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In a span of five hours last Saturday, I went from one of the most remote locations in Texas (a hunting camp in the heart of the King Ranch) to one of the most hectic (I-35 in Austin). And while I much prefer the former, duty also dictates occasional sojourns to the latter. The forces that pull folks to such dipolar destinations are deserved of a study in physics. I only had one course in physics during my formal education, that being as a junior at Hollis High School. I vaguely remember vectors, something called calculus, and atomic particles. And I recall names like Archimedes, Einstein, and Sir Isaac Newton. But my informal education, led by instructors of similar acclaim with names of Suzie, Doc, and Li’l Annie, has instilled in me derivations of some powerful physical axioms. Just as an athlete psyches himself before the big game, the trip to King Ranch got me pumped. The Texas Brigades had the opportunity to host an "Advanced Habitat Management" short course for hunting lessees of the ranch. I traveled to Kingsville with Aaron Jennings, a sophomore from Fredonia, and August Huckabee, a seventh grader from Miles. Both were graduates of the South Texas Bobwhite Brigade last summer. As we traveled, joked, and recalled memories of last July’s camp (which was the only Brigade camp to ever host a hurricane), we also plotted our strategy for reaching two likely diverse audiences. Our destination on the King Ranch was the La Oruga Camp, operated by Holt Industries ("la oruga" means "caterpillar," as does "Holt"). The Brigades family was well represented by 13 cadets and at least that many volunteers and instructors. The weather could not have been more perfect, and the students (camp managers and biologists) were receptive. And they were soon enamored by the caliber of the Brigades cadets. As I sat back and enjoyed the glow of a proud father, I recalled Sir Isaac Newton’s admission that "If I have seen further than others, it is because I am standing on the shoulders of giants." If these young leaders and volunteers only knew how tall they made me feel. As I gathered my troops early Saturday morning, a troop of turkey toms called to me from their pre-dawn roost. I exchanged pleasantries with them via some owl hoots and hen clucks. If I’d had my "druthers," I’d druther have spent the day chatting with them than to have to go to the Capitol city. Departing for Austin, I found myself in an all too frequent dilemma: about to go into battle without a well-conceived battle plan. My opportunity in Austin was to speak to the Texas and Southwestern Cattle Raisers’ School for Successful Ranching. I’d known about the assignment for at least four months, but somehow D-day gets here before you’re quite ready for it. But we (I’m implicating the two boys with me) had four hours of road time ahead of us to plot and plan. I started by telling the boys that I wanted each of them to assume a position at the end of a continuum of goals: August would be the ultra-conservative, curmudgeon rancher who despises hunters, and Aaron would play the camo-clad hunter with no appreciation for livestock. One would be the immovable object, and the other an irresistible force. I instructed August to take a position at the far left, but then thought better of asking a rancher to be considered "left" in any context, so I switched their positions. We shot silver bullets for the next hour, recalling those that might be appropriate for our lesson. Soon we were cocked with a cylinder-full of wisdom from Will Rogers, Rudyard Kipling, John James Audubon, and Franklin Roosevelt. I assigned each of the boys a half-dozen quotations that they would recite at the exact teachable moment. Arriving in Austin, we learned that this year’s rancher school was the largest ever, with more than 500 attendees. My assignment was to "tie it all together," and I had the envious position of being the last speaker of the day. As I perused the crowd, I saw everything from neutrons to free electrons; footwear ranging from knee-high boots to flip-flops. I bit my lip and reminded myself that diversity is supposed to be a lynchpin of ecological stability. I called August and Aaron over for a sideline chat and told them we were going to scratch the exercise that I’d planned to begin the lesson. Instead, we would start with something called the "human knot," one of the exercises we use at Brigades to stress teamwork. And I scuttled the plan to have the two boys recite all the silver bullets. I had the boys salt the crowd with the silver bullets. I reminded them of something I’d learned while coaching Little League baseball: "Nothing quiets criticism like involvement." "Who should we pick?" they asked. I told them to focus on the women, as they’d be less likely to be turned down. The bleachers that surrounded us were full of immovable objects, but after applying a differential force, I pried a score of them from their seats to assist with some demonstrations. In the human knot, a dozen folks stand in a circle and join hands with two people across the circle from them. The result looks like a bird’s nest that any fisherman who’s ever flung a baitcasting reel would be proud of. Their task was to now unravel the knot without releasing their grips. It demonstrates the complexity in which ranchers operate in today’s world, and the importance of communication and coordination. Both groups successfully got untied. "Give me whereon to stand," said Archimedes, "and I will move the earth." As the next hour unfolded, I realized that our mostly extemporaneous approach seemed to be working better than I could have anticipated. And I give the credit mostly to my two fulcrums, August and Aaron. The lever that these young men afforded provided me with a tremendous mechanical advantage. We played "Run for Your Life," an exercise to illustrate the importance of brush cover to protect bobwhites from their enemies. And we demonstrated the inadequacy of Newton’s Third Law of Motion ("To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction"), because on the back 40, to every action (brush control) there are multiple reactions, some apparent, others more transparent. We closed this object lesson stressing camouflaged cowboy hats and compromise. As we wound down the session, I praised the landowners for their role as stewards, and encouraged them to always be students of their back-40 classrooms. I asked for a show of hands of those who could have accomplished what August and Aaron had done when they were 14 ... not a hand was raised, but the applause was spontaneous. At some point, the King Ranch will begin to bear the same pressures of human population that are so apparent around Austin. I hope it doesn’t happen so soon that I will be around to witness it, but August and Aaron likely will. So I asked August to close the session with his silver bullet, "One generation plants the tree and another enjoys the shade." Thanks to young people like August and Aaron, I think tomorrow’s oaks are well-rooted. "The good opinion of mankind, like the lever of Archimedes, with the given fulcrum, moves the world." — Thomas Jefferson. |
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