It's nearing the end of February and I cannot believe how mild this winter has been. Seriously, we've only had one measurable snow, and it barely covered the ground. The ponds have remained unfrozen for the livestock, and for me too, as I've been spared the chore of chopping holes in the ice. Yes, I know it's much too early to gloat.....after all, we've had some significant snowstorms in March, but the nice thing about those spring storms is that they are short lived.
About a week ago we had our first calf of the spring, the first of seventeen. He was born on Valentine's Day and was aptly named Valentino. Since then we've had three more here at the ranch, and four others that were delivered "down the road" where a friend of mine monitors the deliveries of my first-calf heifers.
It's my favorite part of ranching....and even though it can sometimes be trying, there's nothing quite like walking up to a newly born calf and watching it struggle to its feet as it tries to figure out the intricacies of "life on the outside". It's a rude awakening I'm sure, but made much more tolerable when the weather is mild.
Yesterday I was up early. The sky was clear and the sun was inching its way over the hills to the east of the house. There had been a light frost overnight, and the sun was creating thousands of diamonds across the pasture as the sunlight reflected off the grass. It was going to be a spectacular day!
As usual I started the coffee, then stepped to the windows to enjoy the view. The cows were meandering across the pasture, headed to the feed troughs where I would soon reward them for their cooperation. As I stood in the living room I caught a glimpse of smoke. No, it wasn't smoke, it was steam rising out of the tall grass on the side of the hill about 200 yards from the house. Time to go check it out.
I would usually jump in the Ranger, but it wasn't far so I walked. The sun was warm and we were headed to another day pushing sixty degrees.....in February!
I hadn't walked a hundred yards when the mama cow stood up from where the steam was still marking the spot. They're a little nervous right after giving birth, and I always approach slowly, talking quietly as I go, trying my best not to spook them.
I never tire of the sight. New life is a gratifying thing, and being able to witness it on a regular basis is God's gift to me. This one was a little bull calf, black with a partially white face.....almost identical to his mother, and she was very proud. I stood back as she licked him dry and nudged him until he stood on his wobbly legs and began the search for nourishment.
Just another day at the ranch......but, one with a spectacular start wouldn't you say? I think so, but as always, what do I know?
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Life in the slow lane.....
As a young man, fresh out of college and working my very first job in corporate America, my dreams were big, but the salary was lagging behind the dreams. As is the case with most entry level jobs, the wages were low, the hours were long, and most of the assignments were monotonous.
In addition to the tedium of the job, I was faced with the first rush-hour commute of my life. For some reason, every major corporation felt the need to have their corporate offices within the confines of "downtown". Therefore, at approximately the same hour every morning, thousands of people driving thousands of cars, converged onto the two major arteries wending their way to town.
Not only was the commute time consuming, it was also quite expensive for a fledgling corporate drone. Fortunately for me there were many others sharing the same dilemma, and it was not unusual to see the bulletin board filled with notes....."ride needed"...."carpool opportunity"...."pay to ride". All one needed to do was find the right address, make a phone call, and voila.....instant carpool.
Soon after I made that fateful phone call, Jim, Charlie, and I were sharing the driving duties from the southeast suburbs into downtown. The expressway of choice was the most direct route into downtown, but it seemed to be constantly undergoing some type of construction, narrowing from four lanes to three lanes, then to two lanes as it dumped thousands of cars onto the one-way streets leading to acres of asphalt parking lots.
We were seated three abreast in Jim's old Ford pickup. The fan for the A/C was working great, but the air was blowing hot, just like outside.....Ugh, summer in Oklahoma. We were nearing downtown and gradually making our way over to the right lanes as directed by the signs and orange barrels.....slowing to a crawl....sweating and thinking about another day at the office. Suddenly a very old, very large, very dirty car swerved to avoid the barrels and cut us off short! Tires shrieked on the hot asphalt, and expletives filled the air, adding to the already overheated cab of our ride.
Jim Saporito was Italian, and Italians are sometimes known to have short, volatile tempers......I glanced over at Jim and watched his neck and face begin to redden. His lips were thin and drawn tight. Then, the driver of the very old, very large, very dirty car raised his hand to give a little wave of thanks for allowing him to cut in.
Wrong move.
Jim's equally old, large, dirty pickup suddenly lurched forward and "gently bumped" the car being driven by that ever so polite man who had waved at us. Dirt that had been caked underneath that old car for years raised little puffs of dust as it hit the roadway. Meanwhile, a smile slowly crept across Jim's face as he said, "I was okay with the SOB until he had the nerve to give us that little wave."
The next time you're tempted to race up to the front of the line and cut someone off in order to save yourself a couple of minutes, you might want to remember the story of Jim and his old pickup....It might just happen again, but what do I know.
In addition to the tedium of the job, I was faced with the first rush-hour commute of my life. For some reason, every major corporation felt the need to have their corporate offices within the confines of "downtown". Therefore, at approximately the same hour every morning, thousands of people driving thousands of cars, converged onto the two major arteries wending their way to town.
Not only was the commute time consuming, it was also quite expensive for a fledgling corporate drone. Fortunately for me there were many others sharing the same dilemma, and it was not unusual to see the bulletin board filled with notes....."ride needed"...."carpool opportunity"...."pay to ride". All one needed to do was find the right address, make a phone call, and voila.....instant carpool.
Soon after I made that fateful phone call, Jim, Charlie, and I were sharing the driving duties from the southeast suburbs into downtown. The expressway of choice was the most direct route into downtown, but it seemed to be constantly undergoing some type of construction, narrowing from four lanes to three lanes, then to two lanes as it dumped thousands of cars onto the one-way streets leading to acres of asphalt parking lots.
We were seated three abreast in Jim's old Ford pickup. The fan for the A/C was working great, but the air was blowing hot, just like outside.....Ugh, summer in Oklahoma. We were nearing downtown and gradually making our way over to the right lanes as directed by the signs and orange barrels.....slowing to a crawl....sweating and thinking about another day at the office. Suddenly a very old, very large, very dirty car swerved to avoid the barrels and cut us off short! Tires shrieked on the hot asphalt, and expletives filled the air, adding to the already overheated cab of our ride.
Jim Saporito was Italian, and Italians are sometimes known to have short, volatile tempers......I glanced over at Jim and watched his neck and face begin to redden. His lips were thin and drawn tight. Then, the driver of the very old, very large, very dirty car raised his hand to give a little wave of thanks for allowing him to cut in.
Wrong move.
Jim's equally old, large, dirty pickup suddenly lurched forward and "gently bumped" the car being driven by that ever so polite man who had waved at us. Dirt that had been caked underneath that old car for years raised little puffs of dust as it hit the roadway. Meanwhile, a smile slowly crept across Jim's face as he said, "I was okay with the SOB until he had the nerve to give us that little wave."
The next time you're tempted to race up to the front of the line and cut someone off in order to save yourself a couple of minutes, you might want to remember the story of Jim and his old pickup....It might just happen again, but what do I know.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Just another old fish story...
This mild weather has turned my thoughts to some fair-weather fishing. I've heard there are anglers that absolutely live to fish, and a little foul weather never acts as a deterrent to them as they grab their gear and head to the nearest lake, pond, or river to pursue their passion......And, while I really enjoy fishing, I guess you would identify me as an angler "lacking true passion".
If it's too cold, I don't fish; if it's raining cats and dogs, I don't fish; if it's too hot, I don't fish. Sorry, that's just the way I pursue this popular pastime.....thus the term fair-weather fishing.
Lazily floating down a secluded stream, fishing pole in hand, enjoying the sights and sounds of nature as the sun warms my shoulders.....that's my idea of the ideal fishing trip. If I catch fish, that's just a bonus.....okay, maybe not so much a bonus as a distraction. Kind of like golf.....a great walk in the country interrupted by having to chase a little white ball.
Last spring the river was at flood stage when we took our annual fishing trip. The result was a roaring trip down the river with each of us more intent on survival than fishing. Aah, but the year before was perfect, and I look forward to this year being the same.
The morning had been about as perfect as you would ever want. Steve and I had been floating, fishing, and enjoying the spectacular views along the river. A few hundred yards behind us, two of our fishing partners were drifting along in their canoe.....they were actually catching fish, but otherwise following the same course as the two of us. They were the elder members of our group, men with more experience on the river than Steve and I combined, and listening to their stories of a lifetime of pursuing their passion was a delight to all of us.
As we steered the boats over to a shady sand bar for our lunch break, we looked forward to hearing their stories as much as the ham sandwiches packed in the coolers. A few minutes later their canoe scraped to a stop on the sand bar and we pulled it to shore.
"You boys ready for lunch? So are we, so lets get to it."
Of course they made a big show of pulling their stringer of fish up so we could admire their catch,,,,,showoffs.
It's surprising how hungry you get after a morning of floating and fishing so everyone got busy pulling sandwiches, chips, and sodas from the coolers. Then, Steve stood up, walked over to these two grizzled old fishermen, and said, "I've got some hand sanitizer here, you want some?"
I glanced up just in time to see the priceless look on their faces.....I'd wager a very large sum of money that it was the first time either of them had ever been offered hand-sanitizer while fishing, and they were speechless.
I'll never forget that moment in time.....and I'm pretty sure it's etched in their memories as well. My guess is that it will be another fish story those two will enjoy telling for a long time.....I hope so, but what do I know.
If it's too cold, I don't fish; if it's raining cats and dogs, I don't fish; if it's too hot, I don't fish. Sorry, that's just the way I pursue this popular pastime.....thus the term fair-weather fishing.
Lazily floating down a secluded stream, fishing pole in hand, enjoying the sights and sounds of nature as the sun warms my shoulders.....that's my idea of the ideal fishing trip. If I catch fish, that's just a bonus.....okay, maybe not so much a bonus as a distraction. Kind of like golf.....a great walk in the country interrupted by having to chase a little white ball.
Last spring the river was at flood stage when we took our annual fishing trip. The result was a roaring trip down the river with each of us more intent on survival than fishing. Aah, but the year before was perfect, and I look forward to this year being the same.
The morning had been about as perfect as you would ever want. Steve and I had been floating, fishing, and enjoying the spectacular views along the river. A few hundred yards behind us, two of our fishing partners were drifting along in their canoe.....they were actually catching fish, but otherwise following the same course as the two of us. They were the elder members of our group, men with more experience on the river than Steve and I combined, and listening to their stories of a lifetime of pursuing their passion was a delight to all of us.
As we steered the boats over to a shady sand bar for our lunch break, we looked forward to hearing their stories as much as the ham sandwiches packed in the coolers. A few minutes later their canoe scraped to a stop on the sand bar and we pulled it to shore.
"You boys ready for lunch? So are we, so lets get to it."
Of course they made a big show of pulling their stringer of fish up so we could admire their catch,,,,,showoffs.
It's surprising how hungry you get after a morning of floating and fishing so everyone got busy pulling sandwiches, chips, and sodas from the coolers. Then, Steve stood up, walked over to these two grizzled old fishermen, and said, "I've got some hand sanitizer here, you want some?"
I glanced up just in time to see the priceless look on their faces.....I'd wager a very large sum of money that it was the first time either of them had ever been offered hand-sanitizer while fishing, and they were speechless.
I'll never forget that moment in time.....and I'm pretty sure it's etched in their memories as well. My guess is that it will be another fish story those two will enjoy telling for a long time.....I hope so, but what do I know.
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