Searching for Hallelujah

Mark and I go to the heifers every day first thing. We drive through Anna and Cole’s yard to get to the cattle. Yesterday I had to be gone so Anna bundled up baby Lou and came out to help Mark. She flaked off the hay and Lou fell asleep in Mark’s arms as he was driving. I’ve had this picture in my head for a while now and it’s a “pinch me” affair to grasp that it’s real.

It was minus 11 degrees this morning. I’m not complaining, ranchers east of us have it much worse. It’s hard enough to keep water troughs open and equipment operating at these temperatures, but 40-50 degrees below zero? Mark has taken to reading the weather forecast out loud to me. It’s understandable, the ranch lives and dies by nature's whims. 

To add to the difficulties, the water trough at the steer calves went dry. This is an emergency because after they eat they head for a drink. Cattle panic without water and pile and shove against each other when competing at the trough. Seems counterintuitive in this frigid weather, but a good drink is critical for keeping the cattle healthy under weather stress of any kind. Seth got them watered at another source and it took all day to get the trough up and going again. Mark came in at dusk very relieved.

Large numbers of elk are hanging around the neighborhood. A long line went past us as we were feeding in below zero temperatures. There were maybe 150 head, and as they walked past single file and headed for the river toward the rising sun, each animal had a swirl of steam emanating from them. They are majestic animals and we love seeing them, but there’s too many and seeing them grow dependent on agriculture lands is disturbing. They can ruin haystacks and graze out stockpiled feed saved for grazing cattle. We talked to an officer with Idaho Fish and Game and he said it's not that they don’t have feed in the mountains, it’s just easier pickings down in the valley. A rancher who lives in the foothills thinks the snowmachiners are pushing the herds down out of the high country. Another disturbing thought.

My holiday feels a little subdued this year. I love the lights, the evergreen wreaths on every door, and I enjoy playing piano from my old easy holiday books worn with time. But frankly, life is too serious to be jolly for any extended period of time! The holiday makes one think of people we’ve lost and brings the passage of time close in. There is much grief and brokenness in the world.

But, oh the gratitude that overwhelms us every day. The natural world is breathtaking in her winter coat. Our grandkids keep us laughing and what a joy they are. Emma wants to listen to the little record player we get out this time of year. Frequently she wants a “diffwnt” song than the one that’s playing. She and Freya dance side by side to the music. And Lou just smiles at everyone and everything.

From me, and from Mark who suggested the title to this essay, we wish you peace and calm. A warm bed, enough food, a friendly conversation. And perhaps the most precious gift of all, faith in the future.

Cowboys and Hunters

The mountains are white this morning. We spent the last two days up there at our highest elevation pasture. We took the bulls out the first day and loosened fences the next. The bulls had been separated from the cows since August and with snow in the forecast, it was time to bring them home. This activity always brings to mind Gary’s funny about wishing he could deflate the bulls in the fall and put them on a shelf until they’re needed again in the spring.

There was a cold wind blowing all day. The quakie leaves, what’s left of them, made a crackly sound instead of the comforting flutter they make all summer. We saw seven lumbering sage grouse and about twenty mule deer. We said goodbye to the tiny cabin after we enjoyed one last cup of coffee on the porch.

The cow herd will stay in the mountains for a while yet if the weather allows. The calves are home so the mama cows climb high with a carefree attitude. We drove home through the herd and relished seeing them up high near the timber in deep yellow grass. Our range is superb for that, cured off native grasses that remain delicious and edible all year long. It’s what native grazers depended on throughout time, wild sheep, bison, elk and exotic megafauna of ages gone past. All cycling the rich growth of the summer’s short growing season.

I was disturbed to see the muddy off-roads traveled by hunters this past month on our state lease ground. They don’t know that these aren’t “established” roads by anyone’s definition, which is the state's way of describing roads that are open to travel. They were once (just a few short years ago) a quiet two track heading off into the sagebrush, worn in by a pickup placing a sheep camp, the living quarters for the sheepherders who need to be near their band of sheep. Or the odd cowboy delivering salt to his cattle or checking a watering trough. These trails were never meant for heavy recreational use by pickups or 4-wheelers or the now ubiquitous side-by-sides. Worse still, if it’s wet like this year, there’s a second set of tracks just off the first set to keep out of the mud!

I have thought that hunters and cowboys have a lot of the same goals and see eye to eye on most things. I’m starting to doubt this. More two-track "roads" mean more and more access by vehicles, less walking. More erosion into the creeks, more weeds, more gates left open, etc. I know we must share these lands. I know we must be allies. I just don’t know how to go about that.

Well, that’s not true. Actually, I DO know how to go about it. Talk to hunters. Talk to the men and women who work for the state land department, both locally and in Boise. Stick to facts, take a long term view, listen and learn. We - all of us - need to honestly consider what it means to have a land ethic. For ranchers and hunters alike. For fly fisherman and those who just want to buzz around in a side-by-side. And for our new ex-urban neighbors in the valley. This is our state, our land, our future.

As I write, I see Mark getting on his horse in his heavy coat with his wool cap and coveralls. He's been at this long enough to not mess around. He says he can always take clothes off later. He's a pragmatist. As we often say, “intelligence plays a role.”

There's really no other choice as we face the changes coming at us in this business. We'll face what has to be faced and do what needs to be done. We'll concentrate on keeping our relationships strong, consider our options without blaming others, and take the rest as it comes.  

all quiet for another season

steer calves at home

  

Monarchs and Moons

As nature sizes up her production year, we look to this year’s calf crop. The grass has been abundant, surprisingly so with the cold, dry start we had to the growing season. The calves look good – what we call “bloomy” in ranch lingo. It means an animal that is in good fleshy condition, with bright eyes and a healthy countenance. It fits doesn’t it?

Each cool morning, each warm day, we hold our breath. Country folk and city folk alike, we all cherish each golden September day. The phrase, "it's like butter" comes to mind. Like a firm yet tender carrot fresh from the garden, a tepid shower following a blistering hot workday, that first creamy cup of coffee of a morning -  you know, perfect.    

There's a heavy murmur in the afternoon sun. Late season pollinators are feeding on wild aster, gray rabbit brush, goldenrod and curly cup gumweed. The rush is on to gather up what they need for whatever awaits them as the season changes. Some, like the monarch butterfly, have a long journey ahead. I saw one as I was picking beans in the garden. He was flitting back and forth on the zinnias. “Hurry!” I said. ”No time to lose, this weather can’t last much longer.”

In my one woman quest to help the environment, I let the lawn grass grow this year. I only mowed it once in June, and then Mark let the horses graze it this week. Milkweed plants edge the lawn and some new plants ventured into previous mowing territory. Their fresh leaves attracted butterflies and I found several baby caterpillars just barely out of the egg. Leah found one too, put it in a jar, and carefully tended it through the chrysalis and butterfly metamorphosis stages. I’m sure little Emma was part of the impetus for the project. I’m tickled they both got that experience. It’s rare today.

Mark and I have been watching the moon this month. I tried to find it every day, behind clouds, behind smoke, and in odd positions in the sky whenever I remembered to look. This morning it was a tiny crescent, and at 6:00 am was hanging above the horizon, so lovely in the rosy smudge of a new day. Tomorrow is the new moon, with no illumination from the sun because the earth is blocking it. The sun, the moon, and the earth will all be lined up. We’re still going to try to see it. We’ll know it’s there anyway.

The wonder of nature is all around us. Our kids like to climb mountains, ski, go fly-fishing and mountain bike, all the while enjoying the immersion in the natural environment. Though I keep saying I want to pursue those kinds of activities, I’m pretty much enthralled with my own space here at home on the ranch. Adventure awaits us every day if we look close enough.  

The black spot on the wing vein shows it's a male

Emma loves green beans

4-horsepower "riding" lawn mowers

    

September Curriculum

It’s been hot, so hot. But there was a sea change in the weather and I was surprised to see a whisper of frost on the cucumber vines this morning. As it often does, a strong wind preceded the transition.

The harvest moon rises tonight. I’ve made a pledge to find the moon every day in September. Easy peasy so far since it’s been waxing and hanging in the east late in the day. Not so easy as it wanes to a new moon on the 25^th and starts back as it orbits the earth. My grandmother and her mother lived together on an Idaho family ranch. They used to compete with one another to see the new moon. They made their living on the land, yes, but the moon story tells me how much they loved the natural world.

It’s state fair time. There’s the carnival rides, the food booths, and shops of every kind selling everything from fluorescent jewelry to hot tubs. There’s quilting, cake decorating and 4-H projects galore. 

One of the biggest attractions is the pony rides and farm animal petting zoo set up in the Idaho Farm Bureau corner. I talked to the proprietor who drives a semi all the way from Arkansas with an assortment of goats, milk cows, ponies, beef cows, sheep, pigs, chicks, etc. to participate in events allowing children (and adults) to pet and feed and groom the animals. 

As animal agriculture is increasingly seen as producing unhealthy food, inhumane, and a contributor to climate change, I see her job as ever more important. We ranchers can talk a blue streak, but it becomes real when it's hands on. The animals are healthy and well cared for. Signs hung along the pens teach about milking, reproduction, etc. And unless kids want to feed the animals, it's entirely free to walk through the pens. 

We talked about the natural cycle these animals are a part of. From plants to meat and milk and manure to be used by the next round of life. We talked about Joe, the zebu bull, from an Indian breed of humped cattle, and how his "job" is to stand for petting, for teaching. 

We agreed that kids are naturally drawn to the animals and that children need to learn about the relationship man has had with domesticated animals - the partnership - for thousands of years. The owner said she’d like to retire but can’t find anyone to replace her that has the heart for it. As she explained this to me, her hand reached to her left chest. 

I feel her pain. It’s a lot of work to care for animals day after day after day. And the world offers easier, more reliable and better paid careers. I wished her well and said I’d come see her next year. 

 

 

New Life

We stayed in the little cabin in the hills for a couple of nights. Our stays are always too short. All we do is work. I keep hoping for some downtime to collect samples of all the plant species that live there, but alas. We go to check cows or move cows, repair fence or spray weeds. This time was no different . . . but there was that sunrise. Mark had dealt with leg cramps four times during the night so I let him sleep a bit longer while the dogs and I watched the sun come up.

We arrived at the cabin to discover the cliff swallows had invaded. Their odd, gourd-like nests were overhead in the porch eaves and piles of mud and droppings covered the decking. Shoot! I know from experience at home that swallows are a formidable opponent once they set up shop. There wasn’t much we could do, we could hear the little ones rustling in the nests, so we proceeded with our work.

At day’s end we sat outside, just off the porch, and noticed right away the lack of mosquitoes. Is this the work of the swallows? Mark is convinced it is. As usual I need more evidence, but he’s got a point. We’ve never been able to enjoy the evenings because of the nuisance bugs. Another reminder of the symbiosis of the natural world. Like the horses that stand head to tail in the summer to swish the flies away from each other, partnerships are all around us. And somewhere, somehow, a balance emerges.

The propane had leaked out of the large canister below the kitchen window so we had to make our meals on a campfire. There’s a ring of stones under the quakies out back and it turned out to be quite enjoyable. A wood fire is softer and more malleable than the hard propane flame on the stove. And everyone loves a campfire. I kept thinking about getting our grandkids up there when they get a little older.

Speaking of grandkids, we got our third in July, a boy. On the night he was born, Mark had to be gone for Idaho Cattle Association business, so I was all alone. I had put my “blessing candle,” the one Leah had distributed at Anna’s baby shower, in a safe place. It was to be lit when Anna went into labor, a kind of solidarity of womanhood to support her. It seemed as if the tender flame throughout the night represented the event that I was part way sleeping through. A new life was making its way into the world. Mom and Dad were singularly focused, an event was unfolding, and the flickering light stood in for that activity. When I got the text and photo at 4:21 am, I cried with relief and joy. What a feeling.

Lou is his name. He was just over 6 lbs so is a tiny guy. Lou sounds kind and thoughtful, a solid soul. Or he might grow up to be a beloved renegade, who knows. I just know he’s stolen this family’s heart which only swells with each new member. 

  

Grabbing Carbon

We’re home from a big cattle move in the mountains. It’s a steep climb with blind corners and is generally a challenging event. Perhaps the cattle are finally learning the move, or it was the overcast sky, but it went well. Mostly it’s because we split the herd and made it a two-day affair. A smaller herd allows the moms and babies to keep track of each other. And as we all know, mom can lead her calf up the mountain a lot easier than we can push him there. That’s key.

I was at the front of the herd slowing the lead, when I carelessly let my round reins fall to my horse’s ears. Before I could retrieve them, my horse stepped into the loop and caught her foot and head together. She lunged back, dumped me and stepped on my leg before staggering away. It was a close call and I’m glad no one saw it happen. I'm fine; it was a good reminder to stay alert and always follow safety habits. We’re around horses too much to allow even one careless moment.

All but one of the nests we’ve been watching have fledged their young. We found a mourning dove nest, a loggerhead shrike nest and two nests of yellow warbler babies. How do birds create such exquisite homes to protect their babies? And with only a beak!

We had lots of late spring rains which means a memorable year for plant growth. I’ve been thinking about all the carbon our ranch has gathered up this spring. It’s part of a grand cycle that sustains life on earth. The exciting part is we work on taking in more carbon than we put back into the atmosphere in the natural cycle of growth and death. There’s a balancing act going on between photosynthesis (plants using the sun’s energy to transfer carbon underground) and decomposition (carbon returning to the atmosphere as plants are consumed) that we hope to tilt in favor of the soil. Soil that accumulates carbon means a variety of “eco-benefits:” water catchment and storage, biodiversity, enhanced nutrient cycling, and more production for all the organisms that live here. In other words: Life!  And of course, life begets life.

It’s a lofty goal for sure. One that Mark and I will work on for the rest of our lives. It makes ranching . . . well, if not fun, then meaningful. It’s easy to get discouraged with the many challenges we face in this business. I don’t need to go over them again, maybe next blog. Best to focus on the fun part.  

penstemon and pussy toes and cows

milkweed grows wild in front of our home

captivating wildflowers

Fresh Help

Anna and Cole moved home to the ranch this month. They’ll keep their day jobs and help on the ranch when they can. Cole needed a chance to participate in the multifaceted daily-goings-on of this business we call a cattle ranch - to sort out options for the future.

He took off work to help us make the 5-day trek to the mountains with the cattle, and we’re sure glad to have his help. He and his dog, Roy, were everywhere, working the drag, the flanks, and the lead as needed as we walked the herd past a myriad of obstacles, lawns and wheat fields, steep mountain grades, through creeks and brush, past campsites and fisherman. Cole makes an excellent team member. He’s ready and willing; he pays attention and is eager to learn.

The annual move to the mountains is a deep cultural part of our ranch. Mark and I grew up on parallel operations and both of us made memories as children driving cattle to summer range every spring. This mountain trail, every bend in the road, each river overlook, has a memory for each of us. Our kids grew up the same way and have their own memories tucked away. For Cole and Leah it’s all new.

The first day of the trail, we were just getting lined out, when who should appear on the road behind us, but Leah with Emma in a stroller! Well, not a “stroller,” more like an all-terrain baby buggy. Leah worked her dog, Ruby, and hustled a content Emma behind the herd, dodging this way and that to keep the calves coming ahead. At lunch time, Emma, at just over one year old, protested when we wouldn’t let her walk up to the cows and calves. She would kiss them if she could, like she does the horses and dogs. What a joy to have the sixth generation learning to love the land and animals as we do.

At the end of one long trailing day, just as we were about to tuck the herd into the field where they would spend the night, a calf jumped sideways and fell over the lava bluff that borders the road. Luckily he landed on a grassy ledge not too far below. We could see his tag number; he looked okay. Cole and Seth were able to find the cow, and with great difficulty, convince her to leave the herd and take a circular path through a gate and down into the ravine to circle back to where the calf was. The calf stood up and they looked quizzingly at each other from a distance, but it wasn’t until Seth and Cole gently nudged her closer in, and Seth bellered at them, that the cow finally realized the calf was hers and started talking to him. Straight away the calf scaled down the incline and picked his way through the fallen rocks to her side. At that point we all breathed a sigh of relief. As Seth said, “the only place for a scared calf is with his momma.”

It was a fine end to a long day. Watching these two young men work together, bantering back and forth on their walkie talkies, I was reassured. It is my sincere faith that this shared commitment to the task in front of them, this same comradery, will serve them successfully in the years ahead. The mix of aggressive action when needed (getting the cow separated and down in the canyon) and patient finesse (getting her to relax and look for her calf) were spot on. Just the type of skills needed to run a ranch and raise a family. And the women they married are just as intelligent and dedicated, just as true in their friendship and mutual support.

Who knows how it will all sort out. There will be challenges because family businesses are hard and ranching is hard. You just keep doing the work and hope for the next sublime moment when the calf is okay and he finds his mom, when lunch miraculously appears at noon, the payments get made and we keep talking to each other.  

Cole and Roy at The Three Sisters 

photos by Anita:

doin' Work

"stay back Emma Jo"

love this shot Anita took

the last creek crossing

we need old help too

Counting Blessings and Votes

It’s raining - and raining some more. We can’t imagine our good fortune. Drought still ranges across the West, but our situation here is improving. Our friend Alan travels to the ranch every year to help us brand. We were talking about the moist dirt and cool temps that made branding pleasant and dust free. “Which one of us is living right?” I asked.

The bees have found the early flowering of the box elder trees. The trees can be a nuisance because of the box elder bugs that go with them, but we can thank them for early and important bee food. 

I was reading back in my diary two years ago on the 27th of April. I wrote, “so green it hurts.” It was wet then too. We were getting ready for Seth and Leah’s wedding on the ranch in June and the rain made things beautiful. I love my diary so much and can’t imagine how anyone who doesn’t record their lives can stand the passage of time. I know the day we branded calves and who was on the crew. I know the yearly date of the first asparagus harvest. I know when the garden went in and how bad the wind blew that spring. I’m kind of a mess, though. I also do free writing in various tablets scattered around the house. And this blog. And the occasional newspaper article. I’m not sure why, it just compels me. 

The primary election is about two weeks away. This one is an important one. Since the Republican party is so divided, it’s imperative that common-sense Idahoans turn out in big numbers to counteract those on the fringe right who are attempting a takeover. Too much emphasis on social issues and slamming public education for me. Too much out-of-state interests sparking fear in our residents. Fear might be the great motivator, but it only makes people hunker down and become close minded. 

If you’re concerned about extreme measures on the left, the best way to counteract them is to unite as conservatives. Working together with common-sense Democrats has never been more important, because in most cases they’re not in favor of extremism from their party any more than we are. 

Have we talked to our teachers and evaluated their curriculum? Or did we jump on the critical race theory bandwagon because someone tried to scare us? I told one such candidate who asked if I was concerned about school curriculum, that yes, I was concerned! I want kids to learn how food is grown and that the photosynthetic process drives life on earth. I want them to understand we have “one water” and it needs to be revered, shared, conserved, and cared for. But I certainly wasn’t concerned about students being indoctrinated with CRT. 

See you at the polls.

putting them away after a day of branding
Mt. Putnam in the distance

Adjusting

We had our first warm day, and the annual flip-flop in attention  - and clothing - has arrived. I took off my long johns and switched to unlined leather gloves. We’ve been so focused on calving, and now it’s turned warm and the calves born each day has fallen so we can look at everything else that needs done. 

The catkins on the quakie out our front window are drooping in the breeze. They started on the south side of the tree and gradually covered its circumference as time passed. The quaking aspens are the first to turn yellow in the fall and the first to come alive in the spring. I ran my fingers across the silken surface of the caterpillar-like catkins just for good measure.

The springtime birdsong is back and so familiar. Meadowlarks, robins, killdeers, all singing their welcome.

My sister Becky started trapping gophers again, a sure sign of spring. Her morning route yielded 9 varmints today so she was feeling gratified. She’s channeling our Mom, who in later years got a bit obsessed with lowering the gopher numbers on the ranch. Dad and Mom fought gophers all their lives (and quackgrass and burdock) but after all that work, the varmints always win out don’t they?

We’ve had the first bonfire of the season hosted by my brother Rich. He had parked his flatbed trailer some ways away from the fire to hold all the side dishes folks brought. He provided the hotdog fixings and a smaller fire to roast them because it’s impossible to get close enough to the bonfire with your weinie stick. It was the first warm evening of the season and it felt good to stay out after dark with our backs to the fire.

My Dad liked to host bonfires too. He spent a lot of time in his semi-retired years running a tractor piling downed timber from trees planted by my great grandfather to acquire land under the Timber Culture Act of 1873. That reminds me of what Mark’s grandpa used to say. He modified the proverb of “one generation plants the trees, and another gets the shade” to “one generation plants the trees and the next generation (or the one after that) cleans them up.”

I’m trying to be energized by spring, not overburdened, but it’s taking some doing. Along with the thrill of a new season comes the worry, about water shortages, high fuel prices, escalating feed costs and uncertain markets. We need to keep our wits about us and proceed with caution. But we have our health and that makes us very grateful. The calves will get branded, the ditches will run water for however long they last, the herd will make it to the mountains. And as Mark says when I ask him how we’ll get by in another dry year, “we’ll adjust.” 

our friend Dave helping move pairs

love me some catkins

 

Art in Function

Calving is in full swing and it's been piercingly cold. So cold we want to leave the bulls out a little longer this next breeding season to bypass the worst of the weather next year.

I heard my first red-wing blackbird on the 18^th. We were walking the cows home and as the herd crossed the hand-built bridge across the slough, I heard the welcome call. Next to the bridge is an elm tree that Gary had protected as a seedling by putting an upright concrete culvert around it. The culvert is broken now so the tree is free to grow big and strong. Good thing, for that bird needed a perch. It’s always a happy affair to hear the first red-wing every spring. 

We spotted six bald eagles hanging around the calving grounds. They perch in the tall willows or cottonwoods and watch for the “after birth,” the placenta, which is dropped soon after the calf is born. As long as they stay away from the baby calves, we’re good with contributing to the eagles' health as the placenta is rich in nutrients. Cows will eat the after birth as well, but some don’t, hence the raptor presence. Once spring arrives, and the return of other foodstuffs, the eagles dissipate.

Not very many of the eagles actually have the distinctive white head. We read that it takes 4-5 years before the adult birds acquire the white headed plumage; the juveniles have dark heads and splotchy  breasts. Their high-pitched chipping call, not at all what you would expect from this mighty bird, carries readily across the pasture.

I’ve been tending the old calving barn every morning. It’s the best job on the ranch this time of year. It’s quiet. You get to put your hands on calves. It’s slightly warmer than outside. And you can slip in and out of the “warm room," or the "technology lab” as the sign on the door says, to get warm. I help babies suck that need a hand, prepare a bottle for the orphan, carry hay to a cow or two that stay for longer than a few hours, but mostly I clean up after them when they leave. The barn is old-timey, nothing modern about it at all, but it’s functional.

And when the sun comes through the wall slats in the morning, and steam from the cows’ breath is illuminated in the bars of sunshine, it’s nigh on artsy. 

      

Full Enough

 As ranchers, our lives are starkly different as the seasons change. It is the quiet of mid-winter. We’re sticking close to home. The cattle look for us each morning, their watches set for their daily bread from the haystack. We fed early one day before daylight and surprised them from their beds. It’s comforting in a way - their trust in us.

A stellars jay has been hanging around the house this winter. He’s found the table scraps I throw in the garden. When the sun catches his feathers, a green sheen flashes. From time to time he finds the cat food Mark sets out for Maude.

We’ve had some spectacular sunsets and sunrises this winter. Frosted trees on foggy days, and crisp blue-skied mornings when the thermometer dips below zero. On those days the snow crunches loudly under the hooves of the cattle as they crowd around the feed truck.

It’s also the season we scrape and sculpt this thing called “ranch succession.” It’s a gnarly subject. Ask any family farm or ranch. They’re either in the middle of transition, beginning the conversation or finishing one generation and starting on the next. It never ends, really, if you want the outfit to continue past the founders.

Our kitchen table has been strewn since Christmas with “this ‘n that" files borrowed from the office: Current Year, Timeline, Acreages, Property Taxes, Tax Scenarios, etc. Where’s the figures we went thru with the accountant? Cow inventories by owner? Did we keep the timeline of land purchases?

We talk about it with that first cup of coffee in the morning, move the files aside for lunch, and discuss another round after supper.

I had a vision last night. You know the schematic put out by the water supply folks showing the reservoirs in the Snake River system? Each reservoir is a bucket with a percent filled figure. Watching them fill (or not) is on everyone’s mind in the agriculture world. Full buckets mean the system is flush. Natural flows in the rivers and canals will be supplemented by storage, and fish and farmers will get their quota for a healthy season ahead.

What if we looked at our family operations the same way? What if each generation, employees as well, considered the storage in their household bucket? What would it look like to have a full bucket? How much savings? How much workload, with the corresponding time to pursue other interests? If our bucket was full, what happens in our daily lives? How does service to our community and/or industry play into the picture? Each generation has an ever unfolding list of concerns. For Mark’s parents a full bucket means different things than ours, which is different than the kids just starting their families. Figuring out how to keep those buckets full while keeping the ranch profitable is key.

Our buckets are connected of course. If one fills, it slops over to help fill the ones around us. Our ecosystem of families needs to be well hydrated to ensure this land continues on as a cattle ranch, which is important for all of us. Not for housing, not for real estate investors hovering like hawks, not even for raising potatoes or corn by the ever larger consolidation of tillage farmers - but for cattle in granddad’s tradition. With bottle calves and slow poke horses for the grandkids, winding acequias delivering water to pastures, and cows doing what herbivores have always done, harvesting grass.