Shel-Clair Farms

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A world of cattle drives, scenic trails

Story by Elaine Hobson Miller
Photos by Mike Callahan

With the strains of “Rawhide” swelling inside their heads, 18 intrepid cowpokes slap their hands on their thighs, kick their horses and yell, “Head ‘em up, move ‘em out,” as they ride off to round up the herd.

“I’ve always wanted to say that,” one of the cowgirls remarks.

It’s all part of the annual cattle call at the Shel-Clair Farms, a 1,000-acre spread that straddles the borders of Shelby and St. Clair counties off U.S. 231 South. Owned by Ralph, Randy and Wayne Bearden, the farm and ranch is home to row crops, horse boarders, trails and fishin’ holes. It’s also home to 150 to 200 cows that have to be mustered for weaning, pregnancy checking and vaccinating every spring.

shel-clair-farms-4“I started the roundup in 2009 as a way to get the cows to the barn and have some fun at the same time,” says Randy Bearden, farm manager. “We skipped last year because someone got hurt in 2013. But we decided to try again this year.”

No one got hurt this year, and everyone seemed to have a great time. Twelve of the 18 riders were Shel-Clair boarders, who are accustomed to cantering among the cattle without incident. Rounding them up from the various fields and meadows and pushing them to the pasture near the old corn silo is another matter.

“Stay behind them, because they’ll turn the opposite way if you don’t,” Randy tells the group before it heads out one steamy Sunday afternoon in May. “Don’t run them, because some of them are pregnant.”

After these basic instructions, the weekend drovers take off in search of their hoofed subjects. Some of the cows are down in the hollows; others are in the woods cooling off. As soon as a few are spotted, the whooping and hollering begins.

“Woo-hoo, get on out of there, girls,” riders yell at the reluctant cows and calves. “Giddy-up, whoop whoop. Move along.” Once a few of the animals start moving, the others follow. A handful are insubordinate, however, and try their best to avoid the horses. They double back into the woods and stop in the streams to avoid capture, forcing mounted participants to split into teams to rally them.

During the three-hour event, riders pass an abandoned, barn-shaped house built during World War II that has almost been reclaimed by Mother Nature. They climb a ridge, where a bunch of folks watched Alabama play the University of Florida several years ago on a giant, flat-screen TV run by a gas generator. They stop briefly at the creek that was full of trout until the river otters ate them, then listen to cows bellowing from a nearby pasture. A slight breeze moves the tree leaves and tall weeds, making the humidity a little more bearable.

“The creek runs out of a spring where the water is crystal clear and never gets above 63 degrees,” Randy says. “It has a few bass and bream now.” The Beardens also have an 8-acre lake on the opposite side of the farm where they allow the public to fish for a fee.

It’s their day job and more

Randy cuts about 400 round bales and another 1,000 square bales of hay each year to feed the cows. If there is an abundance, he will sell some hay, but the herd uses most of it. The number of cows varies when some go to market or have babies. He tries to keep 150 mama cows and two bulls all the time. “Most cattle farms in the state have only 30 to 40 head,” he says. “But this is how I make my living. I don’t have an off-farm job.” He says the money he gets from leasing 110 acres for row crops pays the taxes.

He sells the cows at the Ashville Stockyard, and one obstreperous specimen is about to make that trip a trifle early if she keeps trying Randy’s patience. “That’s Number 36,” he says of the stubborn mama who insists on running away from the horses and the herd with her calf at her side. “She does this every year,” he adds, as disgusted as a mother who can’t control her toddler’s tantrums.

Randy’s family started farming in Shelby County in 1929 when J.E. “Ned” Bearden opened a dairy farm in Helena. Ned and his wife, Irene “Ma” Bearden, raised six children on that farm. Their son Ralph and Ralph’s sons, Randy and Wayne, started Shel-Clair Farms in 1972. Tired of getting up before dawn for milking or at 2 a.m. to repair a broken well pump, they closed their dairy business in 2005 and transitioned to a row-crop and beef-cattle operation. They added horse trails and boarding in 2007.

shel-clair-farms-2They have developed 12 miles of scenic trails that cover rolling hills, cross small creeks, ramble through forests and pass by a waterfall. The trails have names like Open Range, Ridge Mountain and Hurricane Mountain. The Haunted Swamp, part of the Hurricane trail, is so named because of the cow skulls hanging from trees and various bones scattered about. At least, that’s Randy’s story.

The trails are well-marked, unless the cows have knocked down some of the signs. Day riders, who are just as welcome as the boarders, can’t pass the farm’s Sycamore Sally without stopping for photos in the huge tree’s hollow trunk. That may change, though, because Randy found a snake inside the tree recently.

When he’s not rounding up cattle by horseback, Randy rides through the property in a red Ford pickup with a Blue Heeler named Blue on the bed’s tool box. Blue paces back and forth, trying to keep his balance. Randy says he has only fallen off once.

After the roundup, which took twice as long this spring as it normally does because some of the cows were less than cooperative, Randy treats riders to pizza and soft drinks at his new barn.

Sharon Jones of Leeds, one of the farm’s original boarders, is a veteran at the Bearden roundup. “I ride by myself a lot, so I really enjoy riding with a group,” she says, between bites of pizza. “It hypers my horse up, too, so he’s more fun to ride.” Madison Sharp, 18, a recent graduate of the Alabama School of Math and Science in Mobile, is another boarder who has done several roundups. “It’s fun,” she says. “It’s interesting to watch my horse think.”

It was Jackie Cockrell’s first roundup, and she brought along her 11-year-old son, Colton. “It was very exciting,” says Cockrell, who keeps their horses at her own farm in Leeds. “I would do it again next year.” Colton agrees. “Yeah, that was fun,” he says.

For more information about riding or fishing at
Shel-Clair, visit its website @ shelclairfarms.com

Texas Longhorns

st-clair-longhorn-cattleWelcome to Springville’s Lazy M Farm

Story by Elaine Hobson Miller
Photos by Wallace Bromberg

Mack Morgan greeted recent visitors to his Lazy M Farm with a huge, longhorn steer named Moonlight on a halter and lead rope, as if the steer were a horse and Morgan was about to saddle up for a ride.

“Keep an eye on those horns,” Morgan cautioned, stating the obvious. “Approach him from the side.”

It has become a tradition for motorists traveling U.S. 11 through Springville to stop at Morgan’s Lazy M Farm to take pictures when the longhorns are out. Lured by the horns that give the breed its name, they call Morgan to inquire whether he has sold them if they are in one of his hidden pastures. This tradition may soon go the way of the romanticized Old West that the breed symbolizes, however, as Morgan downsizes his longhorn herd in favor of the more profitable Brangus.

“The beef market has gone up 150 percent over the past two years, and longhorn meat is too lean for most folks,” Morgan explains. “It’s a matter of supply and demand. There are so many old farmers getting out of the beef cattle business and no young ones replacing them.”

Morgan has always had cattle. His father raised Herefords before him, and Mack began raising longhorns 30 years ago so he could practice his roping skills. Soon he started selling them to other ropers and rodeo companies. He held roping events at his own arena behind the trees on the north side of U.S. 11. “We held round robins, where every header (the one who lassos the horns) ropes with every heeler (the one who lassos the hind legs),” he says.

Born 56 years ago in a former plantation home reduced to its rock foundations years ago, Morgan lived in that house six months, until his daddy decided he wanted to be off the road. There were five slave houses around the property when it was a plantation. Look closely, and you’ll see the remains of one at the edge of the woods behind and to the right of the stone enclosure that Morgan now uses for pens and hay storage.

Morgan started out riding bulls when he was 13 to get out of doing farm chores. He hitchhiked to rodeos in Mississippi, Georgia and North Alabama before he was old enough to drive. “Five boys from the Springville area all started riding bulls together around 1972: Clayton Bromberg, Barry Long, Doug Downing, Mark Cousins and me,” he says. “We taught ourselves, went to bull riding school, too,” he says. He went into the sport to prove a point to his father.

“I worked for him and was cutting grass, stacking hay on the side,” he explains. “I went to a rodeo and thought, ‘I can do this, and if I can win, I won’t have to cut grass.’ And it worked.” He also went to saddle-bronc riding school, but his heart was in bull riding, which won him more money than the broncs.

“As a teenager and through my 20s and into my 30s, I could win enough on weekends to support my lifestyle,” he says. “I knew my limitations, though, and I knew the bulls.” The only major injury he suffered was a separated shoulder, but his arthritis reminds him of the ones he either wasn’t aware of at the time or that have faded into distant memory.

From bull riding, Morgan went to team roping and “did pretty good,” he says. “There were lots of Saturday and Sunday ropings around Alabama.” Rodeoing became an addiction, one that helped him preserve his farm all these years.

st-clair-texas-longhorn-cattleHe hasn’t roped since his knee replacement a year ago, although a back operation the year before had already slowed him down. “It had become more of a hobby than competition by then anyway,” he says. “I can rope if I have to, though. I have a couple of Quarter horses. But the cows are so gentle they follow me across the road to the other pastures.”

Longhorns are known for their gentleness. Originating from an Iberian hybrid of two ancient cattle lineages, they are direct descendants of the first cattle brought to the New World by Spanish settlers in 1493. Their horns grow from the base, and their life spans are as long in years as their horns are in inches. Cows live into their 30s, bearing calves into their mid-20s. Steers live even longer because they don’t have the stress of calving.

Scalawag, 23, was a roping steer for many years, “back when I was good,” Morgan says. He has kept him around because of his 94-inch horns. “He won me a belt buckle a year ago,” he says. Horn length competitions, it seems, are quite common among breeders.

Steers have longer horns than the cows or bulls, because when gelded, their hormones turn away from muscle-mass and toward horn growth. Morgan’s biggest steer in terms of horns was Spike, who had a span of 104 inches when he died. “The world record a few years ago was 111 inches, but it probably has been beaten by now. It’s all about genetics and putting the right cow and right bull together.”

Due to their innate intelligence and gentle dispositions, longhorns are increasingly being trained as riding steers.

Moonlight, 16, who Morgan calls his “sweetest” steer, rides in area parades. “Sweet” is hardly the adjective most folks would use for a 1,400 pound animal with a horn span of six feet, but Morgan says longhorn steers are low-key and easy to handle. “Each has its own personality, and they come in a variety of colors,” he says. (The Texas Longhorn Breeders Association of America says there are no two alike.) “There are lots of speckled and spotted ones, solid whites, solid blacks, black-and-white ones, red ones, each with a different color pattern.”

Like the longhorns in Gene Autry’s Back in the Saddle Again, who feed on “the lowly Jimson weed,” Morgan’s herd will eat just about anything. They are a hardy breed, and will graze in hot weather and in the woods, even eating leaves. “But they won’t put on weight,” Morgan says. “Longhorns are the leanest of beef cattle, and not that tasty because they don’t marble. They don’t have the fat that other beef cattle do.”

Even though he doesn’t rope or ride any more, he keeps the cows because they force him to maintain the 380-acre farm that his father bought in the 1950s. Without the cattle, there would be a lot more bush-hogging, which would give him less time for his “real job,” that of landlord.

“I own two apartment buildings on Highland Avenue near St. Vincent’s Hospital in Birmingham, and I go to work every day,” he says. “I work all the time.” He cuts hay with only occasional help, and finds it stressful to keep all his machinery running.

“We’re real involved in the Springville Community Theater, too,” he says of him and his family. His sister, June Mack, is founder and director of the theater. Mack used to act there and still builds sets and whatever else his sister needs him to do.

“My wife and I have raised two boys on this farm, and it helped send them to college,” he says. One is at Virginia Tech now, the other is about to enter Nashville’s Belmont University. As to whether they will continue the family tradition, Mack can’t say for sure.

“One son is an Eagle Scout, and we kid him about turning it into a Boy Scout Camp when I’m gone.”