This isn’t much of a discussion anymore. Even in a rural place like Shattuck, OK, we have became not-really rural. I wouldn’t call us urban. But the majority are removed from the farm. This is a county of 4,200 people–total. Three small schools–no stop lights, lots of cows, wheat and hay when it rains and oil related jobs. First hour of the day, I have 26 eighth graders. There is only 134 kids in grades 8-12, so I see most of them. Great group of kids. But out of that class, only one has show animals. One other owns livestock. NONE of them have parents that are directly involved in agriculture as their primary income. A couple have grandparents that do. But they are eager and willing to learn. An ag-ed class may be more important more now, than ever.
And speaking of Urban. I got an email from a friend about an Urban that “may” move south of Fargo. Any of you that know or have known any of the Urban’s understands a message like this. I will try to keep this post short but once the topic of the Urban’s comes up…well, let’s just say that there are stories. LOTS AND LOTS OF STORIES!
Probably the most infamous Urban was Ritson. Arguably the best sheep person of all time. When it comes to the Mount Rushmore of livestock showing–Ritson is the sheep rep. This guy understood the game and business of showing livestock. And if he wasn’t having fun, something was wrong and was therefore about to change until it became fun. Probably at your expense. I learned more from him about stock shows than any other single person. It was a science but oh, so simple. He could make you feel stupid, yet you learned from it. Livestock legends knew that Ritson was smarter and better than them. And he may not even be the best sheep person in his own family. His older brother Kenny is an absolute legend–literally known world-wide in the sheep industry. There was also an older brother–Fred. I would like you to notice that Fred is a four letter word. The Urban family knows livestock.
I had the honor of teaching in Waynoka, OK. This was the home of the Urban family. The patriarch had passed when I started teaching there. However, the matriarch, Katherine was in prime form. Grandma Katherine as she was known to ALL, made the boys look like amateurs when it came to a quick wit, a sly smile and an absolute love to see those that work hard, do well. A book and/or movie should be done about Grandma Katherine. State and National baking contest winner, sheep nutritionist, nurse, vet, pep club, keeper of newspaper clippings, driver to all things and a saint of a lady. Name a show–any show–her grandkids won it. Sheep, pigs, etc. She used to come watch Kela win goat shows. She didn’t care. All kids were lovely and special! And if you didn’t agree, you could kiss her ass because you were wrong! (Her words as I watched her tell a school administrator, “All kids are special. They are lovely and if you don’t agree you can kiss my ass!”) One of the biggest honors in my life was being asked to tell stories at her funeral. HUGE crowd for a fun lady! I could go on.
Fred, or Freddy, has routinely called Odessa, TX home. But he isn’t opposed to bouncing from couch to lazy boy as his travels take him around the country. I haven’t actually seen him in over 2 years. But I have received “autographed” menus that were mailed to me from the Big Texan. Messages sent via courier from a pig sale in Snyder, TX. Birthday cards of 3 cwt women in thongs. And the random cryptic message from a friend. Typical Fred. I’ve got a wicked good story of Fred and I in his ’83 Lincoln with a load of pigs in the trunk at a rest area on I 35.
Ironically, Duke has recently asked questions about the fat guy wearing sweat pants that used to come around. And don’t twist this story into something sick, it isn’t. Grandma Katherine and Fred would come get Duke when he was little. Feed him cinnamon rolls, apple juice, cookies, cake and then bring him home. Fred would always give the kids M&Ms. “Here, put these in your pockets and don’t tell your mom.” The kids always followed instructions. Then there would be M&Ms in their jeans pockets. They don’t melt in your hands but they would dang sure melt when they were in the clothes dryer. DAMN! Lots of pissed off mommas!
I miss Grandma Katherine calling. I haven’t seen Kenny in years. I get to see Michael and Kashen a couple times a year. I often think of Ritson. Every time I hear the word “treadmill”, I think of Ritson and that big blue butt hog walking backward on a horse treadmill. I had asked him if he really could tread a hog backwards. He replied, “You give me a 12 pack and a hotshot and I can have a hog wearing a pink tutu turning cartwheels down that aisle right there. It ain’t no thing.” I don’t know about the hot shot part, but the rest is true.
Any of you that know the Urban family knows what I am talking about. I hope to see a Toyota pickup with several dings, a bed full of who knows what and over 500,000 miles on it parked in the drive. I need my stock show batteries recharged. And nothing does that better than an Urban. There ain’t nothing more rural than an Urban.
