These days are for earlier mornings up-and-at-’em, for before-sunrise coffee with my man, starting the day the right way.
These days are for chores in the early light and heading down the driveway with horses loaded on the trailer to help neighbors for a half a day, or however long it takes.
These days are for building and deepening relationships…between spouses, among family, and within the broader community.
These days are for all the growing things, from the calves in the pasture to the flowers in the garden to the wildflowers in the field.
These days are for hours in the saddle. Hours in the dirt. For some bumps and bruises and getting covered in dust and the smoke from the branding iron.
These days are for hard work, good work, wholesome work.
These days are for the sweetness of the fresh air, for the warmth of the sunlight, for the freedom of the open sky.
These days are for crawling into bed wonderfully tired, with muscles you forgot about a little sore and waking up maybe a little more sore.
These days are good days.
Support Song Dog Journal and share to social media!
What a day. What a start to spring and an end to the month of March. Snow totals aren’t certain due to the winds we had, but the nearest I can guess is that we had a solid foot of snow, which is the most I’ve seen in a long time. I think everyone was a little taken by surprise at the quantity. And it was a beautiful, picture perfect snow, weighing down the pines until the wind swept in later in the morning, flinging the snow upwards from the tree branches back into the sky.
That much snow hampers just about everything, with knee-deep and even waist-deep drifts piling into ditches and against buildings, making a simple trudge downhill to the barn or to the shop take three times as long. The fourwheeler struggled to get around, the animals struggled to get around, the feeding pickup struggled to get around.
Fortunately we weren’t dealing with frigid cold, but the gale-force winds drove the snow into ground blizzards and drifted cattle away from shelter. We went out to feed cows early afternoon and look over everything, and ended up on a wild goose chase to pair up a couple of older cows (who should know better) with calves they had left in the storm, before we bogged down in a drift a mile from the house. Sometimes it is just one thing after another on a day like yesterday.
The wise mamas were hunkered down safely in the shelter of the timbered pastures. Those instincts are beautiful to see. The calves with good mamas did really well, the cows having found good places for them to weather out this storm. The older calves frolicked and played, busting through drifts and scampering about oblivious to the trouble the snow was causing everyone else. And it did my heart good to see the calf we saved a couple of weeks ago enjoying his little life and his first real snow storm. He’s the one with the red ear tag.
The storm did take its toll, as it has on everyone in this region, and as we dig out this weekend we’ll see just what the damage was, just in time to brace for another winter storm system that is forecasted to blow through starting Monday. We need the snow, but we’re praying for the best outcomes possible and for safety of our livestock. For the heifers, hopefully their instincts to shelter will be improved for the next storm as they’ve learned for the first time how to look out for a calf in a real winter storm.
The pups were a riot, about as oblivious and playful as the calves. This was the first big storm they’ve seen and it was pretty hilarious to watch them floundering along, iced over, with mostly just their eyes visible. They could have played all day, but I forced them into the house a few times to defrost. And then kicked them out again when cabin fever started raging.
The storm finally blew itself out late afternoon and the sun set on calm, under a blue sky. What a difference a few hours can make, or a few days. So March drifted out with the sound of snow melting from our eaves.
Support Song Dog Journal and share to social media!
Calving season by turns is a season of contrasts, of deflating defeat and ecstatic elation. In spite of best efforts, everything goes wrong. Then, in spite of the worst efforts, everything goes amazingly right. In spite of best circumstances, everything goes wrong. In spite of worst circumstances, everything goes right. Sometimes it seems you just can’t win.
Last week was pretty hard on the psyche, as my father-in-law would say. We lost calves daily, in situations that seemed so avoidable but really were just the frustrating way nature works, sometimes with us, sometimes against us. Cold and snow and frigid overnight temperatures were definitely fighting against us.
However, things started turning around over the weekend as temps began to warm, and we were excited Sunday morning to find a cow have not twins but triplets, a pretty rare occurrence. All were alive and full term. One had a birth defect, sadly, and nature took care of it pretty quickly, but the other two were lively little things. We snagged one from the cow to give to a different cow who lost a calf, so that was a win, since cows without calves aren’t kept around, and since most of the time twins can’t be raised by the same cow it was actually two wins.
Then yesterday, a tiny heifer started calving and wasn’t progressing. The calf was malpresented, with its head twisted to the side so it was basically being born upside down, which is not how things are supposed to work. We honestly weren’t overly optimistic – The heifer was tiny, and we had lost a cow and calf last week to a similar malpresentation. After a surprisingly successful pull, the calf was born without injury to the cow, but by all appearances the calf was dead. It’s tongue was horribly engorged, it wasn’t breathing, and its eyes had a deathly glassy look to them, with very little eye reflex. Efforts seemed fruitless, but after twenty or thirty minutes of viciously rubbing and drying the calf, encouraging airflow in the lungs, poking its nose, and eventually moving it roughly around (i.e. kicking it) to mimic mama’s rough licking and prodding, the calf was sitting up right, sneezing and shaking his ears. That’s a win. He wasn’t out of the woods, but what a neat save.
This morning, Brad woke me up to tell me the calf was standing. It took a little prodding, but the calf did it! That’s another win. Throughout the day, he’s been pretty spunky, is up and down and walking and appears to be nursing. Wins all around. He has some sort of umbilical defect which we’ll keep an eye on, so again not out of the woods, but again, what a neat save!
When you’re contending with cows and nature, you’re bound to lose a few rounds in spite of everything, and then win a few rounds, also in spite of everything.
This little guy makes it hard to stop smiling.
Support Song Dog Journal and share to social media!
Summer fades away and autumn rushes in with foretastes of winter, bringing the community together around this livelihood we share. Neighbors jump in to help neighbors in work trade relationships that go back decades in some cases. Slow, autumnal days are followed by long days of hard work, up doing chores with a flashlight before riding out to gather cattle, ours or a neighbor’s, building and maintaining those partnerships between rancher and rancher, family and family, neighbor and neighbor, and between people and their animal partners, whether dog or horse.
There is the excitement of seeing the beautiful fall calf crop, the satisfaction of working healthy calves, or of having the cow herd preg test well. There is the anticipation of selling, the relief of getting calves sold, and a bittersweet sense of completion when they’re loaded onto a truck. And yet the sense of contented completion is marred by the question everyone is asking right now, which is how to keep everything fed and watered over winter. But all of that is a part of this season, this beautiful, paradox of a season.
And what a paradox, what a season of contrasts and change. Weeks of summery weather, followed by weeks of chilly mornings and warm middays, and then the downright cold nights that put ice on absolutely everything. Balmy breezes one day, and biting, cutting, gnawing winds the next. Starting the day bundled in coveralls and a scarf, yet somehow managing to get down to a T-shirt or tank top by afternoon. Autumn gold that makes the trees almost hard to look at, and the next day the gold is gone and the trees are bare.
Butterflies and bumblebees did their summery work as long as the flowers bloomed, which was much longer than usual this year. Snow fells on the still-blooming flowers, blooming into the first week of November, to my bewilderment, in spite of freezing temperatures. There were those frost-less, yet icy mornings, and then days of nothing but ice and frost, with the sudden change of autumn to the winter weather we’ve been bracing for, where everything is frozen and the thermometer doesn’t register above freezing.
Sometimes there would seem to be a shortage of things to keep one busy, when all that is on the to-do list is usual chores, and “seeing what else needs to be done.” There is never any shortage of something else needing to be done! Days so full you wonder how they can hold anymore, yet with that fallish sense of slowness and peace, unique to this season. I can’t really explain it. Unplanned projects take up unanticipated time, such as mending corral fences mangled by freshly-weaned calves in a nightly tirade, or spending a morning gathering them back up from multiple pastures after they manage to break out in a hunt for their mamas. Everyone is thankful when a group of calves is successfully weaned. And there really is always something going on, something to fix, an animal to doctor, something to do in preparation for something else. And then on rare days when there really isn’t anything going on, you enjoy it.
Around and amongst the busyness of the fall season, I love those rare times when I really can take it all in, the beauty of those daily, mundane moments. A day can be so full that I don’t stop to really see those things that infuse living with so much joy.
A quick smile from my handsome rancher.
My critters. All of them.
The steady gaze of a horse.
The timid gaze of a calf.
My daily basket of beautiful, brown eggs from my hard-working girls.
Sunlight illuminating flowers (I can’t believe how late they bloomed!) so they appear like stained glass, or snow-clad, weighed-down flowers.
And so many other things.
And all that within the beautiful paradox of autumn’s joys.
Support Song Dog Journal and share to social media!
As I tidy up the kitchen as my last home task of the evening, I get a good view of my little flock of chickens down by their coop, chasing a few last bugs. Clearly they aren’t ready to be tucked in just yet. The horses are visible just on the other side of the barn, having been given their freedom for the night, and sometimes Charlie the Calf comes wandering into the barn yard for a drink of water or maybe thinking I’ll give her one more little scoop of calf creep.
The sky turns orange then pink then lavender as the shadow of our little ridge is cast further and further east, until the last little bit of sunlit prairie has been covered in the comfort of evening shadow.
What a peaceful sight.
I love my little jaunt down to the chicken coop to do the very last of my chores for the day. Pearl comes with me, since she takes her chicken chores very seriously, and usually one or more of the cats run down to the coop with me as well. With an actual pounding of little feet, Yellow Cat (who probably slept all day until five minutes ago) races by, then Grey Cat (who probably worked all day), tearing around, then stopping suddenly and staring at absolutely nothing in the uncanny way cats do.
The chickens chatter contentedly amongst themselves and maybe greet me quietly when I come in to make sure everyone is accounted for. Yep, there’s Amelia, and Alice, and Audrey, and Goldie, and Little Red, Little Red, Little Red, and Little Red. And seven black chickens, including Henrietta, the only one who gets a name because she looks like a vulture. I close the coop windows or open them a crack, depending on the evening temps, and scratch one or two of the friendly birds on their backs before collecting my egg basket and closing the girls in for the night.
Pearl reluctantly joins me on the little walk back up to the house. The cats run and pounce on each other, occasionally scrapping and working out a few feminine feline differences. Rocket the Horse says something sarcastic to Jargon the Horse, or maybe that was Chip putting Rocket in his place.
And everything is still. I love an evening on the rim of the prairie. A distant coyote yelps. A nighthawk calls out high up and out of sight. Maybe there’s the soft roar of the nighthawk’s wings as he swoops and dives. The warmth of the last days of summer melts away and cool night breezes shift around gently, resiny, fresh, and sweet.
This is home.
Support Song Dog Journal and share to social media!
Song Dog Journal 