Peace on Earth?

It’s been great having the kids home. They got in on vaccinating heifers one day and have been helping feed cows. The cattle are in several different groups so we load two trucks and divide and conquer each day. 

We made it to two Christmas productions at our lovely old theatre in Idaho Falls and we’ve had fun playing games and digging deep into conversations in the evening. Mark is working on a puzzle of the nativity and is finally getting down to the fun part. I wonder if he needs my help now? We hosted Christmas dinner with a giant 4-H ham, garlic mashed red spuds from the garden, Becky’s famous corn casserole, and six kinds of pie.  

Seth gave me a book called Beef, The Untold Story of How Milk, Meat, and Muscle Shaped the World (more on that later) and a writer’s dictionary of quotes. But one of the best gifts from him was an article he forwarded to my email on the state of violence on our planet entitled The World is Not Falling Apart by Steven Pinker and Andrew Mack. It’s on a site called Slate.com for anyone interested in reading the entire essay. Pinker and Mack clearly make the case through various well documented graphs and charts that violent acts are far fewer today than in previous times. No matter how many “hell in a hand basket” discussions we hear around the dining table, it’s just not true.

And of course each life is precious and I would never mean to lessen the horror of any one beheading or senseless police officer homicide or school shooting, but here’s the truth:  

Homicide rates, even in countries such as Mexico and South Africa, are sharply down. Crimes against women and children are down. The adoption of benevolent governance continues a steady march across the globe with most nations now operating as democracies. Even Russia and China are notably “less repressive” than in earlier times. Genocide and other civilian killings “point sharply downward” and armed conflicts by major powers are non-existent.  

So why do we convince ourselves it’s so bad? Probably because news is largely made by bad news, and with social media it’s all at our fingertips. And clearly violence sucks people in. 

I even think it seems worse precisely because we have it so good. Any atrocity is hard to stomach when avoiding gluten or taking the stairs instead of the elevator are the challenges of the day. 

Heck, even climate change seems at bay since we got a solid snow covering and frigid temps. Gotta love a white Christmas! 

waiting for company to arrive

they make even loading trucks fun

nope, not a work day

An Unlikely Leader

What does it mean to be a leader? That you aspire to political office? Class president? The back-to-school chairman of the PTA?

I never thought of myself as a leader, but somehow, at what some misguided folks might call middle age (!), I find myself in the current year’s class of Leadership Idaho Agriculture. Thirty individuals from a diverse background, from farmers and ranchers and industry folks (grain elevator, cheese production, seed supplier) to resource managers from the BLM and NRCS, a nutrition professor and a homemaker/agriculture advocate, we come together four times, over four months, to learn a variety of skills to “lead.”

I’ve been giving that word lots of think time. I ran it by Mark in our winter-time routine of early morning discussions in the dark before we get out of bed. This morning I asked him how he defined a leader. As is usual, he mostly listened and I mostly talked. So here goes:

A leader can be anyone in any circumstance. It’s not only a calling for those with an outgoing personality or the gift of gab, the extroverts that are so highly celebrated in our western culture; it's a calling for us all.  

It’s the middle sister who always plans the annual family campout, making sure the details are covered, right down to the matches in the glove box. It’s grandma, who provides the calm voice of reason during family squabbles. Or the ranching son who returns from college to “lead” dad and grandpa to a new way of doing business.  It might even be a ranch wife who turns her love of the land into a blog about the ranching life. 

Think of those around you who don’t necessarily step into the spotlight, but inspire others. Their influence is sometimes felt rather than heard. They keep calm when others panic. When others slide into apathy, they stay engaged, no matter their age or persuasion.

It starts with the oft quoted belief, “if not me, then who?” It is sound judgment practiced from a base of knowledge and experience. It is bravado, the courage to speak your truth even when it’s risky to do so. It’s valuing that even though you’re not the one to lead the charge up the mountain, you might be the one who poses the question at a contentious water meeting that finally turns the conversation in a constructive direction.

In every lifetime we get plenty of chances to lead. Maybe boiled down to its very essence, it is our higher self leading our unconscious, rote self, every single day.

I say we can all work on improving our leadership skills, and be a force for good – in our careers, in our families and communities, and in our sometimes scary and fragmented, but increasingly “connected” world.

Who’s with me?

A big part of Leadership Idaho Agriculture is learning about various food industries in the state:

washing and sorting potatoes in Pingree
photo by Jen Root

Garrett and Jeremey pose by chick peas ready for shipment in Lewiston

Laying Low

Oh, December, how beautiful you are. I’ve been fighting a headache today, lying around on the couch indoors. My fogginess lifted this afternoon, enough to get me outside, and what a perfect December day it is. Crisp and cool and still. And the colors are lovely, if you can call them colors, just shades of brown and slate. Have you ever thought how the colors of a season match the activities that we associate with that season? Reflection and cozying up in winter, and by spring we’re running here and there, as crazy as the riot of color all around us.   

We had a lovely Thanksgiving holiday with the kids. The November college break is especially fun because they’ll be home again in another three weeks for Christmas. No sad goodbyes this time around.

Callie is helping Mark sort yearlings today. I’m quite sure she’s the only yoga teacher that works cattle on her off-days. I am enjoying going to her classes. Such a change of pace from ranching activities (or not depending on how you look at it, but that’s another blog post). She’s a very gracious teacher. Isn’t grace a wonderful word? In all the vicissitudes of life we should pursue grace. It fits every situation I can think of.

If December is so great and the kids will be home soon and Callie is here for another month, why am I so melancholy? Is it okay to not analyze it and just lay low and know that I’ll feel better soon enough?

I went into Walmart yesterday and Christmas has absolutely exploded there. With - you know it’s true, every cheap thing you would ever want to give, display or eat. I walked around and repeated to myself how these folks, pouring over newly displayed goods, were spiritual beings just like me and didn’t need my poor attitude. I wasn't very successful at it, I’ll admit.

Then as I was leaving the store I saw a friend who put me right. She has a ton of stuff on her plate right now, way more than me. She explained her plight and assured me there wasn’t a thing I could do for her. We laughed together and exchanged a touch and a smile. I hope it gave her a lift, I know it did me. 

my girls, good walking companions

Same Trail Different Generation

The cows didn’t want to leave, and maybe we should have listened to them. Perhaps it is as they say that animals can read the weather. Mark and I believed the forecast of heavy snow and high winds and so determined to fetch the cows to the valley, but as it turned out the storm didn’t materialize and we could have left them a little longer. And every day matters when you’re counting down to the haystack.

But, still, they were the last holdouts of the neighboring herds, and at the highest mountain pasture, nearly 2000 feet higher than the valley floor. And now they are here, safe and sound, and so are we.

Today was the last day of the trail home and I knew we had enough help so I asked Mark’s 95-yr-old grandmother if she wanted to ride along with me in our little Ranger pickup. I could let Kate keep the tail end of the herd caught up and Bonny would get to see Seth and Anna riding and be part of the day. She tried to talk herself out of going, but couldn’t find a good enough reason to stay home.

Mark and the kids started the herd early and I arranged to pick up Bonny at 10:00. I loaded Kate in the pickup shell and tucked in a blanket for Bonny's lap. We came upon the herd just as it was streaming down the last bench of high ground above the Snake River Plain. Grandma was teary-eyed as she wished out loud that Eldro, Mark’s grandpa now 14 years gone, could see the cattle.

She talked to me about the old days. How she was a town girl uprooted to the country and none too happy about it. She had to learn to like the cows; had to learn to like trailing them back and forth to the mountains. It wasn’t her idea to be a rancher’s wife, but after all the years she spoke with obvious pride in the herd, in the stake that she and Eldro had worked so hard to give us.

She said Eldro was the most determined man she had ever met, determined to build a farm and a cow herd, and how he had never cheated anyone out of a dime for his own benefit. Yes, it was hard for her to play second fiddle to the cows, but there was no regret or bitterness in her tone. She did what she had to do and it was a good life with many happy years.  

Bonny, and Anita, Mark’s Mom, and I are very different. We all married into this place and these cows, but we live this ranching life on our own terms. The details vary but the outlines overlap. Is it the same with other families? Or is it particularly so on a family ranch that the generations seem so close, almost side by side, separated only by the thin thread of time. 

reluctant to leave

trusting the movement

Looking Towards Home

There’s been a sea-change in the weather. Last weekend we were moving cattle through lovely stockpiled grass and enjoying mild temps. By Friday we were fighting a foot and a half of snow in the high country and getting cattle collected to fall back to lower elevation pastures.

We knew they needed to come down part way, and it’s not much fun to drag a horse trailer in deep snow, so we determined we could get the herd started with a 4-wheeler and a couple of dogs. Especially since Callie was home and she’s a force to be reckoned with on foot.

We loaded up and went in to town for gas and sandwich makings at the local Stop’ n Shop. We saw a friend there who inquired about our day’s task. I assured him we had the provisions we’d need to tackle snow country - chains, a shovel, walkie-talkies, hot coffee. He smiled and said, “remember my cell number?  . . . . forget it!”

Things went okay, but it always takes longer than you think it should. It snowed all day, a wet sticky snow that eventually worked through our layers of clothing. Our dogs were troopers, bounding through the snow, taking bites for drinks. 

At one point Callie and I had to wallow up a mountain to retrieve a third of the herd that had decided to follow a side hill full of bitterbrush. They kept climbing and climbing, enjoying their nibbling, and what could we do but follow? And then when Callie and Kate finally got around the highest individuals they were so content they just turned and headed back at the same elevation. After much hollering on our part they finally made it back to the road. We got them into the overnight pasture at dusk.

We have a new catch phrase for days like this. We heard it this summer from a rancher who takes interns on his ranch. On those particularly challenging days when the interns are wondering what they got themselves into, he says to them, “not everyone gets to do this!”

Kate at work 

by day two we had sunshine

Closure

There’s snow in the forecast for later today but it’s mild so far this morning. It was a warm walk with the dogs except for two pockets of cold air sitting quietly on the ground, a harbinger of what’s to come.

It’s the first day of November - and I can believe it. There’s a kind of stillness in the air. Like the water in the canal, just a series of puddles sinking slowly into the aquifer. The dogs dive in like usual, not knowing to relish their last taste of it, but I do.

We didn’t get any trick-or-treaters last night, the usual since trunk-or-treat took over the ritual of driving between neighbors in the country. I realize the advantages of the parking lot celebration, but still . . . And yes, I always buy candy “just in case” and end up eating it myself. 

Callie and I harvested the last of the garden yesterday. She dug all the potatoes while I knelt and rifled through the dirt. She was a godsend, as it’s hard work to do by yourself and I hate to bug Mark; he doesn’t need another job. Cal thought it was fun to turn over a shovel full of dirt and have these beautiful red darlings tumble out. Like finding a fat asparagus spear among the grass in spring or colorful eggs at Easter. We pulled up the last of the beets and purple onions and clipped the parsley and rosemary to dry. 

The last chore at dusk was delivering the potatoes to Grandma Bonny’s pump house, a thick-walled storage building at the end of her sidewalk that keeps vegetables at just the right temperature. It’s a gem. I wish I had one, but she is glad to share hers. She used to have an underground cellar which filled with a foot of sub water every summer. How happy she was to move her wares into a dry, ground level, climate-controlled room of her own. 

Harvesting what the land produces is a particular joy of this way of life. Whether it’s a sturdy calf crop, a stack of alfalfa hay or a bag of herbs in the cupboard. It’s all fun. As Callie said, “nature is so cool!”   

lots of beef

a young strong back

October's Mixed Bag

The wind is kicking up. Dang it. I hate it when it blows this time of year and sends all the colorful leaves to the ground. Last year the cottonwoods were a dull brown, this year they're brilliant golden. Does anybody know why that is? The severity of frost I suppose.

We moved the cows on Wednesday, and on the way out of the field saw that we had left a few - actually quite a few in a far off pasture. Mark and Jesse went back up today to fetch them and doctor a couple of cows that have foot rot.

Callie is home until the end of the year trying out her new yoga certification with mindbodydancer. She is teaching dance and yoga in our closest city of Idaho Falls. Oh, what fun it is to take class from her! And afterwards we wander around the old downtown trying out coffee houses for lunch. 

She worked three days on a blog post to send to her yoga community in New York City. She struggled to explain the differences in how rural Idahoans relate to one another as opposed to how residents of the big city boroughs do. She loves and appreciates both communities, but knows that here in small town America we truly see each other, and that everyone needs to be seen.

It’s quiet today and I’m deep into year-end bookwork. Cattle prices are sky high, so figuring out how to make timely investments into the ranch now is imperative. We save on taxes plus enjoy improvements which will get us through the inevitable lean years ahead.

Halloween was always a fun time of year when we were raising our kids. I still have several boxes of costume paraphernalia that I’m saving for grandkids someday. I envision my kids loading up the car to go rummage through Gramma’s treasure box before the big night. Anna was always a princess, Seth something more heinous, and Callie something different every year. She's conjuring up a scarecrow costume to attend an early Halloween party tonight. She already knew what she wanted to be and then saw a straw hat lying in the median on the way home from town!

I dug out the witch I made back when the kids were tiny. It’s on black poster paper mounted on a big orange moon. It’s torn in a couple of places and the back is plastered with old masking tape but it still makes late October feel like late October.

as sinister as ever

go away wind

pretty excited about their new field