Rites of Spring

It was, all in all, an almost perfect day.

Two Fridays ago the Good Rancher moved his heifers to their calving field, aka the horse pasture, and the cows to the Hunt field.

Everything went smoothly.

Everything except, of course, for the antics of ringleader Nod.

  Meet Nod.

Does she look like she

would be any trouble at all?!

The weather forecast was predicting rain and snow in a couple of days, so the Good Rancher was extremely thankful everybody could be settled with grass, water, and shelter as they prepared to have their babies.

As the guys did a quick check before lunch, they discovered these two wonderful mothers, who made it look so easy ...

The Mohn girls led the way,

right before the move - 

two beautiful calves, no problem! 

After lunch the men saddled their horses and they were off. They kept the two mothers and tiny babies back to cause them less stress and fatigue, then they moved the rest of the heifer herd up the fields and across the driveway to the horse pasture gate.

(Included in this herd are bottle calf alumnae Amy and Hanna, Diamond K, Angel, Venus and Serena, Redder, Marta and Gretyl, plus the seven Mohn cows the GR was fortunate enough to purchase at their sale. All these girls might be on their fourth or fifth calf, but they'll always be heifers to me!)

I gathered the five dogs, acknowledging two things: the piercing absence of ScoutyLove; and that my little Earl Grey with his sightless eyes was not so out of place with the other dogs when they were together out here. He couldn't jump on and off the side-by-side to chase cows; but he could feel the air swirling around him and he could hear the cattle thunder by and smell the first hints of spring. And he always loves riding in the side-by-side!

First the heifer group was moved. All seemed to go swimmingly - but I couldn't see Nod anywhere. Nod is Mabel the Holstein's daughter. The freemartin triplet identifies as a heifer and so the GR goodnaturedly lets her stay with the heifers each year. Her brothers, Wynken and Blynken, are in the bull program ...

A shout from Kurt: there was an unusually big cow leading a pack of heifers back to the field they had been in through the winter. The GR rolled his eyes and pointed his horse back in the direction from which they had just come.

"Tell me again why we keep her?" the GR sighed. "Remember Scout's last cattle round-up? Nod led her group over to near Lee Hunt's place and Scouty gathered them all up and brought them home."

I was shocked, shocked. "All the heifers know she's in the Bible!" I said. " 'Lead us, Nod, into temptation!' Of course she has to stay!"

The rebel heifers now safely in the horse pasture, the men turned their attention to the batch of cows they would guide into the Hunt field.

When I first moved to the GR's ranch and I heard talk of "the Hunt field," this is literally what I pictured:

The reality was that the GR and his Deb had purchased this piece of land from their previous employers the Hunts. They named it The Hunt Field, of course. And each Spring the matrons of the herd head as a matter of course to their favourite grove of trees, their choice watering holes, in this incredible pasture area.

As the men rounded up and sorted the cattle, I had a chance to look around to try and discover any signs that Spring was indeed approaching.

There were at least a couple:

The cows - most of whom had been born either in the horse pasture or the Hunt field - made their unhesitating way back home.

"Straight up the hill, turn left at 

the gate. You can't miss it. Don't 

mind the dogs - they're harmless."

Right before evening chores the GR took me on a tour of the Hunt field to make sure everyone was comfortable. 

It was more beautiful than I had anticipated.

The most amazing part of all was to see these dugouts - full of clean, cool water!

Every cow looked settled and content. The GR turned the side-by-side toward home.

One last dash through the horse pasture and the storm field to check on the hefs. The first mother to calve here this season belonged to the Mohn group of cows. She had not quite finished licking off her calf, but he was already on his feet looking for food.

The next morning the wind was vindictive and the GR was so thankful we had moved the mothers to their birthing fields.

The dogs pouted in the porch, unwilling to be outside but ticked right off that the GR took only Earl Grey with him this morning.

I was ticked off that I had to go check on the heifers in this bluster.

Still, once I was out there I spotted almost immediately the cow-calf pair from the evening before.

 As I drove through the open gateway between the horse pasture and the storm field, that baby bull pushed his way through the fence to see what the weird sound was.

I turned off the side-by-side's engine. The calf - not even 24 hours old - did a little four-step of joy, then he turned around and bounded back to his mummy.

The wind died down for a couple of minutes and I could hear that beautiful song of a mother lowing lovingly to her calf. And I was reminded that it is indeed the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Pulling the Bulls

Some days I sense that he misses her more than he knows what to do with. 

On yesterday's overcast morning he had to rely on me and the side-by-side to be his sidekick; two days ago he went to pull a bull and he was injured slightly. It is so much better for everyone —bulls, horses and humans — if there is no mechanical noise in the delicate process of extricating the Boys of Summer from their playgrounds. But yesterday there was no one else to help.

"Why don't you drive on up the fence line, and I'll meet you at the next gate?" he suggested gently. I remembered how he said one of his greatest joys was to ride, side by side, in silence for the most part, breathing the air heavy with the scents of wild sage and silver willow and hearing the sounds of creation in perfect synch with the clop-clop rhythm of the horses' hooves. As I turned to go, I noticed his shoulders more stooped than normal, perhaps carrying another unseen to the human eye.

He had told me that once, toward the end, when she was so sick she had to be admitted to the hospital, he had taken a great branch of silver willow to her because it was her favourite. The hospital staff threw him and it out; there was no room for that "smelly weed" in their antiseptic environment.

There was the gate; I turned off the engine, waiting for him to appear.

And slowly he did, faithful Chopper intuiting his thoughts. He saw me and paused, opening the gate, glancing toward the next stage. "Follow this fence. We are looking for two Herefords, and a red and a yellow." 

I putted along in the direction he had indicated. Cresting a hill, I saw shimmering waters in a vista that took my breath. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" he called out, and I saw him passing me lower down the hill.

I drove closer to him. "This was one of our favourite views," he said, almost to himself. 

I wondered what it was like for the two of them to come across this exquisite place for the first time, to work together morning 'til night until it was theirs, to ride out here together for no reason but to enjoy the view and the breeze and the scents.

She was only 48.

As I pursued the fence line, I came across a truly pretty pink-streaked rock; I tried to hoist it from the ground but it was embedded too deeply and I had no tools to assist me. I placed a blue bucket over it in hopes of finding and retrieving it later.

The next gate opened into a field of cows and calves, and five somewhat stubborn bulls. Back and forth we went, horse and side-by-side forming a hobbled alliance as we slowly separated the bulls from the cows. 

We got the former heading in one unified direction, and as we started up a hill, the sun suddenly blazed with renewed warmth and energy. 

Finally, finally, after a few hiccups in communication between rider and driver, and a couple of outbreaks of bulls being, well, bullish, we came within sight of the corral. 

The Good Rancher and Chopper were hot, tired, dusty and thirsty. He led his friend into the barn and unsaddled, brushed her down, gave her grain and released her to drink water from the always fresh livestock waterer. Only then did he walk slowly to the house. Animals first. 

I handed him a cool drink. 

"I'm sorry I'm so difficult some days," he said slowly. 

"I'm sorry I can't ride," I replied. 

We looked warily, wearily, at each other for a few moments. 

"Let's go get your rock," he said. 

Today was a new day. Their old pal Bud was riding with him. 

These two friends have helped with each other's cattle for a couple of decades. They are often each other's first call. Their wives, both exceptional horsewomen, were also friends.

The day was one of big skies, big fields, big horses, big bulls, big hearts. 

It wasn't the same as it would have been with him and her, but it was sure something.

And sometimes something is enough.

Thanks Giving Day

Don called the Good Rancher on Friday: a few men were going to be slipping into a neighbour's corral and loading up her cattle, as quietly as possible. Hoping to do it on Monday. Was he in?

Oh yes.

Shooting for 11:30.

Done.

The Good Rancher has many, many admirable qualities; punctuality is not on that list. Nonetheless, on Monday morning he jumped into Henry the Ford, buckled up and sped to the destination.

He was there at 11:27.

It was -2 and the wind was starting to make its presence felt. Don and Lonnie were waiting for him, and they were joined in short order by Robert, Cliff, Rod, and Glen.

They paused for a moment and then in unison squared their shoulders, took a breath and stealthily made their way to the corral.

They didn't want to spook the cattle.

This was their Thanksgiving gift for their friend.

Everything had seemed a bit off-kilter since two Wednesdays earlier when Barry, good old Barry, had slid out of his chair and his spirit left this earth forever.

His funeral had been the following Wednesday. His cousin Jack officiated, bringing to life for us the young Barry he had known. His three beautiful all-grown-up nieces each gave us glimpses into this man who loved them, who treated children with whom he came into contact with special care and dignity. Following them, his friend Twila spoke - with a sentence or two from her three elder children, who were already missing their buddy.

As the final notes of the final song started to fade, Jack rose, walked over to Rosemary - the love of Barry's life - and gently hugged her. Two of the people closest to Barry, realising the great gap his absence would occupy, clung wordlessly to each other for a long moment.

Each person there to honour him that day would have had their own Barry story. He had a coffee route. He teased a lot, but it was never malicious. When he got something into his head to do, he would do it.

Gopher hunts.

Chopping wood.

Helping a neighbour.

 

Helping lots of neighbours.

 Making funny faces.

Stettler on Tuesdays with his Rose.

Thanksgiving with Jill and Les. 

One of my favourite Barry memories:

his and Rosemary's 45th anniversary supper

Observing the beavers at work on the lane leading to his house. Observing all the beauty - both extravagant and unobtrusive - this part of the country has to offer. 

No doubt this and much more was on these men's minds as they somberly took their stations and lifted their cattle sticks and got to work, sorting the calves from the cows, tagging the bulls, checking the pens.

Barry's three buddies were there as well, keeping an eye on things - the next generation, learning to love the land.

It was all completed in short order - all these men know their way around a corral! - and after a brief coffee break, they gathered to watch for Jim.

Jim, who left his family Thanksgiving dinner early in order to drive the herd to auction at Olds, trundled up slightly before the time he had said he would be there. 

Clearly, an unspoken code was at work. You might be late for your everyday stuff; for an occasion as weighted as this one, you put your best foot forward for your friend.







The road lurches a bit at the curve, and with the snow and slush, Jim's truck needed a bit of traction. Of course, the guys were one step ahead and the tractor was already running, the chain already prepared.

The animals loaded fairly smoothly - "a beautiful set of cows!" was the verdict. All of them know that a difference of a few cents a pound can make an awful lot of difference to the final payout. They were all relieved for Barry, happy for Rosemary.

The paperwork was done under Ivy's careful tutelage; Debbie was there, keeping the coffee coming, keeping the tears at bay. While the men were out working, the ladies had been recording each tiny detail - drawing brands, locating premises ID numbers, making sure there was no hitch at the receiving end.

And then everyone stood back as Jim climbed up into his truck again. 

Eyes blinked a little faster than usual. "Once you get going, don't stop!" called out Lonnie a bit hoarsely.

Jim headed down the hill; Cliff was already waiting in the tractor, just in case. Fortunately, the tractor's services were not needed again this day.

As the truck pulled out of sight, there was a bit of a general sigh.

"He was a good neighbour … 

"a good rancher … 

"a good friend …

"It was a good day."

It was another example of neighbours helping neighbours in the Byemoor and Endiang community.

It was Thanksgiving Day, 2018.