Smoke Signals

Fred Remington, Smoke Signals (1905)

As far as adults on the ranch, there are five: Me, Husband#1, C.G., RanchHand and Wifey. #1's brother and a friend are involved in this story, but are not key players for my purposes. This is how it went down:

On Saturday, #1 went in to town to buy groceries and dog food for the pack trip on Sunday.

Shortly after #1 left, RanchHand came over. "Did #1 already leave?"

"Yes, I think so, if he's not over at the dog kennels," I said.

"Darn it, I wanted to catch him," RH said, "Wifey is making us BBQ chicken to take on our trip."

"Okay..." I wondered if RH thought #1 needn't have gone to town, what with the impending BBQ chicken. But I'll try not to read too much into it, given that the story gets funnier on its own.

"Well, I guess it'll be okay," RH said. "#1 usually brings canned food anyway."

"Yes, well, I'll let him know," I said. Excuse the abbreviated conversation, that is the gist and is all I can recall with a babbling four year old right here behind me.

#1 came home. I told him about the BBQ chicken. I also may have told him about my feeling about the chicken. Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging the chicken. I'm just saying, for four grown men, a batch of BBQ chicken isn't gonna last as long as they're going to need food. There was no gettin' around going in to town for food. Especially since when RH and/or C.G. cleaned out the closest camp near there, I don't believe they left so much as a can of chili.

All #1 said was, "I wonder what they're going to pack it in so it doesn't leak all over in the panniers."

Saturday night. #1 packed things up, two coolers of food, I might add, and then some, not including the BBQ chicken. He planned on being home on Tuesday. He wondered if he was taking--get this--too much food.

The guys left early Sunday morning.

On Tuesday, C.G. wonders to me if they took enough food. I told her #1 had gone to town and gotten groceries.

The guys didn't show up on Tuesday.

Today is Wednesday, and Wifey comes over. "Gosh I hope they have enough food!" she exclaims. "I only sent one thing of BBQ chicken." [I wonder how she cannot know, being that RH knew, that #1 went to the store for, gasp, FOOD].

"They have plenty of food," I say. "#1 went to the store right before they left. And who knows if his brother brought any?"

"Oh, well C.G. said he didn't bring any, and she was asking me how much food they took," Wifey goes on. "I tried to give RH some bologna, but he wouldn't take it. He only took the chicken."

"They have plenty of food, Wifey," I repeat. "#1 wouldn't go up there without enough food."

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Post Script: I know there is a lot of work to be done up where they were going. I am a bit worried that they are not yet back and it is now dark on Wednesday. But, I am not worried about how much food they have. And being nonchalant is my defense mechanism, because being home alone with two young boys I can't allow myself to worry too much. The practical details: four guys, two trucks, four horses, at least one cell phone with texting capabilities. If something happened, we would have surely heard about it by now.

Post Post Script: The guys are on their way home; #1 just sent me an email. The wonders of technology. Good thing, as this hour is too dark for smoke signals...

Where's the Camera???

Where is that darn thing when I need it? Why, it's up on the mountain with #1. What's the emergency, you may be thinking?

Both Sawed-Off AND H-Bomb are asleep on the couch. AT THE SAME TIME. I want to scream with delirious excitement. But I can't. So I'm telling you.

Incidentally, I will have some superb pictures from #1's trip to blog about next week. He just took the little digital, which I mostly use for blogging and snapshots. I still have my Nikon, but that would do me no good because of the distance we are from Costco's one-hour photo center. That's right, it's an eight hour round trip. Not including the one hour photo developing.

So right now, in lieu of taking pictures or doing the dishes or laundry, I think I just might lay down for a little nappy myself...

Alone On The Ranch

#1 left this morning. He, his brother, RH and a friend headed up into the mountains, where they will push some cows around and camp out in the clear, crisp, early winter air. #1 thinks he'll be home Tuesday, but you never can tell.

And I am home alone with Sawed-Off and H-Bomb. At 8:00am, the boys have already been up for two hours. #1 was long gone by then. Sawed-Off ate two bowls of oatmeal and somehow managed to smear it everywhere in the process. H-Bomb ate oatmeal as well, but thankfully is beyond the smearing phase.

I am still in my pajamas, covered in oatmeal. This happened when I had to intervene when Sawed-Off was breaking a piece of H-Bomb's dinosaur castle and poked himself in the eye. Luckily I nipped H-Bomb's screaming in the bud by saying, "I'll fix it. I'll fix it. I'll FIX it after I have my coffee." enough times quickly and I suppose quite convincingly. Frankly, I don't know if it can be fixed. It's plastic, and the problem seems internal. Something about a cage door made of plastic bones, that no longer opens when you push the button. Who knows. Don't tell H-Bomb I'm having doubts. Maybe Daddy can fix it when he gets home on Tuesday. Or whenever.

So while I am here, dealing with the squabbles of a four year old and an almost two year old, explaining why wrestling each other on my four foot tall bed just might be a bad idea, #1 is out riding.

#1 and the rest will be packing in on horses to a place that isn't accessible any other way. I haven't had enough coffee to exactly recall their plans, but I know they have to round up cattle and push them out of a valley, up a steep and dangerous trail to one of the winter ranges. I know they will be camping on the ground, I know they didn't take a tent. I know they will be hours away from ranch headquarters. I know I would have liked to go with them.

I always have mixed feelings when #1 goes off and leaves me here with the boys. On one hand, it's nice to have some time, without having to cook major meals (the boys love noodles and raw vegetables and cheese and crackers and fruit) and to be able to watch whatever I want on television, if I can sneak it in between Baby Einstein and [insert Disney movie here]. Sometimes I feel like I am able to get more things accomplished, in between dealing with the minutiae of two young boys' lives, because I know it has to be done, that #1 won't be coming home at night to help with dinner and get the boys ready for bed.

On the other hand, when I'm by myself, I don't get a break until the boys are both in bed. I have more responsibilities, we have to feed the sheep and take care of the dogs and cats. And usually I have to push in some cows that have busted out, as I've told you about here and more recently here. And sometimes I feel like I am unable to get things accomplished, because I am dealing with the minutiae of two young boys' lives. By myself. And I know that #1 won't be coming home at night to help with dinner and get the boys ready for bed.

Lately, I have been exhausted and feeling overwhelmed from this minutiae. #1 has been so incredibly busy, since CG broke her foot in early November and RH took a vacation for his son's wedding. I have been home, at the house, with the boys, by myself, a lot. My parents were here around Thanksgiving, but I am still exhausted.

Even though CG and Wifey are technically "here," (so thankfully I probably won't have to add the generator to my list of duties), and despite the fact that we all live within 1/10th of a mile from each other, I most likely won't see either of them unless we suit everyone up and go out with the intention of seeing them. Unless one of them has a computer problem, or Wifey wants to talk about the generator. CG still has her broken foot, and who knows what Wifey does all day long. I sure don't.

The boys are at difficult ages--H-Bomb is four, old enough to do lots of things by himself, old enough to play with certain toys (legos, playdoh, scissors, etc.) without supervision, and yet Sawed-Off at age 21 months, can't play with certain toys without tasting or throwing them (playdoh, legos, etc.) or carting things off all over the house and grinding them into the couch (playdoh, goldfish, juice). Even if he isn't carting things off, he is covered in them (read: oatmeal) and thus smears whatever he touches. If I could just follow these boys around with a wet/dry shopvac with a bathtub attachment on my back, maybe my house would stay clean for more than two seconds.

Why doesn't she just clean him up, you might be asking yourself. The answer is: I have, and I do. I have cleaned Sawed-Off up from his (by now) three bowls of oatmeal two times this morning. The problem is, the bowls are not exactly consecutive. He eats one or two, then gets down and takes a break. During which time I clean him up. Later, he comes back for more. He asks me for more with both words "Mah, Mah" and sign language "please." And then he needs some juice. That entails a trip to the kitchen, smearing all the way, so he can point to the juice to clarify he wants juice. I know he wants juice. Last night he screamed, pointing at the juice, when I gave him water instead because he had just brushed his teeth.

Imagine this kind of interaction, going on all day long, in between playing and screaming and wrestling and wanting things and trying to clean the house. You can imagine why sometimes I would rather be freezing my butt off on the back of a horse, freezing my butt off pushing cattle through the snow-covered desert and freezing my butt off sleeping under the stars with #1.

I think I'll ask him for a bedroll for Christmas, so some day, if we can ever get a babysitter, I can actually go with him and freeze my butt off.

An Early Christmas

Sawed-Off got this Talking Dump Truck from Grandma & Grandpa the other day.

That same night, as I pulled off Sawed-Off's pants and began to change his poopy, leaking diaper, the Dump Truck said enthusiastically from its vantage point on the floor beside me, "Let's get ANOTHER load!"

Actually, Dump Truck, let's not. How 'bout? Let's not.

The Mountain Road

There are two ways to get to town from the ranch. You can drive 20 miles out, then jump on the highway (just a two-lane deal, don't get excited) and drive 14 miles in to town. It's pretty quick, but you have to watch out for cows, deer, sometimes horses and other animals.

Or, you can drive about 10 miles out and head up into the mountains. The mountain road winds around for about 18 miles until you get to town. It is scenic and you usually see all kinds of animals: cows, deer, coyotes, sometimes a bear. If you know the mountain road, it ends up being a bit faster than heading all the way out to the highway. But there is one little problem:

The mountain road isn't maintained in the winter. That means, no snow removal until the spring thaw. A Travel At Your Own Risk kind of deal.

Usually, I take the mountain road when I am driving H-Bomb to preschool. It's been fun all fall, seeing what animals we can see, having the road essentially to ourselves every morning, and playing H-Bomb's favorite made-up game: Are We At Town YET?

Last week, the day after Thanksgiving, we got snow at the ranch. A lot of snow. But just that one day. H-Bomb didn't have school until the following Tuesday, and I'm originally from Michigan (so I'm used to driving in the snow, plowing through drifts in my little Ford Festiva or occasionally my parent's car. Wait. I didn't just admit that, did I?). So I didn't think anything of it.

On Tuesday, we turned onto the mountain road, as usual. And at first, it was fine. There was no snow in sight. Yet the higher we drove, the more snow appeared. (can you imagine?) Of course it hadn't been plowed at all, but there had been traffic on it. We were driving the minivan. It doesn't have any snow tires, but I wasn't worried. The Festiva had wheelbarrow tires and a lawnmower engine, and I took that thing everywhere.

It is a bit different when you have kids. I must clarify that during this drive I was a bit nervous, but not enough to turn around. I did figure we could walk to town if we had to. I had the stroller in the back. We would have been fine. H-Bomb would have been late for school, but we would have been fine.

The road got snowier and snowier. There was ice underneath, I could feel the tires slipping occasionally. A couple times I put the van in low gear, and then I just kept on going until we made it up some hills. If I had stopped, there would have been no going on, and we were beyond the point of no return--too close to town and over some hills that I did not want to attempt again. I am a cautious driver, a good driver. In Michigan, even when they "plow" the roads there is a sheet of ice underneath packed snow from December until April. So I have some experience with this type of driving.

And we made it, of course. There was no point that was so treacherous that I thought we were in trouble. Not in the least. And despite all this H-Bomb was STILL the very first kid at school. Some lady in the grocery store looked at me like I was crazy when I said I came over the mountain. But she looks like a ma-a-a-an, baby, so what does she know?

But I will tell you this:

As far as we are concerned, unless there is a big thaw in early December, that road is Closed for us. We'll be travelling on the highway from now until Spring.

Unless we get a snowmobile.

Thanksgiving on the Ranch

The Menu:

Rosemary-Garlic Infused Turkey

Classic Stuffing

Mashed Potatoes and Gravy

Steamed Green Beans

Rolls

~~~

Fresh Pumpkin Pie

Apple Pie

Maple Pecan Pie

~~~

#1 and I shared our table with H-Bomb, Sawed-Off, C.G. and my parents, who traveled almost 1700 miles to join us. It was a small gathering, but a great meal.

#1 prepared the Maple Pecan Pie, in case you think cowboys can't bake. This one can. He also made the mashed potatoes. H-Bomb helped prepare the turkey.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Cowgirls and Tractors and Four Wheelers, Oh My!

I have told you about things like this before. This is another one of those times. Let me set the scene:

• #1 and his brother are out pushing cattle, miles away.
• RH and Wifey are at their son's wedding in California.
• C.G. is laid up at her house with a broken foot.
• I am at the house, alone with two young boys, one of whom is sleeping.

I notice there are cows out. Everywhere.

Following is a synopsis of the IM conversation I have with C.G.:

Me: there are cows out! I don't know where they got out. if you can come sit in our house, I can put them in--Sawed-Off is still sleeping
Me: lots of cows! they are everywhere!

C.G.: We put a bunch back in when we came home from taking the truck. I don't know how they're getting out. Why don't you come up and get me and we can try to get them back in.

Me: I would but Sawed-Off is sleeping.
Me: I can't leave him alone here

{ME not realizing all of C.G.'s weekend guests have left, and her truck is down here.}

Me: I can try to do it myself with the four wheeler, I just need someone here in case Sawed-Off wakes up
Me: it looks like there is fence down in the orchard

C.G.: I don't have my truck here to come down.

Me: crap! I'll be right there.


I leave H-Bomb in the house with a sleeping Sawed-Off; "just stay in the house until Grammy gets here. I'll be right back."

I drive my jeep up to pick up Laid-Up C.G. She comes to sit with the kids. The cows have, in the meantime, found the hay.

The hay is a bit of an aside. We are running out. We had been feeding some 12 tons per day before shipping, and shipping ended up getting delayed a few days. The cows are used to getting fed hay, instead of scrounging around in the desert. In short, they've become lazy. They are wanting to be fed. Until they get pushed to their respective winter ranges, they will continue busting out all over the place. We can't have random cows eating all the hay when we still have other cows to feed.

C.G. decides the cows that are out have Bear Claw brands, so that means they need to be pushed back into the horse pasture. They have most likely busted out of the bottom of the horse pasture and come up the creek. From there, there is a weak spot in the fence, just a couple strands of smooth wire, between them and Freedom. C.G. suggests starting up the tractor: "maybe they'll think they're going to get fed and follow you."

I zoom out to the tractor and trailer on the four wheeler. I haven't driven the tractor in, oh, years. I try to start it. Can't. I circle around the cows on the four wheeler, trying to get them away from the hay at least, but they are hungry bitches. They don't budge. I race back to the house to ask C.G. how to start the tractor. I had forgotten one crucial step: make sure it's in neutral before you turn the key. Duh.

I race back and jump into the tractor, which thankfully starts right up. By now, the cows and horses in the horse pasture are crowding the gate, which means if I open it up to put the other cows in, they will bust out as well. That would be bad. I'm not even sure I can leave it open long enough to drive the tractor and trailer through there.

Think, cowgirl, think!

I put the tractor in gear, in low, and start it heading toward the gate. Those cattle around the hay don't bat an eyelash. In seconds, I decide what I have to do. I aim the tractor toward the gate, and bail out. That's right, I jump out of the moving tractor and Run As Fast As I Possibly Can in slip-on Keens to the four wheeler.

As I race the four wheeler around behind the cows, trying to push them off the hay and toward the tractor and ultimately the gate to the horse pasture, I realize with horror I have forgotten one little thing about our tractor. Just one, shall we say, minor detail.

And I don't know how to say it like a cowgirl or a rancher, so I'll just say it like a sailor: the tractor has a list. No, not a grocery list or a to-do list, I mean it veers sharply to the left.

Out in the vast fields, it isn't a big deal at all. Not much to run into. In among the buildings, it is a HUGE deal. As I make the first pass on the four wheeler behind the cows, I look up to see this:

The tractor listing sharply left, with the forks about three feet from the front side of ABEG's precious half a million dollar barn.

I say words that would impress both a sailor AND a rancher. I race toward the tractor on the four wheeler, jumping off the moving four wheeler with barely enough time to put it in neutral, climb into the tractor and grab the wheel, the tractor's forks just a foot or two from the $500,000 barn. I realize I said this twice. I need you to understand the severity of the situation. And tractors ain't cheap neither.

The trailer narrowly misses grazing the four wheeler. And I am not even exaggerating there; it passed less than a foot from the four wheeler.

And the cows? Still have not moved an inch from the luscious hay.

I park the tractor and turn it off. I opt for the four wheeler, which is much easier to control. I daren't open the gate, by now all the rest of the horses and cows have heard and seen the tractor coming! They are ALL crowding the gate, anticipating dinner.

There is a small gate that leads into a corral, then empties into the horse pasture. I decide that this, Obi-Wan, is my only hope. I open it, and pray the rest of the animals don't see me doing this. It's like an open invitation to the Hay Buffet.

Then I'm back on the four wheeler. These bitches are stubborn. They do not want to get off the hay, not one bit, thank you. My throat is sore from all the yelling, I kid you not. And there are awesome donuts and skid marks and huge clouds of dust all over the ranch. But by god, I got those cows in. It took me many passes and chasing cows back and forth and back again, but finally some of the cows went in. I wanted to count them through the gate, but it was getting dark and there were still more cows--as soon as I moved the first dozen or so off the hay and toward the little gate, the next bunch discovered the All-You-Can-Eat Buffet.

I could get them going toward the gate, but then they would bunch up in a little corner. Of course there are some fence posts and equipment or some crap piled up there, just close enough to the fence that I couldn't fit the four wheeler through there. And my dog, Mia, the guard dog, isn't quite fluent in the cowdog way. She helped me some, don't get me wrong, but a lot of the time she was in the wrong place, or just in the way. Luckily I didn't run over her with the four wheeler.

So, on it went, me racing around the cows, this way and that and and backwards and around in circles, chasing them away from the hay bales time and again, because those bitches just kept circling back. Whatever you say about cows, they know where the food is. Then chasing them around and around the buildings and the machinery and the trucks and the trailers and the equipment and the motor home and the boat and the what-have-you and getting off the four wheeler and running and then back on and finally through the little gate. I must have chased at least 30 cattle in this way, all by myself, before #1 and his brother came home.

I said, hoarsely, "I hope these bitches are supposed to be in the horse pasture, because that's where I put them."

#1 opened up the wood gate, and proceeded to let all the damn horses out. Just to make some extra work as the sky was darkening. He and his brother got the horses in, pushed in more cows. I raced around ranch headquarters, making sure there were no more stragglers, all the way up to C.G.'s house.

I don't know if you know this, but it is damn hard work driving a four wheeler around the way I did. I'm not kidding. And my throat hurts. But it was a hell of a lot of fun! And if you tell C.G. what I almost did to her barn and her tractor, I think I will have to hurt you.