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"Ya, gott to let the dirt rest." he'll tell you.
His and Lavilda's folks both came from the old country and they have the accent to prove it. He cares for his plantings like a mother hen. Loves to give tours of the place, doesn't matter who --- the meter reader, the UPS driver, or the visiting ladies. Everything is in precise rows with nary a weed anywhere.
Lavilda spends her winter days baking everything imaginable to put in the freezer in case of company, and her summers canning Antone's harvest. God forbid anyone should come to visit and not be fed! Antone allows her to keep chickens if they are securely penned up.Wouldn't want them getting into the garden!
The last couple of years, there's been trouble brewing on the hill. Old Charlie Sergis, who farms a quarter section down below decided it was time to turn over some of the field work to his boys, so they take care of the crops and he increased his herd of cattle about fifty percent. I was visiting with him one time at the mailbox and he told me he was going to realize a good profit because he wouldn't have to feed very much. He said we were living in a herd district and his cows could roam all over the place to graze.
I lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. I'd never heard of this district thing.
This past spring, it hit the fan. As soon as things began to green up, Charlie turned the cows out. To most of us, it represented a rather relaxing pastoral atmosphere. The big old white-faced heifers and their frisky calves were browsing along the road and drives. Most of us have fencing, so they weren't in out yards.
For Antone, it was a different matter. He had spent the previous spring and summer chasing cattle and making threats. Each time the cows got on his property, he would be out with the hoe and rake filling in hoof-pocks and straightening any plants that were shoved around, swearing under his breath. Toward the end of July some of the neighors witnessed a flare-up with Antone threatening to get a lawyer and take Charlie to court.Charlie smiled good-naturedly while his dogs drove the cows back down to the road. He told Antone if he didn't have all that nice green grass, the cows wouldn't be u his way so much. He reminded him again of the herd district law and advised him to fence his entire property to eliminate the problem. Antone was adamant. It was his land, bought and paid for, and Charlie's responsibility to keep his cattle off. Besides, he wasn't made of money, and fencing cost plenty.
As I started to say, this last spring things got serious. We were witnessing a Hatfield-McCoy situation. The cows were wandering around at will twenty-four hours a day, filling their bellies with grass while the calves scampered about cutting didos. Antone spent a good share of his time chasing them with his pitchfork, the rest making repairs.
One morning, just after day-light, the sound of gun shots perforated the air. I ran out front and saw several other neighbors pointing up-hill toward the Buchozers. There were cows all over the yard. The chickens were squawking, Lavilda was running around waving her apron while Antone stood firm, shot-gun pointing at the sky, firing away.
Charlie came roaring up the road as fast as his old pick-up would go, two dogs leaning out over the bed of the truck barking their best. The other neighbors and I must have had the same thought -- get over there and try to de-fuse the situation. I sprinted across my side yard as fast as my arthritis sould let me run and crawled under the fence, meeting the rest of the rescue squad in Antone's drive.
Lavilda was running back and forth between the cows and her husband, screaming "Oh Mein Gott, Antone, don't kill nuthin'!"
The pick-up came to a screeching halt, spilling Charlie and the dogs in the middle of the herd. He ran toward Antone,waving his arms in the air yelling, "Don't shoot, don't shoot!"
Antone held the gun over his head, cussing in German, his face beet-red as they met nose to nose between two heifers. The rest of us crowded in to listen.
Antone shook his fist in Charlie's face. "Once more, just once more, Sergis, and yer gonna' be missin' a bunch 'a cows and my freezer's gonna' be full! Svindhundt!!"
Charlie lifted his cap and scratched his head, grinning. "I'll send Georgie over to help with the yard after school," he said, whacking one of the cows on the rump. "Better get you some fence up," he remarked as he turned back to his truck.
This didn't end it by a far cry. Within a few days, the cows were back. I was out hoeing the garden about sunset and saw Antone running them down the drive.
Next day when I went for the mail there was a big sign posted next to the rail that holds our mail and paper boxes. BARBEQUE SATURDAY NIGHT, 6:00 .COME OVER, BRING THE KIDS.
signed
Antone Buchozer
None of us were about to miss this. When we gathered at Antone and
Lavilda's that next Saturday night, the tantalizing aroma of cooked beef
wafted out of a pit in the back yard. Lavilda had tables filled with hugh
bowls of potato salad, plates heaped with pickles, olives and shoe-string
carrots. There were two big pots of coffee and a tub of canned pop. One
table was loaded down with pies and cakes.Antone was at his finest. A big white apron covered his ample middle as he filled platters with meat, smiling and making 'glad ta see ya' talk as he carved. Charlie and his family stood to one side of the group, talking quietly among themselves, not mingling or eating. Tthey left soon after I arrived.
Next morning I observed the Sabboth by sitting on my front porch admiring God's handiwork and watching Charlie wander around his pasture counting cows. I have never heard where the beef came from. The cows now seem to be pretty well confined to the pasture, and I have a hunch Antone won't need to build a fence.
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