Something In The Wind

So, it’s been awhile, but much has happened. Really.

As many of you who have followed along for awhile, things have gotten kinda tough. My health has been deteriorating and because of that, I have fought depression and a myriad of other maladies. The ranch, which was once an exciting place, where I was able to ride out on the range everyday, helping move cattle and seeing nature at its best, having my milk cow, raising our own meat and eggs, vegetables etc. has become my worst enemy. TheMan gets up and is gone to work before I am awake most days. Other than a quick lunch spent in front of the Waltons, I don’t see him again until after dark, when he eats dinner, usually with a western on, before retiring to bed. I can no longer ride, milk a cow, garden or do any of the things that brought me joy. I sit in a recliner, day and night as it is too painful to lay down. The pain is always present, it's never completely gone. Sometimes it's excruciating, other times, just annoying. But it's always there. None of the drugs have worked. I have failed every drug regimen they have so far. Pills, injections, infusions, waiting on new drugs hoping maybe the next one will work. Meanwhile, they are all poisoning me in some way. So I finally quit taking them, except for the painkillers, because I won't survive at all without those. The pain is already hard to deal with, when it's being managed. I don't even want to think about what it would be like without something to take the edge off. I have to admit, it's nice not having all the side effects, and not feeling like a pincushion from all the injections and infusions.

The loneliness here is overwhelming, as I usually don’t see or hear from another human being for weeks at a time, outside of the internet, and watching TheMan watch TV. There is nowhere for me to go, nothing for me to do, and no one for me to see here. Everyone on the ranch is busy doing their own thing, and I am no longer a part of it. Add to that, I am unable to effectively clean my own house, take care of my yard or my animals anymore. Everything is a  mess, which of course, increases my depression exponentially, as it is not my way to have things in chaos. My barn and yard at home, in California, were always organized, well run, beautiful and animals well cared for. Here a colony of 3 rabbits became my worst nightmare. Right after putting the buck in with the 2 does remaining after the big processing, I fell ill AND had to have surgery again. I did not realize TheMan never removed the buck from the colony. It never occurred to me that he would throw food at them, but not manage them. Picture, a few months later when I was able to go out, finding it overrun with rabbits and with hay and manure built up. 

I tried to catch and cull rabbits but after doing 5, I was unable to use my arms and hands for close to 2 weeks. I could not clean the colony myself because I am no longer strong enough. I tore the bicep tendon clean off of my shoulder, just trying to lift my old saddle. There is no one to help. No one. Things continued to worsen, along with the yard and house. My “milk room” a 16x16 structure that used to be my stallion’s stall in Calif. but became a multi use tack room, milking parlor, feed storage and chick brooder is now full of empty sacks and trash, along with an over abundance of feral cats. I am not a lover of cats. I am deathly allergic to them. This entire discovery added to the depression.

I became overwhelmed, and hopeless.

Then God moved.

He didn’t move away from me, He made His move. He moved towards me, and showed me He had been answering my prayers all along. Like the angel in the book of Daniel who told him he’d been sent weeks before but had been detained, He’s been working on my behalf all along.

Without going into too much detail, I was contacted by a client I had not spoken to in about 15 years, regarding a business venture they would like to undertake and they have a job for me.

I will be leaving the ranch, going back down where my friends and family are. The job will involve me in something I have always loved, the move will allow me to receive healthcare that isn’t available to me here, where we are living hours away from the nearest town. I can finally get physical therapy, massage, reflexology, there are Doctors close by…no more driving down 50 miles of gravel roads then an additional 3 hours over highways with broken ribs and collapsed lungs to see a doctor.

 I will be able to finally see my grandchildren grow up, as I have missed 11 years of their lives, being in a different state and only able to see them for a couple of days each year.

My friends and family will all be within a short drive. No more spending holidays alone. No more dreaming about them and not being able to see or speak to them, or share their joys and sorrows.

I will live where help is available. If I need help cleaning my house, I can hire someone. If I need help cleaning up the yard, I can hire someone. If I need help feeding, or managing animals, it is available. If I need to sell something, I can sell it. At the ranch, no one is going to drive 4 hours to see or pick up anything here.

I will be able to do more, be more active, get stronger. There are things to do with Heath. We can finally pursue some of the things I have wanted to do with him, such as: herding lessons, scentwork, rally obedience, agility, or whatever we find is fun for the two of us.

Our lives are going to change dramatically and completely. We still have to wait several months, but knowing there is hope, I can endure it. It’s like labor pains. They are all consuming and unbearable in and of themselves, but knowing they can only last a minute or two, and will eventually end completely, and result in great joy, so will this. The only thing that keeps it from being perfect, is that TheMan chooses to remain behind, on the ranch. At least until he is ready to retire, so this journey is just for me and the Heathen.

There hasn’t been anything in particular to blog about lately, but I wanted to share this with you all. Thanks to everyone for taking this journey with me, for your encouragement and friendship. Once we are settled in, I imagine blogging will become easier again and I will be much more reliable.

Til then, here’s some bits and pieces from our travels in April.

Heath is bored

Heath is miffed. A small Jack Russell stole his place, so Heath stole his bed

Teaching my cousin to do stained glass

my cousins' creek

shopping

pulling into Winnemucca

Hwy 20

Mendocino

My traveling buddy

Got Milk?

It's been awhile, and I haven't been able to write much, so I thought I would take a step back in time and republish one of my favorite memories.

Years ago, living on our small family ranch in California, I was already moving in the direction of becoming more self sufficient, food-wise. I decided a milk cow was in order. I knew I would have a reasonable supply of fresh milk, cream, butter and maybe cheese. The internet, at that time, had not been invented, in fact....we had no computers. So I was on my own to figure all these things out.

On my quest for our bovine beauty, I met a sweet old man with a dairy in Bakersfield, about 45 minutes down the mountain from our town. He told me he had a nice cow who freshened at 10 GALLONS a day, but was currently only giving 2 gallons daily...she had not gotten re-bred and would become a "butcher cow" unless I wanted her. We agreed on a price and I set out to pick her up. It was almost Thanksgiving, and we had heavy snow and ice on the road. I proceeded to hook up our massive 6 horse trailer and head for the big city of Bakersfield. 

About 1/2 mile down our road, I came upon a CalTrans snowplowman, who informed me "You'll never make it down this road with that trailer"...I am NOT a great backer-upper (yes, that is a real word). It took me over 45 minutes to slip and slide down that narrow canyon road and avoid going off the embankment...normally it was a 7 minute drive. A quick and URGENT stop at the first available restroom and off I went to pick up the cow.

My first clue that this may not have been a real good idea, was when it took 8 men to load her, and one got smashed in the gate. They finally got her aboard, and my primary thought was...how am I gonna milk this monster, all by myself?  You see, what I hadn't considered, was, she was a DAIRY cow...in otherwords, she had NEVER been handled or hand milked. She would just follow the others in to eat her 'candy' had electric doodaddy's stuck on her plugs and away she'd go. (yes, that IS a technical term).

I had the entire trip home to devise a plan to get her into my barn, and get her milked. 

Skip ahead about 6 to 8 hours...there are rope marks and burns around every oak tree between the driveway and the barn, skid marks in the snow and mud that match my bootprints...there are several body indentations in the snow about my size, with cowtracks that seemly go right through them...but INSIDE the barn is a monstrous, muddy Holstein cow, with each hind leg tied to opposite corners of a stall, head locked between two boards, happily munching on hay, with a victorious young mother filling her bucket with milk, one squirt at a time. Ahhhh! The simple life!!

**********

Years and years after my relationship with my Holstein cow (whom we fondly referred to as "Jugs") we moved to a smaller piece of property, only 2 1/2 acres, and closer to town. The kids grew up, and moved out, my life had modernized as we lived in a real live, less than 100 yr old, contractor built home, unlike the humble abode at the ranch that was built 80 years before at a Chinese labor camp then moved there...but thats a story for another day...

I had been training show horses for years, spending lots of time on the road, but now HandyRandyman and I were about to enter a new season of life, away from the ratrace. It was time to start living the "Simple Life" again.

I began like anyone else would. I bought 3 chickens (Oprah, Ethel, and Schatzey, because everyone knows chickens with names perform better).

One afternoon, while perusing the Motorcycle section of the CameraAds, (a sign of terminal boredom) my eye was drawn to a great big ad for a newly freshened DAIRY GOAT. 

Now, as you well know, a newly freshened goat, at a very reasonable price, in giant letters, in the MOTORCYCLE section of a paper, is clearly a sign from above. So, I did the sensible thing, and hooked up the latest monster trailer and headed for Bakersfield again, this time to pick up our new goat.

As I mentioned...she was very reasonably priced. I was thrilled. The only hitch was, it was necessary to strip her of milk twice daily as she had no kid with her (that's a term for 'baby goat' for those who don't know...Caprine owners seldom throw their children in to sweeten a deal, no matter HOW badly they want to get rid of the goat)

After lugging her home, it occurred to me there might be a reason she was so attractively priced. I discovered it, when I learned she had a quirky little habit of LYING DOWN whenever you tried to milk her. I threatened, I cajoled, but she continued to fold up like a cheap, portable chair, and it was getting dark. My back was aching, and we didn't have a stanchion yet, so, in desperation, I heaved her front end up on a picnic table, and had Randyman hold her back end up in the air so I could get underneath and get my 2 quarts of milk...all the while with him mumbling "dear Lord, I hope the neighbors cant see me...this looks so bad..."

Next morning: I drag myself up at 4:30 cuz Randyman is gonna leave for work and I want to enlist his help again. Due to the visibility from the breaking light, he stubbornly refuses and I am left to my own devices. But I am armed with confidence that I will prevail, as I have vast experience in animal training, and am known to be very resourceful, if not stubbornly single minded.

SUCCESS!!! It wasn't really that hard after all! All that was necessary, was to rob a few cinches and straps out of my tack room, and fashion a sling....wrestle it around a large, reluctant and recalcitrant goat, then hoist her up in an oak tree far enough so her feet couldn't reach the ground and VIOLA!! MILK!

I just love a bargain, don't you?

******************

Around and about 6 years ago, we took a job as ranch hands on one of the largest and oldest working cattle ranches in the state of Oregon, and here we are now, in this idyllic place 110 miles from the nearest town. The simple life has enveloped us, and consequently, we are once again enjoying fresh squeezed milk, because Randy bought me a Jersey cow for Mothers Day. She is very gentle, but somewhat spoiled and ill mannered.

She is however, not without her little quirks. Having no milking stool per se, I used my little rattan footstool (from Pier1) as it was low and light enough to manage.

As I happily pumped away, morning after morning, Dolly (aforementioned Jersey cow) would munch happily on her hay and grain, occasionally smacking me in the face with her tail, often relieving herself with an unappetizing “plop”, perpetually swinging her hips (from TipMeOnMyButtClose to DangNearOutOfReach) and, of course, always trying to dip her foot in the bucket.

She became more and more skilled at the placement of her hind foot until she finally managed to sink it right to the bottom of a gallon of milk.

Tossing the tainted milk aside, blood pressure peaking, I grabbed a set of hobbles and proceeded to tie her hind feet together, preventing any more attempts to stick ‘em in my business.

With her heels glued together, and her head locked securely in the head gate, I went about filling a new bucket, when without warning, Dolly got mad.  She apparently was not impressed with the hobbles and began to kick wildly in an effort to remove them. It’s a scientific fact that when two entities are tied tightly together, and one swings thru the air, the other tends to follow…

Before I could say “I’ll just buy milk” she came tumbling my way, crushing my stool, and pinning my lower half under her belly…with my arms free, I managed to release the bar on the stanchion holding her head captive, as I was afraid she was going to break her neck. This had the effect of releasing the last several hundred pounds of big, mad, rubbery cow and she melted all over me. Realizing help would not arrive until evening, I managed to wriggle out from underneath that mess of a cow and assume a semi- upright position.

After getting my cow on her feet, I gathered up my now skinny, oblong milk bucket, the 2 sticks remaining of my stool, and my hobbles, and left my cow, my milk and my pride in the corral, and had a cup of very black coffee and some dry cereal.

Having experienced a self inflicted cow tipping of sorts, as a result of tying my cow's hind feet together and incurring her wrath, I found myself without a milking stool.

Milking requires a great deal of squatting, if you have no stool, it can be hard on the back, legs, and disposition. So, I jumped on the nearest internet and began searching.

My quest was successful! A cool catalogue (Lehmans) which carries all manner of nifty, old timey, useful stuff, had a One Legged Milking Stool. Now this is a brilliant concept, because MY cow likes to Mambo and Cha Cha, and its a little hard to keep up with her , so a one legged stool would allow me to tip, pivot and follow as necessary, to keep her plugs within reach...and as if this incredible mobility feature isn't enough, it comes with a belt, which straps around your hips! So, with it firmly attached to your hindquarters, you just have to squat down and scoot yourself into place! I couldn't WAIT for it to arrive!!!

The UPS man finally showed up, and I proudly held my stool out to Randyman, who just shook his head. Clearly he had no idea how wonderful this was going to be.

Next morning, I realized it was a bit heavy, as it is made of solid hardwood (quality stuff!), so I had to hoist it up onto the kitchen table and back up to it in order to get it on.

Stool firmly attached, I loaded myself up with 2 small milk pails (the large one had been totalled in the wreck), another small bucket with warm soapy water to wash the udder, a bucket of soaked beet pulp to keep her happy, and a dry towel in my mouth...I proceeded out the kitchen door. It didn't take but a second to realize the leg protruding from my backside wasn't going to allow me to turn and shut the door on our narrow porch...so I

1. walked to the step

2. unloaded buckets and rags

3.turned back

4. pulled door shut

5. backed up to step again to avoid putting chair leg thru     glass on door

6. reloaded

After reloading, I repeated steps 1-6 at the yard gate, and again at the corral. The stool clearly had a design flaw, and was getting nicked up rather badly every time I swung around.

Believing the worst was behind me, (and, indeed, it was) I put down my stuff, sidled up next to Dolly and proceeded to sit down and take my nifty new stool for a test drive...

...No one, apparently has ever measured the legs on these stools!!! The one on mine is rather SHORT, and after squatting to the level at which I should have made contact, my quad muscles could no longer hold me, and my hips soon reached terminal velocity, as they sped toward the solid  ground of the corral.

With a tooth shattering jolt, which nearly shot my now bugging eyes clean out of my head, that one legged milking stool reached earth and turned itself into a well planted fence post. This had the effect of tightening the belt around my hips and the stool had seemingly become a permanent part of my anatomy.

With a bit of rocking, I was able to finally topple myself over, the @#!!*&$ stool still attached to my backside, and I proceeded to kick my tools out under the fence and head for the house. I do not know for the life of my WHY I thought i would get a different result from squatting in the garden!! Several eggplants and a tomato later, I managed to extricate myself from ground level of very soft soil, and crawl to the rock wall and pull myself up. I found my knife, cut the strap on the stool and shoved it up on top of the garden shed, where it remains to this day.

I located a plastic crate that once held 5 gallon water bottles which seemed to hold my weight. I headed back to the corral with it, convinced my curious cow that NO, she  had NOT seen a unicorn, and I proceeded to finish the job.

I think I can tell you, with some authority, that the cheese isn't the only Laughing Cow!!

Family Reunion

 Heath had a family reunion. His mother and littermate brother came to visit. We were a bit concerned about how 2 intact 15 month old males were going to get along with each other (or not) but we were in luck, they remembered one another and got along fabulously. They tussled and wrestled and played constantly. It was great. These dogs are so gorgeous and their personalities so amazing. It was really neat to spend time with others of Heath's breed and see what they are like. Although, not all have the same qualities.

It was also awesome to get to know their people better. I was amazed at how much we all had in common! It turned out to be just a super weekend for everyone involved as all the things we all loved to do were at hand. I even went riding for the first time in 2 years! My horses even got tired for a change. We celebrated with homemade hot fudge sundaes as well (yes, homemade ice cream, homemade hot fudge, homemade whipped cream, only the nuts were purchases and we forgot to get cherries).


Trying to get a family picture of the 3 dogs was fun and amusing. Getting all 3 to sit still and look the same direction at the same time brought more than a few chuckles....

Mama Pixie spies something that needs to be run out of the yard...

Heath-"It's a bird!"  Leif-"It's a plane!" Pixie-"NO! It's a doggy treat!!!"

Much to their mama's dismay, the boys had a fine time being boys...

Look at those fierce expressions...

Leif meets "Cousin IT"

Leif accommodates Heath "There's a bug on me! Get it off! GET IT OFF!!!!"

More fierce doggy play

Heath lets his "derp" out...

the cavvy is in

 

 We had to take the 4 wheeler down into the pasture where the horses were and wrangle them up the lane and into the corral by the barn so we could grab Wimpy and saddle him. Mister was already up at the house.

The horses were playing around while we saddled

The Maremmas waited faithfully, watching the corral for our return to make sure I made it back safely. I love these big white dogs!!!


Anyway, it was a fabulous independence weekend. We are grateful for the sacrifice made on our behalf to birth this great nation and pray that it's greatness is soon restored. There is much more to be grateful for in this life and living here is one of them.

Hope you all had  a good weekend and look forward to the rest of your summer!

Maremma LGD's and Other Sundry Things...

It's been busy around here, more or less. Heath is growing up fast and showing what he is made of. 

I've always made him stay in the yard when I went out to feed, because he is too little and I don't want the sheep to hurt him and blow his confidence, or see him kicked by a cow or horse. Plus he loves to pop his front feet at the laying hens and make them run off squawking.

One afternoon, the Maremmas were in having a day off. I didn't see Heath sneak past me. They did though. He made a bee-line for those sheep and they made a bee-line to intercept him. Mr Potamus put himself between the sheppie and the sheeple while Bruno distracted him, offering himself as a sacrifice, being chewed on and abused, for the sake of his honor.

Potamus stood between the sheppie and the sheeple

blocking Heath's access to the sheep, which he has now forgotten

...because he is busy gnawing on Bruno...

...but they haven't forgotten him...

and Bruno brings him back to me...

Once again, the Maremmas demonstrated their unique style of protection and independent thinking. Instead of attacking the pup, which they knew was mine, they blocked and redirected his attention, thereby protecting my sheep, and my pup, while still accomplishing their objective. These same dogs that were so careful to cause  no harm don't hesitate to take on a cougar if it tries to breech their perimeter.

When they aren't actively preventing calamities, they engage in a lot of playful wrestling...

Notice there are never any teeth showing. They have always been careful not to injure one another, but the play is still rough and very fierce...

My son and his wife and six children came for a visit. It was GREAT to see them all and I especially enjoyed the weekend. They stayed busy doing target practice, riding around to see the ranch, feeding calves, putting shelters back together, moving meatie chickens, bathing Scottie, doctoring and marking sheep, and taking down the greenhouse, along with other things. 

Heath loved having the kids here and was especially taken with one little girl. It made his day when she would wake up in the morning and come to see him.

They actually wore him out. First time we've ever seen it....

All in all, it was a very good month.

I ruptured my bicep, so it will be a bit more difficult to do things for awhile, again, but Heath has been pitching in and helping to put the 54 meatie chickens away in the shed at night. One was injured when she was moved from the brooder to the shed, as the other chicks all piled up on her and she has difficulty walking or balancing now. He has been very disturbed by this, and yesterday, to my surprise, he went out and got her, and brought her to me in the house. She was none the worse for wear for his having picked her up and carried her all the way in here and is currently residing in a small rabbit cage in the house where he can feel satisfied she is doing ok, although she is not likely to survive as she gets bigger and gains more weight.

He's been doing a bang-up job taking care of the little flock in the back yard. However, I had to draw the line this morning, when he decided to separate the small "bonus chick" that was sent with them, who is a barred black and white and does not match the others. He then attempted to carry Magoo, the blind duck into the house. I've been trying to explain to him this is not an avian hospital and we do not segregate our chickens...never a dull moment here.

A Little Sunshine

The weather is unstable, the barometer rises and falls. I slumber in the reclining chair because it’s too uncomfortable to lay down still. I hear the jingling of bells hung on the door, that will someday aid my new puppy in alerting me he needs to go outside, as TheMan comes in from feeding and caring for the animals, as I am still unable to do it myself. He throws hay and checks waterers for my old horse, Mister, the little band of hair sheep and their lambs, gives SushiMoo, my last milk cow her grain, feeds the chickens and ducks and takes care of the band of leppie calves in the corral beyond the high rock wall. I hear the cornflakes bounce off the sides of his bowl as he prepares himself some breakfast, then gives me a kiss goodbye and he and his faithful Scottie head off to work on whatever the ranch needs him to do today. He works 7 days a week because that is ranch life. There is always something that needs doing and cows don’t take weekends off. It’s hard work but it’s a good life. He’ll come back for lunch and then for dinner and if I am not able, he fixes that and does the dishes as well. It wasn’t always like this, I remember working 3 jobs and trying to take care of my family. A few hours a day as a bookkeeper, returning home to ride colts and give lessons, then do his paperwork at night for the small company we started making livestock panels and kennels. Housecleaning, laundry, dinner and dishes were always needing attention with four kids in the house. He always pitched in to help where he could. Now things are different. I have so much I want to do, but cannot. One of the hard things about this disease is not knowing from one day to the next if I will be able to function. I’m grateful for my new knee and contemplate the love my family showed me the many weeks I was in their care while recovering as they selflessly fit me into their schedules at doctors, hospitals, home while they all still had to work their full time  jobs and take care of their own children and homes. It is the flip-side of this disease, that I would never wish to be disabled or reliant on my kids, not be a burden, but because I often am, I’ve no doubt of their love. Through my travails they standby and lift me up and rather than bitter because of my pain, my heart is full. 

I marvel at the faithfulness of God and my family to one so unworthy...because I do feel unworthy, unable to do my part anymore, unable to help out, instead always needing. It’s not a comfortable place for me and I don’t do it with the grace of someone like Joni Tada or others whose struggles are greater and more insurmountable than my own. But I am grateful, that He has shown me I don’t have to be worthy to be loved. He promises that over and over, in His book to me, and His work on my behalf, and it is illustrated to me through my family and I am awed, all at once both humbled and grateful.

The sun is out this morning and with some difficulty, I step out on the back porch and hear the call of the mourning doves and the chirping of the smaller birds as they fill their little chests and hearts with the fresh spring air. The ducks watch me covertly (they think...but I can see them there on the lawn, still as statues). 

The warmth of morning shines down from the East and I can see the garden slowly coming back to life, with all His promise to me that “Weeping is for a night but joy comes in the morning” 

(Psalm 30:5). The green swordlike blades of the iris have pressed through the rocky soil and will soon bear flowers with falls of bright yellow, purple and one sky blue. The long canes of climbing rosebushes are already covered with small, shiny green leaves as they hide under the tumbleweeds and mustard that always ends up in our yard along the wall after the harsh winter winds. The lawn is greening up again, the fruit trees have flowered and promise sweet juicy apricots, apples and peaches later in the year. I notice a small nest in the big tree by the house,  probably from last year. Amazing how something as small and delicate as a bird can create a nest durable enough to get through one of our winters. Another small miracle. Blue and purple pansies have burst forth in the half barrel by the door from the seeds their parent plants dropped last year and the perennial plants and flowers peek their heads out of the soil, pregnant with promise. 

It's still chilly out so I step back inside and my eye is captured by the few houseplants that helped carry me through a long winter indoors. Even those have been a gift beyond measure, evidence that there is life all around me and it's not all about me.

I peruse the living room, plotting a plan of attack, should my body allow it. The dust lies thick on the furniture, both a result of neglect and living on a ranch in a 100 yr old house with windows and doors that, while still closed, will generously allow the wind in to blow my hair in my face. One of the perks of ranch life is that you never lack something to do. There is always housework, no matter how much of it you may have done the day before, and in the unlikely event it should stay done for a day, there are always the cabins and employee housing the boss’ wife needs help with, since people are in and out of here all the time. But I am tethered to our little old rock and concrete house, at least for the moment. I eye the new dog crate that stands by the sofa and simultaneously feel a stab of sorrow over the loss of my wonderful old friend Cider and a flush of hope over the new puppy that will be coming home with me this spring. I imagine him as he might be, looking forward to teaching him all that I taught Cider and then some, consider the laughter he will undoubtedly bring back into my life and the companionship that will come with it. Soon the hummingbirds will be back and the butterflies. 

Until then, I will rely on my short and infrequent visits from the Maremmas, who warmly give me nose bumps and tiny doggie kisses, moan to show their appreciation as I rub their ears then, quickly satisfied, lay by the door anxious for someone to let them back out with their sheep. 

I opt to fight some of the mats on Mr Potamus in lieu of cleaning house. He always manages to pick up the worst kind of burrs and stickers to wind up in his long fur and become impossibly tangled. It's difficult to attack them with just one hand, but I manage to get most of it done and he lays all nice and fluffy again on the floor which is now messier than before. Better done before the big cleaning than after.

There is much to look forward to, and while waiting, I dance, if only in my mind. Life is good. God is good.