A Melancholy Christmas

We’ve had sad Holidays before. I bet a lot of readers have too, as it seems like death comes around this time of year. It makes it hard yes, but there’s something special about it as well, with memories of grief and joy all mixed up together, full of meaning and poignancy, some tragic, some beautiful. Christmas makes us think of times and people long gone. Mourning, in a way, seems almost natural.

We lost Mark’s sister to cancer this week. She carried Jesus close, so it’s fitting for her to return to him during this time of celebration. Every year her family will remember the mourning, the staggering loss, all blended with the meaning of Christmas and the renewal that comes with a new year. Or that is my hope for them. 

Mona was a year and a half behind Mark. There was just the two of them, so they were close. Mona never took to the ranch, though, so their paths were different. While Mark followed cows around, she was all about homemaking and relationships. She liked nothing better than deep conversation. She and I could go there immediately whenever we were alone together or on the phone. We shared a family experience, a history of 30+ years. We had our children in tandem. And she was just catching up to me with her own grandchildren when she was taken. Two infants that will only know their Nonnie from photographs. Well, that’s not true. They’ll know her because of the rich garden she planted and nurtured every day in her own children - their parents.

She told me the babies looked deep into her eyes with knowingness. It seems plausible to me. The veil would be very thin to newborns and those facing death. There are so many unknowns, so many miracles we take for granted.

I’ve been trying to remember what Mona wanted. Most of all she wanted her death to mean something to the ones left behind. That we take extra good care of each other and really focus on our relationships. That we realize the gift of life and enjoy the small pleasures. To her it was these, a cup of chai, delicate hydrangeas, a heartfelt visit, that made a good life. We talked a lot about the value of being present every day in the small acts of living and how gratitude follows that practice. I'll keep working on that.   

And life, as they say, goes on. It's snowing big clumps as I write. The cows are home from the mountains. They’ve been sorted and vaccinated, the calves weighed, and now they're finding luscious grass under the snow.   

Our hope is that however this holiday finds you, you have peace, a thankful heart and a warm bed to retreat to on these long winter nights. We hope you find joy in a handshake, delight in a child’s giggle, someone to hold your hand, a chore that needs doing and the strength to do it. Happy Christmas. 

Lou and Grandpa

Emma's turn

Meet Me in Montana

We had snow for Thanksgiving. It doesn’t matter how early or late the first snowfall is, we’re never ready. I was tromping around in the cold putting extension cords together to heat the trough in the horse corral. Then I noticed the outdoor furniture hadn’t been covered.

We’ve entered another sister retreat in the books. Donna came all the way from Maryland. Then we loaded up in Kit’s rig, and the five of us drove to Montana to see our sister Janene. We stayed in a swanky house overlooking the Bitterroot Valley. Apparently some cast members from "Yellowstone" were supposed to be staying there, but canceled because of the actor’s strike. Oh darn! We enjoyed the wood stove and the big kitchen and a bed for each of us.

The day we left was Friday, which is our local livestock auction’s weekly sale day. Donna and I had just enough time to meet Rich at the auction café for coffee. Donna caught up with an old classmate who works there, and we got to meet some of Rich’s friends that he hangs with every Friday. Then we went upstairs to watch the first cattle sell to the sing-song of the auctioneer. The scene goes way back to when we were kids and Dad would sell his weaned calves, a year’s work, on sale day and hope the buyers showed up to compete for the offering.

For our sister trip this year, Merle had the idea to prepare a “talk” of sorts to share with the other sisters on a topic we were particularly interested in. We learned about Sasquatch and spontaneous human combustion from her. Becky shared the Jimmy Carter story of eradicating guinea worm. Kit talked about the history of religion, and I talked about the monarch butterfly's life cycle. Donna’s presentation was the most fun. She's moon crazy so shared her moon app and other fun facts she's learned. Did you know we always see the same face of the moon as it rotates in sync with the Earth? Donna was standing at the front of the room with her notes in hand. We heckled her a bit, raising our hands and saying, “Mrs. McWilliams . . . Mrs. McWilliams! What about. . . ?”

Our brother Rich and his wife, Charlotte, drove up for a day too, which was a real treat. 

We’re getting some wear after living this long. We have disabilities of one kind or another, and you might think we’re not as sharp as we once were. But those issues fall away when we have such fun together. We laugh and reminisce and the conversation never dulls. The seven of us siblings are closer than we’ve been since we lived together in the same house. 

After a lifetime of hard work, raising kids and grandkids, navigating illness and disappointment, we don’t have terribly high expectations anymore. And what a gift that is. We just want time together, with these dear people that we know so well and who share our common history. It's uncommon and so very blessed.     

Me, Kit, Rich, Janene, Becky, Donna, Merle

Coaxing September

On the first day of September I was determined to go outside and just sit. Sit in the sunshine and welcome this sublime month that transitions us from summer to autumn. I didn’t get that done in the intentional way I meant to, but there have been moments. And now September is slipping away.

I got a sturdy bench to put by my flowers that grow in colorful lines in the vegetable garden. I watch dragonflies and butterflies visit the blooms – and of course bees of all kinds. Several times I sat there with a grandkid and watched for pollinators. Lou is all about bees and makes circles with his tiny fist while he makes a buzzing sound. When Emma sat with me we saw three painted lady butterflies flitting about the cosmos, larkspur and zinnias.

Then there was the evening I sat alone. It was cool, no pollinators to be seen. The wind was moving through the cottonwood trees in a mellow and comforting way that filled me up as well. We need comfort. Life is hard.

We got the cattle moved to a new pasture and the calves vaccinated. Mark sleeps better now. The temperature swings of autumn put stress on the calves and make them susceptible to infectious diseases. Watching them close and increasing their immunity with vaccine is a good practice.

On the day of the big herd move, I was riding one of our best horses, Sis. She’s lively and walks right out, responding to the slightest cues. What a joy to ride. But even so, after 6 hours I was all done. My legs were screaming at me to call it a day. In defeat I rode back to the pickup, got a cold drink of water, ate one of Leah’s cookies and took a nap. It was glorious.

I knew it would happen. I’m 64 and more interested in tending Lou while Anna rides than staying in riding shape myself. This has been our pattern this spring and summer. Still, it made me so sad to ride away from the herd. Even though there was plenty of help and the cattle were going fine, it still stung. It was the first time I had left my family before the work was done.

September is a month of transitions and my change of roles is just another one on a long list that we must accept. Beautiful and sad, these events mark our lives and the passage of time that weighs on us all. 

painted lady

Ranching Butterflies

I went out this morning at first light to cut a few chard leaves to go with our bacon and eggs for breakfast. It felt like fall. There were clouds in the sky and it looked like today would be more of the same for a coolish August.  

Milkweed has invaded my low-maintenance lawn. I’ve mown once but the “weed” grows back quickly and the new leaves are fresh and inviting for monarch butterflies. As I was standing on the deck I noticed two monarchs fluttering almost lazily throughout the young milkweed. Were they laying eggs?

I took out my phone and randomly aimed it at a mama with graying wings. I happened to catch her extend her abdomen to the underside of a leaf, attach slightly and pooch out an egg! She fluttered away leaving a single ivory orb on the surface. To add to my delight, when I replayed the video, there in the bottom of the frame was a monarch larvae (caterpillar) eating his way to a metamorphosis of his own.

Monarchs, who have a fascinating multi-generation migration from their southern overwintering grounds up through North America and back down again, are in a population free fall. Numbers collected in California, where our butterflies from Idaho go for the winter, have fallen  80-97% of historic populations.

The current good news is that numbers are rebounding at the moment. We’ve noticed it at home, but it’s official all over the region. Last winter’s counts were the best in the last 20 years. This year is shaping up to be a good one too. I was surprised to learn that our own Snake River Plain is a critical component of summering habitat. It’s not hard to grasp why numbers are falling. Agriculture fields are “cleaner” than they used to be. Our lawns are manicured and non-native ornamentals fill our garden centers. We mow, prune, spray, till, burn, and in general tidy things up better and better. Not to mention population growth and the subsequent building boom.

Take a look around when you spend time out-of-doors. Where can you locate milkweed, the only food a caterpillar eats? Where can an adult butterfly find nectar to fuel her short, egg-laying life? Just because it’s a flower doesn’t mean it feeds monarchs. Look to our native plants for this role - asters, goldenrod, sunflowers, black-eyed susans and blanket flower among others. And for the wider spectrum of pollinators, shrubs like serviceberry, woods rose, chokecherry and currant are lovely choices (good for bird watching too).

We’ve been reporting butterfly sightings to journeynorth.org and I’ve got Mark trained to let me know when he sees them. I’m getting behind he’s seen so many. He got this lucky shot one day, and with it he makes his debut in blog photography.

       

Plants for the Planet

It’s hot. And dry. But the heavy snows this winter and the rains this spring brought us grass and more grass. In the mountains, snowdrifts still send trickles of water through the quakies to the closest stream. And the wildflowers! They fill me up. It’s a good thing Mark focuses on the cattle when we travel the ranch because my eyes are on plants. I have to really concentrate when Mark expects me to drive the 4-wheeler and check fences.

The garden is bearing. I planted lots of carrots and beets to store for the winter. We’re doing our best to eat the thinnings (is that a word?). I’m stingy with water, and though I water the garden, things get dry around the house. I care more about seed heads and diversity for bugs and birds than looking neat and tidy. I call my yard a “wildscape.” If that’s not a word it should be. 

I’ve been having fun with my plant ID app. I take a photo in the mountains of a plant I can’t recognize and put it through the app when I get back in service. Then if I’m still uncertain, I type it into google and look around to make sure. I’ve learned a lot, mostly about what I don’t know. OK, it’s a ragwort, but there are all kinds of ragworts. Is this the native cinquefoil or the invasive, non-native cinquefoil? Is it hairy clematis or cotton grass? Look closely at the leaves to tell them apart. 

Plants don’t get near enough credit for the integral role they play in our world. They take the only readily available energy – the sun – and convert it to feed everything else. Plants from eons ago made the carbon stores that fuel our modern society. From consumer goods to transportation to shelter, we depend on the energy of fossil fuels. Plants hold the soil in place to slow wind and water erosion. They capture rainfall and snowmelt. They cycle carbon and feed microbes in the soil. Plants determine the makeup and health of whole civilizations. Most of us walk around clueless to this fantastic fact. 

And yes, plants are in trouble. From many directions - human development, fires/fire suppression, over grazing/under grazing, over tillage, climate change, invasive plants from foreign continents, and in general a simplification of the amazing complexity of species that rely on each other. 

Putting aside these challenges, which one has to do to find joy in life, tromping around in the diversity created over the millennia and marveling at how each plant has been named and catalogued by our own species, leaves me in awe.      

a favorite from the valley ranch, buckwheat

also from the valley ranch - veiny dock
we call them sand lilies

I'm going with wild garlic on this one, so delicate, just starting to open

brodea (cluster lily) and arnica

pretty sure this is hairy clematis, so unique!

prairie smoke, another fun one

Emma's World

No way around it, spring is stressful on a ranch. Most of us in our region had a rough calving season, and now we’re having to delay “turn-out,” the term for when the cows can be grazing grass full time. We’re to that stage now, putting herds together on the pastures to the east of the ranch and getting ready for the long walk to the mountains.

The irrigation water is all up and running, which followed a marathon effort to get the ditches ready. First they’re burned, trenched if needed, and then all the debris needs to be pitched out of the way. And then, as lovely as it is to have water on the land, the streams need constant tending.

Mark has been doctoring a few sick calves even though the weather has improved. I think sick cattle stress him most of all. He rarely loses one, but it takes lots of time and attention on his part.

He and a three man crew spent two days in the mountains pulling up fences that were flattened by snow. The moisture is heaven-sent, and poor fences in this case is a good problem to have, but it all takes time.

It’s discouraging to be in the middle of it, far too many tasks and too few hours in the day. I’m not complaining, well maybe I am. We wouldn’t trade places with anyone, it’s just that the tough days seem to come one after another.

I’ve decided Emma has it figured out. She’s two years old and the world is her oyster. I think that’s the phrase, and I’m not even sure what it means, but I think it fits. All around her is a wondrous world to explore. Her senses are in full-on alert. She crouches to observe an ant or to examine a cow pie for bugs. She can identify a bumble bee and a honeybee and was concerned when the rain showers chased the bees into hiding. “Where’d the honeybees go?” she said.

Every time a pheasant crows, she looks at you with excitement, “ahhhh, a pheasant!” She looks up every time she hears geese or an airplane and makes sure you notice them too.

She examines rocks and tiny sticks, flowers and leaves. She found the lamb’s ear plant in my front flower bed. She stroked the leaves with a child’s appreciation. “Oh, it’s so soft!”

That curiosity, that wonderment, is available to us all. I’m going to be like Emma.

Emma with the new puppy, Myrt

Passages

We’ve had our first branding. It’s a rite of spring for ranchers and means the production year is underway. The bunch we worked were those born during the worst of the cold weather. They looked great, and seeing them healthy and vigorous was good for the soul.

I’ve been promoted to grandma and cook. The only real work I did was vaccinating while Anna nursed Lou. I’ve been known to have a kind of warrior attitude when it comes to working cattle. Not in aggressiveness with the animals, more in wanting it done just right and needing to be in the middle of the action. With our kids living on the ranch, there’s less reason for me to step into the fray. I’m sure they didn’t miss me a lick.

I fixed chili and tended Lou, which turned out to be plenty of work when he was unhappy during the last hour of meal prep. I put him in the high chair and gave him green beans, raspberries and chili beans to keep him occupied. It kinda worked.

We gathered the pairs at Gary and Anita’s and worked them right behind their house. Sadly, Gary kept harrowing and Anita stayed inside with a bum hip. That was a first as well, not having them with us.

A couple of boys who worked here in the past, and are now grown-up men with families, arrived with their wives and kids to have some fun working their horses, honing their roping skills, and letting the kids play in the dirt. Other friends show up every year, and we rely on their know-how after years of contribution. Alan comes all the way from Boise. He’s castrated enough calves to win a Pratt Ranch award; if we had one he'd be the first recipient. One young man, here for the first time, carefully vaccinated each calf with grown-up care.

Branding is an activity, like many other once-a-year events, that marks time. Memories are made. I remember as a young mother, leaving my branding job to the rest of the crew and taking refuge in grandma’s house to nurse Anna when she was a baby. Bonnie was to hang a dishtowel on the porch when Anna woke up. What fun it was to see the towel and anticipate the joy of seeing my baby. I remember the lace curtains softening the bright spring sunshine and the muffled sound of cows and calves calling to one another. I felt so blessed to have my baby close by, and to be able to step in and out of both worlds, mothering and ranching, with ease. That’s the gift of an on-site grandma and I’m happy to take on that role now.

I still like ranch work and am finding plenty to do, but to be honest, I’m tired. I’m not through with long days, but this new turn is welcome.

On my way home from taking lunch to the crew, there was a new calf still wet from birth, circling his mama and finding the udder in that first act of life. The cows are like their owners, busy with the cycles of life. We can only accept and bow to the passage of time, be grateful in our role and play our part the best we can.           

Aww Lou . . . .

Seth spoofing with someone's reject vacuum they dumped in our pasture!

canal clean up of an evening
another rite of spring

Calving - Spring 2023

By mid-February we knew it could be bad. The snow was too deep to be calving cows. It was too cold. Mark started piling snow and shoring up straw windbreaks for the cattle. It kept snowing. We started getting calves, just a few at first, but by the first of March we knew we were in trouble. We have an old barn with up to seven stalls. It’s a life saver, but we knew it wouldn’t handle the onslaught to come. We also knew we didn’t have the manpower we needed.

We entered a kind of vortex. Not enough sleep, body sore, worry. It made me question our business – all of it. How do you keep asking your kids to do more when they get their income elsewhere? Maybe where great grandpa settled isn’t fit for cows, even though we’ve gotten away with calving this time of year for 30 years. And while living it real time, we kept thinking about other ranchers in the same fix, plodding along, not looking up, no way to connect with others fighting the same war.

We brainstormed and called around for extra help. Anna and Leah offered to cover lunch and supper for the crew. Seth and Cole would handle nights, even though they both have daytime jobs at the computer. Seth talked to his boss and determined to be horseback by 1:00 pm every day to bring in all the cows that looked like they would calve within the next twelve hours. The chances were slim a calf would survive out in the field with these temperatures, this wind, and on deep snow. They needed to be in on a straw bed out of the wind.

The “technology lab” in the old barn, with a white board for communicating between shifts, was control central. Seth made a list by tag number each day - labor, delivery, sucked, location. I made a list of stalls with tag number, why they were there and whether they had sucked or not. A few calves would greet me every morning in various stages of warming up. Keeping them straight with their moms became a challenge.

The help came. Dave got the barn ready by repairing the gates. Rich, who worked here as a young man, agreed to come for 10 days, the window between his retirement and a Cancun vacation. John, Richie, Enzo and Maddie, drop ins with a hankering for a ranching experience, helped cover a few of the worst days, hauling straw and cleaning stalls. James came every morning to tend the barn and graft calves if needed. We used them all. We thank them all.

The worst is over, our relationships are intact. Our “farm intercom” text thread, which was an invaluable tool for sharing calving data, turned to lighter messages as we started to take a breath: 

 Heifers are straight up basking in the sun. Somebody get them a mai tai

 Has anyone seen the bull elk sleeping in the middle of the Frank Allen corner?

 Just like to issue a brief reminder how much I appreciate all of you

 What a humbling season. We are so fortunate to have great resources

 We’ve got good systems and great people

 Saw a killdeer!

A little sunshine for this one

When the snow started to melt, this is no place for calves

James and the barn calves 

X14 Yellow

When Anna was born on March 9th, thirty years ago, it was a year like this one. It was severely cold and the snow was deep and hard. In preparation for calving in the home pastures, we had to make trenches in the snow for the cattle. Mark did that again this year.

He was still teaching back then and was doing an evening check on the heifers when Anna was a week past due. We had agreed that if I needed him, I would turn the yard light on at our home a quarter mile away. He was making his rounds, just about to ride back through the cattle, when he looked back towards home. He saw the light shining and hurried back. 

Anna was born twenty minutes after we arrived at the hospital. I remember leaning against the car door in the parking lot, bracing against a contraction and wondering why this was happening so fast. All turned out well and I recall thinking, “I can’t help with the calves anymore. I have my own new life to tend.”

Leah is pregnant now, as she was almost two years ago with Emma. This being pregnant during calving season feels very familiar. We were laughing about it this morning in the feed truck. It’s tempting to make comparisons (there’s actually a lot of them) between pregnant cows and pregnant women, but if you’re a man DON’T SAY IT. We, the mothers, might bring up something amusing about waddling cows, contractions, birth fluids, etc. but you can’t. Too real.

Yesterday I helped Mark with a newborn calf that hadn’t sucked as it was getting dark and colder by the minute. The baby would probably have figured it out, but just in case, we brought the pair in to the barn. The cow was a sweetheart. She stood quietly in the alleyway while Seth crouched at her side, guiding the calf to the teat. Since there was plenty of milk, Seth stole a little from another quarter to keep in the fridge in case another calf needed a boost. The first milk, colostrum, affords immunity to calves before they have their own disease resistance and is critical in the first couple hours after birth.

Mark told me she was a blog cow - he does that from time to time, remembering them much better than I. She’s X14 yellow, a black brocle. She was the first heifer to calve in 2013, the year I wrote about her. She surprised us one morning with a little look-alike calf at her side. We hadn’t brought the herd to headquarters yet, so the baby walked along following mama back to the ranch.

Mark found the old blog post and requested "then and now" photos. He said Seth told him the cow had personality extraordinaire. Wish they were all like her.

2023

2013 - dang, that bare ground looks nice!

Emma is almost 2

Crunch Time, or not

We drive through Anna and Cole’s yard every morning to feed the young cows expecting their first or second calf. On occasion Anna takes my place, leaving baby Lou inside with Cole who works from home. One morning she came out with a warm loaf of Cole’s sourdough bread. We tore off chunks on the way home, just like you’re supposed to do with a crusty sourdough loaf! Most mornings we just drive by the little house with a grateful heart for the special souls that live there. 

One morning Anna was tending their border collies and stopped at the pickup to say hi. I quizzed her: “What’s different about the birds this morning?” She passed the test when she said, “They’re blackbirds!” 

“Right, red-wing blackbirds!" I said. “They’re back in town, and about two weeks early.” 

I love these precious winter days. I could do this for a couple more months and be happy. It’s a real change of pace from the rest of the year. We linger in the dark over coffee in the morning. I take time to read from my stack of books, guilt free. It’s the only time of year we watch movies. I came home last night from a rare evening out and found Mark asleep in bed listening to a podcast. He got the stitching started on a leather wallet he tooled last winter and we have brunch scheduled with friends on Saturday. This will all feel foreign in about three weeks when calving starts and the production year gets underway. 

It’s also tax time, budgeting time, goal-setting time, and that annual window when all types of agriculture meetings are held. Mark and I both got the chance to visit the Idaho State Capital this winter. We’ve been involved in various gatherings to address soil and water conservation, range health, beef industry challenges, and the marketing of our product(s) which may one day include that enticing concept, ecosystem services. Turns out we’ve got support from a wide variety of individuals, agencies, and other environmentally conscious groups that all agree ranching should endure if we want to protect open, natural landscapes. It’s a refreshing change from the “us against them” mentality that took up so much space twenty years ago, and that still defines the public domain. 

Pressures continue to come at us from many angles, but having allies feels wonderful. To take part in these conversations makes us feel very blessed. And when we return home, or disconnect from a zoom meeting, we get to hug a grandkid or discuss the future with our children, and feel doubly so.

so pretty this morning!