Once upon a time, if a cow was overly protective at calving, Dad and I would tag-team getting the calf tagged. The process was similar to professional wrestling, save the bright colors were blue denim, and tights were jeans. My father would try to get the cow going in a circle, with the calf and myself in the center.

As I’ve aged, we’ve dispensed with the tag-team. This is well. Today, my father would show me up, playing to the crowd at the age of 77, with one hand to his ear, begging for applause.

Instead, I mark down the cow and date of birth and wait a few weeks to bring the herd into the corral. There, old greivances get softer with time. If not, the odds are good to get a calf sorted off before its mother knows what is going on.

Helping me on the last day of April was my nephew Raylan, who is about to turn 12. He’s a big kid, with long, blonde locks that billow out from under his hat. Because of the hair, I sometimes wonder if he can see anything, but see he does.

The two of us would guide the calf into a small pen. There, we would push the calf into a corner. I’d take my time guiding the calf to a spot he could be caught, while Raylan shuffled his feet, looking nimble and pretending he could see.

At just the right moment, we’d close the gap between the calf and us. I became the tail guy, keeping a knee behind the calf’s backside. Raylan would swoop in, placing one hand under the calf’s chin and the other behind his head. Once I had the tagger, Raylan would bring a hand up to the calf’s ear, making sure it was positioned right.

For the calf’s part, he would shuffle his feet, looking nimble and pretending he could see. With a simple click, the tag was in place, and it was all over before it ever began. The calf, obviously expecting more, was released in an anti-climatic letdown.

“Nice work,” I’d tell my nephew. “Let’s get another one.” My nephew felt part of something and was grinning ear to ear. It was fun, but after a half dozen, it too was over before it even began.

“What can we do next?” he asked. On the farm, I’ve been thinking about that.

The next day, I headed to Flight Bar and Grill to be present for the announcement of the best burger in the state. On the way up, I was thinking about all the things I wanted folks across the state to know when it came to the families raising their beef.

If those consumers could see my nephew’s smile…, I thought.

At Flight, I met the owners, Matt and Marianne Pacha. They, too, were grinning ear to ear. In the interviews they gave that day, there was an obvious and sincere sentiment that they were overwhelmed that they won.

If consumers and producers could see that…, I thought.

There were also their future customers. All the folks that would hop in a car and plan a trip around sharing the 2023 Best Burger in Iowa. The memories they would relive, and the new ones they’d create, and all of it around a patty of beef, bringing together sunlight, grass and corn, salt and pepper, and good people across the state.

If the people that raised it could see that…

I made my own trip back last week with Shannon. The burger was as good as I remembered. As we went to leave, I spotted one of the owners behind the bar.

“I’ve enjoyed seeing all the good reviews on social media,” I told him, “but what I really enjoy is seeing how many producers have made the trek in just these past few weeks and enjoyed how you present what they raised.”

As far as what Raylan and I should do next, I know a burger he needs to try.