tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79859250596097901192024-03-24T16:31:54.255-07:00the pastoral museW. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.comBlogger370125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-58826806615016481862024-03-18T19:35:00.000-07:002024-03-19T06:15:45.025-07:00Lots of Calves and Izzy gets a Job<p>Last year in mid-March our community was flooding. This year
the ground never froze, so the heavy snows of the last two weeks are melting
into the soil. It makes calving better, but it's still been a challenge. </p><p>We had a relatively mild winter and thought calving would be
a breeze after last spring’s horrific conditions. Then it started snowing on
the first of March and kept it up with high winds to go with the snow. It was a
full barn, cold calves and weary humans for 12 days or so. We thought we were in a vortex repeat of last spring. But the sun eventually
came out and we’re back on top of things - well, if we ever are!</p><p>Now we’re getting sick calves and Mark is monitoring for that as well as calving issues. Seth and Cole cover nights, plus we have our regular employees that keep the cows and yearlings fed every day.
For the most part we feel blessed.</p><p>We have a new face, an apprentice, on the ranch for the next 8 mos. Izzy arrived just as calving was getting underway. She gets on a horse most mornings
and does Mark’s bidding to fix whatever overnight brought. She helps me in the
barn and is game for any task. She’s good with animals, made evident by the
fact that she’s already made friends with Myrt, the puppy who is scared of most
everything. She grew up near Lake Erie
in Ohio and comes to us by way of the Quivira Coalition, an organization
dedicated to regenerative agriculture and which specifically promotes “new agrarians”
by matching interns with ranchers. </p><p>This morning Izzy hauled straw to keep the stalls fresh and then I helped her load dead calves into the pickup to be hauled
away from the barn. No we don't save them all. She talked about how far she’s come from that girl who declined to participate when the rest of the class dissected animals. </p><p>She meets
with other apprentices for a few days next week. We’re anxious to hear how her
experience thus far compares with the other newbies. Welcome Izzy!</p><p>Calving season is stressful. It just is. We’ve made it
through the worst of it with everyone doing their share, and more. I’ve been
tending the three little kids so Anna and Leah can move cow-calf pairs into new
fields. It’s been fun to have the kids all together and it’s good for them
to have to share toys and books. Getting them all on
my lap to read a story is an event! They object to the other kid being too close
or trying to turn the page, etc. and etc. But they have hugs and kisses for
each other when they say hello and goodbye. Taking the good with the bad.
Sounds like life doesn’t it? </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFF5f_g0iyK8Hl8OuimuHRNQ1CanleB4w-hrGHLC7JkkRrY-8jYQcJ_Zoywy19sl_lDDzNT8Bw6hu8ouqM8-zw1oT_arRKunDRsWc5rjvnad8f75wmkeeP6k1UmAF_sQ0F7XTz9_u-x0QQ9rlPsUI_akb8sbpAVZ_cezAjviNzakY7fA9JX2ECyr75v-k7/s3973/Izzy%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2757" data-original-width="3973" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFF5f_g0iyK8Hl8OuimuHRNQ1CanleB4w-hrGHLC7JkkRrY-8jYQcJ_Zoywy19sl_lDDzNT8Bw6hu8ouqM8-zw1oT_arRKunDRsWc5rjvnad8f75wmkeeP6k1UmAF_sQ0F7XTz9_u-x0QQ9rlPsUI_akb8sbpAVZ_cezAjviNzakY7fA9JX2ECyr75v-k7/w640-h444/Izzy%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Izzy and Jane, a good pair</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAO9Eqzm-MkQ7JpBSzzaGjt7u8ZXwQQDb-9BT-9CGvPy7nKG24YalcVuo7EHgDCbrR6tUaHAvK6M1I9WcXBb6SuewstV_60N30NO9WjbksuNpIefV8Zo4hDSS8-Q9CyGzMWqb4-XpDA2eY2DtlezPtzS1ypuDIzv3YEpo1NuBdU2U06gZojSgtWLX_EIa/s4032/seth%20and%20snow.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifAO9Eqzm-MkQ7JpBSzzaGjt7u8ZXwQQDb-9BT-9CGvPy7nKG24YalcVuo7EHgDCbrR6tUaHAvK6M1I9WcXBb6SuewstV_60N30NO9WjbksuNpIefV8Zo4hDSS8-Q9CyGzMWqb4-XpDA2eY2DtlezPtzS1ypuDIzv3YEpo1NuBdU2U06gZojSgtWLX_EIa/w640-h480/seth%20and%20snow.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What we dealt with at the start of calving season<br />Seth is still in good spirits!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifefnLv3HaKxZLCuqsID_A1ybb27CCIbAcQAXweJMcCOKbA4CynDFY0GLyV3q-OC9kZZ0Aonntd1M-6XK6AZNNI3qPzxf1gmAqzVVCyQcs0mrsncG2F_5S6LfFa8B9MDbu7zX2ssaMwbelfI8EoZ_nEx7HH31nhMPkm3yK6iyICnN26zBOyc70Z72pmmQl/s4032/sunset.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifefnLv3HaKxZLCuqsID_A1ybb27CCIbAcQAXweJMcCOKbA4CynDFY0GLyV3q-OC9kZZ0Aonntd1M-6XK6AZNNI3qPzxf1gmAqzVVCyQcs0mrsncG2F_5S6LfFa8B9MDbu7zX2ssaMwbelfI8EoZ_nEx7HH31nhMPkm3yK6iyICnN26zBOyc70Z72pmmQl/w640-h480/sunset.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We've had some beautiful sunsets</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-862563595158274342024-02-17T19:47:00.000-08:002024-02-18T04:49:19.432-08:00For the Juncos<p>The juncos are flitting around my flower bed. I leave it “as
is” in the fall, so there’s lots of plant material to sort through. I’ve seen
the birds jump up on standing grasses, ride them as they fall to the ground,
then feed on the seed heads. Let’s all let a corner of the lawn seed out next
summer!</p><p class="MsoNormal">If you go on-line to find out how to attract juncos to your
yard, you’ll only learn what type of bird seed to buy, not how to grow real
seeds from real plants. Nothing against bird feeders, but think about all the
side benefits real plants provide: roots reach into the soil to feed microscopic
organisms, blooms feed butterflies and bees, beneficial insects burrow in to the
stem to ride out the winter, they provide shade and cover to a myriad of species,
and besides that, standing stems make a pretty picture against the snow.</p><p class="MsoNormal">There’s a new set of wind turbines on the skyline. They’re
about 10 miles away. When Emma, our almost 3-yr-old granddaughter saw them, she
said, “What are those spinners going round and round?” She’s the oldest, so will
be the only grandchild that notices a change in the view. The others will think
the windmills belong there. Beware the shifting baseline syndrome. We only know
what we grow up with. And as each succeeding generation becomes accustomed to a
new reality, we collectively lose. I know we need renewables, but let's acknowledge the impacts. We need to be
conserving energy at the same time. Where’s the discussion? Where’s the incentive?
Conservation has been unpopular since Carter asked us to wear a sweater. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It's been a mild winter, but wet. Mark's had to take the tractor quite a lot to help the feed trucks get around in the mud. And since we're mostly sand, that's saying something. I hate to see calving season come. Winter, a slower time for us, is slipping away. I’m not like other heroic ranch women I read about
that say they love this time of year. Not me. Once the calves get on the ground,
it’s non-stop ranching until next winter. We wasted our off-season Netflix subscription
and now it’s all over. I’d take February for a few more rounds. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntHFKesCRVIav34Yc2MkyTgZ3N14_OKjVhFpaj77H4YddiAin-6WqoaNZvdTkBswIjN_b3AQ1UhXbmJbL2nnsbgcB6akKFdBaGNIn3mTnS4YXQGuyPP_r9FtZyZnJqmVpuGlE2myXkSRDqmj9BKQu61WZVcp2h6S6OrYPtkiCplZ9Dcv-SUOydgMAyMAv/s4032/IMG_3539.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntHFKesCRVIav34Yc2MkyTgZ3N14_OKjVhFpaj77H4YddiAin-6WqoaNZvdTkBswIjN_b3AQ1UhXbmJbL2nnsbgcB6akKFdBaGNIn3mTnS4YXQGuyPP_r9FtZyZnJqmVpuGlE2myXkSRDqmj9BKQu61WZVcp2h6S6OrYPtkiCplZ9Dcv-SUOydgMAyMAv/w640-h480/IMG_3539.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching "neigh neighs" graze the lawn<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhd9-NJPc3bqXk2gH0y1KtYrl46mC7aQ3dpfAExph7-XKQXp7pu2qRUvgV8Zq_9IAU0J2fsY18NbcsAPrR7V06kWS1gk-hWX4hrwJ8ySZlT-eR7EEz1XI_HhI58pWicxfGDsgZAEciNRNSar1x-u-U4VR0xQJOdbGZhqS8BpQjTDjGwCwU0Txj0NmndoCU/s4032/IMG_3489.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhd9-NJPc3bqXk2gH0y1KtYrl46mC7aQ3dpfAExph7-XKQXp7pu2qRUvgV8Zq_9IAU0J2fsY18NbcsAPrR7V06kWS1gk-hWX4hrwJ8ySZlT-eR7EEz1XI_HhI58pWicxfGDsgZAEciNRNSar1x-u-U4VR0xQJOdbGZhqS8BpQjTDjGwCwU0Txj0NmndoCU/w640-h480/IMG_3489.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunday feeding crew</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMteCMn4-jROw2yplUis58ygUacCDQk4Gj9_MDIXjg0N1KY0DArytgjRb3ltJsN-iR8o7JiO79qn9TavVU8m3UkZspEJlwOwbwpj4eQpTC-1R2o1y230KfCmwwW3rH-qTvfQZCUug0JUUDs1MfMujDP-9MfwPMRS0gVEmFYV5flWezw7X3LFa5VJT2pR2/s4032/IMG_3504.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMteCMn4-jROw2yplUis58ygUacCDQk4Gj9_MDIXjg0N1KY0DArytgjRb3ltJsN-iR8o7JiO79qn9TavVU8m3UkZspEJlwOwbwpj4eQpTC-1R2o1y230KfCmwwW3rH-qTvfQZCUug0JUUDs1MfMujDP-9MfwPMRS0gVEmFYV5flWezw7X3LFa5VJT2pR2/w640-h480/IMG_3504.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sale Day at the Blackfoot Livestock Auction</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-68508996746265061752023-12-23T17:03:00.000-08:002023-12-23T19:52:53.697-08:00A Melancholy Christmas<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">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. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">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. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">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. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">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. </span></p><p><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElRsqeyb2XiY1QdhkydyedqRxQ9Kplya7PH-zfHqZ3_nevr4eg-h71ucxFBGAmyifJXJwbxm9eDz4hC-gmVeOreInTA_fJfpMSRXzjVgeU49ky7FOF1gr6WDwdCZFE01mSiuxfQH1J1VnU9wCQxA8Qd_Vg6gp78CN-KwbAqwvypcupXxQWTyattTcl9p2/s4032/IMG_3375%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElRsqeyb2XiY1QdhkydyedqRxQ9Kplya7PH-zfHqZ3_nevr4eg-h71ucxFBGAmyifJXJwbxm9eDz4hC-gmVeOreInTA_fJfpMSRXzjVgeU49ky7FOF1gr6WDwdCZFE01mSiuxfQH1J1VnU9wCQxA8Qd_Vg6gp78CN-KwbAqwvypcupXxQWTyattTcl9p2/w640-h480/IMG_3375%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lou and Grandpa</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYbPlYU-OkdjcDiAy5wYSAewwz5kS0DD8dZvvse5b4bLMbVzcltClp95t_dUtE_UKXFS37PLR0Z6DvFMxCYIDO1lcw2TRb7MLlacVPRt2sIYqaaOxJLB9gml-Q_pAH0op1C3_0bFSxcAu_BvLA5yjoguvpppG2s-X0QN57fOLVQjDMZ3hXq8VhXVw5qEhB/s4032/IMG_3415.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYbPlYU-OkdjcDiAy5wYSAewwz5kS0DD8dZvvse5b4bLMbVzcltClp95t_dUtE_UKXFS37PLR0Z6DvFMxCYIDO1lcw2TRb7MLlacVPRt2sIYqaaOxJLB9gml-Q_pAH0op1C3_0bFSxcAu_BvLA5yjoguvpppG2s-X0QN57fOLVQjDMZ3hXq8VhXVw5qEhB/w640-h480/IMG_3415.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emma's turn</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;" /></div>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-22817713036718408452023-11-24T11:16:00.000-08:002023-11-24T17:12:58.427-08:00Meet Me in Montana<p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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. . . ?”</p><p class="MsoNormal">Our brother Rich and his wife, Charlotte, drove up for a day too, which was a real treat. </p><p class="MsoNormal">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. </p><p class="MsoNormal">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. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qPeE-FeUNqL3OgYV9HF3RCTq78X1XaJLGeKxjguGwh-KQAYeu4ps60BHNCJaAhoD4m2L-uJezAGzJw9Se9E1tu0Tr6LAPrN5ZTLOABZzPHeiRpXw6zFoLaLjDNUIfeWbLEJ4huawKJqGgevY_s_ErtiM6kxw23FERCNOp1V485r-Xg52NvPne3_LKHpB/s2560/sisters%2023.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1195" data-original-width="2560" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qPeE-FeUNqL3OgYV9HF3RCTq78X1XaJLGeKxjguGwh-KQAYeu4ps60BHNCJaAhoD4m2L-uJezAGzJw9Se9E1tu0Tr6LAPrN5ZTLOABZzPHeiRpXw6zFoLaLjDNUIfeWbLEJ4huawKJqGgevY_s_ErtiM6kxw23FERCNOp1V485r-Xg52NvPne3_LKHpB/w640-h298/sisters%2023.JPEG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Kit, Rich, Janene, Becky, Donna, Merle</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-11013983933005758562023-09-29T20:01:00.003-07:002023-09-30T06:58:46.523-07:00Coaxing September<p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;">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. </span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBG-ndU8zJHsGTw_cQr6MQFx97VNsOQWxB1r4PXhjN46SESoTEfrxtP2T0XA4k2Q_YrClYFa9pPB9wz9ZqNvgrD0eAJUZo-0q3j6BwIVgjJMtWWX6uAgWHdFUapacmqwQ30H73FfZcRQgSQoq82NwI7TyG3UHP38mBhG2ivK_jzWCrNotqWe7EKYNyklJ/s4032/IMG_2953.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBG-ndU8zJHsGTw_cQr6MQFx97VNsOQWxB1r4PXhjN46SESoTEfrxtP2T0XA4k2Q_YrClYFa9pPB9wz9ZqNvgrD0eAJUZo-0q3j6BwIVgjJMtWWX6uAgWHdFUapacmqwQ30H73FfZcRQgSQoq82NwI7TyG3UHP38mBhG2ivK_jzWCrNotqWe7EKYNyklJ/w480-h640/IMG_2953.jpg" width="480" /></a></span></div><p><span><span><br /></span></span></p><span><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTRkVs7CiLj6ofpx71acTn3WjEAywU8_MgPCDHNuAao-_uTe0_od9WJobvBrj6N1E3_fcb7UwkhcQDyHN_PSU7O4hJR4PC41tZ3fqJnSD0MwbzEPu8B25Xc2GcQY-xMxztJqy-MgM5W7EqwlI56wU-ybIAhr-h-iUJ3NFV_kR8nkdNMiKlhyWXs4ECbO3Y/s4032/IMG_2980.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTRkVs7CiLj6ofpx71acTn3WjEAywU8_MgPCDHNuAao-_uTe0_od9WJobvBrj6N1E3_fcb7UwkhcQDyHN_PSU7O4hJR4PC41tZ3fqJnSD0MwbzEPu8B25Xc2GcQY-xMxztJqy-MgM5W7EqwlI56wU-ybIAhr-h-iUJ3NFV_kR8nkdNMiKlhyWXs4ECbO3Y/w480-h640/IMG_2980.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">painted lady</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span><p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-43900060116666685762023-08-27T09:24:00.001-07:002023-09-01T17:00:47.462-07:00Ranching Butterflies<p>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. </p><p>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?</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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).</p><p>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.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1FMso4k9cfPasAdadnWgLEI2GWPygknwPqa4O76j4BkN4aadPdV8N_F7_TYZAroLf_5phFiz1YA3BFo9XZ0xkXDRpBVnMqGLhLBjZjHsK64cFQnOWrPS_EkBjY_7DwUY3vqLg2-xs8SGO43bCAcwmzmZlaQ6kKvxY3IU0Tq4Cf4HGTqfciUqct-yGyI3/s2012/butterfly%20and%20larvae.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1403" data-original-width="2012" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1FMso4k9cfPasAdadnWgLEI2GWPygknwPqa4O76j4BkN4aadPdV8N_F7_TYZAroLf_5phFiz1YA3BFo9XZ0xkXDRpBVnMqGLhLBjZjHsK64cFQnOWrPS_EkBjY_7DwUY3vqLg2-xs8SGO43bCAcwmzmZlaQ6kKvxY3IU0Tq4Cf4HGTqfciUqct-yGyI3/w640-h446/butterfly%20and%20larvae.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-60779327228127445912023-07-26T12:17:00.003-07:002023-10-09T07:13:50.681-07:00Plants for the PlanetIt’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.<div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin4wN_jhh3FC7XK6gY41YPTICtZ0oHFDxb-Cg9xadnr7TrBwk_x9SkBGZXUouWRsSQp7jD853pRpxnhq7B4ndYceyjwfX4EkO2ZZuCG5KwnsIv4iaZ5wj717_7F11tQZuVD7-Hrtn9TyQk-M2L59BBQ_tcMGrjL-klwZ_LB35oMYBFAfD_dvRZX4E1sXdt/s4032/IMG_2250.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin4wN_jhh3FC7XK6gY41YPTICtZ0oHFDxb-Cg9xadnr7TrBwk_x9SkBGZXUouWRsSQp7jD853pRpxnhq7B4ndYceyjwfX4EkO2ZZuCG5KwnsIv4iaZ5wj717_7F11tQZuVD7-Hrtn9TyQk-M2L59BBQ_tcMGrjL-klwZ_LB35oMYBFAfD_dvRZX4E1sXdt/w640-h480/IMG_2250.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a favorite from the valley ranch, buckwheat<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWc7ltlsjKOydTrmKJsww4c5uAeh16lz-wAE3U5TQ0zW-gF2euUWnyw0KhNrefVLSH-Pmgdm4zenR4f2JmTzlKlIBWbXT2nMEMn2atMC7xF1WjDSKm7pNG2TlB9-dPosAMY16b7buQZ_3DcEzf_Ok1-QAtHcUKerIScx1ZS3NkS_NL1EnCmBwyC0vgotr/s4032/IMG_2273.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiWc7ltlsjKOydTrmKJsww4c5uAeh16lz-wAE3U5TQ0zW-gF2euUWnyw0KhNrefVLSH-Pmgdm4zenR4f2JmTzlKlIBWbXT2nMEMn2atMC7xF1WjDSKm7pNG2TlB9-dPosAMY16b7buQZ_3DcEzf_Ok1-QAtHcUKerIScx1ZS3NkS_NL1EnCmBwyC0vgotr/w640-h480/IMG_2273.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">also from the valley ranch - veiny dock<br />we call them sand lilies</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPs9iKGpGEpSaE1PuVF9bol-aAtIOn0DtdvhAfv7N_DsWVpLk5tin7I5zpMo0fW7G_pHVjpV6087L5KsD_Ah6dMpJ805ji8FviPulFp0igN0n6F3-qfZ45_Klc5jGeQDeqmCQJG1NNjvvxz4VUDSJSpEOTaRmwpC8jJJFG4SM4lsPMPWuoHohR8joNyYu/s4032/IMG_2360.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNPs9iKGpGEpSaE1PuVF9bol-aAtIOn0DtdvhAfv7N_DsWVpLk5tin7I5zpMo0fW7G_pHVjpV6087L5KsD_Ah6dMpJ805ji8FviPulFp0igN0n6F3-qfZ45_Klc5jGeQDeqmCQJG1NNjvvxz4VUDSJSpEOTaRmwpC8jJJFG4SM4lsPMPWuoHohR8joNyYu/w640-h480/IMG_2360.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm going with wild garlic on this one, so delicate, just starting to open<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh39BKS2KG2A6d6RvH0ZctFdY0cPx65N1NMhSW10VbdJOlRL3pZ2GT4-G5VhXGrjlPv2g9DStBZjB8Qcbotuy3cH5xMcWxDE48xEbNCbBQYT9k1LsQEKqj4kB25u8MJSuHy7wGkrJBBfqn9Twx-cZi4_s0MoHph2pXzTqrpmbu1nyp2-F9ZHwROtWQBXoVr/s4032/IMG_2412.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh39BKS2KG2A6d6RvH0ZctFdY0cPx65N1NMhSW10VbdJOlRL3pZ2GT4-G5VhXGrjlPv2g9DStBZjB8Qcbotuy3cH5xMcWxDE48xEbNCbBQYT9k1LsQEKqj4kB25u8MJSuHy7wGkrJBBfqn9Twx-cZi4_s0MoHph2pXzTqrpmbu1nyp2-F9ZHwROtWQBXoVr/w640-h480/IMG_2412.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">brodea (cluster lily) and arnica<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjou_Er20UFjr-2jnCL6TFcLs_3G5rh70GctzieGt7gxXSyWVuP-mhtTz0bCP_t30Po0amrk85tjdb2BVFZ4OiSGpOY2QMh9-I_CJvEn-z5yO7eIflf7CeQWc8nQRIpEK3TXqMSfrwmw1wwxREAkdLy2qUvUmgLoKEHWxgSP3_MJCV_jYB9LHJ4I_eRkyca/s4032/IMG_2432.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjou_Er20UFjr-2jnCL6TFcLs_3G5rh70GctzieGt7gxXSyWVuP-mhtTz0bCP_t30Po0amrk85tjdb2BVFZ4OiSGpOY2QMh9-I_CJvEn-z5yO7eIflf7CeQWc8nQRIpEK3TXqMSfrwmw1wwxREAkdLy2qUvUmgLoKEHWxgSP3_MJCV_jYB9LHJ4I_eRkyca/w640-h480/IMG_2432.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pretty sure this is hairy clematis, so unique!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnradDEj8SRodL_YWsHWxLZRXTaiwtLhqAyyKJvQ1RiXApdCxb2kTturijRGe4NUxpRCfmhIsWbsvWJ04oVtmgttU6-UqXn-LaL7Z8OYLRqOlj08lguVgqm0XnX4WG22WD2vze2nJKt9Jc-RL4tlV0Y-7tF7vhEhtvNR798b2-z1dRGxLkjnDlI9sJc51O/s4032/IMG_2514%20(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnradDEj8SRodL_YWsHWxLZRXTaiwtLhqAyyKJvQ1RiXApdCxb2kTturijRGe4NUxpRCfmhIsWbsvWJ04oVtmgttU6-UqXn-LaL7Z8OYLRqOlj08lguVgqm0XnX4WG22WD2vze2nJKt9Jc-RL4tlV0Y-7tF7vhEhtvNR798b2-z1dRGxLkjnDlI9sJc51O/w640-h480/IMG_2514%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">prairie smoke, another fun one</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-39047947381606434372023-06-01T07:08:00.003-07:002023-06-02T17:33:40.523-07:00Emma's World<p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">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.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">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!”</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That
curiosity, that wonderment, is available to us all. I’m going to be like Emma.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcdJfakP-Lu7yuAJdEtshitgJp8oOMoC4mBeeCXtG-PkdBW5VZmwNc0MuEyOHFiTBcR_OxZrFnMbsdaJVmDAqFFs36bDPp1zHXyWW5ex1NaGZdaeFSV_5fANgaERLjl1JCJa0bKG8yy3vJOTOF0HhtCn17PKtEfSKiq2UOSz538m6177pt8IPQZjACg/s3722/IMG_1954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3722" height="520" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYcdJfakP-Lu7yuAJdEtshitgJp8oOMoC4mBeeCXtG-PkdBW5VZmwNc0MuEyOHFiTBcR_OxZrFnMbsdaJVmDAqFFs36bDPp1zHXyWW5ex1NaGZdaeFSV_5fANgaERLjl1JCJa0bKG8yy3vJOTOF0HhtCn17PKtEfSKiq2UOSz538m6177pt8IPQZjACg/w640-h520/IMG_1954.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emma with the new puppy, Myrt<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hk1WF19AsEkd52RwrsqvS--4OrnU5qxWoM1glPkQhp7pwzwneIa-MmZlXl7RM6UfO0dpvsh1RJzivhcM3o_sW6CgcZ_arkWVCPijm-9KH5TIUmSlzRl1EcyaogvTI6yGizINdgDBjU4APsMt51VgT6lfcnIoGwJPVoXcooaqQzxbsopKGjagU_5D5Q/s2016/IMG_2112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1hk1WF19AsEkd52RwrsqvS--4OrnU5qxWoM1glPkQhp7pwzwneIa-MmZlXl7RM6UfO0dpvsh1RJzivhcM3o_sW6CgcZ_arkWVCPijm-9KH5TIUmSlzRl1EcyaogvTI6yGizINdgDBjU4APsMt51VgT6lfcnIoGwJPVoXcooaqQzxbsopKGjagU_5D5Q/w640-h480/IMG_2112.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-88659623563088134232023-04-23T20:14:00.003-07:002023-04-24T06:35:25.045-07:00Passages<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">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.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">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. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd748LJrKVyJc0EJpQpbhly38bZkSjs9IUoGP9QCJWEUAB6_WulOUu70EL22DawiOjPMlpDIHqOrwEAUVjBpBZA3bmGkz_lu-wHDQRb6lS3V8QQdMvhXPuNLRcdgJd7fEhe0UbdWDNwmsOe_DHPzXANoGCQz39V3D6ipleHzZI-feGGPyhNWO5m0yTow/s4032/image2.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd748LJrKVyJc0EJpQpbhly38bZkSjs9IUoGP9QCJWEUAB6_WulOUu70EL22DawiOjPMlpDIHqOrwEAUVjBpBZA3bmGkz_lu-wHDQRb6lS3V8QQdMvhXPuNLRcdgJd7fEhe0UbdWDNwmsOe_DHPzXANoGCQz39V3D6ipleHzZI-feGGPyhNWO5m0yTow/w640-h480/image2.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aww Lou . . . .</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4J2YMZm6eUPhjfAjQpexNAvQ6j9_ByhdgpIOXbHH3kZqP_lWLzjMXSXmzfxdlzuewK3BV352PWV2cYSQoPXYrUpZ49n-Q02KllyBbBVVymuNq2rvzV8ZxZ9_PKcGZqEjV7MVHByOfXILjuR1_f-k1vKpmCkxubG3eyoHe75B2oD7qgvckFet4xfQWmw/s3255/IMG_0148.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2379" data-original-width="3255" height="468" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4J2YMZm6eUPhjfAjQpexNAvQ6j9_ByhdgpIOXbHH3kZqP_lWLzjMXSXmzfxdlzuewK3BV352PWV2cYSQoPXYrUpZ49n-Q02KllyBbBVVymuNq2rvzV8ZxZ9_PKcGZqEjV7MVHByOfXILjuR1_f-k1vKpmCkxubG3eyoHe75B2oD7qgvckFet4xfQWmw/w640-h468/IMG_0148.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seth spoofing with someone's reject vacuum they dumped in our pasture!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDnP5C_DteKKUEWNRn389V4oWMX9caG_6fybekZm67wQp2io06u1Ijvo9VqGlK5JKW4F2o4KGSteDbQEOZfyvauing_aLQ2USK0evXgB7PFccgm1L62dlyTOrAUomAOXk90ApAaRY7pvF5htHb8cH6w9gWBofZciZ5G8V_Ym4cyG6doxlI4cHwR8udg/s4032/IMG_1867.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRDnP5C_DteKKUEWNRn389V4oWMX9caG_6fybekZm67wQp2io06u1Ijvo9VqGlK5JKW4F2o4KGSteDbQEOZfyvauing_aLQ2USK0evXgB7PFccgm1L62dlyTOrAUomAOXk90ApAaRY7pvF5htHb8cH6w9gWBofZciZ5G8V_Ym4cyG6doxlI4cHwR8udg/w640-h480/IMG_1867.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">canal clean up of an evening<br />another rite of spring</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-72016725981428315202023-03-29T12:47:00.001-07:002023-03-29T12:51:18.835-07:00Calving - Spring 2023<p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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: </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><i>Heifers are straight
up basking in the sun. Somebody get them a mai tai</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i> </i><i>Has anyone seen the
bull elk sleeping in the middle of the Frank Allen corner?</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i> </i><i>Just like to issue a
brief reminder how much I appreciate all of you</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i> W</i><i>hat a humbling
season. We are so fortunate to have great resources</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i> </i><i>We’ve got good systems
and great people</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i> </i><i>Saw a killdeer!</i></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSm7-iq1QQM1ysp3EESsIzDSOT-laY21CzrK5h_8BXhMU_FxOEr49xBSyJWrLkF8r0vE7At9wHNfxAR1R9vVYMo8qJ-mmJjlUhrLsVUVxk_au_aVthhcwafSJXzoOA4AllzfDlQqdUGzfywMYMhyR7DgGKjoKEzdFzRb9YZraSF-qrK9auef-dlBbjA/s4032/for%20blog.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXSm7-iq1QQM1ysp3EESsIzDSOT-laY21CzrK5h_8BXhMU_FxOEr49xBSyJWrLkF8r0vE7At9wHNfxAR1R9vVYMo8qJ-mmJjlUhrLsVUVxk_au_aVthhcwafSJXzoOA4AllzfDlQqdUGzfywMYMhyR7DgGKjoKEzdFzRb9YZraSF-qrK9auef-dlBbjA/w640-h480/for%20blog.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little sunshine for this one</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiy9lFVm_uO7vf5relMHrheZXvPypEJ7Ffc3LNwY2oMKSHS4FxhKOH5W6zMPyU8k73dNOhnJcL6ZgK_R84_gD5r1G4BJQsnukZRWKILJNi5elAS20anOKp0llHp5i09ea4J9hx5rQoa3-MXUB2rQFwoXjyzsLg97x1TTj2ATJkcgnnZG1wVQ0E2IZB_w/s4032/IMG_1648.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiy9lFVm_uO7vf5relMHrheZXvPypEJ7Ffc3LNwY2oMKSHS4FxhKOH5W6zMPyU8k73dNOhnJcL6ZgK_R84_gD5r1G4BJQsnukZRWKILJNi5elAS20anOKp0llHp5i09ea4J9hx5rQoa3-MXUB2rQFwoXjyzsLg97x1TTj2ATJkcgnnZG1wVQ0E2IZB_w/w640-h480/IMG_1648.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When the snow started to melt, this is no place for calves</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHM58msRWUhrema9cK1vQkhVxXmYOBC3edYPn1snNnTmh8lf8-tgu6GdtsXsJWc6aNOxv7JrusH-DRNBsv04MkSS193tjOkcGsvHGcQVwiJkI0xZMyX3xeAIjXZX8zcK2QK_aIBUhEImYiBjkMdNawJj3OOyu5hYcXaZyUTJHeG-hBYbv6HTrVQJqbw/s3634/for%20blog%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2891" data-original-width="3634" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHM58msRWUhrema9cK1vQkhVxXmYOBC3edYPn1snNnTmh8lf8-tgu6GdtsXsJWc6aNOxv7JrusH-DRNBsv04MkSS193tjOkcGsvHGcQVwiJkI0xZMyX3xeAIjXZX8zcK2QK_aIBUhEImYiBjkMdNawJj3OOyu5hYcXaZyUTJHeG-hBYbv6HTrVQJqbw/w640-h510/for%20blog%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James and the barn calves </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-62453368843865543602023-02-26T14:26:00.004-08:002023-02-26T14:29:46.035-08:00X14 Yellow <p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p>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.”</p><p>Leah is pregnant now, as she was almost two years ago with
Emma. This <i>being pregnant during calving season</i> 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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveojZJJBM5yp8aen2QlJ-GHUjSpRQDl_dYJ0q2iaCE6C_ECqz5N4Cp_xi-ibUJh9iEltEtYdFbq_Et0EnbtHmtU9HvooY7Ge-Vcwz0rm00Vrn7Yze-OF5oYwlQctlt2xObSk2uMtizN-iaofLvrbAcJ0X3ZT3h7b9nlfjvf40To_5O2SrOhAnKXcZsw/s4032/IMG_1590%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveojZJJBM5yp8aen2QlJ-GHUjSpRQDl_dYJ0q2iaCE6C_ECqz5N4Cp_xi-ibUJh9iEltEtYdFbq_Et0EnbtHmtU9HvooY7Ge-Vcwz0rm00Vrn7Yze-OF5oYwlQctlt2xObSk2uMtizN-iaofLvrbAcJ0X3ZT3h7b9nlfjvf40To_5O2SrOhAnKXcZsw/w640-h480/IMG_1590%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2023</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEE28iYM4z8GqHqBhVDshi8rkdCtN9w6KG73m4WS5uMoUJVFi9lBCBhnly2YG6RNaxApONzcRS2OLZyczUoMXAUfDiJwW1kukfqjY0SVxdqMBacgdv87AOTcFhONQrknSIzMoa7kK2C08x9ZccLOaLHMYbhayU54ylL0Kdm36raQETF4Gfchftkx0vmQ/s1600/P1010061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEE28iYM4z8GqHqBhVDshi8rkdCtN9w6KG73m4WS5uMoUJVFi9lBCBhnly2YG6RNaxApONzcRS2OLZyczUoMXAUfDiJwW1kukfqjY0SVxdqMBacgdv87AOTcFhONQrknSIzMoa7kK2C08x9ZccLOaLHMYbhayU54ylL0Kdm36raQETF4Gfchftkx0vmQ/w640-h480/P1010061.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2013 - dang, that bare ground looks nice!</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuN1m5aMPTPVLcmqbq6sbO7q__bjABTGUf0k-inR7RcgI6QZWqsRX8Ab1F153JkiZ64RulWoPXOQlVpbBMZxiNCCu5zHJJsRfb1t4UwMZXFVPhDWj12NSJo0cOZZFx5W1N9iym-uCdjp0nI6MKMzOMj7D_tRtE0xhSCqYqo6KVQD0BiACylXfFWDFyOA/s4032/IMG_1597.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuN1m5aMPTPVLcmqbq6sbO7q__bjABTGUf0k-inR7RcgI6QZWqsRX8Ab1F153JkiZ64RulWoPXOQlVpbBMZxiNCCu5zHJJsRfb1t4UwMZXFVPhDWj12NSJo0cOZZFx5W1N9iym-uCdjp0nI6MKMzOMj7D_tRtE0xhSCqYqo6KVQD0BiACylXfFWDFyOA/w640-h480/IMG_1597.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emma is almost 2</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-27199984244953793462023-01-28T14:21:00.002-08:002023-01-28T18:35:47.727-08:00Crunch Time, or notWe 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. <div><br /></div><div>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!” </div><div><br /></div><div>“Right,
red-wing blackbirds!" I said. “They’re back in town, and about two weeks early.” </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.
</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQCOQBfHHcHb7gIemkveDCJv9rcuqGe3C8qNg7Q-K0t230K6ftfuLTsNR-UAzUyGwLq1Fz8ArSPZONzCMDxd0lRPfdPu-qduuFp9sPxO53j0QWJtPcgQbXZDMxUPmC-UhXrVMzjX0g0-8rAisDahMNI0ZSOroLkHT_zapdrNVJmC2EFcuSVZ1qjAxZw/s3577/IMG_1476%20(2).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3023" data-original-width="3577" height="540" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQCOQBfHHcHb7gIemkveDCJv9rcuqGe3C8qNg7Q-K0t230K6ftfuLTsNR-UAzUyGwLq1Fz8ArSPZONzCMDxd0lRPfdPu-qduuFp9sPxO53j0QWJtPcgQbXZDMxUPmC-UhXrVMzjX0g0-8rAisDahMNI0ZSOroLkHT_zapdrNVJmC2EFcuSVZ1qjAxZw/w640-h540/IMG_1476%20(2).jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">so pretty this morning!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-71842131840335673742022-12-23T10:44:00.006-08:002022-12-23T13:00:43.670-08:00Searching for Hallelujah<p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8EcLmDaRWoXVFzJR8BjxIj8NlRPDFGw65vxmFLy272xkEbHzZJPDNPu42iXd4Dq9o8OuSYP-0_gPZqcrBQUeBHPQdBjgDzhVrvVj8dbJIOAHNKcM6A8WgIjx9V-t_iD1ENmjzxiyUpWqxHXaajhrssHJYWsc8vkPsXCG0YUzXAsU5LFfnHOjV5_zGw/s2770/IMG_6424.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2382" data-original-width="2770" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8EcLmDaRWoXVFzJR8BjxIj8NlRPDFGw65vxmFLy272xkEbHzZJPDNPu42iXd4Dq9o8OuSYP-0_gPZqcrBQUeBHPQdBjgDzhVrvVj8dbJIOAHNKcM6A8WgIjx9V-t_iD1ENmjzxiyUpWqxHXaajhrssHJYWsc8vkPsXCG0YUzXAsU5LFfnHOjV5_zGw/w640-h550/IMG_6424.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEGupuEHGrMUSPnFphs81qeD9z0ud7v_du60Y_nQSdQjBm-cJ9MQTOq8nPzhMZLkACsslNcbuKxvutV2ayuyJLUU4EGqM1qa-XVoFizr4Q_huJX0qwbvet237g8OPLrztptIISj6mGP5yATlevrAAcS1b5tu7CR-BPI6jp7kFHdM-7d_HWanXSs6RfQ/s4032/IMG_1414.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEGupuEHGrMUSPnFphs81qeD9z0ud7v_du60Y_nQSdQjBm-cJ9MQTOq8nPzhMZLkACsslNcbuKxvutV2ayuyJLUU4EGqM1qa-XVoFizr4Q_huJX0qwbvet237g8OPLrztptIISj6mGP5yATlevrAAcS1b5tu7CR-BPI6jp7kFHdM-7d_HWanXSs6RfQ/w640-h480/IMG_1414.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM256fO-QlFbtIcvXWCrolckene2FMxNTFaeEU_glH5Wrji87sJcS3yjeKUrX-vQRBtI2azMhpZTIOTW0nsST84cpnb6tna02XVvgbFE38nCdBd7W1TLTK5zYhGbPdZl4RKFN1wq1_GYUDQNhbJYMVZwneBHAoIl6wXQ9uRqHSizRgLbASfUb2s2EVTA/s4032/IMG_1419.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM256fO-QlFbtIcvXWCrolckene2FMxNTFaeEU_glH5Wrji87sJcS3yjeKUrX-vQRBtI2azMhpZTIOTW0nsST84cpnb6tna02XVvgbFE38nCdBd7W1TLTK5zYhGbPdZl4RKFN1wq1_GYUDQNhbJYMVZwneBHAoIl6wXQ9uRqHSizRgLbASfUb2s2EVTA/w640-h480/IMG_1419.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-15488265258789471272022-11-02T20:40:00.002-07:002022-11-03T06:13:04.394-07:00Cowboys and Hunters<p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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!</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.”</p><p class="MsoNormal">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. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7e1A1hCxk8IOGOjkz6F9GAveA_H1C7pDBCYDMYLy60AYHVOTVx1E06FbfqHibI8SBSD9uENGjj6UwYLkg6c2DNtl6kaOxdemZtwSGu77wbRy5hf_dFb7SsnEIIuBbPLLrbzzy-k5KpvqVaf_bwdmd_ur1GPQinFkgMh5EXlTWXlItmMSYXsiPI0j1Pw/s4032/IMG_1175.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7e1A1hCxk8IOGOjkz6F9GAveA_H1C7pDBCYDMYLy60AYHVOTVx1E06FbfqHibI8SBSD9uENGjj6UwYLkg6c2DNtl6kaOxdemZtwSGu77wbRy5hf_dFb7SsnEIIuBbPLLrbzzy-k5KpvqVaf_bwdmd_ur1GPQinFkgMh5EXlTWXlItmMSYXsiPI0j1Pw/w640-h480/IMG_1175.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">all quiet for another season</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_g2AZsUcIZUjIpp7KHIfzQrQWbDeHiGaiuGYtKIyOXWaXw-mUhanYoBPsJ9Tbu9PJUeb3KD54OwnoJnKTAKWZFJxXO_g28gSraGR91a2zOIz0-zAmprRWXlQzSHWLFMQIfp4ePNMPJjyEorvQyhuARN-GTVdV9SFmh8DQe9wKL4tlBp547MriwIgyaQ/s2560/QCVF1907.JPEG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1195" data-original-width="2560" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_g2AZsUcIZUjIpp7KHIfzQrQWbDeHiGaiuGYtKIyOXWaXw-mUhanYoBPsJ9Tbu9PJUeb3KD54OwnoJnKTAKWZFJxXO_g28gSraGR91a2zOIz0-zAmprRWXlQzSHWLFMQIfp4ePNMPJjyEorvQyhuARN-GTVdV9SFmh8DQe9wKL4tlBp547MriwIgyaQ/w640-h298/QCVF1907.JPEG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">steer calves at home</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-1428520517917569632022-09-24T20:09:00.002-07:002022-09-24T20:15:57.816-07:00Monarchs and Moons<p>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?</p><p>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. </p><p>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.”</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUpE5pb8UrBpUaFY75LeiqtWms4toWKo8jts6awycYZ8-uz529v7Lpbv8fMVSufHOmR-2KHgadaX0_8tnYBK2ytURi41w_L-82zp3-TQ6oGgnhOcX-5WTwyv2RdEJ7SGwP3m0TqAae7bekqskUTI-QalMd4713-Ss0sG9T0kWTMFRIbva3ms_pQrGxqg/s3872/DSC_0850.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3872" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUpE5pb8UrBpUaFY75LeiqtWms4toWKo8jts6awycYZ8-uz529v7Lpbv8fMVSufHOmR-2KHgadaX0_8tnYBK2ytURi41w_L-82zp3-TQ6oGgnhOcX-5WTwyv2RdEJ7SGwP3m0TqAae7bekqskUTI-QalMd4713-Ss0sG9T0kWTMFRIbva3ms_pQrGxqg/w640-h428/DSC_0850.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The black spot on the wing vein shows it's a male</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi02cbyorwFAo2VqbiD0JfNpoJzgSHJmtMqdaAp2GfnY5FYgnVWZBJk9hM06LPmtrFKUFfaP-OgyDpQ_Mv6z7MMVjYD5nWQ7jU1fazgk0al1wCvGQRQyqMBGFNLcilaDV5owJ8bq6qKRdYgSXdTI05u-P53JW5q6Gw-QTCV1LwbMUGoBT4dVPGnr7LDJA/s4032/IMG_0795.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi02cbyorwFAo2VqbiD0JfNpoJzgSHJmtMqdaAp2GfnY5FYgnVWZBJk9hM06LPmtrFKUFfaP-OgyDpQ_Mv6z7MMVjYD5nWQ7jU1fazgk0al1wCvGQRQyqMBGFNLcilaDV5owJ8bq6qKRdYgSXdTI05u-P53JW5q6Gw-QTCV1LwbMUGoBT4dVPGnr7LDJA/w640-h480/IMG_0795.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emma loves green beans</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0hr-XwUZBvRHkuowvh05yfBNXxJcV1QgR8L6Ae5KajrWIzmg8zvIhjMYETNoVCqDtoo-0hnxMA0rt7NUgM78knkZEz5m-oysmhjyHSGnVU2pRynpqwPNs3XoC6AuUU-7n6kvvCy0jrfJF0cP5t6rNxSUJtz9_007BFxM9y7LLfYqavlX1bwTYSj0Wg/s4032/IMG_0766.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc0hr-XwUZBvRHkuowvh05yfBNXxJcV1QgR8L6Ae5KajrWIzmg8zvIhjMYETNoVCqDtoo-0hnxMA0rt7NUgM78knkZEz5m-oysmhjyHSGnVU2pRynpqwPNs3XoC6AuUU-7n6kvvCy0jrfJF0cP5t6rNxSUJtz9_007BFxM9y7LLfYqavlX1bwTYSj0Wg/w640-h480/IMG_0766.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4-horsepower "riding" lawn mowers</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-28854687475424298472022-09-10T12:54:00.002-07:002022-09-24T06:00:44.529-07:00September Curriculum <p>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.</p><p>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<sup>th</sup> 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.</p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p>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. </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC-fLMyba1nJseSTdw9hZeEn2NP3LWcnooNXcDUdOb49uOFy685KQ9za7fZMDJD70-W_IfwotltQ8ex6KEXLM54vYF55NFoPiHje4k3-VaIxzR4TkEVUVItpvtOZbIgeiIjl2wsDhZlWEVfG5_yI6DedPnm78qJ4Gaz0LicH9FDKQfhRuXl1tvKvlSkw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1499" data-original-width="1998" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjC-fLMyba1nJseSTdw9hZeEn2NP3LWcnooNXcDUdOb49uOFy685KQ9za7fZMDJD70-W_IfwotltQ8ex6KEXLM54vYF55NFoPiHje4k3-VaIxzR4TkEVUVItpvtOZbIgeiIjl2wsDhZlWEVfG5_yI6DedPnm78qJ4Gaz0LicH9FDKQfhRuXl1tvKvlSkw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-85474863136573106092022-08-05T12:50:00.003-07:002022-08-26T06:02:21.708-07:00New Life<p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLjHYcp93n5mIzuJoR-kuIz3twShg9hjusPMc8lvGyguaORh-3mCpXh2q0n7Hgxtd5qtNqt0g9zwrSrLAf_arC-gc3upOvckhZfJ5F153g1S5rV0OBAnqK-bVekfnrtYdNb5qI0JtTCxwgllhigP7MwCNp19taYfPFnpt_iIfW9Lk63LaFeA5YsByxg/s4032/IMG_0381.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkLjHYcp93n5mIzuJoR-kuIz3twShg9hjusPMc8lvGyguaORh-3mCpXh2q0n7Hgxtd5qtNqt0g9zwrSrLAf_arC-gc3upOvckhZfJ5F153g1S5rV0OBAnqK-bVekfnrtYdNb5qI0JtTCxwgllhigP7MwCNp19taYfPFnpt_iIfW9Lk63LaFeA5YsByxg/w640-h480/IMG_0381.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5IK6i2t73j_DWQ5BjCivvp6vJk9jGZO76zx3qQaIXSag0wYRZEZ5sno_hZ6D2syg-N9VzIdQKOFWLBBeedGR6POW5x25UrmVbydCNC3DoRmK2NgsEvvqmQtUJV1WDte5jgfSjXXgMJtgJkKOpinFZ6R3PUbokqHOv1jV4W1c4CKoUZmcZVW3jgjLtA/s4032/IMG_0376.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY5IK6i2t73j_DWQ5BjCivvp6vJk9jGZO76zx3qQaIXSag0wYRZEZ5sno_hZ6D2syg-N9VzIdQKOFWLBBeedGR6POW5x25UrmVbydCNC3DoRmK2NgsEvvqmQtUJV1WDte5jgfSjXXgMJtgJkKOpinFZ6R3PUbokqHOv1jV4W1c4CKoUZmcZVW3jgjLtA/w640-h480/IMG_0376.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-79069614862332875542022-07-11T12:14:00.003-07:002022-08-26T06:08:55.752-07:00Grabbing Carbon<p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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!</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCPF0fJ-GzFZvCEnoylRPzFVeGxx9plgnpZLIyy3MHaa2NO77bCboPf3t1oZuEcp_Awk6p8aVumRPJ2moV1U2VlgR3OrJu69a6Y-gdD4HTJfXWxi6cWqySxwmPaidGT7y12q27zAwuujAN5nUD_4qSKPg7swxqADHrUDGkH3pKRlZ-5_KyQdiNSM79Q/s4032/IMG_0224.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSCPF0fJ-GzFZvCEnoylRPzFVeGxx9plgnpZLIyy3MHaa2NO77bCboPf3t1oZuEcp_Awk6p8aVumRPJ2moV1U2VlgR3OrJu69a6Y-gdD4HTJfXWxi6cWqySxwmPaidGT7y12q27zAwuujAN5nUD_4qSKPg7swxqADHrUDGkH3pKRlZ-5_KyQdiNSM79Q/w640-h480/IMG_0224.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">penstemon and pussy toes and cows</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtUO_dOGUrF7u-ZvQiJ5IShpaD3Q7vi34GUxEpy0LPcgKlLEWC04ERLhyK4lwpLhbhJUrPXCpW7iFIU__qgSVqUX4eWcZQmgcpZLPn3Nw0iADtuqa4yA0JDuVU3aCJ-QX6cMkgowZ09Cyr11i6ssoSEbDZlgqi1bjT7mnu-R_qHpuunl3lYdocCu0jw/s4032/IMG_0263.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtUO_dOGUrF7u-ZvQiJ5IShpaD3Q7vi34GUxEpy0LPcgKlLEWC04ERLhyK4lwpLhbhJUrPXCpW7iFIU__qgSVqUX4eWcZQmgcpZLPn3Nw0iADtuqa4yA0JDuVU3aCJ-QX6cMkgowZ09Cyr11i6ssoSEbDZlgqi1bjT7mnu-R_qHpuunl3lYdocCu0jw/w640-h480/IMG_0263.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">milkweed grows wild in front of our home</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZaScObgDI_tEtfYTJcj8w4-HspDTzRG4w73Ft0rYq6rEJwpoVIzv-19BfHGQTTbHCBPaomM8voGDYES5K0gJkMfO9QZEmSnQ88WcV8yiHDC5CNiOUUKKyKz9ELQ0ETldbjuQ7rXsU7Qenc279VGtAcXEGMpVBGziaaA5nvroAaWIuAX-8ttsTWWRUQ/s4032/IMG_0221.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZaScObgDI_tEtfYTJcj8w4-HspDTzRG4w73Ft0rYq6rEJwpoVIzv-19BfHGQTTbHCBPaomM8voGDYES5K0gJkMfO9QZEmSnQ88WcV8yiHDC5CNiOUUKKyKz9ELQ0ETldbjuQ7rXsU7Qenc279VGtAcXEGMpVBGziaaA5nvroAaWIuAX-8ttsTWWRUQ/w640-h480/IMG_0221.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">captivating wildflowers</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-67236929152986024052022-05-28T08:52:00.000-07:002022-05-28T08:52:39.451-07:00Fresh Help<p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.”</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHswZUwq_GmEASEjsze3IyyS3T04DPZGIVPmoKXFaUPI_6xJFHQo15lzyaUsWQAA4vPlUjq86c9-oXK99eeA1TGNfVAOro_2qBlJhmmDolvUOwX2WQwynrPzDpXrVOSLISUSbpSjOu_rY3GP111Hm-4hqZ1I68xuos0l4ddGBMFnkTGXjbDwhsNeEB5w/s4032/IMG_6108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHswZUwq_GmEASEjsze3IyyS3T04DPZGIVPmoKXFaUPI_6xJFHQo15lzyaUsWQAA4vPlUjq86c9-oXK99eeA1TGNfVAOro_2qBlJhmmDolvUOwX2WQwynrPzDpXrVOSLISUSbpSjOu_rY3GP111Hm-4hqZ1I68xuos0l4ddGBMFnkTGXjbDwhsNeEB5w/w640-h480/IMG_6108.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cole and Roy at The Three Sisters </td></tr></tbody></table><div>photos by Anita:</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhKi_hkvkFPWDG9UR2MnNvQbRI-1xA4fGT33ff9f5rf8NTrQB7170igdymSwZpaji1eBhOVwhZBdR90aRAYVBiqvMpNgUUyD7vxBQuKWB3vf0i2NEqVAKT7H6c88KYq55pVbvBF2lNLHgc4IFV328ZNaEO4j7dz5vRQlB7AzKPA17Z8TX-qbt6vzcnA/s1280/IMG_0057%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="783" data-original-width="1280" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhKi_hkvkFPWDG9UR2MnNvQbRI-1xA4fGT33ff9f5rf8NTrQB7170igdymSwZpaji1eBhOVwhZBdR90aRAYVBiqvMpNgUUyD7vxBQuKWB3vf0i2NEqVAKT7H6c88KYq55pVbvBF2lNLHgc4IFV328ZNaEO4j7dz5vRQlB7AzKPA17Z8TX-qbt6vzcnA/w640-h392/IMG_0057%202.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">doin' Work</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaMJIHJLMDkuOWmzVY4Fd5gl-zzPeAo_o5lo1sHqgwOVmAeC7JK-9JugVvuZ5QFE1sAKmxc5LszULmfj76iMUjh2t1HMWEJsj3mBN8fVEdY987SGEKEwA8LormxWxpwFUDfhDlTu-6tFaUuOHosU83RIFogK8z7sapao9x8igS0cASKIDP7vfF7rDoIg/s1280/IMG_0075.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaMJIHJLMDkuOWmzVY4Fd5gl-zzPeAo_o5lo1sHqgwOVmAeC7JK-9JugVvuZ5QFE1sAKmxc5LszULmfj76iMUjh2t1HMWEJsj3mBN8fVEdY987SGEKEwA8LormxWxpwFUDfhDlTu-6tFaUuOHosU83RIFogK8z7sapao9x8igS0cASKIDP7vfF7rDoIg/w426-h640/IMG_0075.jpeg" width="426" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"stay back Emma Jo"</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vcXEH-cDWkAdMKFRuh6se9CSaoOHca-kF70xx3WuOxtz12OWPEQVhkzwIqVfXxi-TMNH_CgiDLkmpYT9_rYYXyCvMDB4DSYk-i2pnJ3-5n7W0zTdgFqrzNAQE1ALCqK6jJer8cH9-V-8zPWFFn4ycgA2Cu6SilieIEKmlj8RoebQjXFu9nScPCycVw/s1280/anita%20of%20me%20and%20seth%20and%20emma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vcXEH-cDWkAdMKFRuh6se9CSaoOHca-kF70xx3WuOxtz12OWPEQVhkzwIqVfXxi-TMNH_CgiDLkmpYT9_rYYXyCvMDB4DSYk-i2pnJ3-5n7W0zTdgFqrzNAQE1ALCqK6jJer8cH9-V-8zPWFFn4ycgA2Cu6SilieIEKmlj8RoebQjXFu9nScPCycVw/w640-h426/anita%20of%20me%20and%20seth%20and%20emma.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">love this shot Anita took</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieMjNK91vf18Pvkr4siyTdmFraGFAtxzym2FSLc3W3i2T0JrcgFbcuERj4S0J2XDvcFKdtQeimQWqGut-o7SLeDj_R00jOAU5Yhfl4RuBOKnXhilh-X3ZAW3MDBSTTzqiP0bnI52ZjTdl1yuX7QHq8z2qRHc-8NuEp2N0IHxjs7CV6tdbhiFspw4PfA/s1280/unnamed%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1280" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieMjNK91vf18Pvkr4siyTdmFraGFAtxzym2FSLc3W3i2T0JrcgFbcuERj4S0J2XDvcFKdtQeimQWqGut-o7SLeDj_R00jOAU5Yhfl4RuBOKnXhilh-X3ZAW3MDBSTTzqiP0bnI52ZjTdl1yuX7QHq8z2qRHc-8NuEp2N0IHxjs7CV6tdbhiFspw4PfA/w640-h426/unnamed%20(1).jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the last creek crossing</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveLXQMaoTy_6ALzLHuxli_HZPzAekilNuiQh__gKdssj_7Vp4IjYwMkD6QYNJxzL9NB22ZaG0LkNzehgnCt5qD2GYcs7BsG9xgFWVPiYOdXLc4kD-ILu7UXyKvfi7VWF4CjCdr6heRivOSipIwCI_-u6bfO7J6FUzDO4K-moGEr7n0M1XeixpenyG5Q/s4032/IMG_6113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhveLXQMaoTy_6ALzLHuxli_HZPzAekilNuiQh__gKdssj_7Vp4IjYwMkD6QYNJxzL9NB22ZaG0LkNzehgnCt5qD2GYcs7BsG9xgFWVPiYOdXLc4kD-ILu7UXyKvfi7VWF4CjCdr6heRivOSipIwCI_-u6bfO7J6FUzDO4K-moGEr7n0M1XeixpenyG5Q/w640-h480/IMG_6113.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we need old help too</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-33503371525027103572022-04-29T08:39:00.001-07:002022-04-29T08:40:14.238-07:00Counting Blessings and VotesIt’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.<div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>See you at
the polls.
</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJo5K57U3y8pNv33FlMtcI2af8WajcEJDzhT8ToFCSq22aLLiEiISLO20MUxDXfmBP0VvHSSHaWZmnjfLBQISwwIqn9XZtbbNUvSEEUhwEyfKkuwh-f_ZOwE2MT56Qs5t1l8FlGkfPJkE8UoUJOzP13oHlkBxwaIRhdp_VHPoDPivwVVcwaxe2ZEierA/s4032/IMG_6009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJo5K57U3y8pNv33FlMtcI2af8WajcEJDzhT8ToFCSq22aLLiEiISLO20MUxDXfmBP0VvHSSHaWZmnjfLBQISwwIqn9XZtbbNUvSEEUhwEyfKkuwh-f_ZOwE2MT56Qs5t1l8FlGkfPJkE8UoUJOzP13oHlkBxwaIRhdp_VHPoDPivwVVcwaxe2ZEierA/w640-h480/IMG_6009.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">putting them away after a day of branding<br />Mt. Putnam in the distance</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-38679482542277904062022-03-30T19:41:00.003-07:002022-03-31T06:17:40.525-07:00Adjusting<p>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. </p><p>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.</p><p>The springtime birdsong is back and so familiar.
Meadowlarks, robins, killdeers, all singing their welcome.</p><p>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?</p><p>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.</p><p>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.”</p><p>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.” </p><p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl77v6db0VXnJpUWdDLqVzMWHKjS2i-y53EH3RJ1Gl7YzZUEmPL-f-fwFr1O4aG7AGiv3tBAExjF7xIzE2Bc61NyZbJ8KkzaLC33oNVrSobc96w5GVtFbSquy5pDJkBuPzQEYTz5n4aN0s3Oypd1ZbTma_vY_RePIyey2GFROJMhwAmFe1LcDm-yLgGw/s3872/DSC_0833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3872" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl77v6db0VXnJpUWdDLqVzMWHKjS2i-y53EH3RJ1Gl7YzZUEmPL-f-fwFr1O4aG7AGiv3tBAExjF7xIzE2Bc61NyZbJ8KkzaLC33oNVrSobc96w5GVtFbSquy5pDJkBuPzQEYTz5n4aN0s3Oypd1ZbTma_vY_RePIyey2GFROJMhwAmFe1LcDm-yLgGw/w640-h428/DSC_0833.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our friend Dave helping move pairs<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlOLjWRfG8kfUFKkmK0ZXuGvGFAGhzYH7ZcnQBobNiJWgEYkOxXKToofB8Qw6KfuAYsjlnFojR7ZVcEDvtgkIg-4zIo1OP1XOdWSqsogprA5l00vdxX5eddgEWJG7HGWhc2BqrAnNGGKbs4iS_RNinsyguTJ235yEnyrMr0vVSKdw5lmYUqLMnIAV0Og/s3872/DSC_0839.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3872" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlOLjWRfG8kfUFKkmK0ZXuGvGFAGhzYH7ZcnQBobNiJWgEYkOxXKToofB8Qw6KfuAYsjlnFojR7ZVcEDvtgkIg-4zIo1OP1XOdWSqsogprA5l00vdxX5eddgEWJG7HGWhc2BqrAnNGGKbs4iS_RNinsyguTJ235yEnyrMr0vVSKdw5lmYUqLMnIAV0Og/w640-h428/DSC_0839.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">love me some catkins</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-75909140442404641062022-02-28T13:32:00.000-08:002022-02-28T13:32:46.299-08:00Art in Function<p>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.</p><p>I heard my first red-wing blackbird on the 18<sup>th</sup>.
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. </p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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.</p><p>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. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpPq2HAhfEsa-BjDd4yJoz_H7u6spxgSAM-fk7gC588AU-zFOUENBifuYUZ0xS_FCWwRhtPbtQgcLxIb4IGZsgUBwKBitjMCS2jpR6SbudAC5XAwPlnWi265Xbzw5feSC8cEmzfduTcz2GoQtNr61pu6U0wQ0ElcusxmWK2OfQKA3dSWsEnzY7ZTopYA=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhpPq2HAhfEsa-BjDd4yJoz_H7u6spxgSAM-fk7gC588AU-zFOUENBifuYUZ0xS_FCWwRhtPbtQgcLxIb4IGZsgUBwKBitjMCS2jpR6SbudAC5XAwPlnWi265Xbzw5feSC8cEmzfduTcz2GoQtNr61pu6U0wQ0ElcusxmWK2OfQKA3dSWsEnzY7ZTopYA=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-65052640641724564552022-01-31T06:34:00.001-08:002022-03-05T09:54:32.666-08:00Full Enough<p> 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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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?</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal">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.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEig7INqyuu2WbSYiqGxoGNWKAXj6xVyw4xppvYBm3mrZLsQXo0qh4BuMPAcFfCItU6n4ueVjjuYetqxK1TGGjZ5fxPYioXyroqf8XoPFgXt0MA-ofsGjNYqmRIEou3ummUWkRYk6SCPVC9Fd_PSWIZJDdScYai5tdl5Xb_tNo5rkJ6pZeStDenXvxUvpQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEig7INqyuu2WbSYiqGxoGNWKAXj6xVyw4xppvYBm3mrZLsQXo0qh4BuMPAcFfCItU6n4ueVjjuYetqxK1TGGjZ5fxPYioXyroqf8XoPFgXt0MA-ofsGjNYqmRIEou3ummUWkRYk6SCPVC9Fd_PSWIZJDdScYai5tdl5Xb_tNo5rkJ6pZeStDenXvxUvpQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-64850675661093903102021-12-31T20:11:00.001-08:002021-12-31T20:20:06.962-08:00On to 2022<p>The wind chill tomorrow is supposed to push temperatures to
a minus 21. Mark said I would need to put on every piece of winter clothing I
had. He doesn’t know I’ve already been doing that. There’s only so much you can
put on and still move.</p><p>The cattle are on full feed now from the haystack. I enjoy
feeding my one load of hay each day with Mark driving. We go to the young cows
who are expecting their first or second calf. They gather to greet us every
morning. I’ve been doing this for a lot of years and we’ve found ways to make
it doable for a gal my age. The best thing was trading a COLD feed truck with
no heater and the road visible through the floor boards, for a heated pickup pulling a flat bed trailer. I get the best bales, not those that have been on
top of the stack and have frozen strings (thank you Jesse and Milee for taking the frozen bales to the main cow herd). Mark has learned his lesson and loads the bales with room around
them so I can get my body behind the slices and save my back. He opens and shuts all the gates. And best of all, when it’s really cold (like
tomorrow) he’ll put his gloves on the heater and swap mine out midway through
the load. Ahhhhhh. I call it social justice for ranchers.</p><p>We had a nice holiday mostly sitting around being
entertained by the babies. Since the parties ended, we’ve been looking at finances at night and in the morning before the sun comes up. High hay costs
make us sharpen our pencil and then sharpen it again. I told Mark if we hadn’t
watched our balance sheet over the years, I’d have never made it on the
ranch. A business like this is short on cash, so keeping track of a growing cow herd,
and counting calves in the feedlot and hay in the stackyard as assets, make me
know we continue to be solvent. We have money borrowed at the bank to finance these future sales and that’s just how it works. Get used to it.</p><p>It keeps snowing, every day since the 23<sup>rd</sup> of
December. We need it so I’m not complaining. Besides, we have tractors that can
blow and pile snow. We have beef in the freezer and wood for the stove. We’ll
be fine. Many folks are not fairing so well, so we feel blessed. </p><p>We regret the current headlines claiming that beef leads the
way in an escalating grocery bill. We want our product to be affordable to
everyone. Beef is nutrient dense and still a good value for the dollar if you
compare it to many processed foods like breakfast cereal. Even vegetables can’t
compare with the complete nutritional profile of beef. Look for economical roasts
to put with root vegetables in the crock pot, and ground beef to add to soups
and other winter-ready meals. And please remember we ranchers aren’t getting
rich, just paying the bills with enough left over to cover living expenses. We’ll
do our part to keep costs down if you all keep eating beef! </p><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhL2gthN0tX1NgA1YkxppRvtqQ-7x2Q9NrA5JSlNN4N5FTVPRiqOX5bOwGkN_d-qoGZZnQ5xqS4abh4tonS-VEVqJUikAimKJkEaosT4AixdJ8mvBOq6su_iNUnssXu3gSdP74UhWkBJDafuP_oupFZ-PtcVLhEsmltA9QxQVxdAGZD8lzEKlh0gpJ7mA=s4032" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhL2gthN0tX1NgA1YkxppRvtqQ-7x2Q9NrA5JSlNN4N5FTVPRiqOX5bOwGkN_d-qoGZZnQ5xqS4abh4tonS-VEVqJUikAimKJkEaosT4AixdJ8mvBOq6su_iNUnssXu3gSdP74UhWkBJDafuP_oupFZ-PtcVLhEsmltA9QxQVxdAGZD8lzEKlh0gpJ7mA=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">little Freya with Grandpa <br />feeding the herd</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985925059609790119.post-31695594930905584562021-12-23T05:36:00.002-08:002021-12-23T07:55:11.236-08:00A Winter Walk<p><span>We moved the cows to a new
pasture on a calm, overcast morning. Mark was gone, so I took his dog Rollah
along with me and my dog Dot. Rollah is an old family name pronounced rolley. Rollah
was Grandma Bonnie’s bachelor uncle. Doesn't every family have a bachelor uncle? Rollah, the dog, works further out than my
dog so I had to keep a close eye on him. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span>We worked the lead and I could
only keep up walking because the dogs kept the cows in check when they started
to jog. Jogging leads to trouble, a nice crisp walk is perfect. I only had to
holler at Rollah once when he went too far around the lead and bent the cattle off
course. Jesse, who was riding on the other side of the herd, got them back on
track. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span>The cattle dumped into the
Frank Pratt Place and immediately dropped their heads to graze. There's enough
grass to last until after Christmas, which is nice. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span>We added the Frank Pratt place to
the Pratt Ranch holdings when the kids were little. I remember Anna getting
into the prickly pear cactus that first spring when we were starting the
irrigation water. It was getting dark and her little fuzzy blue gloves were
full of spines. That's a long time ago now. Anna is married now and lives two
hours away. She helps us on big cattle moves. She rides beautifully, fluidly,
and seems to be everywhere you need her to be on those difficult days. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span>We’ve been at this a long time.
Now my hair is gray and Mark’s scalp is growing through his red hair. It’s been
a good life. Christmas and the end of another year makes one think back and
remember just how good.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span>The kids and grandkids will be
here for Christmas. It's our first holiday with the two new grandbabies. They
make me and Mark act like fools - so fun. They're young enough they don't need
presents, just ribbons and boxes please. There's plenty of time to make them
little consumers next year. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p><span>Wherever you are tonight,
whatever challenges you’re facing, we wish you courage and calm. May your herd
stay healthy, your haystack last ‘til spring, and may you keep your family and
friends close. Merry Christmas! <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p></o:p></p></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZuupa0G_HLH9KwRt1ymSbPgMG1lzHxelKFFMyic961mzo6bA86wv_YtPKWt7clqGkWD19Stxw-8MDhpvgKnfTVRmNobnYBYlNdyO7LbndAiJ2RVtzi4sQB4WJ9A5WUmi851XyfrAlO-EpG-n0JD8qmNNVXo5frqH5hEyUmAhYRxzx2uvzCzvD7adM8g=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgZuupa0G_HLH9KwRt1ymSbPgMG1lzHxelKFFMyic961mzo6bA86wv_YtPKWt7clqGkWD19Stxw-8MDhpvgKnfTVRmNobnYBYlNdyO7LbndAiJ2RVtzi4sQB4WJ9A5WUmi851XyfrAlO-EpG-n0JD8qmNNVXo5frqH5hEyUmAhYRxzx2uvzCzvD7adM8g=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipv8Pu3wQtfUF4fbu8LqA6xYh1_S_Dq9DSTbVH_A7C4eGhAodlMeU0RsRBpRd7YoLNr8W044SGlpPP3R72Wu-FTCNt0jJxcRkrhJbJADNI8-hbDdUiZdo8wTob6SVIzZi6OGjADY4YgywCp7lBojtRDvBjG5-kpHzt5JGjX1PfY_SwtvTcGbG_68Tiyg=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEipv8Pu3wQtfUF4fbu8LqA6xYh1_S_Dq9DSTbVH_A7C4eGhAodlMeU0RsRBpRd7YoLNr8W044SGlpPP3R72Wu-FTCNt0jJxcRkrhJbJADNI8-hbDdUiZdo8wTob6SVIzZi6OGjADY4YgywCp7lBojtRDvBjG5-kpHzt5JGjX1PfY_SwtvTcGbG_68Tiyg=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />W. R. Pratthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01163043296105895846noreply@blogger.com0