Bittersweet October

Then summer fades and passes, and October comes. Will smell smoke then, and feel an unsuspected sharpness, a thrill of nervous, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure. ~Thomas Wolfe, "You Can't Go Home Again"

Last week, we began gathering up the cows and calves. It's time for weaning, taking the calves away from their mamas. They are big enough to get on by themselves, without milk, and they must, for it's time to load them on trucks and send them away.

It been a few short months since we branded and tagged the babies, delighting in their cuteness. So quickly the days have passed, and it's a bitttersweet time, seeing how big they've grown, but already having to say good-bye.

Gathering the calves. Pensive mamas circle the pens around their kids.

The view from the roof of the cattle liner. I didn't climb up there to take the picture. If I had, I'd still be up there, too scared to climb back down.

One of today's trucks to be loaded. On this day, there will be four loads of calves.

 Calves waiting to be loaded.

Taking a break and waiting for the brand inspector. 

One of the cowboys visiting with his wife and baby while waiting for the brand inspector. 

 "Get on the bus, kids."

 First truckload on its way. Bye-bye, babies!

"Whatcha doing with our kids?"

Some of the cows came around, bawling for their calves. Others seemed unconcerned, getting back to their main task -- eating.

Sometimes, I wonder if it is truly sad for the cows, giving them human emotions, or whether they are  responding to maternal instinct and responsibility. Some were obviously ready to be done with their kids, just like human mothers who want to be done with nursing and diapers. Fortunately, we don't put our babies on a truck, never to see them again.

The Cowboy went out to check the cows the next day. They'd been moved to an adjoining field. In the new-fallen snow, there were tracks of a single cow. She'd jumped the wire gate into the field with the loading pens. Her hoof-prints circled the pens, once. Then, she jumped over the gate back into the field with her sisters. Good Mama! Is she sad? Or is it simply a sign of being a good mom, trying to find her baby? 

After the rest of the calves have been weaned and shipped in a few weeks, we'll start preg-checking the cows. More "fun" and busy days ahead!

Bringing in the Sheaves

"Bringing in the Sheaves," a hymn that is sang all over North America, especially at this time of year, can be interpreted several ways, none of which I am going to labour over. Whatever the true intent, I think Knowles Shaw, the man who penned the well-known words in 1874, was a farmer, for only a farmer would grasp the depth of jubilation as bundles of gold are harvested and brought safely into the storehouse.

A "stook" or stack of sheaves, bundles
of grain, each sheaf wrapped with a
single cord. In this case, the grain is oats.

"Bringing in the sheaves, 
Bringing in the sheaves,
We shall come rejoicing,
Bringing in the sheaves."







Over the weekend, we had the privilege of helping at an old-time threshing just a few miles up the road. A vintage threshing machine, wagons, teams of horses, and the fall colours made for postcard perfect scenery.

The process is millennia old. Cut the ripe grain, "thresh" it, that is trample or stomp it, so the kernels come off the stalks, then separate the grain from the straw or chaff. Although today's experience was a step back into the olden days, using mechanization, and engine-powered mechanization at that, is very recent in the history of man and grain production.

Loading the wagons.

Bringing in a full wagon.

Waiting patiently for their turn at the threshing machine.

Josh waiting in the wagon.

Pitching the sheaves onto the threshing machine.

The belt is driven by the spool on the tractor. There are no motorized parts on the threshing machine. It's mechanized by pulleys, belts, chains, and kept running under the sharp eyes of the old-timers. 

Riding out for another load of sheaves.

I helped load two wagons, not much contribution, but I can say it is very hard work. There's a knack to picking up a sheaf with the pitchfork and tossing it high up into the wagon.

  Pitching sheaves into the threshing machine (the gray contraption) where the bundles are "threshed," or flailed and battered. The chaff blows away to the right. The grain pours into the green wagon down the red chute.

Straw pile.

Cowboy coffee. Hot and strong.
This pot held at least two gallons.

Mid-afternoon, the teams and wagons all came in and the tractor was shut down. The ladies had made dinner--fried chicken, baked beans, potato salad, rolls, and home-made cinnamon buns. And lots of coffee to wash it down. It felt like nap-time after eating, but there's no rest for the weary. Back to work!

Finally, the threshed grain was taken to the granary, and everyone heaved a huge sigh of relief and thanksgiving that the harvest was finished before the snow came. Time for celebration!

May all your harvests be bountiful!

*The wagon in the the last photo was built by The Cowboy's father.