As The Butter Churns

August 6th Together Again

 
Hi Denise!

    Well, here I am, back from a fairly stress-free three week road trip, only to find record breaking heat, electric storms of Biblical proportions, and a half-fried laptop.I know, welcome to YOUR world, right? Still, it is good to be home. Let me tell you about my month; as you know, I had my beloved grandson, Bodhi, visiting me here on the ranch for most of the nonth of June. I took him home to Georgetown, Texas, and we took four days to drive the thousand miles, camping and exploring along the way. We spent a couple of days in the gorgeous town of Santa Rosa, NM  playing in their amazing spring-fed lakes--- what fun! After I got him settled at home, and after a week of "family time" with my daughter and son-in-law in Texas, I decided to go home by way of Lusk, Wyoming, and see the boys. After all, it is only 1200 mile or so longer than a direct shot home - and who knows when I'll be able to take the time (or have the gas money) again? Man, am I glad I did!!! I had more fun in the three days I was in Lusk than I've had in a long time; and it was GREAT to see Pancho and Lefty again!
(tent camping)

    I tent camped on my way up to Wyoming to save some money, and the last night of the drive up, I stayed at the family camp at F.E.Warren Air Force base in Cheyenne. I like to stay on military bases because they are safe, are usually in a beautiful spot, have all the services you could possibly need nearby, and are full of interesting, helpful retired military people. When you are an old lady and you travel alone, these things get very important. Well, the base was GORGEOUS, the campground was full of antelope, (I woke up with one looking into my tent from about six feet away, and he stood there patiently while I got my eyes open and my camera focused), and I couldn't have asked for a more cozy space than the tent area - manicured lawns and big shady trees. Until the freight switching yard started slamming freight cars together at eleven o'clock ant night, 100 feet from my head! The whole tent shoook and vibrated until about four a.m., when they finished and pulled out. I sighed a hugh sigh of relief, lay back down to get a little sleep before I had to hit the road, and then the darn JETS started taking off a couple hundred yards the other way!! All in all, not a very peoceful night! So, as you may imagine, by the time  I got to lusk, another three hours away, I was fairly glassy-eyed and brain-bruised... not the best way to meet people you want to impress.
   (Me and the boys)

    I had talked to Jon and he told me to let him know when I arrived at the county fairgrounds in Lusk - the Niobrara County building is a beautiful facility -  so I called him when I got there at nine. (Not much use trying to sleep in at the AF base!) I knew the moment I saw Lisa. Stevie, and Cole that any worries I had about looking tired or not so perfect were simply rubbish; they welcomed me with open arms and made me feel like one of the family in no time at all. That day Jon showed me around Lusk, and he and Stevie showed me the old stagecoach station and gave me a tour of the area - there is a lot of history there! Lusk is the site of the first American Legion in the country and the last working brothel in Wyoming. (I don't THINK there's a connection there...) Then we went out to see the boys.

    Man, you should see the pasture those lucky oxen are on. At my house they had lots of room, but no grass. At your house they had lots of grass, but limited room. Now they have half a state, and it's covered in wheat! They are in bovine heaven! And best of all, the whole Mellott family GETS them! The entire family connects with them in a way that we could only hope for,,, and the boys return the favor. They are so happy that I felt a huge weight that I didn't even know I had just drop away from the first moment I saw them standing there, every inch of their massive bodies radiating contentment. You did good, Denise! You got them to the best possible place for them to spend the rest of their lives.

 The first day we went out to see them it was too hot to do much, so we just talked to them and looked at the pasture they are in. They were a little wary of seeing me, but were friendly and calm the whole time I was there. HOWEVER, when we returned the next day to hook them up and drag some telephone poles, they were nowhere to be found - they had walked a mile to hide on the other side of a hill! You haven't lived until you have seen two 2800 pound steers trying to look like they aren't there! I laughed until tears came into my eyes. Then we hooked them up and tears came to THEIR eyes!

(Lefty's right nostril - as he tried to eat the camera)

    They worked willingly for Jon, and he did a really good job getting what he wanted from them. He kept saying that he didn't know what he was doing, but he did better than drovers I know that have been working cattle for years. I don't think he knows how rare it is to find someone with that connection naturally, but it sure made me happy - not to mention the boys, who just looked happy to work for someone whose natural gait matched theirs - instead of having to slow down to a saunter for me! Oh, and did I mention that every meal was home-made county fair food and involved pie? Or that they put me up in a local hotel - The Covered Wagon _  was nicer than some five-star resorts I have been to? Or that the ENTIRE town of Lusk is involved in some way with the oxen, if only as a huge admiration society. All in all, it was a great visit, and hopefully next year we can BOTH go to Rawhide and watch the boys (and Jon) make us proud!

(Jon and the boys)

Give my best to my favorite Henry in the whole world - now back to the real world of milking cows and making soap.

Maryruth

April 26th Get Along Little Dogies

   

    I woke up to a gorgeous sun shiny day. They have three hundred and sixty two of these in Los Angeles, but they don’t have that fresh scrubbed mountain air feeling. I’m not a heat tolerant kind of girl. When I was young and my mother would make me play outside, I thought August was just another name for hell.

   

    This morning was full of promise, but I knew too this would be my last morning with Pancho and Lefty. They’d be gone by lunch. I thought I would feel a sense of relief. No more chasing Pancho over hill and dale. But relief is not what I felt. I looked at their fuzzy faces and listened to their foghorn moos wondering if they understood they were leaving. I made sure Henry got a chance to say good-bye before he left for school because I knew they would be gone when he came home.

    When Jon pulled up, out popped two of the sweetest kids I’ve met in a long time, Stevie and her brother Cole. I felt better already. Jon was just as nice as he seemed on the phone and the kids were so comfortable with the dogs and the big boys. We all chatted about life in Wyoming, Elvis the basset hound, school, the women’s prison, Paris and I learned the kids are in 4H. Stevie is raising a black pig .

     Cole and Luther were a natural pair. It was easy to see this kid new his way around a basset hound. In no time at all Luther’s eyes were practically rolled back in his head.

   

    Stevie and Cole fed Pancho and Lefty cookies while I gave Jon all the required paperwork as well as Maryruth’s address - a necessity. And Lefty’s eye ointment just in case. We loaded up the yoke and a bag full bag of cow cookies for the trip.

    Then it was time. Jon pulled the trailer up and Lefty started crying. It was a long sad high-pitched moo I’d never heard him moo before. I don’t know why he did it, probably because he didn’t want to go into the trailer, all I know is I already felt terrible and now I felt worse.  My heart hurt. I’ve never parted with an animal before.

   

Stevie got a rope tied into a halter and started getting them ready. I held Lefty while Jon loaded Pancho. I’d never trailered them so I wasn’t sure how it would go. But the boys didn’t let me down. Pancho went right in, and Lefty about had a breakdown seeing his brother disappear. So he all but ran Jon over trying to get in next to Pancho.

    The doors closed and that was that. At this point Vivian became extremely concerned. She didn’t think the boys should be leaving and didn’t want to let them go. She followed the trailer to the end of the driveway and watched them go up the hill.

    I just stood there for a while listening to the silence. The bells were gone.

    I called Maryruth and she said, “Welcome to my world” with a laugh. “When they left here I cried for a week. I guess we’re all taking a trip to Wyoming.”

April 24th If It's Not One Thing

   

   

    I woke up with a start this morning feeling as though I’d overslept. I checked the clock and I was up strangely early. Sore and creaky from all the hard labor, I dragged myself downstairs looking like a truck hit me. I’d taken a hot shower before going to bed and too exhausted to dry my hair I went to bed. The result is not pretty. I had a little extra time so I chatted a bit longer with Tom over coffee than usual and leisurely made Henry’s lunch. Just as I was inserting the Flavor Blasted Goldfish™ I remembered.

    “Don’t forget Mama my all my paperwork and permission slips are due tomorrow for Mountain School. It’s the last day to turn them in.” Henry said sleepily before he went to sleep last night. Drat. I had forgotten totally I hadn’t even taken them out of the pack. Now, we had to leave in thirty minutes and I wasn’t even dressed. My dad walked in. I’d forgotten, he needed a ride to his car before school – at least it was on the way.

    I set new land speed records getting out of the house. Henry fed the dogs while I did the barn. As I fed Pancho and Lefty hay showered on me and I momentarily thought of my sister the chimpanzee. I’d have to avoid her at all costs. I now truly looked like road kill, but I would stay in the car and with any luck no one would notice me.

    We dropped off my dad and his book at Mt. Baker Automotive and Henry hopped in the front seat.

    “Mama, don’t feel bad about forgetting about me. I forget about you all the time.”

    “Is that somehow supposed to make me feel better?” I gave him the eyebrow lift. “ Anyway, I feel like loser mother of the year, and I truly am sorry. You brought home the papers and you told me to do them and you even reminded me last night. I’m not angry at you, but I know how teachers get when parents don’t turning their slips on time especially since I’m a chaperone.”

    “How about you tell me what to write and I fill in the answers while you’re driving.”

    “That’s a great idea.” So he did all the paperwork including his insurance information and the requisite check. All I had to do when we arrived was sign my name where he’d marked.

    “The only thing missing Honey, are the dates we’re going. Do you remember?”

    “No. I’ll just ask my teacher and fill them in when I get to class.”

    I turned to head home, because after all where else could I go in my condition? And just in front of me was a dark gray Honda Odyssey. Lisa. The phone rang and sure enough she’d seen my car. Luckily, she was on her way to an appointment and didn’t have time to stop. Whew. I continued on my way so far so good. The phone rang again, this time it was my father it seems his car was not ready and he needed me to pick him up. Fifteen minutes later when I pulled into the parking lot I realized he might not see me and I wasn’t going in. I’d call if I had to, but my luck continued and he walked out. They’d have the part for his car a little later so he just wanted a ride to the Extreme Bean and they’d call him there.
No problem as long as I don’t have to get out of the car. The Extreme Bean is also a drive thru and for a moment I considered a hot cup of coffee for the ride home, but vanity got the best of me. I’d go without.

    When I pulled into the driveway I felt elated. I’d made it. I went directly upstairs used the Trader Joes™ Tangerine Sugar Scrub and did my hair. While I was getting ready I started thinking about those Silver Dorkings again. What could I do with twenty-two roosters? I supposed I could give one to each of the kids in Henry’s class. That would make me popular with the PTA.

    I called Dan Cramer and he found some round bales for me and promised to deliver them tomorrow. “Now Denise, are you sure you don’t need anything nothing else? My son’s doing a great workshop on how to harness a team and drive them. It’s all day clinic and people are coming from three states, he serves a beautiful lunch.”

    “Dan I need a lot of things, and I’d really love to go to the clinic but right now we’re not spending any extra money.”

    “OK then. I understand. Oh and I was going to help you get a job wasn’t I? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

    I went upstairs to check on the goslings and found their 100-gallon tub is no longer big enough. They are suffering from overcrowding. They can move around enough and it’s too cold to move them outside still, but I had to do something because they keep knocking over their water dish and food because of these urban conditions. I called Lisa about the pen and because Alfred is injured and I’m really worried about him. I think the others stepped on his leg accidentally when I was transporting them outside. And he won’t stand up for very long. At first, I thought maybe he should just rest, but it’s been a few days now and he isn’t any better. I asked Lisa what to look for and she told me to inspect his joints. She also suggested a tarp and Irish’s puppy pen for their new living quarters. I was just about to set them up in their new digs when Tom called. Sipping my coffee while talking I glanced down into the meadow. I gasped.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s him again.”

“Who him?”

“Pancho.”

I couldn’t believe it. Pancho, or should I call him Houdini was out again and this time he was trying to break back into the pasture. I ignored him and tended to the geese. I knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d walk around and eat grass mooing at Anna. He’d used up his dime.

    After the goslings were taken care of I called Kulshan Veterinary as their ad says they do cats to cows. I asked if they did geese. The receptionist said yes they had a poultry doctor. And I could bring the gosling in at 3:45 tomorrow.

    (Alfred is the only one sitting down)

   

“How old is he?”
    “He’s three weeks. Is it ok if I bring another one with me, because I think he’ll flip out if he’s isolated.”

    “Sure that’s no problem. What color is he?”

    “That’s a hard question. He’s molting.”

    “He’s molting? What color is he? He’s molting? That’s a riot.” She laughed so hard I couldn’t believe it. “Well, we’ll see you tomorrow.”  I hadn’t really thought that was Saturday Night Live™ funny, but it’s always good to get a laugh.

With Alfred handled, I went to the barn got a scoop of grain, walked to where Pancho could see me and called his name. I shook the scoop. Pancho came trotting toward me and followed me in the gate. I studied the corral. It didn’t have any breaks and it took me a few minutes to figure out how he’d gotten out, because Lefty was still there. Good old Left.

Well, he’d didn’t go over it. He didn’t go around it. Noooooo. He went UNDER it. That’s correct, he lifted up poorly constructed the green pipe corral fence up with his horns and scooched himself under it. We’d hired some guy to put it together and he apparently had no pride in his work. I’d never really studied it before, but the fence on one side was only tied at the top with red twine.  I tied the bottom with a rope to a fence post. I’d have to have Tom do it right, but for now it should hold. I hope.

    When Mike and Henry arrived home, we set to picking up junk. It seems in rural communities that people section off parts of their properties and just use them as a dumpsite. Living on this land is like going on an Easter egg hunt for old broken down farm equipment. I’ve found all sorts of bizarre things including a car that I can’t for the life of me figure how it got where it is. I have refrigerators and dishwashers and freezers with gunshot holes. Manure spreaders, forgotten tractors from almost every era, tires, stoves, and tables with benches attached that look like belong in a fast-food restaurant. Anyway, I can’t stand the stuff. I have to get it out of here. Now I have already filled up more than five industrial sized roll-offs with sundry construction junk.  The very biggest bins they make, but the minute the bin is gone, things seem to sprout from the ground. Tomorrow we’re having a guy come and take everything away including the appliances because they’re almost impossible to get rid of.

    When we came in Henry handed me a paper with the dates for the chaperone meeting. I was impressed. He was becoming a bit more responsible. I glanced down at the date and marked it on my calendar. I looked for the dates of the actual trip so I could jot them down too. I couldn’t believe it. The dates were May 12-14th. And I had been planning for months and months and months to drive to Seattle on May 13th to go to Charlaine Harris’ book signing. I know it seems piddily, but I’ve read seven of her Sookie Stackhouse Southern Vampire novels and I love them. They make me happy. As my aunt, Lana used to say, “They’re good chewing gum for the eyeballs.” She’s only coming to Seattle for the day and won’t be back for the rest of the year. How perfect it would have been I thought I could have driven to Seattle and Henry would be gone so I wouldn’t have to worry about what to do with him at all and just to add salt in the wound I wouldn’t have had to take him to school the next morning either. The perfect alone time treat. I mourned my opportunity.

I wasn’t done yet, because I’m a terrible mother. I called Toby.

“Maybe you can just leave the field trip for the one night.”

“Are you kidding? Leave? They shoot chaperones at dawn for that. No. I have to either replace myself or go, but I can not leave.”

I cautiously started asking Henry “Maybe you would feel more grown-up if I didn’t go Henry. I know Zach’s mother would like to go. You know some kids don’t like having their parents there they feel more independent.”

    “Well, if you have something more important to do Mama, that’s OK.”

    Sister Sally, you can tell the boy is Catholic. My mother often said, “When it comes to guilt, the Jews may have invented it, but the Catholics perfected it.”

April 23 Things Heat Up

     

    As scheduled, my dad took Henry to school so Mike and I could get an early start on the barn. Armed with our cups of coffee and a thermos® we dug in. At first, we didn't know exactly how we were going to manage the logistics of the barn cleaning situation. Currently, there isn't a working light in the area Pancho and Lefty are in, which in general isn't a problem, because there are doors open to the outside and there's a light in the main part of the barn.  Initially, Mike thought we should close the doors to keep Pancho and Lefty out of the way. We tried this, but it was simply too dark. One might think we should just change the light, but if it was that simple we'd have done it long ago. Several people have tried to change the light, but so far to no avail and I'll be darned if I'm going to hire an electrician to come out here for a light bulb.

    Hiring people out here isn't like what I was used to in Los Angeles. I would simply call my friend and contractor, Doug and he would tell me who to call. Then I would schedule an appointment and they either would show up or not, because workmen, especially in LA, can be rather unreliable. Once they did arrive the meter, so to speak, would start running.  Here, you first have to ask, “We live in the county, will you come out to the county?” Now you'd think this place was the end of the earth, but in reality it’s 20 some odd miles – without traffic. Most people in large cities are used to driving, it’s just part of life.

    Anyway, the meter starts running from their shop. So I pay about $60.00 before they arrive and, even then, when I have bitten the bullet and paid for a plumber to drive out here only to hear him say. "I don't know how to fix that. . ." (leak in the barn wall.)

    "So it's ok then?"

    "No. It's got to be fixed I just don't know how. You'll have to get someone else out here." (And I paid him to drive here and back for that kind of answer?)

    Back to the task at hand. We opened the stall doors. We determined our procedure: Mike would use the pitchfork and scrape the gunk while I drove the tractor. This meant I had to get off and on to open and close the gate so our two convicts wouldn't take a stroll down the road again.

    I figured I got off easy. Driving the tractor is fun. I offered half-heartedly to switch jobs once or twice, but Mike doesn't even like driving my van, let alone the tractor. Each time I went back to the barn for another load, I would jump off the tractor, open the door to the corral, race back to my seat and gun it because one or the other of those sly oxen would be casually "eating" right near the gate. I knew their dastardly plan. Now, I’ve bad-mouthed them and called each a “dumb ox” before, but really they're pretty darn smart. Once in, I jumped off again and closed the door, then I’d pull right up to the stall door where Mike was working steadily. I’d turn off the motor because otherwise I couldn’t hear a thing Mike said.

The boys loved the company. They would rub on the tractor and keep bumping into me so I’d scratch their heads.  I was surprised at how social they were. At first, Mike was annoyed, because Pancho kept getting in the way. Once he realized Pancho followed him wherever he went, he kind of liked the company. After a while, when I pulled up and turned off the motor I could hear Mike singing, "Home on the Range" to Pancho, explaining his relocation and the reasons behind it. He assured Pancho that he and Lefty would be happy in their new home with the Mellotts.

    While I drove the tractor back and forth, back and forth dropping off a mixture of cow dung and straw in the compost pile and then picking up fresh wood shavings from the adjoining bin, I had a lot of time to think. I realized this first year of living on the farm is a lot like my first year of teaching. The year I had my very first fifth grade class all the procedures seemed confusing. I think Donna and Margie in the office should be canonized for their patience. They didn’t even yell at me when I used blue ink on my register (the legal document you fill in to report attendance – It MUST be in black ink – why? Because Margie said so that’s why – past that I don’t care. Well at least I wasn’t as bad the teacher who used green ink.)

    Anyway, after going back and forth I realized that we had created a lot of this work for ourselves. Now I know you put hay and grain into the cow and out comes a big green pie, but that isn’t the hard part to clean up. The worst part of cleaning the stall was the leftover wet heavy hay. It gets tangled in a mat and is really difficult to lift. As I drove, I realized we needed to feed the animals in the covered area outside. It only took nine months or so to figure that out -  nothing gets by braniac me. What I really need is a farming mentor, When I was teaching I had a mentor, Anice, who teaches second grade, but I would go to her with questions like  “How do you grade the tests, look at the homework, enter the grades, help the kids, teach the class, fill out the paperwork, attend the meeting, talk to the parents and replace the napkins in the lunchroom so the kindergarten teachers won’t get mad as well as what’s a good gift for kids to make for the holidays and keep your sanity?" She then would tell me procedures to make life easier. The answers seemed simple once you heard them, but when you’re in the thick of things you don’t see the nose on your face.

   In the warm sunshine, I kept thinking as I passed the goats and Miracle on the way to the compost heap, that’s starting to look a little like Whistler, and realized what we needed was a bench in the goat pasture so we can sit down there and sip a soda while socializing with Rachel, Christina, Alexander, Riley and, of course, Miracle – The Wonder Donkey. We’re not spending enough fun time with them; we need to work smarter and enjoy them more. They love the attention and don’t just want their basic needs met.

    As I passed the pen, Miracle turned her back to me every time I drove by. She was jealous and sulking because we were in the stall with the big boys. She needs to feel like number one all the time. She’s a very high-maintenance donkey. Lately, she's turned up her nose at her treat bowl, she wants to be hand-fed.

    After five hours of steady work we were hot and tired, but Mike warned me if he took a break he'd never get going again so we didn’t stop until we finished.

    After we were done, I started getting melancholy about the boys' departure and sat with them until the vet from Kulshan came for their examination. He was amazed, and I was proud. He couldn’t believe Pancho came when I called his name and that I could use Lefty's horn as a handrail. The vet was nervous trying to read the number on their silver ear tags, but I just yanked at each of their ears and read it to him.

    As Paul was writing up their health certificates, we started chatting about the large pile of junk I had from the construction and, before he realized it, he was leaving with a lovely parting gift. One of my windows will now brighten his workshop. One less thing for me to throw away.

After he left, I got to thinking about the compost pile. In Los Angeles I’d gone to Griffith Park, where you can get these black plastic composters for your yard. In it you put table scraps, coffee grounds etc. you turn it and you're done. But this is a whole different story. My compost pile was over eight feet high. It was too high. And it is supposed to be turned regularly to be most effective. Toby said she uses a tool designed much like a molly bolt. You stick it in the pile of crud and, once at the bottom, it springs open.  Then you pull it up and it churns the mixture. – But it can only be a few feet high.

    Since I don’t have one of those and she’s already told me my pile is too deep, I decided to go John Adams. If one of our founding fathers could churn his compost heap by hand, well, then who was I? I got Henry suited up after school and we dug in.

 

    We began with pitchforks, taking the top of the mound and pushing it down to the empty space in the three-sided wooden compost area. By doing this we were taking the mountain and spreading it out more equally. I told Henry it was the same idea as chocolate chip cookies -  we had to fold the mixture so it could cook more evenly. All was going well; Henry complained a bit about the smell, but he took it in stride.

    What we didn’t know was how interesting this whole thing was about to become. Sure I was yammering on in review of the fourth grade science standards regarding decomposers, reminding Henry of the unit Ms. Elberfeld had taught him last year. Teaching is re-teaching. All the while we’re getting deeper into the pile. I knew things like worms lived there, but I had no idea toads aplenty would be leaping out as we scooped. We were both amazed at our giant science project. Another scoop and something brown and fuzzy scurried by. I thought it was a mouse and screamed. A mouse in a compost pile didn't really make any sense, then I thought it might be a teeny mole. Mike came over and suggested it could be a shrew, Henry thinks it's a vole.

    Now I knew the compost would be warm, as the energy created is what the whole process is based on, but I was unprepared for the intensity. The heat emitted was astonishing. I don’t mean warm, I mean hot, hot, hot steaming hot. In fact, when we were churning much of the hay that had been deep within the pile it was ashen – really appearing as if it had been in a fire. Would I just be insane to buy a thermometer for my compost heap? I never expected to be so happy shoveling shit. But I made the mistake of having a DietCoke™ and taking a rest. So  reluctantly Henry agreed to finish the project this weekend.

    We still had the bonfire Henry lit earlier to watch. Unlike the city, out here in the “boonies” (as the vet said when I heard him on the phone) we are allowed to burn our scraps. It’s strange just lighting a fire in your yard, but if you keep it with in the guidelines all you have to do is call a number and listen to the recording. You get what is considered an implied verbal permit which is free. I didn’t know this at the beginning and had the fire marshal come out and I got stuck for $50.00 bucks for his time.

    The fire burned for several hours and we didn’t want to leave it unattended so we ate dinner outside enjoying the warm glow.

    With everyone fed and put away I sat down to read a note from Maryruth. It seems she’s just purchased 75 Arcaucana chicks and they're living in her bedroom at home. (And my sister thinks I’m nuts.) She mentioned she isn’t doing much sleeping. And then she told me she's just started a worm farm because they’re easy. I wondered, are there heritage worms?

April 19th Yakitty Yak

   

   The phone rang yesterday morning and it was decided that the Mellotts, a lovely family in Wyoming - complete with a basset hound named Elvis - is going to give Pancho and Lefty a new home. It seems Pancho and Lefty are  going into show business and will be participating in a wild west show. I'm thrilled because when I asked Mrs. Mellott if they were sure, she replied. "Yes, I think they've been put in the will above the children." Maryruth should be pleased.

        Mr. Mellott will be fetching them week after spending a night in Idaho with his brother,  which means I need to provide appropriate health documentation when transporting livestock across state lines. I didn't want to do it before I knew when and where Pancho and Lefty were going because different states have different requirements and health certificates are valid for only two-weeks in come cases and a month at the outside. In order to get all the necessary paperwork I called the Wyoming Livestock governing board to inquire what might be needed. Remember Wyoming is a large state known for its cattle, at least that’s how I view it. So I would think especially the guy in charge of livestock would be extremely knowledgeable in this category. I was wrong.

    “Hello, I’m calling from Western Washington and I’ve just sold a pair of oxen to a gentleman in Wyoming and I need to know what if any vaccines you require for them to enter the state.”

    “Oxen? Is that a yak?” he asked perplexed.

    “A yak? They live in Tibet. No. They're oxen you know,cattle. I guess they look a little like a yak with a crew cut.” I replied a bit surprised. Wondering if I had the right number.

    “Are they bulls?” he asked.

    “Ah, no. they’re oxen. You know a steer but older and with an education.” I replied slowly completely off guard. I’m the city girl.

    “So what are they exactly?” he asked me again still confused.

    “They’re cattle, they’re Milking Shorthorns.”

    “What they’re from a dairy? That changes everything. How many cows are you talking about? These are milkers then.” He seemed somewhat authoritative now.

    “No. If you tried to milk these two you’d very sorry. Their breed is the Milking Shorthorn. The breed that settled the entire western United States. They are males. An ox is merely a four-year-old or older steer. A castrated male. They are usually trained to pull a cart or a plow a field.”

    “Really? I didn’t know that.”  Obviously. This guy is in charge?  “In that case they don’t need anything special only a health cert. and a permit number. The vet you have check them out can call us for that.”

    “Great, thank you.”

    So I called the large animal vet's office and made an appointment for Tuesday. They asked if I was sure of the health requirements for Wyoming, I told them I was and that I’d just gotten off the phone with the livestock board of health.

    Next, I cleaned out the gosling’s container and settled down to order some chickens. I’ve completely given up on Black Javas they’re great but at this point they are so rare I can’t even acquire any. So I went back to the Williamsburg breeds page on their website and decided on Silver Dorkings. I did a search and found they are available at the Murray McMurray Hatchery. Fabulous. I went to order them, but stopped short of check out and called my feathered friend, Toby. And told her I had to order 25 chicks in order to get an order and I really didn’t want or need twenty five of anything. She agreed to meet me in Horse Shoe Bay and take the extra chicks. She sells eggs at the farmer’s market and says she never has enough eggs. We did the math and calculated the shipping costs etc. She decided she’d like to get more Araucanas, commonly known as the Easter egg chicken because it lays colored eggs and everyone loves them. In fact, Henry took green eggs from Toby’s chickens to school on Dr. Seuss Day in kindergarten. They were a huge hit with the kids and the kindergarten teacher, Nell, was more than a little taken aback that there really were green eggs to go with ham.

    So I excitedly picked up the phone and called the Murray McMurray Hatchery to order my chickens. I didn’t want to leave it to the Internet because I had too many questions. I went through the discussion about taking chickens across an international boundary and was assured that with their health certificate and the appropriate vaccinations the hatchery provides I would have no problem. Sure it might sound easy from where she sat, but had she actually done it? Taking poultry to Canada seemed daunting to me, yet I wanted my chickens so I was up for the challenge. I’d make Henry go with me he’d distract them. Great mother I am. I'm willing to use my child as bait to distract international agents. Whatever works.

     I was ready to pull the trigger and give my debit card number. Then the woman’s tone changed.

    "Oh, I didn’t realize you wanted the Silver Dorkings. We don’t have any.”

    “Really?  You’re sure. I don’t need many. Ideally I’m only looking for five pullets and one cockerel.” I said dazzling her with my newly acquired insider chicken lingo.

    “Sorry, chicken season is almost over so we wouldn’t be able to get you your order until June and even then we don’t’ have any Dorkings.”

    “ There’s a chicken season? Don’t they lay eggs all the time?” I said revealing my novice knowledge of poultry.

    “There’s a short time when we have chicks so we’re almost over and you won’t be able to get any until next spring. You can put your pre-order in next January.”

    “I had no idea. You’re sure you don’t have any.”

       “Well, let me see” she said as the tapping of her computer clicked over the phone. “ We do have three from a canceled order available the week of May 12th.”

    “Great! I’ll take them.”

    “No you can’t. Because we don’t have anything else available that week. And we can’t ship less than twenty-five.”

    “There isn’t anything, nothing else?” I figured I could at least sell something else on Craigslist.

    “There are plenty of cockerels.”

    “Roosters? I would have to buy twenty-two roosters?” I thought of my neighbor, “stinky britches” wouldn’t he just love it if I got twenty-two roosters. My evil side began to emerge.

    “Exactly.”

    “What would I do with twenty-two roosters? Do you think I could sell them?” I knew I really couldn’t keep twenty-two roosters and stay on speaking terms with Mike.

    “Well, not a lot of people want them that’s why we have so many, but you could eat them.”

    “I don’t think so. We really couldn’t.”  Although Tom’s mother can twist the head off a chicken with one hand. But unless she intends to come up here and handle it while I take a cruise somewhere I don’t think that’s going to work out. “Can we buy wild turkeys?” Tom has this dream of having wild turkeys roaming the area. Unlike modern domestic turkeys that can barely move because they've been bred so top heavy, a wild turkey can run up to 25mph and fly up to 55 mph and are very adaptable to almost any environment in the U.S. “Or, the Standard Bronze? I just want a tom and a hen.”

    “Sorry. We can’t ship turkeys with chicks. We get them from two different locations.”

    “Hmm, then I guess I don’t really have any other options do I?”

    Well, then sorry.” Click.

        I wasn’t ready to accept defeat quite yet, but I needed to take the goslings out for a little waddle. Luther thoroughly enjoyed the outing racing back and for the with them in the twenty minutes of our allotted sunlight.

    While I stewed over the chicken dilemma, the phone rang again it was the veterinarian’s office. They had some questions about the health check on Tuesday. It seems they were unclear what exactly oxen were. and again I went through the exact same bovine discussion I’d had with the man from Wyoming all over again. Can we be a society so removed from the past that even people working with livestock don’t know an ox from a cow? To be clear. A heifer is a young bovine that has not had a calf. A cow is a female bovine. A steer is a castrated male. A bull is an intact male bovine of any age. An ox is a castrated male over the age of four. The age distinction is made because steers are usually covered in A1™ on your dinner table long before the age of four.

    Tom called and had a chicken idea. He suggested I call the co-op, Laurel Farm Supply or Dell's and see if they’d take roosters. Great idea. Although he apparently doesn’t know the term cockerel yet – complete nubie.

April 11th Pie-Maker Pie-Maker

   
    Since their last great escape, Pancho and Lefty have been serving time in cow jail. And since we haven’t had to go out day after day rounding them up, we can remember what snuggle bugs they really are.

    Having them in the barn creates a completely different set of problems. It may be interesting to note the size of the cow pie is in direct relation to the size of the cow. That being said, it is important to remember that Pancho is the same size as my Honda Odyssey. Needless to say, we spent the day cleaning their stall and filling and filling and filling their water buckets. We don’t have a ginormous water trough up in the barn so we have to keep a close eye on the water levels.

    Much like caring for an infant or anything else, it’s through the diaper changing and constant feedings that you create a close bond. I’d had that feeling after working them on the yoke, but lately chasing them down the road in the rain and mending fences they’d shattered, I’d forgotten it. Until today. Brushing them, talking to them and giving them lots of cow cookies brought those maternal feelings flooding back.

    Realistically, I know we can’t keep them. I made a mistake. They’re just too much for the pasture and me. But I don’t regret them, I met Maryruth Monahan, I learned how to drive oxen and I gained a great deal of cow sense. They taught me a lot and they deserve a good home where they’ll have more room and - hopefully higher fences.

March 29th Comes From Behind

An Icy View Of My Dad's Place And Our House From The Road - Today

(below) Grandpa Horn and Irish before the UCLA game

    Its a snowy wonderland from hell. I woke up this morning to as much snow as we’ve had this year. Enough is enough.

    Henry and I spent the day indoors mostly. We’ve been watching TRU TV. “Forensic Files” and “Murder By The Book”. We were watching one when an episode came on about the murder of Mickey Thompson. My dad was happening by and said, “Geez, you know that was so sad, Mickey was a great guy.”

    “Grandpa? You knew Mickey Thompson?” Henry was agog.

    “Yes, He was going to fund a film I was making, but he was killed before we put the deal together.” My dad replied seriously.

    “Do you want to watch this with us Grandpa?”

    “No. I know enough about it, and to tell you the truth UCLA is playing in just a few minutes. See y’guys later.”

    During commercial I happily went out to the car to get my brand spanking new vacuum cleaner. It’s the little things that brighten a girl’s day.  I don’t need jewelry I just want a DirtDevil™.

    That’s when I found them Pancho and Lefty were out again. The game. Drat. I was on my own. I didn’t even call, I didn’t want to hear the word no at this moment or I’d scream.
“Henry get your coat, put on gloves and I mean it, put on gloves. We’ve got to get the boys. They’re out again and I am going to have to fix that fence. I can’t take this happening every two and a half minutes.”

    Sensing I was on the verge of finding fault with just about anything right now, Henry put the show on pause and quickly got his gear on.

    We went and surveyed the damage.

I thought I’d fix it properly and went to get the DeWalt™. “If you don’t do it right it’s not worth doing” pounded in my head. I found the screws, drill bits, a hammer just in case and went down to mend my fence. Henry alternated between holding rails for me, trying to drill, keeping the cattle from going into the street, hammering and playing with Irish.

    While the snow fell like something out of a survival film I started pulling the rails down so I could get the thing together. Once done, I placed my drill bit in and started drilling a pilot hole so I wouldn’t split the wood. I wasn’t strong enough to get it all the way through. So I put the screwdriver tool on and put a screw in to finish it off. It split the wood. Henry came running when he heard all the yelling.

    “You ok?”
    “I’m fine. I’m mad at your father.”
    “Why?”
    “Because he’s not here and I need him and I’m cold and UCLA is playing that’s why. Now go keep Lefty from eating the rhododendron.”

    I went back to work. I put the rail back in place and tried nailing. I split the wood. I tried again. I split the wood. At this point, I got a spool of the not shiny wire and began weaving the rails together one after the other. I looked over toward the gate when I saw it move and couldn’t believe Henry had gotten Pancho in with the help of Irish.

    “Henry, that was amazing. You didn’t even have any treats.”
    “Thanks Mama, it was Irish. He’s a real cattle dog. He stayed behind him and seemed to understand what I wanted him to do.”

    Hmm. One in and the fence was done. Well, it might not be right, but it was done. Tom can fix it when he comes in a couple of weeks.

 

Now for Lefty and we could go get warm. As Lefty came toward me for the bucket of grain I was holding, Irish went into action. He thought he could come from the side and get Lefty in the gate, but it didn’t work. He scared Lefty and he ran full tilt toward the pond. Hungry, he turned around and came back. I scolded Irish and he seemed to understand what he did wrong. It was like hundreds of years of genetic programming had kicked in. He circled around Lefty’s side and came up from behind him slowly. I walked in front with the bucket yelling in my teacher voice “Step Up Boss! Step Up Now! Haw! Haw!” while Irish quietly but closely walked at Lefty’s heels lest he get any ideas. Henry manned the gate and in he went. Huzzah!!!

    Henry turned to me and said, "Mama, you need a shower." Covered in mud from head to toe, we put our tools away - or face Tom's wrath later. Fed the goats and Miracle. Gave them fresh water and closed up the barn for the night.

    After almost three hours we went inside and watched Mickey and Trudy Thompson get justice.

(my helper)

March 24th Stop The Madness

Knowledge is power, but ignorance is bliss.

I woke up this morning to a beautiful blanket of snow everywhere I looked, if I’d known last night during the power outage that my pipes could have frozen I would have been a nervous wreck. Luckily, I had no idea of the plumbing peril I was in.

Later in the day, Little Chris called and said he won 4th place and enough money to cover his costs in his very first professional rodeo. Thrilled, I told him he’d have to come out with Steph and celebrate.

“We should wait until there’s really something to celebrate.”
“No. No. No. We don’t ever wait to celebrate, my mother always said ‘celebrate everything especially the small steps along the way.”

“I like that. OK, I’ll give you a call.”

Excited over Little Chris’s news I dialed Tom and relayed the news, while I chatting with him about the rodeo, I glanced outside and noticed almost all the snow had melted. And then I saw them. Pancho and Lefty were out again.

I checked the basketball schedule. My luck was holding UCLA wasn’t playing.  My dad in his slippers rounded up Pancho.

While generous of spirit, reluctant cowboy Mike in his permanent press slacks coaxed Lefty back to the pasture.

March 21st Pass The Mustard

    The phone rang at 6:30AM per usual. Tom calls me to make sure I’m up as I can barely open my eyes on dark morning. This morning there was a modicum of light in the sky. A hopeful sign. I quickly got a cup of coffee, started to make Henry a ham and cheese sandwich, remembered that today was Good Friday, and put the ham back. Now, I went through the morning “C’mon Henry it’s time to get up!” He stumbled to the shower and soon we were on our way, dog, goats and donkey fed. Henry and I had a PopTart™ and a bowl of oatmeal on the way, respectively.

    The ride to school was breathtaking. There had been snow overnight in the hills above our house and the trees were covered with a fresh dusting. Henry talked non-stop. I heard story synopsis' on The BFG and The Fantastic Mr. Fox, both Roald Dahl books. Just before we arrived at the bottom of the playground, Henry started wincing. I asked him what was wrong, but he said he was ok, he thought he had a little whizpopping going on - a Roald Dahl term.

    

I rushed off to take care of some stuff at the bank and then I was going to try and meet Lisa and her friend to get some things for the kids Easter baskets. I’d just finished at the bank a complimentary coffee in hand when the school called.

   

“Is he hurt?”

   

“No. He’s not hurt, he’s had a little accident and he needs some different pants.” I instinctively looked in the far reaches of my van/laundry hamper and spied a pair of jeans tossed aside on the way to gymnastics.

   “I’ve got some clothes with me, I’ll be right there.”

     “Umm, OK.” She said and then hung up. All the way there I wondered, why she’d said that, had that hesitation. I parked and went in. I walked in the office and both women tilted their heads toward a closed door.

   

“He’s in there.” They said in unison. I opened the door and was hit by a wall of pungent stench. My boy stood in front of me covered in crap. He didn’t have an accident; he was living some kind of Stephen King elementary school nightmare. He had feces all over his body, on the inside of his pants, in his socks, on his arms, under his fingernails he needed to be sterilized. This was something Mike Rowe might run from. Mother’s don’t have that choice, I found some baby wipes, and we borrowed some school pants and got out of there. So much for Easter baskets, perhaps we wouldn’t be going to Easter brunch at all if I had diarrhea boy.

   

The way home was fraught with bathroom humor. We discussed the “Saturday Night Live” commercial for adult diapers, “Ooops I Crapped My Pants”. I told him I’d always suspected he was full of shit. And so it went as we made our way home to Jell-O™ and rice. If he were really lucky he’d be eating the old B.R.A.T. diet. Lisa said not to worry she’d get everything for his Easter basket.

   

I made him some raspberry tea my father suggested and called some Java chicken breeders in an attempt to find someone who’s sell me these reportedly “gentle and calm” birds. After a call to Monty in Kansas, I realized I was hungry, remembering Henry’s cheese sandwich I’d made earlier I went out to the car to get it. When I opened the door, I saw them. They were standing near the newly budding tulips.

    

“Not again.” This isn’t funny. I went back inside and called my dad. “

   

“Yeah”

    “I hope UCLÅ isn’t playing because Pancho and Lefty are out again and they’ve broken down the fence.”
I told Henry to get his shoes and coat on and we went outside to round ‘em up. I was sure Tom was sitting in some meeting. Clean.

    When we got outside our cattle were well on their way to the pond. We followed. Once there we saw that Wally had run muck. Having been left to his own devices for a few days he’d built a damn rivaling the Hoover. The problem with his dams is that they choke the pond. The island where the Canada geese made their nest last year was flooded. Henry and I spent a few minutes clearing out his work so the flow of the stream would return to normal and hopefully allow the geese to nest.

    When we walked back my dad was finishing the repairs on the fence. Pancho and Lefty were in my yard. And leaving the largest cow pies you can imagine. More crap. I had savory thoughts of them as prime rib covered in mustard.

    We got them in again, filled their water and went in the house. I checked to see if anyone had any interest in purchasing them. I’m ready to give them away. Free shipping. I went back out and fed the goats, Miracle and Anna. She came at me giving me the head down and horn shake thing. I was having none of it. I started yelling and screaming something about McDonalds®. I don’t want any cows at the moment. I love Andy and Abe is a close second, but I started thinking how happy Miracle and the goats would be down in the pasture. What was I going to do with these stupid cows anyway? No one wants a history camp around here. No one cares about having a Plimoth Colony who am I kidding?

    Henry, Mike and I played the game of Life™. Big surprise, I lost. Tired and very cranky I went up to bed. Of course, the cat box needs changing. Perfect.

March 20th March Madness

    What is March madness? To many it’s a bunch of basketball games, but to me today it was Pancho and Lefty running down Mosquito Lake Road.

    It all started when I heard Anna, the guard cow, mooing her pretty little head off. She only does this when there’s trouble. Knowing this, I grabbed my camera and ran out on to the front porch. When what should I see, but Irish, Pancho and Lefty looking back at me.

I wondered how they got out. I ran back in the house and called my dad. He immediately came out and together we discovered Andy standing at a wide-open gate. Irish started trying to round them up, but he’s young and all he ended up doing was working Pancho and Lefty in to an absolute frenzy. We put him in the house. I tried to go along side them and move them toward the pasture. This was not working at all. The grass it seems is greener on this side of the fence and they were eating up a storm. My dad yelled for me to go get a bucket of grain. I did and I shook that think like it was a maraca, but nothing. They weren’t interested in the least.

   

We decided to let them calm down for a few minutes when suddenly Lefty decided he wanted no part of Fort Flashback and started heading down the driveway for Mosquito Lake Road with Poncho his trusty companion right by his side. Yes, he even walks on the left. Out they went and kept on going. I was screaming at the top of my lungs and shaking my oats like a crazy person and they didn’t even look back. I wondered for a brief moment if this meant they were on the lamb?
My dad went and got his CRV and I stood helplessly watching.

    Just as we got in the car, contemplating what to do when we actually got close. We didn’t want to scare them off the hill or into a car or anywhere else.

   

       Just then they suddenly turned around and started running back at full tilt. Seriously, today was the day the cows came home. You hear about it, you say it, but now I’ve lived it. Why did they come home? We have no flipping idea. As I said this is March madness. I went to the barn and got a rope to tie around Lefty’s horns as Maryruth taught me. Eventually I got him rigged up. When he has this pink and purple striped rope wound from one horn to the other across his forehead he looks like a humungous hippie.

     Luring him with cow cookies we walked down to the pasture and my dad opened the gate. One down.
Pancho was a little more difficult. He was very happy mowing the lawn behind the house near an old tractor we found on the property. My dad stood on one side so he could keep Pancho from running for the road again. I kept poking him with the cattle stick Little Chris Donaldson gave me. Pancho meandered up by my van

and then headed for the rhododendrons, which I know, are poisonous so we started waving our arms and forcing him down the hill toward the pasture. A while later we got him in the gate. My dad exhausted turned to me and said completely deadpan, “It’s a damn good thing UCLA wasn’t playing or you’d been doing this by yourself”. That’s my dad.

February 5th Calgon Take Me Away

    Took my car into the Honda dealership. It is a Honda, so you don’t really expect to have to do anything to it. Gas and go that’s it. But even a Honda needs to be serviced from time to time.
Self-conscious about the mess that is my van, I flinched when Dan asked me the color of my van after going out to write down my VIN number. “Is that a crack about the dirt on my car?”

    “No, he replied I’m not even going there. My son drives one of our cars, we call it ‘the dumpster’. Yours is nothin’.”

    Mike drove me home. Henry stayed at Lisa’s 1/2 because he wants a chance to play their Wii and 1/2 because we have a huge storm predicted with 10” of snow predicted and I didn’t know if we’d be able to get out in the morning to go to school. We only live about twenty miles east, but the climate change is incredible.
Once I got home I realized that three boards had blown down in the cattle barn. As the wind howled, looking like a coal miner with my head-lantern strapped on below my ponytail, bundled in my warmest coat, gloves, boots and my sage green sparkle scarf that I love, I went to the chicken coop/tool shed; picked up a screw gun, some screws, a hammer and some nails found a ladder and together with my sidekick, Mike carrying the cattle grain we headed down the gavel path to fix the cattle barn on this dark night, I really felt like farmer gal Sal. I fixed it. It wasn’t a “if you don’t do it right it isn’t worth doing” kind of fix. It was a
I-can’t-feel-the-tips-of-my-fingers-and-at-least-Abe-Andy-Poncho-and-Lefty
-won’t-turn-into-cattlesicles-because-there’s-a-wind-tunnel-in-their-bedroom-type fix.”
I warmed up a Jenny Craig™ Turkey with gravy, put on my wool socks, fuzzy Christmas slippers and flannels, brewed a pot of Earl Grey, portioned out some Trader Joe’s™ chocolate meringues for a treat turned on the Super Tuesday Election Results and cranked up the heat to 64 degrees. I deserved it.

February 2nd Horns A Plenty

    On this cold and icy morning, I looked out the living room windows when the sun finally decided to get up. And again as I’ve seen in the past few days, the big boys aren’t letting the little guys in the “loafing shed” or “cattle barn” as Little Chris insists on calling it.

    Unfortunately, I think today is the day, I’m afraid, I realize I have to sell Pancho and Lefty. I’m struggling financially, the camp isn’t happening or so it seems and even if and when we get our permits I don’t think we’re going to need two pairs of oxen. Pancho and Lefty seemed like the smarter buy. They were trained and gentle. They came with a wagon, and Maryruth.  It’s time I simply admit I made a mistake. I love them they’re like overgrown basset hounds running across the field to greet me. Mooing at me when they want my attention and putting their heads down so I can rub behind their ears.

    I just don’t see how I can keep them. They have completely torn up the pasture and with the four boys in there I don’t know how it’ll have a chance to heal. It's a complete quagmire when in between snows. I can’t keep Anna in with the rest of the cattle and she’s miserable. Her being in the barn means more work and I’m getting beaten down. I think I’m going to list them on ruralheritage.com, but I need to talk to Maryruth first and see what she says. I feel like I’m betraying her.

January 3rd Round And Round We Go

    This is the first day of the rest of my life. Today, this morning, I have this guy, Frank, coming out here with seventeen round bales of hay. Why is getting s a bunch of hay a big deal? Let me expound the mysteries thereof, round bales I’ve learned are bigger than regular bales. One round bale will feed my cattle for about a week. A week! This means no heaving, no hauling. This means I simply go down, check the water and give them some grain. As if a gift from Heaven, they’re cheaper. Yes, cheaper. Why? I don’t know why. It doesn’t seem reasonable that something that makes my life easier and lasts longer is cheaper, but it is. Maybe it’s like buying chocolate chips in bulk.

    The unloading didn’t go as smoothly as any of us had hoped. The guy and his son upped the price a little, because it was so arduous. Their truck wouldn’t come all the way up our drive way and our tractor didn’t have a spear. I didn’t even know there was such a thing until today. You strap the spear to the front bucket of the tractor, poke the round bale and take it to the feeder. They let us use their spear, but as this was happening, the guy got frustrated because Tom wasn’t moving the tractor fast enough. Well, calm down buddy this was our first experience moving round bales and we’re figuring things out. He asked Tom if he minded if he drove the tractor. Tom was all for it. It didn’t go too much smoother when he did it. The round bales are so heavy that when he picked one up, our tractor tipped. I could hardly breathe. I thought the guy was going to get crushed.

    Everything stopped at that point. We hooked the backhoe on as counter weight and kept going. At one point we weren’t sure all of them would fit, but they did.