Two Less Chores

Each morning when I look out my kitchen window, the landscape gets a little more muted. The winds of late are working on the leaves and the pasture grass is fading to golden from the tops down. Mark turned off his last stream of water. The canal that flows along our driveway will soon dry up adding to the melancholy I feel about the end of summer.    

The ranch has had two passages to mark the season. My border collie Kate had to be put down from a progressive neurological disorder. She was thriving after her midsummer maggot episode, but within a two-day period developed symptoms that the vet said would only worsen. She was 14 years old and her best herding days were behind her. We were all caught up; I say goodbye with thanks and no regrets.

Kate followed Beauty, my first border collie, and like her, tagged along whenever I worked cattle on foot or horseback. Kate, though being close to the ground, could always keep track of me, no matter how many zigzaggy turns my horse made through a maze of sagebrush. Collie’s have super powers. Wherever I paused, there was Kate. Always ready to read my position and keep the cattle together, headed in the right direction. Both of my female dogs had barrels of stamina. I always considered them good role models.

The second passage was taking our standby quarter horse, Sly, to a retirement home. He was getting thin, and being in a corral with other horses, it was hard to feed him enough to keep him in good condition. Our friend Lonna, animal lover through and through, took him under her wing. He’ll be close by for her grandson to ride. Max loves Sly too, calls him “Swy.” Mark has been worried about his equine friend, but the worry is gone now knowing Sly can enjoy some well-deserved senior care.

Sly has tended many an inexperienced rider, of which there have been many over the years. And he’s tended the current cow boss, Mark, as well, who could get more out of Sly than anyone. Sly could turn a cow hard if you were skilled enough to ask him. We left him on Marsh Creek, nibbling hay and nickering to the neighbor’s horses, close enough to socialize, but far enough away that they're not competition for feed.  

I can’t even imagine how many cattle Kate and Sly have herded. All over the home ranch, up and down the trail to the mountains, winding through quakies, fording creeks, navigating slippery side hills, doing our bidding and making the impossible, possible with their help. They and a long line of others just like them have been companions and helpmates since the beginning of this centennial ranch. They round out who we are. Seeing our life as a mini diorama, there’s the red and white cows, barns, houses, tractors and corrals, tree-lined canals and haystacks in a row, all with the enduring land as a backdrop. Then there’s the people, growing up, growing older. And in the margins are our helper animals, our invaluable colleagues: Rocker, Susie, Woodrow, Moses, Mater . . . . . The scene is only complete with them at our side.     

We've never owned one more beautiful

photos by Anita:

Max on Swy

me and Kate

For the Birds

October sunshine is coming through the quakie out our front door. My Dad brought me the tree from the Blackfoot River Mountains where they grow in abundance. The tree feeds my soul. It brings my Dad - and the mountains I love - close in. The quakie is in full yellow brilliance, but most of the color in our trees has been squelched by a super hard frost. The box elder and cottonwood leaves are brown and crunchy. Dang it, I hate it when that happens.  

We've enjoyed watching dark eyed juncos foraging on the ground and we identified a ruby crowned kinglet in the bushes. Audubon says these species may migrate further south or stay and overwinter here. We left them plenty of standing seedheads on weeds and flowers, trees and brush for shelter, and leaves and plant litter to hide wintering insects for the occasional protein meal. Our place looks messy at first glance. Well, second glance too, but I have a new term for it. We had a young woman staying with us that called our ranch an “ark,” a stopover for wildlife in a sea of harvested farm ground. One of the definitions of ark, expanding on the biblical one, is something that affords protection and safety. I like the sound of that. We’re not messy, we’re an ark!

It reminds me of another visitor years ago that gazed off our porch and said, “Looks like you have a good mix of native and introduced species!” He was right and we’ve laughed about that over the years.

Mark has been stockpiling pasture, leaving lots of growth for fall and winter cow feed. He found me lying in the deep grass along our driveway last night. I could smell its pungent aroma and when I pulled the plants apart, the soil surface was covered with worm castings.

Winter is staging her descent, but life abounds all around us if we pay attention. It's cozy-up time. We've dug the potatoes and laid in the firewood. Hay is in the stack and the pastures are brimming with feed. Weaning calves is on the docket for next week. Time to dally the loop and draw in the harvest.