That was always Doub. He had that big house and all that irrigated corn, but he complained worse than any wheat farmer will. A wheat farmer will tell you how he’s lost his crop five times to dust, flood, drought, hail, and rust before he finally admits that he’s harvested it. But I have never understood what Doub had lost. Maybe his perspective.
Anyway, I bought the rodeo tickets and went back to collect the others to go up into the grandstand. The seats were in the center section high up under the roof. We climbed up the aisle steps past all the people we knew, stopping to talk and joke some as we worked our way towards the seats. Edith, I recall, was especially lively that afternoon. It made her feel good to be among all the people, and everyone felt it, enjoyed seeing her, was glad she was happy; it was like she left a wide ripple of pleasure behind her. The women along the aisle took her hand, and the men slapped Lyman neighborly on the back.
When we reached the seats I settled Mavis and the Goodnoughs in their places with cushions to sit on, then I went back down to help with the calf roping. I had agreed to run the roping barrier, but that was all. I wasn’t going to rodeo anymore myself; at thirty-nine I was at least four years of marriage past the time when I still had thoughts of being a cowboy. Besides, I didn’t want to break my neck bucking off some horse or bull and leave Mavis to bury me. I had doubts about how much spadework a pregnant woman would do. The way I figured it, she would probably only plant me a foot under, then the dogs would dig me up and chew my toes and chase one another for my arm bones. The thought didn’t appeal to me. I was satisfied to watch somebody else break his neck while the people in the stands applauded.