Mothering

Anna, our youngest, started college this week. I’ve been trying to downplay her leaving, and it worked for the most part. No long drawn-out tearful goodbyes, just a good positive send off. I think she needed that as much as I did. 

So I'm moping around a bit, trying to pamper myself as I get used to the idea of her being gone. I got groceries this week and what a weird feeling that was. Just the two of us to shop for now.

Change is hard. I don’t like change, never have. Part of the reason I write and take photos is to stop time. I can’t imagine raising a family without a journal and camera in tow. Someone once said that we lose our children, finally, to the adults they become. And though I wouldn’t trade this age, this season, for anything in the past, it is still hard.

I guess Mark and I will see how couple-living works. Thank goodness we like each other. Mark is a great father, but today is not much different than yesterday for him. He isn’t defined by his role as a father, like I am defined by my role as a mother. 

I’ll be okay in a bit. I have other passions and work to do, but I’m taking some time to just . . . mourn, embrace . . . maybe the word is “experience,” this feeling of loss.

I wrote an essay once about a robin that was building a nest out my office window, fussing and fretting as she prepared for the momentous task of mothering. I felt her pain. One line of my essay read: motherhood fills you up to overflowing, until you spill over and stain the floor with love, and hope, and worry.  Seems I’ve been wiping up for over twenty-five years. Now it’s time to move on and I’m not liking it. 

Finding beauty

Bringing the Boys Home

August marches on. There's a snap in the morning air that says Fall is coming.

This month’s full moon is called the sturgeon moon; seems the large bottom-dwelling fish were traditionally caught in August. It has also been called the red moon, as August skies are often hazy, causing a change in hue. Last night there was smoke in the air, and the moon, a day past full, was a hauntingly rose color. 

All the plant life is taking in the sun’s energy with a vengeance, in anticipation of shorter days and long cold nights. The race is on to set seed and lay down roots. Zinnias troop across the garden. The kingbirds have quieted just a little from their summer racket-making at 4:30 a.m. The currants and chokecherries are bending branches in the mountains. Those in our yard are waning fast from the robins and a few cedar waxwings. 

Mid-August also means pulling the bulls from the herd. They only work about three months a year and just get into trouble if left with the cows. We had a good day sorting them out and hauling them home. Putting them in a bunch again reminded them how much they dislike each other. I’m always warning my kids and any extra help to stay clear of their head-butting, as their mass and speed can overwhelm a horse and rider in a flash. It’s an exciting event to get them separated, usually needing a little more aggression than normal cow work. It was good practice for the young horses, Jane and Gent, that Mark and Seth rode.

Since they got home and away from the girls, the bulls have settled down. Gary usually says at this time of year, “now if we could just let the air out of them and put them on a shelf til spring!” That comment always inspires a vision in my mind, of popping a button just behind their shoulder, watching them shrivel, then piling them in the back of the barn. But no, they need to eat and drink everyday - and will be, for the most part, docile and congenial to their mates once again. 

All photos by Anita Pratt

stalling by the Sno Riders cabin 

Mater and Sly at work

not convinced

Berries etc.

It’s berry season. I helped my uncle Doug pick from his raspberry patch this week. He stayed on the perimeter, but I waded into the jungle of canes, over my head, to pull in cluster after cluster of huge, ripe berries.  Much to our chagrin, they were so ripe that a few fell to the ground when we disturbed their perch.

Doug’s garden is large, unruly, unkempt, disorderly, chaotic . . . and wonderful. He recently cut down the huge cottonwoods that dwarfed the humble home at the back of the city lot. I was sad about that, but now sunshine fills the space and the banana-yellow evening primroses love it. Their blooms shriveled and fell as we worked, after their one-night-stand in the moonlight.

Nearby is a stand of quakies that Doug has allowed to sucker outward until it resembles a natural grove. Hollyhocks bloom in chorus. And everywhere, gloriosa daisies, tall and gangly, held upright by their neighbors, beam with nary a care to be goggled at by human eyes. Doug carefully cut a huge bouquet of sweet peas for me - pink, purple, blue, and candy-cane striped red and white – oh their heavenly scent!

He can’t bend his knees very good, or stoop for that matter, but he manages to wrangle his garden into a wonderland each year. His long gray hair wisps across his face as he works.

He sent me home with nearly all the berries we picked that morning. Mark and the kids gorged on them; I froze two plump bags and made jam with the rest.  

The plants that live in Doug’s yard seem to grow bigger and bolder than the same species in other yards. Maybe all the flora over the years, left to express themselves with little interference from human hands, has lead to more fertile soil. Maybe the lack of definition creates living things that live more abundantly.

I’m always finding lessons from the natural world. Today it is to back off and let some things figure themselves out. Back off – and watch my children, my endeavors, my relationships flourish. 

quakies galore

good for picking

daisies and primroses in shades of yellow

the sitting room

sweet peas - plenty for a bouquet!

timeless

Taking the Carbon Challenge

I was tickled to find two monarch butterfly caterpillars this week while walking one of our pastures. They were very common when I was a kid, but I haven't seen one for years. 

I celebrated my birthday by helping set up a carbon monitoring plot on our land. Well, actually, I just watched and asked questions. We met Peter Donovan some years ago when we were both interested in animal handling to achieve time-controlled grazing. He's taking his "carbon challenge" on the road in a refurbished school bus to test soils and talk with landowners/managers about managing for increased carbon uptake. 

We took Peter by the same pasture where I spotted the caterpillars. We walked through the standing biomass and decided this pasture was "harvesting" carbon at a good rate.

We went on to a pasture that wasn't in such good shape, one we can hopefully, through improved management, show increased carbon in the soil when Peter returns in three years.

Photosynthesis takes carbon from the air and transfers it to plants, and from there into the soil. When a stand of grass is not allowed to express itself because of over-grazing, or conversely when plants are over mature from a lack of grazing and are no longer in a green and growing state, the sequestration of carbon into the soil is hindered. This promotion of photosynthesis not only addresses heavy carbon dioxide loads in the atmosphere, but means vital soils as well.

No matter where you stand on climate change - the seriousness of, the cause of, the cure for - I think we can all agree that healthy stabile soils are essential for the planet.

Happy trails, Peter. 

soil samples to test carbon

Bouquets to Share

Mark and I are getting an early taste of the empty nest this week.  Anna is representing Idaho as a state FFA officer in Washington D.C., and Seth is in Des Moines at the New Century Farmer conference. FFA sponsors are footing the bill for our two kids who have a passion for agriculture advocacy. Not bad from a certified home-body mom. I wish they would text!

And so it is quiet around here.

My “cottage garden” front flower bed is pretty right now, though chaotic as usual. I’m never quite sure how it will look from year to year.  It is full of gifts from family and friends, whose transplants seem to do a lot better than flowers I spend big money for at the nursery.

My friend Gaye, who has since moved away, gave me starts from echinacea (purple cone-flower) and blanket flower just after we moved into the new house. They were the first fledgling flowers to take root here.

From Mom, who has been gone for almost a year now, came the soft lamb’s ear and the cat mint that cheers us on in the spring. I love the two quakies that Dad dug up. They anchor the front entry way and remind me of the aspen groves in the hills where the cattle summer.

The tiger lilies and feverfew came from Mark’s Mom, Anita, whose lovely yard shows a true artist’s hand. These two species have been doing their darndest to take over the place since! They're pretty, they just need a strong hand to keep them in check.

Seth found the two moose antlers that lean against the aspen trunks. Dennis and Theresa helped us gather the pink veined rocks the day Dennis cut down the logs that secure the front porch.   

The black-eyed susans came from uncle Doug’s unkempt, almost raucous garden. He and my uncle Vin showed up one day for a surprise visit with a box full of susans. Such a cherished memory, for Vin is gone now too. 

And so I think of them, designers all, when I check each day to see what is blooming. These plants, living on from garden to garden, make me happy. What better way to share our lives, our creative energy, than the seeds and tissues that live in our respective spaces.

Next spring I simply must find a spot for the hollyhock seeds I got from Aunt Marlene.

welcome to our home

Anna raiding the pea patch

Keeping it July

Hay harvesting, cutting weeds, and irrigating are the constant chores of July. And, of course, still tending cows.

We can’t seem to keep the old swathers running for more than a couple of days before a breakdown. Then it’s a trip to the parts store in Idaho Falls and a session in the shop. I bought two large bolts yesterday, not so big you couldn’t hold them in the palm of your hand, and wrote out the check for $110.

My twin weed nemeses are houndstongue and burdock. They are especially antagonistic because they produce burrs that stick to the hides of the cattle and dogs and make a mess of the horses’ mane. We're racing nature to get the plants cut before the burrs are viable. I had an early morning session with first Anna and then Seth tramping around the woods with our sharpened shovels.

The heifers, the two-year-olds that will have their first calf next spring, are summering in the valley on irrigated pastures. Seth and I moved them to a new paddock on Tuesday. The landlord is a prodigious irrigator and the sward is beautiful, full of clover and a diversity of grasses. Seth called me a “grass nerd” when I knelt to show him the regrowth since the herd left this field 40 days ago. 

Seth and Mark have been doctoring calves in the hills. With plenty of green grass, mother’s milk, and moderate temperatures, sickness is a mystery.

I wish July would last forever. Seth and Anna are both home and seem okay with ranch work being front and center. In August everything changes. They’ll take off for college, one to Boise and one to Moscow - and leave Mom behind. I’m trying to enjoy each day with them and not dwell on their leaving, but celebrate their upcoming adventures instead. 

40 day recovery from last bite

Hauling from the Res

I should go to bed, it’s 10:30 pm., but scenes from the day roll through my mind.

We hauled hay from the reservation again. Three of us were driving the eight miles there and back while Mark loaded from the field. The venture began badly when a hose broke beneath the Ford tractor and started a fire that totaled the machine. I saw the black column of smoke before I could see what was causing it. I had to drive my truck around the bend and across the field - so glad to see Mark standing away from the blaze. After the excitement was over, my nephew brought his tractor over and we continued.

Hauling hay is hot, sticky work. Hay leaves blow in the windows, which must be open to avert suffocation. The vinyl seats fuse to your clothes. At about 2:00 pm with lunch in your belly, staying awake is the challenge. Today I caught myself in a near-doze state tooling down the pavement.

Our fleet of trucks have character, impressive only to the aficionado of old things.  The ’67 Ford runs pretty well, never mind the springs coming through the seat. The ’73 International is cherry. It hums when it’s empty and handles more like a pickup than a 2-ton truck. But the passenger door was torn out and the replacement is none too good; the window is broke and the rear view mirror is loose. The new truck, the ’77 Ford, is a workhorse and feels stable and secure. It has deluxe recovered seats, and since the handle got fixed, we can now open the passenger side door.

Just as the hay hauling day gets to be total drudgery with no end in sight, the sun droops toward the horizon and long shadows cross the road. My mood changes. I get my speed up, and as the wind courses through the cab, I lean forward to feel the coolness of sweat drying on my back. The spud fields are in bloom, white blossoms on green in geometric rows. An unnamed fragrance fills the cab and is gone. A pivot sprays near the road and sends a light mist my way, along with the musty smell of wet earth.

As the heat abates, the community stirs. Rone mows circles in his lawn, and there’s Joanie on her bike. Susan is watering her petunias. I should call her and invite myself over to sit on that white wicker chair - preferably on some hot day when shade bathes her porch.

The haystack at ranch headquarters swells. We've found our rhythm and one thinks we could haul all night. 

Ranching is like that. Life is like that – for me anyway. There’s beauty in the minutiae and that's my lesson, for I tend to focus on what’s wrong, not right, my worst trait. I want to be like those people who pick out the joyous details, for those are the ones who live happy lives.  

Dang, now Mark will be asleep and I won’t get any cuddles – speaking of joyous details. 

the Shoshone-Bannock Reservation - good country

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