Calf Branding and Horse Breaking - Varga Story Number 2

Having reconnected with my "Uncle" Bobby, I have had the opportunity to share my memories of the times my sister Jean and I went to live with his dad, my Granddaddy, in our childhood. Bobby, his sister Evelyn, and older brother James Vernon were my mother's half-siblings. I told Bobby that I remembered very little about Granddaddy other than he was very good-natured, and I really loved him.

The first time we went to live with them was in early 1945, during World War II. My mother was having a hard time taking care of us while working and it was very difficult to find a place to live that would take children as well. When my dad was stationed at Fort Chaffee in Arkansas, Mother went to work in Little Rock. A young woman also married to a soldier was living with us to share expenses. Children were not allowed in the apartment we lived in, but this young woman took care of me and my sister during the day while Mother was at work. We had to be very quiet and never go out of the apartment. Of course, we were eventually discovered and Mother was given a 60-day eviction notice. That may have been the reason we were taken to Granddaddy Varga's in Mount Shasta, California. Uncle Bobby answered the questions I had about not only the events I recalled, but gave me a fascinating look at my grandfather and the life they lived. These were some of our written conversations.

My strongest memory from that time was of going to a roundup of cattle. We ate food from what was known at one time as a "chuck wagon". I was watching cowboys throw a calf they had roped to the ground, then brand it with a hot branding iron. I was horrified and started crying because I could hear the calf's cries, and I knew it must have been hurting. An adult pulled me away. There were lots of people there, not just our family. I have no idea who's cattle they were.

That must have been the first time we lived with you, as I was only about 6-years old. I also remember around that time watching Granddaddy through a wooden rail fence as he rode on a bucking horse. One story I heard was that he once broke horses for the Forest Rangers. True?

"Your Granddaddy was a cowboy at heart and he loved working cattle. The ranch you remember was the Robinson Ranch in Shasta Valley near Edgewood, California. Your Granddaddy and your Great-Aunt Babalou’s husband (Shorty) went to work there in the 30’s (The Depression). Your Granddaddy didn’t have a job there at the time you were there, but always volunteered his services during branding time. He and Mother always loaded us kids up and we always got to go, too. At one time or another I think someone from the Varga family worked there until 1968. I even worked there for about four months. It was a great ranch for kids with ponds and creeks and hills to climb. There were ducks, fish, deer and cottontail rabbits to hunt. The women folk kind of turned us kids loose.

(Pinterest)

"Anyway, the 'chuck wagon' you remember was there to ensure there were plenty of supplies to feed everybody. There were usually 4-8 families plus numerous single cowboys that would show up, knowing if they worked hard they would get a free meal. All the women brought salads and desserts. The Chuck wagon furnished the tables, benches, pots and pans, beans, flour, salt, pepper and lard to fry up the meat for lunch and supper that night.

(Public Domain)

"The cowboys would round up some of cows and calves on horseback. Then a cowboy, on a cutting horse, would cut out a calf, rope it by the neck and drag it over by the branding fire where he would jump off his cutting horse, throw the calf to the ground, tie a piggin’ string around three legs and hold the calf to the ground. Then, another cowboy would run over from the fire with a hot branding iron, two buckets and his pocket knife. He would brand the calf, and if it was a bull, cut off its testicles, throw those in one of the buckets, reach in the other bucket, that was filled with antiseptic (It smelled and looked like creosote to me!), take out a brush and doctor the calf’s little injured area. The cowboy holding the calf would take the noose off its neck, untie the piggin’ and let the calf run back to its mommy. The cowboy would coil up his rope, get on his horse and go cut out another calf and the process would start all over again. The cowboys all switched jobs with one of the other boys when they got bored with doing the job they had. It always looked to me like every cowboy enjoyed it all, especially your Granddaddy. There was always a lot of bawling from the calves, mooing from their mothers, and yelling and hollering from the cowboys. I would think a little girl of six years would find all this exciting!! You might have helped the women prepare the meat for lunch and dinner.

"While all this was going on the women were cleaning and cutting up the meat, putting it in a seasoned batter of milk and eggs, then rolling it in seasoned flour, frying it in lard until it was golden and crispy, like Colonel Sanders' golden chicken tenders. They were also setting up the tables and benches, putting the salads and desserts on the table, setting individual places at the table with a plate, a glass, a knife and fork. When everything was ready one of them would ring the big triangle dinner bell. The kids came running from the ponds and creeks and hills and fields.

"The men came running from the pastures and corrals and barns and sheds. What a wonderful meal with family and friends and your Granddaddy. By the way Marilyn, that one bucket was completely empty by then! And you thought you were eating 'chicken nuggets'! (Smile)

(Paul Vernon Varga)

"Your Granddaddy did break horses for the U.S. Forest Service. In fact I have a picture, somewhere, (see above) of him on a bucking horse in the Shasta National stock corral there in Mount Shasta. He worked steady for the Forest Service from the late 30’s to around 1950. He also planted fish in most of the lakes in northern California. Most of the high mountain lakes were barren of any fish. Now they are brimming with Eastern Brook, German Brown, and Rainbow trout. The environmentalists are now trying to get the government to poison all of these lakes because fish were not native. (Stupid!)"

I have more recollections to come of the time we all lived together again in 1951. It's a wonder we survived some of these escapades! Stay tuned.

Peace,
Marilyn