Cow Trails

We brought the young cows out of the mountains, those expecting their first and second calves. We’ll keep them separate for the winter. They do better if they don’t have to compete for feed with the mature cows. But when we put them on the road, they were lost without the older cows to show them the way. It took extra nudging to convince them they needed to walk home.   

There were only three of us to put them up and over the steep grade at Rawlins Creek, with Alan, our longtime helper, on foot at that. When we finally came out on top, He and Dave went back to help the rest of the crew who were putting the older cows through the chute for their fall vaccinations. I stayed with the young cows on my favorite horse, Jane, and with my border collie, Dot. We took the herd along the old stock trail that follows the river. Gary brought me lunch after a while and checked the lead cows before he headed back to the main herd.  

I’ve ridden this route many times. I rode it as a kid, begrudgingly taking turns with my sisters because we didn’t have enough horses to go around. And after I grew up and took a detour with the wrong man, I married Mark and came back to my roots. Mark was raised just like me on a neighboring ranch who summered cattle on the same range. He traveled the same route spring and fall - only he had his own horse and didn’t have to share! But there’s more.  

My Mom was raised in these mountains; her love of the land and the river lives on in me. The cabin built by my great-grandparents can be seen over the bluff along the Trail, safe from vandals, but victim to the passage of time and the river that erodes toward its foundation. When my folks married, Mom moved downstream, but never really left the mountains because of their herd’s annual transhumance. She didn’t ride horses, but was vital to the ranch in other ways. And every year, when she drove past the site of her childhood home, she paused.

Times are different today. I worry about the Trail in ways she never had to. There are more and more fences every year crowding our cows into a narrower and narrower lane. The county widens and “improves” the road annually. More off-road travel, 4-wheelers and side-by-sides, mean more two-tracks taking off in every direction. Invasive plants are moving in on our beloved sagebrush sea and we imagine no way to stop their advance – the weeds or the people.

But for some reason, perhaps I was busy moving the herd, perhaps it was the solitude. In any case, I took the day off from worrying. When the herd arrived at our destination, I waited. I tied Jane to a cedar, sat on the bluff and thought about my Mom and Dad. Thankfully I dressed warm that day. I told Mark I would've been in tears if I hadn’t. I soaked up the evening, the sunset, and finally darkness, trusting that the pickup and trailer, studded with lights, would show up eventually. And he did.

My Mom, Alma, on the Trail

heading home

timeless