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BC Cowboy Hall of Fame to induct longtime cowboy, Norman Granberg

Sitting in the saddle comes about as naturally as walking for longtime rancher Norman Granberg
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Norm Granberg

Sitting in the saddle comes about as naturally as walking for longtime rancher Norman Granberg of Lone Butte.

He was born Feb. 10, 1925 on the family ranch near Taylor Lake and learned to ride a horse almost as soon as he was able to sit.

His wife of 66 years, Anna, regards her quiet husband as an expert horseman, but Norm prefers to dodge the praise. Riding horses and raising cattle is just something he's always done.

He hasn't gone unnoticed by people at the BC Cowboy Hall of Fame who will be inducting him into the Hall of Fame on April 22, as the 2012 Working Cowboy. The induction takes place at the Williams Lake Indoor Rodeo.

BC Cowboy Heritage Society president Mark McMillan says Norm definitely stood out as a qualified inductee.

"He's been here his whole life and been ‘cowboying’ all is life. We get tons of nominations and the biggest percentage is not accepted."

Norm will join the fraternity of many other legendary cowboys who helped to shape British Columbia through their hard work and keen knowledge of ranching.

Norm says he was surprised to hear he was chosen for the honour and adds he's feeling pretty good about it.

He figures the age of 13 was when he honestly became a full-time working cowboy.

"That's when I finished school. You couldn't go past Grade 8 in those days unless you did correspondence. It felt good to be done. I couldn't wait to get out."

He had been forced to start school when he was five so there were enough students enrolled to keep the school open. The minimum number was six and Norm says he, Leonard Larson and Pat Bell were the token five-year-olds who helped them meet the requirement.

His family owned ranch properties in both Lone Butte and Roe Lake, and they moved back and forth between the two at will.

His dad, Ellis Granberg, and uncle, Frank Granberg, were responsible for building a general store next to the former Lone Butte Hotel, but Norm was most interested in tending their 125 head of sturdy cattle.

"They were tough animals; kind of wild, and you didn't see fat cows back then. They ate swamp hay all winter, and if it was a good summer, they had good hay.

“If it was a bad summer, they had bad hay. There was no such thing as grain or alfalfa in their diet."

Most cows made their own way home by instinct when winter drew near, but there were always a few to round up, Norm explains. Even then, a couple would remain unaccounted for, he adds.

"Every year, we could count on two or three not being found. They'd fall in mud holes and die."

Feeding cows in winter was nearly an all-day task for young Norm. He would harness up the two-horse team to the sleigh and pitch loose hay by hand into the large hay rack. It was tossed off for the cows, again by hand, and then the task of opening water holes in frozen creeks, ponds or lakes was tended to.

Long openings were chopped in the ice with an axe, with care taken not to break through to water until the very last few hacks. Otherwise there would be cold water splashing up and all over him.

The whole process would take the better part of a morning, and in the afternoon, he would go through the same steps again.

Just as there is now, there were both warmer and colder than usual winters, but there were no such things as fancy insulated jackets and pants to keep the chill off. Normally, the young cowboy just wore jeans and long johns, topped with a sweater and a denim jacket. Then there was a cap with ear flaps for his head and always rubber boots for his feet.

In the fall, for two or three days, the stockyard in Lone Butte would come alive with cattle and out-of-town buyers who came to make deals with ranchers, then ship their purchases south by train. The tracks ended at Britannia where the train cars full of cattle would be loaded onto barges and floated into Vancouver.

Norm always enjoyed sale time, driving the herd from Roe Lake on horseback and joining others who came from the Bonaparte, Green Lake, Bridge Lake and other areas both near and far away.

It was the one time of year when ranchers were sure to have money in their pockets, and it was when their running tabs at the general store would be paid.

One year, Norm's dad gave him a calf to raise, and two years later, he was able to sell it for a princely sum of 3 1/4 cents a pound.

"I had to be happy with that because during the Great Depression, cows were selling for one cent a pound."

Later, when Norm had his own ranch and cows, he'd winter them for a time each year at Holden Meadow, about 16 kilometres west of 100 Mile House, where he had a hay camp. The only way in was on horseback or by tractor, even in the best of weather. The meadows were hayed in summer, using horses to drag the mower and rake. When the grass was dry, it was hand pitched onto a sling, which was draped over the hay rack and then unloaded into giant piles with the help of ropes and tall hay poles.

It was usually the job of children to set the sling's trip rope, and if it wasn't done properly, the sling would lose its load and the hay would have to be piled by hand.

Before winter set in, a sizable amount of dried food was always brought into the camp by tractor. Later, Norm would ride out periodically on horseback to meet Anna at the end of the plowed section of road to pick up fresh supplies.

One November, the temperature dropped dramatically while Norm was riding out to meet his wife and she says it was the first time she's ever seen him cold.

"It had dropped to 20 below really quickly. He wasn't very well dressed and he had a tea towel tied to his head to keep warm."

Those long gone days were tough ones, and now, he keeps just 10 cows on his ranch property in Lone Butte. Norm says he wouldn't be able to carry on without them. He still hays every year with the younger men in his family and puts up around 300 bales of his own.

Ranching is simply in his blood, and at 87 years of age, he isn't nearly ready to give it up.