Dot makes the Grade, and other News

We've been moving cattle around like usual. Here at home the heifers have been seesawing through irrigated pastures. We blood tested the group of possible replacement heifers for pregnancy, and then armed with the results, gave each one a new identification tag to join the breeding herd. We appreciate the new processing chute even more each time we use it. It's quiet, safe and functional. A good design always makes such a difference. 

The other heifers will head to a final feeding phase before being turned into nutritious food.  The flow of energy from the sun, to plants, to animals, will be completed as nature intended. But as Seth told me, "Mom, it's  not by some grand design or intention. It's what worked!" What he means is that ruminants cycling cellulose created from the sun's energy - while moving frequently - worked throughout evolutionary time to provide for multitudes of species. Many folks, especially the fake meat crowd, are blind to this simple process. 

I've been having fun with my young border collie, Dot. She's really pulling her weight now after a slow start. She excels at fording streams and canals to gather cattle on the other side. She's gaining confidence and following my cues to stay where she's needed. She's finally learning to move off a steady stare and to commence "herding," which is after all her job. I'm no expert trainer. We just stumble along and somehow get the cattle where we want them, learning as we go. Sure is fun with a helper. 

Mark and I spent a night in the mountains to fix fence and move cattle. After fencing for several hours, we quit early - well 7:00 pm or so - and tried out our new solar shower before fixing supper. It was great, even though we added hot water to please Mark for his turn. The next morning I woke up with a sick headache and still had to get on Jane and ride for several hours moving cattle. I had forgotten my meds, but hoped if I ignored it, my headache would go away. And it seemed to do just that while in the midst of herding a bunch of cows that didn't know where they were going. But when we finished and had to ride the hour back to the cabin, I was miserable. 

Summer moves quickly at high elevation. The wrens are already gone from around the cabin. They had a nest at the outhouse and scolded us continuously on our last trip. It's getting quiet too soon for me. 

The other summertime constant at home, besides moving cattle, is moving water. Mark heads to the ditches every morning. He keeps a plastic tub in the bed of his pickup to collect trash that shows up in the waterways. It's easy to understand how garbage ends up in the  ocean because water intercepts objects which then make their way downstream. Most of it is single-use plastic drink containers. What an unnecessary crutch we're teaching our kids to expect. And even if you don't throw it on the roadside, it ends up somewhere. We can do better. 

early morning gather

the power of a good design

tools of the trade

what the canals (and Mark) gather up

Playing our Part

Well, that’s how July went. It’s been hot, like July is supposed to be. But oh, our Idaho nights! We don’t have an air conditioner, just let the morning breezes do the job. We’ve been sleeping in the basement where it’s cool and quiet. I tell Mark it's a mini-vacation. Why does it feel so good to snuggle under blankets even in mid-summer?

We identified a new bird (to us) this year, a western wood pewee. It’s nondescript in looks, gray/brown with a touch of a topknot on its head. Its song is a somewhat annoying screech. Kind of like a nighthawk with a blurb in the front. They start calling before dawn and are the last to bed at night. Different birds seem to dominate our homestead each year, or maybe we just turn our attention to them. For a couple of years it was the kingbirds squawking us awake each morning. Last summer, I imagined that all I heard was the two-tone monotonous call of the chickadee. We love them all, of course.

We will remember this July as when my dog, Kate, had the maggot episode. Flies took advantage of a hot, moist spot on her, maybe where a cheat grass awn had embedded in her skin, and thought it a good spot to lay eggs. What a harrowing event it was! We knew something wasn't quite right with her when we left for a day of cutting weeds. When we returned that evening we found her in a sorry state. I made a quick run to Walmart for hydrogen peroxide and examination gloves and we worked together on her, getting rid of the vermin, until 11:30 pm. Maggot work is not a job you want to tackle alone. The next day I took her to the vet for hydration and a partial body shave, only to find after we brought her home, that the professionals had missed two more nests under her collar! The sight of wriggling masses of maggots kept coming to my mind for the next few days. Yuck.

Kate is feeling much better now. Today she followed along to change water and was wagging her tail and digging up gophers with the rest of the dogs.

Other than maggots, weeds have been a morning conversation staple this July. I tell you what, they take the joy out of ranching! We concentrate on burr-producing invasives since they collect on our animals, but there are others that concern us too. I regularly monitor musk thistle for the presence of seed-eating weevils. Bio-control offers the best hope for the future. It may not be a clean sweep, but it’s cheap, sustainable, and environmentally friendly. The irony was not lost on me to find that the musk thistle weevil looks a lot like a maggot.

Insects in all their life cycle activities contribute to our world in many ways, maggots by decomposing and recycling animal carcasses, others for feeding songbirds, pollinating crops, and in general adding to the biodiversity that makes the whole thing function. We don’t notice or appreciate their work enough, but we wouldn’t last long without them.

Nature works in strange and wonderful ways. Finding our place and guarding our niche, while studying her mysteries, will be our life’s work. It will be imperfect, disappointing, exhilarating and amazing. We call ourselves ranchers, but during the growing season, students of the ecosystem is a better title.

lovely blossoms of penstemon in the mountains

musk thistle seed weevil
not sure what the adult interloper is

    

a second bio-control agent, the crown weevil, stunted this thistle stand

my cheery front porch

A Ranch Wedding

Seth and Leah were married here at the ranch in June. I had anticipated the event for so long, and it was such a big undertaking that I admit to being a bit discombobulated in the aftermath. Just three short days after the wedding, hardly time to catch our breath, we took a trip to Oregon. Upon our return, irrigation water was ponding on the site of the ceremony, and the net wire fence that had been folded back to accommodate the wedding procession had been spliced and closed. Did it really ever happen at all?

A ranch doesn't easily lend itself to formal festivities. Me in heels and Mark in a suit – to stay home? We don’t have a showplace for sure, but our sturdy, native trees are wonderful, and a pasture of grass with the Blackfoot River hills in the distance was just right. We were pleased that California-raised Leah chose the ranch for the event. Getting to know her close-knit, fun-loving family, and giving them a taste of Leah’s new life was a total pleasure.

In anticipation of hosting guests, we took the opportunity to clean up around the ranch headquarters where Seth and Leah live, as well as our home where the wedding would be held. Various objects that we’ve walked and driven by for years suddenly looked out of place and had to go. I moved the dog houses, planted grass here and there and trimmed trees. A new coat of paint on the hitching rail and the propane tank, fresh oil on the saddle shed, along with a generously wet spring helped a lot.

Weather was always the wild card. It has been cold and rainy this spring, and with wind in the forecast, Seth and Leah made a last minute decision to move the reception venue to Gary and Anita’s new dog working arena. Our lumber cousins provided wood chips to cover the dirt floor, which, along with a sod encircled dance floor and drapes and lights strung thru the rafters, transformed the space. I fashioned a wreath of rusted barbed wire rolled up from a long forgotten fence and adorned with greenery. Add formal tables and chairs, a handmade drink bar, straw bales to soften the sounds, and we had us a party.

Friends and family made it a homemade event in lots of ways. Many hands went to work to pull the whole thing off. My sister, niece and cousin created the meal. The Blackfoot FFA Floral club did a great job with the flowers. More high school students helped with set-up and parking to fund FFA travel in the coming year. And the most important part, the ceremony, was beautifully written by Leah’s Aunt Rachel. Rachel, who is Jewish, shared three Hebrew words with us, Baruch atah Adonai, which I learned later essentially means, “Thank you, God.” The words began each of seven blessings for the couple which were full of rejoicing for the unity of all, for peaceful and harmonious relationships with one another and the world, for inspiration, abundance and love. Seth and Leah followed the blessings with their own handwritten vows which were perfect in every way.

We couples in the audience were moved (as is usual at weddings) to remember our own vows. For me and Mark, our vows were shared 29 years ago and don’t exactly roll off the tongue these days. We were reminded to practice patience and compassion, kindness and forgiveness. To communicate always, and then communicate some more. To provide a safe place for our spouse. To focus on the important things and to let go of the rest. 

Mark and I wish we could do the kids' wedding all over again. If we could, we’d take the time to thank each person who helped raise our son. I would slow down and let the experience soak in a bit. Images and stories keep coming to mind. The fragrance of freshly laid wood chips filling the arena and Anna asking, "Does anyone feel like they're at the 4-H fair?" My carefully tended Olive below the house and how naturally it sheltered guests at tables covered in white linen. A last minute bridal shower the day before the wedding to accommodate traveling guests, a brilliant idea by young people who take on more than we adults ever would. And then, the sweet, supremely happy faces of Seth and Leah as they cemented a love they’ve shared for over 5 years now.

In the end, it was one more exceptional experience we’ve had in our role as parents. This ride of a lifetime. Holding tight, opening our arms a bit wider, wrapping up Leah for good.

photo by Anita Pratt

photos by Kendra Elise

Alpha Gamma Roe fraternity serenade

photo by Anna Pratt

heifers in on the planning

Spring 2019 Recall

Whenever I wait too long to write a blog, so much has happened that I don’t know where to start. And we’re so busy that sitting down to write seems like a total waste of time. I know Mark doesn’t think that, though. He always encourages me to write. Some winter evening he’ll page back to spring 2019 and want to remember how it all played out.

Spring comes on like a freight train. The calving routine just starts to let up when the irrigation water needs turned on, the cows need put on grass, fences need fixing; the list grows each day. Just as the grass was looking good, we had a couple of nights of hard frost that burned it back. You can see it as golden flecks across the pasture and it especially stressed the plants because they were dry. It directly affected the feed bank in front of the cows.

With Jesse and Milee's help, we managed a fun, final visit to the University of Idaho as parents. Anna and Cole graduated together and we had a lovely celebration to mark the occasion. It was bittersweet packing Anna up for another move. I don’t think many folks leave the idyllic setting of the Palouse without some melancholy.  

Like every spring, we’ve had fun watching birds out our kitchen window. There are some brilliantly colored western tanager and lazuli bunting pairs making their homes here. We had fun going through the bird book and learning to identify a western wood pe-wee and a yellow-rumped warbler. 

Though Mark won’t like this memory, this was the spring the older calves got sick just before we headed to the hills. We were bouncing around the pasture one evening just before it got dark. I was driving and Mark was on the passenger side with the door open and his lariat poised. We were trying to sneak up on some sick calves to give them a shot. We treated a few, but found more sick than we could get hold of. We went to bed that night with a sick feeling.

This was the spring we started using a new irrigation tool, a pitchfork with tines that curve downward and is handy for collecting debris that piles up as the first water runs down the ditches. I found it in an old pile this winter and it didn't have a handle, but that was easily fixed. Mark thinks someone modified a regular pitchfork. How many generations of Pratts have been flood irrigating here and never used this tool? (Which reminds me that I left it someplace and need to retrace my steps!)

It’s stressful - this spring weather, as much as we love it. And this life, as much as we love it. In the middle of the night when we’re both awake, worrying, we hold hands silently, hoping that with joint concentration we might reassure one another and fall back asleep. And every morning things look better and we start again.

We’re thankful to have kids here to help, at least for a few more days. We’re thankful the weather has cooled, a blessing for trailing cattle. Tomorrow the herd starts for the mountains and things are what they are. Wishing safety for the crew, health for the herd, and that all the rain in the forecast materializes.   

evening on the Palouse

the graduates and newly engaged couple

my Dad would call it a "man needer"

Dot is not much help

When Green Comes

I made a fire in the woodstove this morning and it sure feels good. With all that wonderful green outside, it’s a blow to the system to step out and find it’s actually cold and windy. We even saw some snowflakes dancing around.

Mark and I have had such fun with my TEDx talk on grazing. We check periodically to see how many views the video has garnered. And Facebook shares are international – Denmark, Kenya, Nova Scotia. There’s a worldwide community of folks that agree with us on the necessary role of grazing animals and they want to be heard. But is anyone viewing who thinks cows are the problem? Am I changing any minds? I hope so. On second thought, I don’t really expect to change minds, just crack them open.

The water has returned to the canal that runs through our property. Now, when the dogs come off their tether, they run to it to get a drink instead of following the trail to the hydrant and waiting for me to lift the spigot.

I’ve been tidying up the willows that line the canal in our driveway. Pruning and picking up limbs, revealing the breathtaking beauty of trees, is addicting. Seth taught me to operate Grandpa’s little chainsaw and I’m having such fun! I only need a man with a tractor for final clean up, which suits Mark just fine. I am now a force to be reckoned with on my own.

The bees are loving the first flower on our willows and box elders, and we’re happy to oblige their early spring pollen needs. And out our office window, the leaves are filling out on the quakie (quaking aspen). They’re the happiest, shiniest, chartreuse green-iest leaves you can imagine. Mark’s grandpa said when the quakie leaves are dime-sized it was time to turn out the cows. It’s a cowboy’s way of describing plant life phenophase!

I went to a workshop last week full of passionate people from conservation collaboratives across the West. Group after group talked about the value of working landscapes and keeping farmers and ranchers on the land. They even talked about the benefits of flood irrigation and how the pulsing wet and dry provide for birds, and how the system mimics an old-style flood plain. It was like getting a deep massage to hear positive messages about our way of life.

When I took my turn at the microphone, I shared a little bit of my world. I finished by saying, “if you get a chance to talk to a rancher, ask them a question.” I think they heard me. As the workshop continued, several people made a point to ask me a question. One fellow said, “How are you? That’s a question!” Indeed it is.

Here's that link:

Wendy's TEDx talk

Through Lauren's Eyes

First the red-wing blackbirds arrive in February. Then the killdeers. Then the meadowlarks. At first their familiar songs don’t register in my brain, but then . . . oh, it’s spring! And just now, while I’m writing, five goldfinches have discovered the seed heads I left on the flowers in my front bed all winter.   

To welcome the birds, the plants are waking up. I drove into the yard last night when the sun was just starting its slide to the horizon. There it was – a change in the willows. No, they’re not turning green yet, but there’s a new clarity, a fullness. The buds are swelling! And across the pasture the grass blades are popping their heads out, and the tiniest of forbs have pushed up some tentative leaves.

Lauren from Boise State came to stay for a few days and added a little excitement to this busy time of year. She’s working on a doctorate and wanted to experience life on a ranch to help inform her questions around humans, agriculture and ecology. Spring Break is the perfect time because it coincides with our heaviest calving period.  

She rode Sly moving cow-calf pairs into a neighboring pasture. She helped sort and weigh the yearling steers. She cleaned stalls and fed the bottle calf. She bucked hay bales into the calving barn. She fed a few loads of hay and straw to the heifers. Skinny jeans and a long braid aren’t the best for feeding and I’m sure she had straw in every crevice, but she was a good sport. She even helped Mark deliver two calves that needed assistance.

The evening before she left, we had finished our work just as the full moon was rising. We stopped to watch it from the corral outside the calving barn. It was a perfect evening with cold, clear skies. I told her I wanted to experience every full moon I could until I died. She reminded me that not everyone has that chance unless they live in the country. Oh. 

She mostly soaked up a way of living she had never experienced. One evening we went through her formal questions. How do we measure success? What are our plans for the future of the ranch? Are we unique? How has the environment changed over our lifetimes? The queries made us think, and that’s a good thing.

I’ve had some experience working with university researchers, and it’s me that asks the questions. Rarely do they seem very curious about what we ranchers know, so to have the questions directed to us was a welcome change.

She had supper at Seth and Leah’s one night, and spent the last morning with Gary and Anita, going through her questions - and going through their art collection. After meeting individually with all three generations living on the ranch, I wonder what insights she saw that we can’t.

She lost her cell phone in the melee somewhere and spent a day and a half sure it was gone for good. She and Mark had been buzzing around on the 4-wheeler and the battery was dead, so it seemed hopeless. The loss put a damper on her visit. I told her to keep the faith and keep looking for it. And then the next day there it was, half buried in the sand where I was feeding the bottle calf. It was bent in an arc but worked fine! I told her good things happen.

checking out the calving barn               (Lauren Hunt)

                               moving pairs on Sly                                 

not as easy as it looks

the worm moon                             (Lauren Hunt)

feeding time                                    (Lauren Hunt)

Stall Six

It’s raining calves on the ranch. Today we moved another set of cow-calf pairs away from the drys (those that haven’t calved yet). It’s probably the most nuanced move we make on the ranch. The trick is to leave the drys settled, while pressuring the pairs just enough to peel them away from the others. If you’ve never felt the razor edge of a bovine flight zone, this is excellent practice.

We're well into calving now, and I'm just getting to the blog I intended to write about the occupants of stall six. Mark had brought in a baby that couldn’t get the hang of sucking. His tongue leaked out the side of his mouth so he couldn’t get a good drag. And he looked a little lopsided otherwise. Maybe he had laid in the womb wrong. Mark prepared a stall with fresh straw and walked the cow and calf inside. He knelt next to the cow and guided the hungry calf close to her flank. If Mark cupped the teat just right, the calf could suck. After a couple of days the baby figured it out and the happy couple went back outside to the herd.

Tending the pair was my first stint in the old calving barn this spring, and it seemed good to be back inside its cozy walls. It’s the oldest working building on the ranch, so familiar and functional. It’s warm and quiet during severe weather. And in late morning when I clean stalls alone, and sunshine flows through the gaps in the wood siding, it has a timeless feel that makes me think of Grandpa and Grandma and how happy they must have been when the barn was new.  

Calving is serious business, but you can tell the Pratts have had fun in the barn over the years. There's a neon "Lucky On Tap" sign hanging from the ceiling that dates to long before my time. I tried plugging in the cord and, no, it doesn't work anymore. There's a Hereford sign on the back wall, two cowboy portraits in the straw room, and a scratchy transistor radio on the shelf. 

And though I love the old building, I’m campaigning for some upgrades. Maybe a blog will get Mark's attention! The sliding door across the front is temperamental and Jesse got locked inside one day when it wouldn’t track. It’s heavy and requires both hands and my whole weight put into it to get it closed. There’s an inside door that leads to the warm room, or "technology lab" as the sign on the door reads. It needs replaced as well. It doesn’t shut and stay closed easily, you have to twist it towards the interior of the door and then push solidly. We go in and out of the warm room continually. Inside is a relic refrigerator which holds extra milk, a deep sink with hot running water, clean towels, syringes and treatment bottles, various tools for the task at hand, and a heater on the wall to warm up a cold calf if needed.

So, yeah, it would be nice to absentmindedly shut the door. It’s not like we have any extra attention or time during calving season.   

mother and baby cozied up

Pratt Calving Barn