When we went to bed, there was a glass sitting on the counter next to the sink. When we woke up, we found this:
No noise, no movement, nothing. A mystery.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Semantics
During the last post I wrote about visiting friends of ours in their calving shed. It was my first visit, but not Jack's. The last time he was there he was presented with a delicious meal of lamb and beef ribs. He ate like he was at a Renaissance Fair, which grease running down his grinning cheeks. (Maybe I exaggerate. Maybe.)
A few delicious bites in, Jack looked over and said that if I were there I'd be insisting on vegetables.
Our friend jumped up and hopped to the kitchen. "You're right - I forgot to fry the sausage!"
Last I checked... yep, still true:
A few delicious bites in, Jack looked over and said that if I were there I'd be insisting on vegetables.
Our friend jumped up and hopped to the kitchen. "You're right - I forgot to fry the sausage!"
Last I checked... yep, still true:
Putting two and two together
We had dinner with friends the other night in their calving shed. Isn't that where you choose to dine?
This place is impressive. It is nicely outfitted with a sleeping loft, full bathroom and a woodstove, plus a kitchen with a wall of bookshelves lined with veterinary supplies. They are such a nice couple; we enjoy visiting with them as often as possible.
The main course was steak (of course). Grass-fattened delicious steak fried in its own tallow. That led to discussions about the taste of ranch-raised (grass-fattened) beef vs. beef from the store (corn-fattened at a feedlot). That brought us to how smart it would be for local ranchers to move toward selling grass-finished steers rather than shipping calves off to feedlots to be finished on expensive corn.
In our county, most exports are agricultural products. I forget which is top, but the number one and two are beef calves and hay. Why not put the two together - let the calves grow up here eating that hay and charge more for the value-added product at the other end? Most of Jack's conversations revolve around this lately, so more blog posts will come, I'm sure. Any questions you want him to answer?
More on grass-fed beef:
Stockman Grass Farmer
Time Magazine article
Cameron Ranch
This place is impressive. It is nicely outfitted with a sleeping loft, full bathroom and a woodstove, plus a kitchen with a wall of bookshelves lined with veterinary supplies. They are such a nice couple; we enjoy visiting with them as often as possible.
The main course was steak (of course). Grass-fattened delicious steak fried in its own tallow. That led to discussions about the taste of ranch-raised (grass-fattened) beef vs. beef from the store (corn-fattened at a feedlot). That brought us to how smart it would be for local ranchers to move toward selling grass-finished steers rather than shipping calves off to feedlots to be finished on expensive corn.
In our county, most exports are agricultural products. I forget which is top, but the number one and two are beef calves and hay. Why not put the two together - let the calves grow up here eating that hay and charge more for the value-added product at the other end? Most of Jack's conversations revolve around this lately, so more blog posts will come, I'm sure. Any questions you want him to answer?
More on grass-fed beef:
Stockman Grass Farmer
Time Magazine article
Cameron Ranch
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Good news, bad news
The frost is leaving the ground faster than we thought and Jack got stuck while feeding the bulls today (note how much they minded).
We couldn't even pull the truck out with the other 4x4 truck. Good thing there is a tractor around!
And now for the good news:
We have greenery! I tried to prune the lilacs today but I was already too late. When I went to prune some leftover hollyhock stalks I noticed a flash of something not brown. Yes! Green! Spring is coming!!
Saturday, March 5, 2011
The great divide
In another life Jack was quite the horse trader. It was the main fact I had to overlook when we began dating. I grew up more of a horse for life kind of person, not one who sees them as an investment to trade on.
The marriage books all tell you to make sure you are clear with each other about money, child-rearing and household chores. Lay out your positions and come to consensus about how these traditional relationship challenges will be overcome, they say. For us, children weren't part of the equation. We're fine on money and housework. But even from our first date, animals were a sticking point.
"Animals should have jobs," he said, eating another chicken gizzard. (Yes, he ate chicken gizzards on our first date. I married him anyway.)
"What do you mean, jobs? Animals are companions, helping you on your path."
"Hogwash. Cats should be eating mice. Dogs should be working cattle or guarding or something. Horses should be vehicles, pulling plows or rounding up cows."
And so it went. We stared at each other over the deep abyss of the restaurant table. I don't know what he was thinking. Probably something along the lines of how silly and naive I was. But I was as intrigued as I was appalled; I'd never met anyone like him before.
Eventually, curiosity eventually won out over the philosophical divide and we fell in love. But before we married we made a pact. Some people survive better with separate checking accounts; we had separate animals. His were his to sell or keep as he wished and my animals were my animals to keep as long as I wanted to. There would never be any joint animals for us to argue over.
This detente was important when we started out, but now we've met in the middle. Mater has taught Jack how animals can be the best companions and life on the ranch has taught me about working animals actually like to work.
So now Jack spoils Mater while I chastise the cat for not catching enough mice. Who could have predicted?
The marriage books all tell you to make sure you are clear with each other about money, child-rearing and household chores. Lay out your positions and come to consensus about how these traditional relationship challenges will be overcome, they say. For us, children weren't part of the equation. We're fine on money and housework. But even from our first date, animals were a sticking point.
"Animals should have jobs," he said, eating another chicken gizzard. (Yes, he ate chicken gizzards on our first date. I married him anyway.)
"What do you mean, jobs? Animals are companions, helping you on your path."
"Hogwash. Cats should be eating mice. Dogs should be working cattle or guarding or something. Horses should be vehicles, pulling plows or rounding up cows."
And so it went. We stared at each other over the deep abyss of the restaurant table. I don't know what he was thinking. Probably something along the lines of how silly and naive I was. But I was as intrigued as I was appalled; I'd never met anyone like him before.
Eventually, curiosity eventually won out over the philosophical divide and we fell in love. But before we married we made a pact. Some people survive better with separate checking accounts; we had separate animals. His were his to sell or keep as he wished and my animals were my animals to keep as long as I wanted to. There would never be any joint animals for us to argue over.
This detente was important when we started out, but now we've met in the middle. Mater has taught Jack how animals can be the best companions and life on the ranch has taught me about working animals actually like to work.
So now Jack spoils Mater while I chastise the cat for not catching enough mice. Who could have predicted?
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Fade to black
First of all, is it just me or does she look tired already?
Most ranches around here have moved to raising Black Angus, which are solid black. There are a few red Angus around, but that’s the extent of the variety for most of the county. Occasionally we’ll see a random Longhorn, Charolais, White Park or Belted Galloway while driving around and I get very excited simply because they are different. (Note: look at me knowing cattle breeds. When did that happen?)
Which is one of the reasons I like this ranch. For generations this ranch has run Hereford cattle, the red and white ones. Why is this better than living on an Angus ranch? Because red and white cows are far easier to photograph than solid colored ones!
But now they are introducing black Angus bulls into the herd and we’re getting black white-faced and black mottle-faced calves like this little guy (or gal). Even more variety! All the better to photograph.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Prosthelytizing
Jack was invited to speak about Dutch oven cooking to the local chapter of Back Country Horsemen last night. In addition to the Ode to the Dutch Oven poem by Bruce Kiskaddon, he shared some history and lore.
For example, did you know the rim on the lid was supposedly invented by Napoleon’s cook because the Emperor did not appreciate ashes in his food? Or that the legs on the bottom that allow it to stand in a bed of coals were supposedly added by Paul Revere?
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
One stitch at a time
Jack is the Imelda Marcos of cowboy boots. His defense of the trailer load of footwear we move from place to place is economic. For 30 years he had worn the same double vamp Olathe buckaroo modified riding boots with 14-inch tops and a deep scallop.
In 1998 the company was having a going out of business sale so he developed a calculation based on how long a pair of boots generally lasted him and how long he expected to live and he bought a lifetime supply - 14 pairs.
By the time he and I met, most of the boots were well-worn (let's not look into that analogy too deeply) and, he told me, needed to be rebuilt. He had a regular day pair and a church pair he still wore, but the rest lived in storage.
Enter the orthopedic surgeon and new hip. Cowboy boots were no longer as comfortable as they had once been.
Enter the neurosurgeon and new neck bone. Horseback riding is no longer high on his safe-to-do list.
Now what?
Well, first he was able to give his regular day pair to his granddaughter. She loves to wear them and it makes me so happy for them to have that connection.
And for the rest of the boots left in the land of misfit toys? At least one has been reborn as a hybrid, a blend of his cherished 14-inch double scallop tops and the bottom of boots from my corner of the world, L.L. Bean's rubber mocs.
Before:
And, after:
In 1998 the company was having a going out of business sale so he developed a calculation based on how long a pair of boots generally lasted him and how long he expected to live and he bought a lifetime supply - 14 pairs.
By the time he and I met, most of the boots were well-worn (let's not look into that analogy too deeply) and, he told me, needed to be rebuilt. He had a regular day pair and a church pair he still wore, but the rest lived in storage.
Enter the orthopedic surgeon and new hip. Cowboy boots were no longer as comfortable as they had once been.
Enter the neurosurgeon and new neck bone. Horseback riding is no longer high on his safe-to-do list.
Now what?
Well, first he was able to give his regular day pair to his granddaughter. She loves to wear them and it makes me so happy for them to have that connection.
And for the rest of the boots left in the land of misfit toys? At least one has been reborn as a hybrid, a blend of his cherished 14-inch double scallop tops and the bottom of boots from my corner of the world, L.L. Bean's rubber mocs.
Before:
+
And, after:
Introducting the Prius of boots!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Underneath it all
The pronghorn may be fleet-footed (it is the fastest land mammal in the world - able to sprint 60 mph and sustain 30 mph for miles), but for some reason the species chooses not to soar over fences. I'm told they physiologically could do it, they just don't. Instead, they line up and crawl under.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tally-haw? Yee-ho?
You know how great it feels to put on a favorite pair of jeans you haven't fit into in a while? How you get to skip the adjustment stage and move right into the total comfort of familiarity?
That was me on Monday, sitting in an English saddle, riding Sailor the Thoroughbred in patterns such as H-X-M and in 20 meter circles. I was wearing gloves with velcro backs, breeches with knee patches and a helmet. There were cavaletti poles in the corner and girls running around with half-chaps on.
I held my hands in thumb-to-thumb position above his withers and focused on the flexion in my elbows. I went into two-point and tried to pick up the correct diagonal. Somehow, in the middle of Wyoming I had walked into a building and gone back East for the afternoon. I felt like a fairy tale character who discovered home was right around the corner all along.
My lesson followed that of a local doctor. He and I chatted for a minute about eventing and I said something to the effect that my husband would never be an English rider. "He's a cowboy," I explained.
Many cowboys have come to love three-day eventing, he said. "It's the adrenaline."
Jack in breeches? That'll be the day.
That was me on Monday, sitting in an English saddle, riding Sailor the Thoroughbred in patterns such as H-X-M and in 20 meter circles. I was wearing gloves with velcro backs, breeches with knee patches and a helmet. There were cavaletti poles in the corner and girls running around with half-chaps on.
I held my hands in thumb-to-thumb position above his withers and focused on the flexion in my elbows. I went into two-point and tried to pick up the correct diagonal. Somehow, in the middle of Wyoming I had walked into a building and gone back East for the afternoon. I felt like a fairy tale character who discovered home was right around the corner all along.
My lesson followed that of a local doctor. He and I chatted for a minute about eventing and I said something to the effect that my husband would never be an English rider. "He's a cowboy," I explained.
Many cowboys have come to love three-day eventing, he said. "It's the adrenaline."
Jack in breeches? That'll be the day.
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