A Day in the Life - Part Two

(We left "The Kid" as she was finishing Field 4 and, R, another farm worker, has already gone on to the Main Stackyard to start setting out bales.)

Winter stackyard in Field 3. Each of the five stackyards contains about 5000 bales. Each bale weighs between 1200 and 1500 pounds.

By the time I get to the Main Stackyard with the unit, R has set out three bales for me. In all, he will need to get 21 bales ready for NQ, the next field we will do. (NQ = North Quarantine.) I load and head into NQ, which is adjacent to the Main Stackyard. NQ is not very big, so "Leroy" has plowed the frozen manure into piles, so it's not too terribly bumpy. We are usually done the field feeding by 11:30 am.

The cows in North Quarantine.

While the two of us have been out in the fields, one or more of the other hands (depending on what day it is) feed the feedlot. Since cowboying has slowed down on the ranch (for the winter), it's up to the cowboys to feed buckets of grain to certain pens. "Sanchez" (another co-worker) in driving the JD 7210, the smallest tractor on the ranch. His job is to feed East Quarantine, South Quarantine, Meadow One, the colts, Pen One, and the two horse pens. He takes bales from the Bottom Stackyard. 

East Quarantine - cull and open cows - meaning those that have no baby in them.
South Quarantine - the bulls.
Meadow One - replacement heifers.
Feedlot Three - colts
Pen One - sick calves, which are doctored by the cowboys, as needed.

One of the mares.

Every pen does not have to be fed every day, so it's somewhat of a memory juggling act. It only takes about 2.5 hours to feed the feedlot, even though it sound like a lot of animals to feed.

Sanchez does not have a hay buster. Instead, he has a knife, a very well used tool on the ranch. He can bring in only one bale at a time from the Bottom Stackyard. He has to get out of the tractor, cut the twine all the way down one side of the bale, pull off and wrap up the twine, and stuff it in his tractor. It's not good for the cows to eat twine. About the same as getting string in your salad. Not very tasty, I don't think.

After Sanchez is done feeding, he takes all the twines to the burn pit. He is always done before we get back to the yard.

After I'm done in NQ, I head to the shop. There, I burn all the twines off the "flails" of the bale buster with a bar iron. A bar iron is an electric bar, kind of like a straightened oven element.

After the twines are all removed from the flails, R takes the twines to the burn pit. I open the shop door, and when R returns, he backs his tractor unit in first. Sanchez's tractor is already in. Then I put my unit away. The hay buster unit is last into the shop, and first out in the morning. The hay buster is greased every day, and the tractor loaders, every Monday. Equipment breakdowns can be costly.

We are done by noon. Just in time for lunch!

In the winter, the main job is to feed, and once that's done, we're finished. Three thousand animals fed and happy. Sometimes, the "Roughrider Fan" (hay trucker) comes in with a load of bales (38 bales to a load) and "The Cowboy" will phone whoever's around to grab a tractor and unload the bales in the desired stackyard.  Everyone carries a phone, as you never know where anyone is. That is how we communicate. 

We also use hand signals a lot of the time when in the tractors. It's fast and easy.

Oh, and when I talk about the tractors we use, it's ALL John Deere!

GO GREEN! 

A Day in the Life

One of the farm crew here on the ranch came up with a brilliant idea. Why not acquaint my readers with an average day working on the ranch. So, I'd like to introduce "The Kid," as the other workers call her. Yes, The Kid is a "her." A lovely young lady with a hankering for being in the outdoors and working close to the earth. Yet, lest you think a girl working on a ranch is maybe not so feminine, I've seen The Kid with her hair done up and wearing a splash of bling. She's a spunky, hard-working, and beautiful girl.

Here, in her own words, and with her own photos, is a typical day. 

At dark o'thirty, the crew meets in the shop. We have coffee and talk about what's to be done. Pre-check the tractors. The buster-driver decides when it's time to head out. (Hay-buster--an apparatus used to de-twine the 1500 pound bales of hay and then "bust" them up into finer-sized feed.) Get to the stack yard by the barn, place one bale on the grapple, back up in pitch-dark to the second bale, lift it into the buster, and pick up a third bale on the buster forks. Head out. Factor in any wind the night before, blowing the road in and driving through big snow drifts.   

Field 5 blown in. The Cowboy had to
clear the way before the tractors could
get through to feed the cows.

Depending on the wind is which way we drive, so the dust from the hay doesn't clog up the radiator. We've been feeding  between 19-21 bales to the cows in Field 5. It takes a little over an hour for that field, if I don't have to stop to unclog the hay buster. If I do, I turn off the PTO (power take off), idle down, put the tractor in park, put on my gloves, and go 'round the back of the buster, get underneath the shield, and haul the clogged hay out with my hands. Wet bales are foul smelling and sticky. Disgusting. On windy days, it's blown right into my face, down my shirt and jeans, and makes the rest of the day itchy and uncomfortable.

Resume busting.


R, one of my co-workers, drives the feed wagon, which can be hitched and unhitched to his tractor. Therefore, he can load and unload (with the unhitched tractor) the desired amount of bales the buster driver has asked for. He sets them out a certain way: one bale, then two bales, about 50 feet away. That gives the buster driver room to maneuver when reloading. I pick up the single bale first, then the two, and away I go again.

Oh, and don't forget to close the gate after leaving any field or pen!
The only wildlife I've seen lately are a pack of 'yotes and numerous ravens.

By the time I'm done Field 5, the sky has begun to turn pink, yellow, and orange. Lately, the sunrises have been pretty good!

When R has unloaded the correct amount of bales for Field 5, he heads to Stackyard 3 (there are five stackyards) and loads up for the next field. The haywagon can hold 14 bales. Heading into Field 4 now, the sun is starting to shine through the tall trees. I always enjoy Field 4. On the downside, Field 4 is very open and has very deep snow. Sometimes, I get R to plough lanes through the snow so the buster won't get stuck, as it's very low to the ground. And sometimes I get good and stuck!

Tractor and Hay Buster. Had to get pulled out. 

If it's a cold or blizzarding morning, the cows are reluctant to come out of the trees until I've completed about the fourth row with the buster. If it's warm, they are already coming to greet me, and I have to lift the bucket so I don't clobber any as I go through.

After a few days of feeding in the same spot in the field, the field gets very bumpy from frozen cow manure. Slowly, I make the feeding ground bigger, to find not-so-rough ground. Deep snow is hard to go through, let alone backing up to a bale in 2 - 3 feet of settled snow. The Cowboy or Leroy (the farm foreman) plough roads into the fields, and in some places, the ploughed-up snow is taller than the tractor wheels. (Picture below, Road 2. The ploughed snow is taller than the truck.)

By 10 am, I am done Field 4, and R has headed off to set up the hay for the next fields.

(Come back for "The Kid's" Part Two of "A Day in the Life.")

A Cowboy's Christmas Prayer

The cowboys I know are simple folk, and for the most part, God-fearing. Also for the most part, you won't find them ranting on about how if you just do your cinches just right and wear your hat a certain way, the Good Lord will smile down on you and bless your britches off.

No, sir. Their faith is earthy. Only a few simple things are asked of us. Take care of kinfolk, even the nasty ones. Be kind to critters and tend to them in the best way possible. Treasure children. Be humble. Be respectful. 

Be grateful for every mouthful of grub, even if it's just coffee and beans. Food is food, and whatever it is, it's all from the hand of the Good Lord.

They are praying people. But they don't waste their breath on frivolous prayers that might take God away from more important matters. They pray before rodeos, for no injuries and honesty. They pray before eating. And when you go to Cowboy Church, it's just fine to wear your work-worn boots and dusty jeans. Be yourself. It's the way the Good Lord meant it to be. 

There is a classic cowboy prayer I'd like to share. Each year, we get at least one Christmas card bearing these timeless words. It best tells the heart of a true cowboy.

A COWBOY'S CHRISTMAS PRAYER
By S. Omar Barker (1894-1985)

I ain't much good at prayin', and You may not know me, Lord-
I ain't much seen in churches where they preach Thy Holy Word,
But you may have observed me out here on the lonely plains,
A-lookin' after cattle, feelin' thankful when it rains,
Admirin' Thy great handiwork, the miracle of grass,
Aware of Thy kind spirit in the way it comes to pass
That hired men on horseback and the livestock we tend
Can look up at the stars at night and know we've got a friend.

So here's ol' Christmas comin' on, remindin' us again
Of Him whose coming brought good will into the hearts of men.
A cowboy ain't no preacher, Lord, but if You'll hear my prayer,
I'll ask as good as we have got for all men everywhere.
Don't let no hearts be bitter, Lord.
Don't let no child be cold.
Make easy beds for them that's sick and them that's weak and old.
Let kindness bless the trail we ride, no matter what we're after,
And sorter keep us on Your side, in tears as well as laughter.

I've seen ol' cows a-starvin, and it ain't no happy sight:
Please don't leave no one hungry, Lord, on thy good Christmas night-
No man, no child, no woman, and no critter on four feet-
I'll aim to do my best to help You find 'em chuck to eat.

I'm just a sinful cowpoke, Lord-ain't got no business prayin'-
But still I hope You'll ketch a word or two of what I'm sayin':
We speak of Merry Christmas, Lord-I reckon you'll agree
There ain't no Merry Christmas for nobody that ain't free.
So one thing more I'll ask You, Lord: Just help us what you can
To save some seeds of freedom for the future sons of man. 

May your neighbours respect you,
Trouble neglect you,
The angels protect you and
Heaven accept you. - Unknown

Merry Christmas -- from the Ranch 

The Ranch in Winter

Welcome to the Ranch!

Merriest of Greetings to all my readers. Again, it's been a long spell since my last post. It's been busy, as usual.

Earlier this fall, we brought in the three thousand cows. It was time to be preg-checked, vaccinated, dewormed, and put on winter feed. The calves were shipped out.

Bringing in the cows.

For every day but one, the temperatures while gathering cattle plunged between -20 to -30 C. Blizzard conditions that frostbit the cowboys' faces and gave them icicles on their moustaches. Then it was cold working in the unheated barn processing the cows. Anything we do in the summertime is a hundred times more difficult in the winter. It takes a good fifteen minutes to get dressed to go outside, and by then you're all sweated up. Machinery is ornery. So are cattle. And people.

“Winter is not a season, it's an occupation.” 
― Sinclair Lewis

Lunchtimes gave us a brief opportunity to warm up with cocoa and a sandwich and a Tim Hortons donut, but then it was back to work. I discovered "Hot Hands" hand warmers, but I think I need a onesie made entirely of them!

Preg-checking is often done by ultrasound these days, although if a cow is proving difficult to evaluate, it's back to the old fashioned way: "Arming It." Donning a plastic "evening glove," the vet does a manual check. It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it. Yesterday, as we processed pregnant cow after pregnant cow, the vet expressed a wish for an "open" -- a non-pregnant bovine -- because her hand was getting cold!

Thankfully, it's all done now. All the animals are in close now and on feed.

We have snow, snow, and more snow. It's still cold.

Snow Removal - Ranch Style

Despite the frigid weather and deep snow, we are warm in spirit and heart. Our families are healthy, though not near enough to enjoy near often enough, and we have much to be thankful for, including Facebook and phone plans that offer free long distance to loved ones.

The view from the back door.

With most of the fall work done now that I have a part in, I should be adding a flurry of posts within the next few weeks. Until then, keep warm and joyful.

Winter is the time for comfort, for warm food and warmth,

for a touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire:

it is the time for home. ~ Edith Sitwell

Snow, By Any Other Name

It's been said that the Inuit have over 50 words for snow. Some are listed here. Many people I know have just one word for snow, a multi-purpose, not-nice word that doesn't at all reflect the vast variety of wondrous textures and colours displayed by snow.  

The first story I ever wrote featured snow. 

It certainly wouldn't earn me an Editors Choice at FaithWriters, but Mrs. S, my Grade One teacher,  rewarded me with an awesome lion sticker.

Obviously, I didn't know very much about winter yet, living in the Fraser Valley in southern B.C. In 1968, we experienced record cold temperatures and snowfall. As I walked to school in my slip-on galoshes, I pondered what it would be like to live where there was LOTS of snow and VERY cold temperatures. It would be amazing, I thought. What did I know?

The arrival of snow seems like a magical and even mystical phenomenon, a harbinger of glad tidings and jolly, cozy days to come, of fuzzy, plaid blankets and baked apples. It has been memorialized in our best loved childhood literature, and perhaps that is why many of us have such sweet and nostalgic sentiments about snow.

“Anne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the snowy places.” 
― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

 “One winter morning Peter woke up and looked out the window. Snow had fallen during the night. It covered everything as far as he could see.” ― Ezra Jack Keats, The Snowy Day

We had a few half-hearted flurries a few weeks ago, but last Friday, the snow came in earnest, and it has been snowing ever since. On Saturday evening, a truck careened off the road, taking out at least 100 feet of our fence, along with several posts. 500 cows and their calves live in that particular field, so we went out in the dark and waded through knee to thigh-deep snow, finding, matching, and patching the broken wires.

Most of our work on the ranch is outdoors, so the cold, long, snowy winter is not as romantic as it once was, and the older we get, the longer winter seems to be. And the more inconvenient. It's desperately hard on equipment, livestock, and six-decades old knees and shoulders. Trips to town revolve around "how bad the roads are."

My happy place, our porch swing and garden. 

No mowing for at least seven months. Two weeks ago, the petunias were overflowing the planters and the sunflowers were blazing like miniature suns.

Even though I have no more illusions about snow, I still love the first days of snowfall, the inspiration to bake, sew, read, and play carols. It's still magical, still makes me feel wistful, but these days, I would like snow to come in smaller doses, arriving politely in time for Christmas, and like a yuletide ornament, gleaming brightly for a few lustrous days, and then quietly melting away. I'd like to retire my boots (guaranteed to 40 below) and settle someplace where we don't need heated seats in the truck. 

Until then, "See it come down." 

Building and Mending

The Cowboy has better than a hundred western shirts. That's not an exaggeration, says me, who gets to iron many of them every other week or so, along with a goodly amount of my own shirts. Fortunately, after dozens of washings the shirts no longer need ironing. They become soft and comfy. But sadly, they are also wearing out.

Dust, sweat, sun, "neck whiskers," multiple washings, and the aforementioned ironings do a number on shirt collars. 

I asked the ladies at my quilting group if they could teach me how to "turn" these worn out collars. They got the "deer caught in the headlights" look. Actually, it was more than that. They had a collective look of terror. I said I know it can be done, because my mom used to fix the collars on my dad's work shirts, getting a few more months of wear out of them.

One of the ladies said she'd rather sew a whole shirt from scratch.

Well, so would I. Honestly. Even if the worn out shirts are The Cowboy's favourites.

It reminds me of a motto we'd recite at church years and years ago.

It is better to build than to mend.

Not that a spanking, new shirt won't eventually succumb to worn cuffs and collars. It will. But mending is Just. Not. Fun. Whether it's patching up a pair of snagged-on-barbed-wire jeans or restoring a broken relationship, setting things right is often unpleasant.

Everyday activity at the ranch -- Mending fences.  Livestock, wildlife, and Men Driving Equipment have a way of taking down fences.

And somehow, things are never quite the same after things are pieced together and patched up. That fence is weakened. The turned and mended collar is still thin and worn on the backside. The broken relationship may still be vulnerable, all because of something said foolishly or in haste.

What breaks in a moment may take years to mend. -- Swedish Proverb

Wearing out and breaking down may be inevitable. But we can still take care to build well in the first place. Use good wire and posts. Good quality shirts last longer in the long run. Build relationships based on trust and respect.

As for the shirts with the worn collars, there will be no "after" photos.
The Cowboy said, "Cut 'em up into grease rags."
Somehow, that seems like a dismal requiem for those faithful, old shirts.
The ladies said, "Cut them up and make a quilt."

Maybe building something completely new is the best way to mend.

Stuck in the Mud

It's hard to believe that three short months ago, we were lamenting about the never-ending rainfall. How we needed to get the branding done. And crops planted.

The rain did go away. And stayed away. Except for a few miserly droplets, we've had nothing since June. We are running out of grass. Which is doable, because we can start bringing the cattle in closer and start feeding hay.

But we are running out of water, too. NOT so doable.

We use "dug-outs" for cattle water. There are over 120 of them on the ranch. Dug-outs are large man-made ponds that fill up with run-off water in the spring and are maintained with regular rainfall. But no rainfall means no run-off means no water for the cows. So the dug-outs are drying up.

Yesterday, a cow waded out too far in a mud-hole of a dug-out, and got herself stuck. I went along with The Cowboy, just for the drive, thinking to enjoy the fall colours.

Help!

What followed was a series of maneuvers involving a chain, a cable attached to the bumper of a pick-up truck, two lariats, two cowboys, and yours truly. I was given the dubious honour of driving the pick-up in reverse to pull the cow out. I could not see over the berm of the dug-out and so had no idea if Bossy was being sucked out of the mire or if she was cemented in place forever. The Cowboy waved his arms wildly in a series of gestures, the meanings of which were known only to him, and I translated the best I could.

First thing I know, The Cowboy started running, and then the other cowboy came skedaddling over the berm, followed by a very mucky, very angry cow. Bellowing furiously, she ran hard and fast, until she came to end of the line still attached to her. (Apparently, I missed the signal for "drive hard in reverse and then stop and drive forward so we can detach the line".)

I have to admit, I was frightened. I just knew that crazed cow was going to drag me through fences and forests and farms, and maybe all the way to the highway.)

Eventually, and this is where the lariats came in, she was roped down, loosed from the chain, and set free.

Not a word of thanks or farewell.

Horribly cliché, I know, but there is never a dull moment around here. If it isn't one thing, it's twenty others.

If you think of it, prayer for a little rainfall would be appreciated. Before the snow comes. Before the ground freezes.