Cow Trails

We brought the young cows out of the mountains, those expecting their first and second calves. We’ll keep them separate for the winter. They do better if they don’t have to compete for feed with the mature cows. But when we put them on the road, they were lost without the older cows to show them the way. It took extra nudging to convince them they needed to walk home.   

There were only three of us to put them up and over the steep grade at Rawlins Creek, with Alan, our longtime helper, on foot at that. When we finally came out on top, He and Dave went back to help the rest of the crew who were putting the older cows through the chute for their fall vaccinations. I stayed with the young cows on my favorite horse, Jane, and with my border collie, Dot. We took the herd along the old stock trail that follows the river. Gary brought me lunch after a while and checked the lead cows before he headed back to the main herd.  

I’ve ridden this route many times. I rode it as a kid, begrudgingly taking turns with my sisters because we didn’t have enough horses to go around. And after I grew up and took a detour with the wrong man, I married Mark and came back to my roots. Mark was raised just like me on a neighboring ranch who summered cattle on the same range. He traveled the same route spring and fall - only he had his own horse and didn’t have to share! But there’s more.  

My Mom was raised in these mountains; her love of the land and the river lives on in me. The cabin built by my great-grandparents can be seen over the bluff along the Trail, safe from vandals, but victim to the passage of time and the river that erodes toward its foundation. When my folks married, Mom moved downstream, but never really left the mountains because of their herd’s annual transhumance. She didn’t ride horses, but was vital to the ranch in other ways. And every year, when she drove past the site of her childhood home, she paused.

Times are different today. I worry about the Trail in ways she never had to. There are more and more fences every year crowding our cows into a narrower and narrower lane. The county widens and “improves” the road annually. More off-road travel, 4-wheelers and side-by-sides, mean more two-tracks taking off in every direction. Invasive plants are moving in on our beloved sagebrush sea and we imagine no way to stop their advance – the weeds or the people.

But for some reason, perhaps I was busy moving the herd, perhaps it was the solitude. In any case, I took the day off from worrying. When the herd arrived at our destination, I waited. I tied Jane to a cedar, sat on the bluff and thought about my Mom and Dad. Thankfully I dressed warm that day. I told Mark I would've been in tears if I hadn’t. I soaked up the evening, the sunset, and finally darkness, trusting that the pickup and trailer, studded with lights, would show up eventually. And he did.

My Mom, Alma, on the Trail

heading home

timeless 

Balancing Act

We rode in the hills yesterday putting cows on the mountain, encouraging them to graze up high where the feed is good. After a record-breaking cold spell in October, this weather feels sublime. And with the calves weaned, the cows have a carefree attitude. They move off the dogs with agreeable, obedient movement. Gosh it was fun. The hunters are gone and we had the place to ourselves except for a traveling band of sheep.  

There’s a quietude in the mountains. An expectancy of what's to come. Soon - very soon - the snow will fall and keep falling and push us to lower elevations. We have one more pasture downriver that we’ll move to soon. There the grass lays waiting, a deep tan color, hardened off with maturity and frost, but luscious feed for dry cows.

Jesse, Mark and I made good use of another warm day today. We wound the calves from pasture to pasture and into the working corrals to sort by sex. We walked them by us in an alley to the sorting gate, the heifers “by” and the steers “in,” then turned them back out onto grass. Jesse ran the gate expertly, with smooth, methodical movements to avoid scaring the calves. They’re anxious enough just being in close proximity to us, so we move carefully to teach them that we won’t crowd them, won’t jump in front of them, and will give them time to think.

I carried my walking stick that I got at an auction this summer. It has sections wrapped in leather complete with beads and feathers. You know the look. A family member built it at scout camp. It feels good in my hand and is versatile enough to not only work as a walking prop, but can direct a dog or block the movement of a calf. Jesse and Mark drummed a beat on the corral boards for me, but I still didn’t break into war song. That would be silly.

I forgot and left Dot in the barn, so I rode my bike back later to get her. It was just before dark and the new house being built on a side road stood out in the fading light. Seems there are lots of people who want a country view. I don’t blame them, but if they keep coming (which they will) with new neighbors all around us, how do we keep the country in the view? For now, I just hope the newcomers slow down for my dog when they pass us on their way to town.   

I spent a couple of days in Boise with the grouse/grazing research planning team. We're on the sixth year of a ten year project studying the effects of spring grazing on sage grouse. I love the stimulating conversations, and after this much time involved in the study, can keep up with the research discussion. I got to spend two evenings with Callie which was a bonus.

Anna and Cole, who had a stint in Nebraska, have made their way back to Southern Idaho. We now have all our kids within 4 hours of home and I’m feeling very blessed.   

With so much to be grateful for, I wonder why I have this nagging anxiety. I’m thinking back to the weaning process of a few weeks ago. All of my worrying beforehand yielded a big fat NADA. Well, that's not entirely true, the weather turned on us five days after the calves got home. Adding to the stress, the ditch froze, and some may have not found the trough. Despite our best efforts two calves died of pneumonia. The point is, worrying did nothing to help.

I’m determined to face my emotional failings at this stage of life. Mark deserves that much. . . . On the other hand, sometimes my concerns are valid and acknowledging them is OK too. It’s the balancing act that makes a marriage, makes a ranch, makes a life.   

good calves on good feed

the new brace looks sturdy

kicking through the leaves in Boise's north end
tomorrow is Halloween!

research planning team retreat
photo by Dave Meusil