Leaving Home

. . . with the cows that is. It’s wonderful to get them home in the fall, but it’s even better to get them gone in the spring.

Many scenes run through my mind. I see cows and hear cows behind my eyelids at night. This year was eventful as always. Forty-five miles and two herds on the Trail at once doesn’t just happen. Mark had to change irrigation water before and after each day and kept ruthless hours.

Anna is home and helped us every day. We always have extra herders along, people that like to ride horses, but you can’t replace home grown help. She’s followed the herd without complaint for lots of years. She and her horse, Mater, and her dog, Clyde, make a good team. But her best quality is her easygoing and happy nature. And I need that this week; just ask her!

Our route takes us past the local solid waste transfer station and one morning as we passed through lush farm ground with no fences, an onslaught of trucks and trailers converged upon us. They shoved the cattle off the road as we struggled to put them back on to save the crops. The trailers held all manner of sundries, old couches, tree limbs, a rusted lawnmower. Oh! It’s county clean-up day! No fees at the dump! Groan.

Anna has a Shakespeare quote on our memo board in the kitchen: “There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so.” I roll that one over and over in my mind. Moving cattle to the hills certainly qualifies. “Cowboying” used to be the most fun in the world when I was a kid. And even when I first came to Pratt Ranch, I loved it. Now I’m like a colt that got soured from a bad experience. I’ve had too many long days when things went awry.

As spring arrives each year, I feel the worry start in the pit of my stomach about getting the cattle to the hills. Will we find enough help? Will it be too hot and the cattle peter out at 10:00 a.m.? What if someone gets hurt? I know it’s silly. I know I need to chill out and trust it will all work out. It always does in the end. There’s a sign on someone’s kitchen wall, “tomorrow I will relax and go with the flow.” That’s me.

The good and the bad stuff of life, the breathtaking moments of pure joy, and the moments of anger, frustration, and worry, are a hair widths apart. They march along side by side, two sides of the same coin. We (some of us especially) are vulnerable to switching sides at any moment. It takes conscious effort to bypass the stress and worry and open ourselves up to the beauty. It’s something I know I’ll work on the rest of my life.

My mother-in-law Anita took this photo. Wonderful isn’t it? It captures the best in trailing cattle. It’s got breadth, drama, and a bit of majesty. It’s about an hour before the free dump day traffic started going through the herd. The flip of a coin.   

More photos of the Trail.

the first leg - leaving the valley

stringing the herd after leaving farm ground behind

   

Water Works

It's much too hot and dry for May. And we never got those April showers, so it’s looking bleak outside. As ranchers, moisture is key to a successful season. It’s how the cows get fed, so our livelihood hangs in the balance. I seem to worry about it mostly at 3:00 a.m. when sleep evades me.

It’s crunch time trying to get the irrigation water started and the cows moved on to grass. Some folks who share our ditches, newcomers to the country, think you walk out, pull the headgate and voila – water! Not so. First, most ditches need burned to either set the grass back or to get rid of tumbling mustard and Russian thistle (tumbleweeds) that clog the channel. Then, depending on their condition, some ditches need to be cleaned with a v-ditcher or similar larger implement. Then the headgates, the concrete pipes that let the water flow on to a section of ground called a “land,” need to be dug out.

It’s exciting when you let the first stream in. As the water moves down the channel it picks up all burned refuse and any trash that didn’t burn like leaves and twigs. You stand in the ditch walking quickly backward, pitching as hard as you can. Or if it’s more water than you can stand in, pitching from the side, a back breaker for sure, is the only option. Clogging a pipe downstream would mean disaster.

I started a stream last night, not a very big one, but it tested me pretty hard. I told Mark he must think I’m a lot tougher than I am, even though it was my idea. I said to him, “that was hard work!” His reply, “it’s all hard work.” The older I get the more I know it.

I remember the first time Seth out-pitched me starting a stream of water. We were both working as hard as we could and he saved the day. No more did he need “mommy muscles” to tackle a job. It was a bittersweet evening as I remember.

I was wishing Seth was with me last night.  

An Original

I picked a bouquet of tulips from my Uncle Doug’s garden today. He hasn’t been home for many months. He is gravely ill and staying with my Dad and his caregivers. I am reminded of a line from Garrison Keillor, telling his Prairie Home Companion audience about recent Lake Wobegon events. He mentioned his elderly aunt who was readying for death. He referred to her condition as “going about her business.”  I like the phrase, very matter of fact and accepting of our fate. As natural as birth, death is.

I found the flowers, in true Doug fashion, a hodgepodge of color. Blood red long-stemmed tulips with velvety black stamens. And to their right the delicate shorter stemmed pinks that stay closed up, shy and demure. Then finally the flamboyant yellow blooms with fluffy petals curling this way and that, streaked with crimson. Hardly demure, they open wide like a flamenco dancer in fluffy skirts. Despite their differences they look gorgeous in a bouquet together. I guess Doug would know that; he lived original.  

Doug didn’t look at the bouquet, but told me “good for you.” He always loved to share his flowers with friends and family. He would take me through his yard, laboriously clipping every perfect bloom from a bed even when his knees didn’t work anymore.   

My visit to his yard today was comforting as it always is, even without Doug. The apple trees are in bloom, the quakies quiver and the gloriosa daisies wait their turn. The worn chair setting under the apple tree looks forlorn though, not even a folded newspaper left behind to suggest an owner. 

Lessons at the Youth Ranch

Take one screwed-up kid. Add routine meals and a safe bed, adults that care, and animals to tend. Trust this kid and provide him or her the “opportunity to fail” and impressive things happen. 

The Idaho Youth Ranch, established in 1953, was my Mom’s favorite charity. Whenever someone died she wrote out a small check in their name to the Ranch, where “problem” kids get a second chance. I wish Mom could have tagged along when Mark and I attended the Ranch’s donor appreciation dinner this week. We had some great prime rib, toured the residence halls and the indoor riding arena, and heard from instructors and students about the services offered there.

The staff member in charge of the equine program described how kids are given the latitude, the freedom, to screw up, with the only consequence being a fall off a horse in the soft plowed dirt. Each child is assigned a horse to take care of. They learn lessons, most of which are acquired by failing the first time. They learn to catch and halter their horse, feed and water them, and groom their coat. Then they learn to ride - step by step.

Animals are very forgiving. They won’t abandon you. They won’t bully, judge, or chastise. They’ll be there the next day and give you a fair shot to start over. It is this acceptance that begins the healing process the kids go through while staying at the ranch.

The ranch also has its own 4-H program with steers and dairy calves for the kids to show at the county fair. The children learn quickly that this animal depends on them. Very scary stuff, according to one girl, but one that taught her courage, patience, and how to be responsible. Learning skills like these make it possible for most to return home after a year at the ranch.

At the end of the evening as we assembled for dinner, the students were nowhere to be seen. They were out gathering up the horses that had gotten out of their corral. “Just what might happen on a real ranch,” said our host. After the vagabonds were back in the gate, the kids joined us and were distributed among the tables to talk to the adults, a bit windblown, but proud of their efforts.

Of course, Mark and I already know the value of putting kids with animals. We had our own 4-H club when our kids were little. We're very glad the method is alive and well at the Youth Ranch (http://www.youthranch.org/). 

Anna and Dan

Thoreau's Dilemna

On a sticky note on my computer is a quote from the writer Jessamyn West, 1902-1984, best known as the author of The Friendly Persuasion. The quote goes like this: “talent is helpful in writing, but guts are absolutely necessary.”

So what would I say if I had the guts to admit it? Probably a lot, but in regards to the ranch, it would be that even though we love walking the same land our great-grandparents did, the weight of tradition and the burden of ownership are very real to us. Our view is clouded by all that came before. To NOT ranch is hardly a possibility.  

Henry David Thoreau in his often quoted Walden put it this way: “I see young men . . . whose misfortune it is to have inherited farms, houses, barns, cattle, and farming tools; for these are more easily acquired than got rid of. Better they had been born in the open pasture and suckled by a wolf, that they might have seen with clearer eyes what field they were called to labor in.”

Ouch. That’s a bit harsh. But I do wonder if we would have chosen this lifestyle if we hadn’t been born into it. What would we have pursued if we had been raised by parents that worked in town? We’ll never know. What we do know is that a few hundred cows depend on us every single day of the year. In the spring the land dries and looks to us for irrigation water. And when you put water on ground, harvest follows.

When Mark was a young man looking towards his future, Grandma Bonnie told him to go to college. Referring to his Dad and Grandpa, Bonnie told him, “this ranch has taken too much out of two men already." Mark did go on to university and taught school for sixteen years, but the ranch was here every night after school and on the weekends until it finally pulled him back to its beautiful and relentless cycle of obligations. 

So that’s my gutsy blog. And to put a bit of poetry back in, here’s a photo of our two oldest kids, home for a few days and riding together again. As I post this, they're both visiting far away places. Seth is in Alaska and Callie is in Germany. But wherever they go they take their roots with them. They’re strong because of this ranch. They know who they are because of this ranch. They probably got their guts here too.

A Rancher's Life in Australia - guest post by Therese Johnston

I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains.

Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.

I love her far horizons, I love her jewelled sea.

Her beauty and her terror, the wide brown land for me!

An excerpt from “My Country” by Dorothea Mackellar 1889- my favourite Australian poet

Our family and the Pratt family became friends in 2007. We were in the midst of a long Australian drought, our wheat crop was failing and we were offloading cattle as there was no feed. It was then that we began looking for an opportunity to experience life elsewhere for a while. Mark and Wendy offered us the amazing chance to live and work on Pratt Ranch while our own ranch healed. I am honoured to be a guest writer for Wendy’s blog and to share our story of a rancher’s life in Cowra, Australia.

Rodney and I live on the Johnston family ranch with our three daughters Anna (12), Kate (10) and Sophie (8). We are about 200 miles west of Sydney, over the Great Dividing Mountain Range which snakes its way down the length of eastern Australia. We have approximately 1500 acres which is an average sized holding for this area. I work in town each day as an elementary school teacher where our girls go to school. Rodney works the farm and we also own another business delivering milk products to schools, retail outlets, retirement homes etc in and around town. Life is full!

Our town of Cowra is in the Lachlan Valley which is primarily a sheep and cropping area. Farmers sow wheat, canola and oats in April/ May and then look for the winter rains from June to August. Harvest is usually in November/December. We have a mixed bag on our ranch, a couple of nearby dairies need good pasture for their heifers, so we offer agistment for these heifers and are paid a premium for weight gain. We also trade steers, with Angus cattle attracting the highest prices. We grow oats and alfalfa to ensure year round quality of feed.  Our business has changed significantly from 10 years ago, a more careful grazing and pasture management plan with a more holistic overall approach means that we can maintain production without the cost of expensive fertilizers and weed spraying.

If you stand on the highest point on our ranch you can see all that our valley has to offer. The Lachlan River is the defining feature of our landscape and the lifeblood of our community. It flows into Wyangala Dam about 30 kilometres upstream from town and from there water release is regulated to suit the environmental and farming requirements further downstream. You can see many productive farms along its length, ranging from alfalfa crops, vineyards, vegetable farms, livestock and many winter crops. As well as having a practical/commercial application, Wyangala Dam provides us with a summer oasis. Most weekends in summer are spent with friends, water skiing and enjoying the backwaters of this huge body of water. It is the place to be on a hot summer’s day and it was a fun place to camp with friends over the recent Easter break.

When I think about the similarities between the Australian and American rancher I think that we are all custodians of our environments, taking care to nurture what we have in order to manage the balance between income and stewardship. My family is lucky to have experienced ranching life in both countries, the common bonds of family, love, respect and friendship link us all. Spending 10 months with the Pratt family was filled with such wonderful experiences and memories that we are forever thankful. We forged lifelong friendships and bonds that we would never have found if not for the incredible generosity of Wendy and Mark, Callie, Seth, Anna, Anita and Gary, Bonnie and Aunt Anita.

                  - Therese Johnston

 Sophie, Anna, and Kate

Therese and Rodney

All in for FFA

We’re home from attending the state FFA leadership conference.  A glorious three days of watching our kids do their stuff on stage, with Anna as the presiding VP and Seth as a national officer. It’s a very “full to the brim” feeling sitting in a crowd of 1500 kids and knowing our two have done their best in this year of service.

The kids come in all shapes and sizes. Big clumsy boys in black slacks, their hair combed nicely - wearing ties no less! The girls are in black skirts, also with white shirts and neck ties. Both wear the signature blue corduroy jacket, their state and chapter name on the back, their own name proudly embroidered on the right chest. They come from all corners of Idaho to compete in contests ranging from livestock judging and floral arrangement to parliamentary procedure and public speaking. They come to learn from their leaders and receive recognition for their hard work.

The best part of the convention is when students are honored for top achievements in their individual agriculture projects at home. Some raise pigs, sheep, cattle or rabbits. Others work on farms, harvest hay, work in food service or a welding shop. One young man won an award for Ag Processing by working for his grandparents at their small kill facility, harvesting beef year round and deer and elk during hunting season. Another grows and sells greenhouse flowers. The big wide world of agriculture is explored, propagated, nurtured, harvested, and marketed by these kids.

Afterwards Seth and Anna had a farewell lunch with the FFA kids, past and present, who made the conference come together. We hung around for a couple of hours letting them say their goodbyes before they all scattered back out to their own lives.

One moment of the conference stood out to me. There was an elderly gentleman presenting foundation scholarships to students. He was enthusiastic about what he had seen that day. He was describing his impression of the student members and used the adjective “genteel.”  I shook his hand later and thanked him for his comments, but I had to look up the word to be sure of its meaning. Genteel is defined this way: polite, refined, well-bred (formerly meaning gentlemanly or ladylike). Can you imagine anyone over 60 referring to today's youth in that manner? What a compliment and I couldn’t agree more.

Seth's workshop with Anna as helper

Anna with Elly and Hannah, visiting state officers from Washington