Rick Houser

As I have said many times before, growing up on a farm and in the rural part of the country was so much a privilege to me. I like to tell of the many parts of farm life that brought forth my happiness. Of course, being so close to the land and raising crops and running equipment could be pretty awesome stuff to do when you are a young boy. That is, at least I thought so and if I could relive my youth again I would more than likely want to go the same route I took before. However one of the parts I recall liking about the farm always took place away from the farm.

I don’t know why this part is seldom mentioned but raising and selling livestock wouldn’t have happened if we didn’t go to the stock yards. When growing a crop, we bought seeds and began the year of production for corn or tobacco etc… But for the growth of cattle or hogs, one had to venture off the farm and with our best judgement and taking a chance we would bring home livestock to put out on the pastures to graze and care for them as they grew to a size we felt was the right size to ship back to the stock yards. Sometimes, we would take a load of cattle to sell and just bring home the check similar as to when we sold our tobacco. Other times we went to watch the auctions as those days available for sale livestock would pass through the auction ring and if we liked we could bid for the chance to buy them to replenish what we were selling. A day at the stock yards was quit the experience.

Since dad gave me the daily running of the farms when I was 14, I got to go to the stock yards and make the decisions for our farm’s needs. That sounds like I was really in charge. The truth is I did get to go with a list of needs and wants. Dad also took no chances and always sent me with Weldon Taulbee as he was hauling our shipment to the stock yards and he had an excellent eye for the deals (if there were any). Being he went there almost every weekday, he seemed to know the yards inside and out. It was important to know how the stock yards were laid out. By knowing this a person could pass by many of the pens that were holding livestock I wouldn’t be interested in and we could go look at the pens with the type calves I would want to bid on. Each animal upon their arrival got a tag put in their ear with a number on it. That number was how you knew which animals you would bid on and if all went well they got the truck ride back to Fruit Ridge with us.

It seemed after lunch the auctions heated up so we headed to the auction ring and got as good a spot as we could in the stands so we could get our best look and be in a spot where the auctioneer could best see our bids. As I said earlier, I had a list of what our farm needed on a particular day. This was when I turned that list over to Weldon as he did our bidding, as buying and selling at the stock yards were not only tricky but there were other bidders there who, to say the least, weren’t the most honest of businessmen. Weldon knew who to deal with and who not. Believe it or not a major part of how your day was going to go began in the little food café where hamburgers, hot dogs and coffee or iced teas was sold. It was there where the buyers and sellers gathered and conversed about what was going on that day. Also in the café were the men who managed the stock yards and it seemed that no matter what stock yard we were at Weldon was a good friend of them all. It didn’t matter if we were at Wilmington or Maysville or Producers at Hillsboro or even The Cincinnati Stock Yards. He was liked. He was respected because he brought them a lot of business and he was one of the most honest men they got to deal with. With his notoriety as being a good guy it gave me an in road to being treated in a fair way.

The stock yards took up a few acres of land and were a world in its own. Of course it smelled like a barn but what was wrong with that? When we went to the Cincinnati stock yards we went to sell mostly so I tried not to venture to the side where animals were to go to slaughter. To me that was a grizzly scene I didn’t want or have to see. Now down there was a restaurant just across the street that catered to the livestock haulers and the farmers. They had the best open faced roast beef I ever tasted and for a big treat they served the best piece of pie one could find. Yup, for all the selling and buying and horse trading, this would put a fine finish on a day that I seldom got to experience and felt like a pretty grown up fella and big enough to represent my dad. (By way of Weldon , that is.) I should be said here that I wasn’t the only farmer who handed their list over to the man who handled your money as if it were his own. These days away from the farm yet dealing deeply in the farms business are some of the most treasured times from my years on the farm. This was when the farms success depended on my judgement. That was scary yet when it went well I felt so very proud!

Rick Houser grew up on a farm near Moscow in Clermont County and loves to share stories about his youth and other topics. He may be reached at houser734@yahoo.com.