Two things each year demand to be written about as they occur. Christmas and Springtime. If you turn on your radio, you won’t hear Jingle Bells. Therefore, I’m writing about Spring.

I can’t think of a more exciting time of the year you don’t have to buy tickets for. The National Finals Rodeo gets me excited but I can’t afford to go. Super Bowl Sunday warrants weeks of anticipation, but needless to say, I watch from my chair at home. Springtime truly is better than both of those rolled into one and ... it’s free!

Seed catalogs usually start arriving in February, promising flowers and zucchini out the wazoo. I vow to plant some this year. Ads for bull sales begin to appear on my radio program, promising improved gains on our calves, more calving ease and better profits. I promise myself I’ll buy a better bull this year.

Green grass begins to poke its blades through the old leaves I never got around to raking up last fall. “I’m going to have a lawn just like the folks in town this year,” I silently promise myself. In short, I’m going to be a better person this year. Not even the NFR generates that kind of enthusiasm.

Then, one day, it happens. In the mailbox, along with the last of the seed catalogs the Denver post office accidentally sent to Zimbabwe before realizing the address said Brush, is a rodeo newspaper. Rushing to the house, I push all the seed catalogs aside to make room to spread the pages out. Pages full of news and ads about upcoming ropings and rodeos. Talk about a kid in a candy store. I pour over entry deadlines, locations, prizes to be won and associations that need to be joined. My heart beat increases to a level far exceeding any rate attained during the months of November through February. In fact, if someday it is destined for my heart to blow a gasket, I predict I will be found slumped over such a paper. **Note to the publisher: “Don’t feel bad. I went with a smile on my face.”

This is Spring in its purest form for me. Horses need help shedding off, new ropes need to be ordered and the pickup washed. I need to start roping the practice dummy daily and getting rid of the 10 extra pounds I gained this past winter. The Super Bowl doesn’t do that to me. It is Springtime, a dawning of a new year on my calendar.

I set out to accomplish every one of my goals.

After a day or two, however, reality begins to set in. Earlier calculations had failed to factor in time needed to be devoted to annoying things like making a living. Pushing their way into my dream world are corrals to be cleaned, pasture fences to be fixed, fertilizer that needs spread on the meadows and other non-glamourous time consuming activities. Last on this list, but unfortunately most important of all the reasons I won’t hit the rodeo road is ... well, I’m too darned old to run around like that. Have been for several years, actually.

Now for the rest of the truth. I’ll not plant anything from the seed catalogs. In fact, I won’t order anything. My lawn will just have to figure out how to deal with last year’s leaves and this year’s neglect. I won’t enter any of the ropings I got so excited about. You know what, though? None of that really makes any difference. Getting excited is part of Spring and I enjoy it!