wind is to the windmill, so too are thoughts and dreams to the mind of a man.  Sometimes they race along fast and furious, other times they drift more slowly…seldom are they still for very long.  ~ Brad Phares

Copyright © Brad Phares 2o13, All Rights Reserved.

Marian Dillard Pearce – an early photo

My Granny, Marian Dillard Pearce, grew up in Washington, North Carolina near the Outer Banks coastal region.  When Granddaddy was younger, he worked for a road construction company to supplement his income as he was building his cattle herd and he met Granny while working on a project in North Carolina.  As a young lady, her blue eyes, framed by wavy locks of shoulder length black hair, sparkled brilliantly as they still did beneath her glasses when she watched us grow up and bring her great-grandchildren by for a visit.  And I’m quite certain, that as a young lady having grown up near the Outer Banks, she had to do a lot of adapting when she married into the cattle ranching business and moved to Okeechobee, Florida.

Most married couples – and especially those who work together in business – tend to have an occasional disagreement, but I don’t ever remember one instance where Granddaddy and Granny ever showed the first sign of quarreling with each other.  As family trees grow and branches split off in all directions, so do the business interests.  As mentioned earlier, in the beginning years of their marriage, the family ranching operation still existed along with Granddaddy having his own cattle and eventually some of his own land.  While growing up I remember Granny keeping the books for Granddaddy’s personal cattle and keeping the meals rolling out of that kitchen.

Granddaddy and Granny [J.O. Pearce Jr and Marian Pearce] at their 5oth wedding anniversary celebration.

Like they do for most any ranching family, the day would always start before sunrise.  While Granddaddy was not a coffee drinker, each morning he would get up and start the coffee for Granny so that when she came to start preparing dinner for the crew, fresh hot coffee was awaiting her in the kitchen.   Granny would spend the entire morning prepping food in the kitchen before loading it into the cavernous trunk of her car [in the late 197o's, the trunk capacity was 21 cubic feet!!] for the trip out to the ranch.  Granny drove a Mercury Grand Marquis and this was back in the day when nearly every American car was HUGE.  This thing was built like a WWII-era Sherman tank… I swear, it seemed like I could have run laps in the rear floorboard space when riding in it.  Of course, seat belts weren’t required by law back then so if you got tired and wanted a little cat nap, then you simply climbed up onto the bench-like shelf between the rear windshield and the rear seat to sprawl out!  Loading the vehicle down with all the food was no problem and once it was in there, plenty of space for passengers was still available.

I couldn’t readily put my hands on old photos of Granny’s car at the ranch, so I scoured the web and found this old promotional photo which I edited.  This pic shows a 1978 model… I cruised a few miles in one just like it! 

Before two-way radios and cell phones were around to aid in communication, the cow crew basically planned to find a stopping point in the cow work as close to noon as possible, or as was more often the case, they might even just keep working right up until they could see the sun glinting off the windshield of that big blue car as it came along the dirt road leading across the wide open prairie and back to the pens.  She was often spotted as she turned off the highway and came through the gate by the hungriest in the crew that day and at that point, you’d hear someone shout “The dinner wagon’s here!”

Dayworkers and family members would then find a water trough or cooler to wash up their face and hands before forming a semi-circle at the back of her car as she popped the trunk under the shade of a tree or barn.  Someone would grab the cooler full of sweet tea while another would grab the cooler of ice and everyone else would search for any other items left to carry.  On occasion, the pots and pans full of food would be carried to another location for serving, but most often, the huge trunk space would double as a buffet line with everyone filing by to pile up their plates with Granny’s delicious southern cooking that she somehow managed to keep piping hot upon arrival.  The main dish might be country fried steak, beef roast, beef tips, meatloaf and either rice or mashed potatoes – both served with some good brown gravy and all accompanied by side dishes like cow peas [crowder peas], green beans, made-from-scratch Mac & Cheese, collard greens and a big brown paper grocery sack full of biscuits.

Stories of the day along with a few jokes would be exchanged and pranks would be pulled as everyone gathered together over the meal.  We’d all go back for second helpings and dessert, eating way more than what was prudent for anyone having to go back to work again.   Next, we’d help get everything loaded back into the car so Granny could go on back to town and deal with any banking or bookkeeping plus begin to prepare supper.  Once that was done, we’d pile up for a sweaty nap in the sticky midday heat if there was time to squeeze one in.

Everyone loved Granny’s cooking and looked forward to it each day.  If Hobart Lee was working for us, you’d be apt to catch him later in the day perched atop his horse with another biscuit in hand and another two or three in his pocket after having eaten at least that many with his dinner.

Nothing remains the same forever.  As with all good things, the end of Granny’s dinner wagon came too soon… Not due to her inability to prepare it, but rather due to changing times and priorities.   The dayworkers got their heads together and decided that a raise in wages across the region was in order.  They wound up getting a few extra dollars per day but lost a hot, home cooked meal in the process.  Having dayworked throughout South Florida myself, I’ve been on both sides of this issue, and in my opinion, I’d rather have a good meal than an extra $5 -$10 per day and a cold bologna sandwich.   Although those elaborate dinnertime meals have long since passed by, mentally, I still savor them and relish in the memory of those bygone days.

Copyright © 2o13 Brad Phares, All Rights reserved.

If you were plugged into social media outlets earlier this week, you were likely inundated with more celebratory posts and proclamations of exuberance over Earth Day than you could stand to see.  Some of you who are friends with me on Facebook probably saw this photo along with my somewhat tongue-in-cheek comment describing how I was oblivious to the “significance” of the day.  I went on to point out that when your lifestyle and livelihood depend upon the health of the land, you tend to spend each and every day conserving, preserving, and protecting it.

Ranchers have been focused on responsible stewardship of land and resources for decades because to us, sustainability means ensuring that the land is cared for in such a way that it will provide for the next generation. It’s all about the well-being of the animals and the maintenance of natural resources because everything is interconnected – a fact easily understood when you’re on the land each day.

“When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe” ~ John Muir, Scottish-born American naturalist and author

American ranchers are able to produce the safest, healthiest and most bountiful beef supply in the world while simultaneously minimizing their impact upon and use of available resources.  For example, consider the following:  the Environmental Protection Agency [EPA] reports that beef production accounts for only 2.8% of greenhouse gases versus 26% stemming from transportation; American ranchers raise 13% more beef from 3o% fewer animals today; each pound of grain-finished beef today is produced using 45% less land and 76% less water; and finally, more than two-thirds of grazing land currently utilized within the U.S. is not suitable for raising crops.  While thinking about those numbers, please bear in mind also that 97% of all U.S. beef ranches are classified as family farms with approximately two-thirds of those tracing their origins back two generations or more.

Ranchers have always been “earth conscious” no matter what day it is, and we do strive to do what’s right for the land, for the cattle, for ourselves and for you…wherever you may live.

Copyright © 2o13 Brad Phares, All Rights Reserved.

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