One of the downsides of deciding to step away from an extracurricular organization (with which I'd been involved for many years) is that I miss out on having lunch at the annual Labor Day event. That lunch is traditionally served by T-Bones of La Crosse. If I absolutely must choose between the two, I'd go for the Northern Exposure sandwich, but the Garlic & Rosemary one is a very close second. Oh, and I normally don't care for baked beans, but T-Bones' version is nearly a meal unto itself, so a hearty scoop always goes onto the plate.
Fortunately, the office's family picnic has been having him supply lunch for the past several years, so I didn't have to worry about never again having that choice to make. And today I didn't even have to worry about making that choice. (Whew!)
But lunch is never complete without a chat with the T-Bones' proprietor, fondly known as "T." Because when you're talking to T, you're talking to someone who A.) clearly takes pride in his handiwork, and B.) genuinely loves working with people. And the man has lived and worked long enough to have something to share with anyone willing to shoot the breeze.
Today was no exception. My husband and I pulled into Myrick Park (where the picnic was held), and couldn't help but notice that the T-Bones trailer was larger--and possibly spiffier--than last year. T dropped by our table during lunch, and during the conversation he mentioned that his wife was a bit queasy about the investment at a time when, as he put it, "restaurants are closing their doors left and right." But he's apparently been a contrarian that way since he worked on his family's farm in the 1960s.
T told the story of how the 1960s saw a precipitous drop in beef cattle prices, and many farmers preferred to take the loss of rapping any bull calf on the head with a hammer than raise it to slaughtering age. T's father made him an offer: He would pay for the feed for any neighbors' bull calves that they would otherwise have culled if T would do all the work of raising them, and T would collect the "paycheck" at the end. T knew exactly how much work that would take, but he also knew he'd be a fool to say "no." So he drove the truck and trailer around the area and talked to neighboring farmers.
Enough were rattled by the market trend that he shortly had fifty head of cattle to tend. But by the time that the steers had grown large enough for slaughter, the market had rebounded (and then some), and the proceeds paid for his college education. And the business lesson of his father's brainstorm has clearly stuck with him since then. There's something more than ironic in the idea of learning how to buck "herd mentality" from cattle, but I didn't think to tease T about it just then. He would have liked that.
So, although my sandwiches and sides are long gone, I'm happy to share a bit of T's wisdom. But don't ever let that stop you from picking up a smoked pork sandwich (or two) and chatting with him if you're lucky enough to have the chance. It's money and time well spent.
