Winter of our Discontent

I heard a Meadowlark yesterday, can spring be far behind? I hope not. I am tired of winter and so is everybody else that I talk to.
I am trying to think of ways to make this little farm pay. My accountant has asked me in the past, "Is your objective to make money?" I guess she is required by law to ask that since I have never turned a profit here on the ranching operation.
My answer is, "I'd love to, I just can't figure out how." I have a 60 acre unirrigated hay meadow that needs to be torn up and replanted. With hay at an all-time high of around $150 a ton, and no end in sight, I am considering this option. Of course, if the drought is over, then hay will become more abundant and prices should come back down a little. I really wish now I had not sold all my machinery at auction for bargain-basement prices when I knew I was getting transferred out on my job.
Another option is to plant some sort of oil seed for biodiesel, or oats or sunflowers. I heard a program on the radio yesterday saying sunflower seeds are in such high demand, they are not feasible to use for bird feeding anymore. Sunflowers will grow anywhere, I believe, in any kind of soil. The soil up on the hay meadow is pretty much clay, like the rest of the soil in the area, but does tend to be a bit more sandy than in some places. I was told a former owner, my old friend, Sturdy, to be exact, planted an oat crop there many years ago and reaped a bumper crop.
So, if anyone out there has any farming advice for me, I would welcome it. I am considering processing my own biodiesel here at the ranch if I go that route. I have a few old farm fuel tanks that aren't being used, and I think it possible.

Easter Blizzard

I am sure the seven-year drought is over because we had our Easter blizzard. It came in with an undeclared vengeance on Saturday morning. Before noon, we had six inches of heavy, wet snow on the ground. The weather service had only been predicting a gray, chilly day, no white stuff. Well, we got it. The electricity flickered on and off as the ice played on the lines. Just like the Easters of my college days. I remember trying to get home from Laramie on several Easters when the roads were closed. Seemed like it never failed.
We have just a tinge of green starting to color the hills. The mares and cattle are out chasing down every blade of green grass they can find. Today the wind is blowing about 60 miles per hour. The wind speed seems to correspond with the temperature. Sixty degrees - sixty mile per hour wind.
The four mares that are carrying foals are getting, well, as big as horses. Lady is still packing, and I am so thrilled. I may get another foal out of her after all. Poor Whitney, this is her first, and she is so uncomfortable. She is moving around like a slug and she actually grunts when she walks. Only about a month to go. I gave them their last Pneumabort shot a few days ago. Here's

Whitney.
My phone has been out again for about a week. Last month it was out for two weeks and the phone company had a very hard time finding the problem. Finally, they found where a tree had fallen down by the creek and there were rabbits living in the tree and burrowing down under it. The tree happened to fall right over where the phone line was buried. The rabbits encountered the cable in their burrow, so they chewed it in two. I guess they didn't see a need for a phone line in their house. I have an idea the process repeated itself this past week.
Although I don't like talking on the phone, it does make the isolation more acute when it goes out. My family and friends get worried, so I try to email most of them to let them know when the phone is out. One friend was about to call the Sheriff to have them come out and check on me last month when it was out for so long.
My phone used to dial 911 automatically, when it went out due to inclement weather. The dispatcher would try to call back, but with the phone out, they couldn't, so a deputy had to respond. They'd come flying out here usually on bad roads, to see if there was a problem. Then they would cause me to have a small heart attack when I looked out to see a deputy knocking on my door on a cold, dark night. I finally isolated the problem to a single phone jack in my house. Since I quit using that jack, there have been no more midnight rides to the Harvey Ranch.

Another Sturdy Story

Sturdy and I were riding over by Lost Springs one fall, helping Ted Pennington gather cattle in order to wean the calves. I was riding Gremlin. This was after he had quit trying to unload me every chance he got.
It was a great big, rough pasture with a lot of hills and draws, so we all spread out to scour the gulleys for critters. I was riding along at the top of a soft, steep bank when Gremlin began to side down it sideways. I was probably leaning toward the bank, trying to keep Gremlin from sliding, when my saddle turned sideways. I bailed out of it before it went under Gremlin's belly and he ran off down the draw bucking and kicking at the saddle that had, by now, gone up side down. He was headed back in the direction where we had last seen Sturdy.
I took off running down the draw after him, because I knew old Sturdy would have a heart attack if he saw a rider-less Gremlin coming over the hill. I had to keep stopping and picking up pieces of my tack and finally, the whole saddle came into view lying on the trail. He had kicked it off. I threw it up over my shoulder, grateful it was not my heavy roping saddle.
Sure enough, here came Sturdy whipping and spurring up over the hill. He had caught sight of Gremlin rider-less and saddle-less and immediately loped off in the direction the old black and white son-of-a-gun had come from in order to look for me. He sure was relieved to see me stomping down the trail.
Ted came over the hill on his four-wheeler, so I threw my saddle in the carrier and hopped on behind him. We followed the herd on into the house, but Gremlin wouldn't come along. He just stayed up in the pasture; in fact, he went to the far side of the pasture. He was trying to go home.
Another of Gremlin's bad habits is that he is almost impossible to catch outside of a corral. We stewed and worried about how we were going to catch him. I allowed that someone would probably have to run him down on another horse and rope him.
Sturdy said he bet if we just took my trailer up there with another horse in it and opened the gate, Gremlin would jump right in there. I almost bet him he wouldn't.
So we loaded up the best rope horse and the best roper of the bunch and went back to the far end of the pasture. Sure enough, I couldn't believe my eyes, but it happened just as Sturdy said. Old Sturdy was puffed up so big after that, he almost burst his buttons. He sure did like to tell that story. All's well that ends well.
I've been trying to find a picture of Sturdy to include, but my pictures are in a jumbled mess right now. Somebody close the gate.

Stompin Broncs with Sturdy

I sure do miss old Sturdy. He and I used to ride together and break colts together. He had a lot of knowledge about horses, although he did things the old-fashioned way. When they didn't behave in the ways he wanted them to, he took to them.
He would always train his saddle horses to jump up in the back of the pickup through the open tailgate and stock rack, flat footed off the ground. No backing up to bank for this old cowboy. He'd give them a few passes at it and if they balked, he'd get out his buggy whip. Pretty soon, they were down right glad to bail in the back of that truck, and would do it anywhere.
I was having trouble with Gremlin after the infamous elk-hunting incident I wrote about in an earlier blog. He had managed to buck me off twice in the space of an hour one day because I got dumb and put the wrong size hackamore on him. I had been working with another horse that had a larger head than Gremlin using the same hackamore. I had let it out for her, and then forgot to take it back up for him. The bosal went way down on the end of his nose, where it didn't cause him any discomfort, so he put his head down and bucked me off. Still not realizing the headstall was too large, I gathered him up and got right back on. He immediately bogged his head and tossed me off again. That time, I was mad when I got up and I went over and grabbed the reins of the hackamore and jerked on them to tell him how mad I was. When I did that, the bosal flipped up from under his jaw and I saw what was causing the problem. Well, by then he thought he was pretty hot stuff and when I went to get back on, after I'd shortened the headstall, he wouldn't let me. He just kept circling and trying to buck as I got on. Being the hardheaded person that I am, I did manage to get back on to ride him back to the barn and put him up.
I went down to the Pronghorn to nurse my wounds and try to figure out what to do. Sturdy was there, so I told him my troubles. He was already three sheets to the wind, and he said, "Well, bring him out. We'll show him, if he wants to buck, what happens."
I don't think Sturdy even remembered telling me to bring him out, but I took him up on it bright and early the next morning. Sturdy had a slightly younger man staying with him at the time, but he had gotten up and gone to work already. Sturdy was nursing some coffee when I got there. He invited me in. "I brought that horse," I said.
He stuttered a little and then said, "Well, John's not here. He had to go to work."
"I know," I said, "but you told me to bring him out and you'd straighten him out for me."
"Oh, well," Sturdy nodded, "we'll see about that."
So we went to the corral and I unloaded Gremlin. Sturdy had some four-way hobbles that he went to get. He put them on Gremlin, who proceeded to have a little fit about them. We let him go around in the hobbles for a while until he decided he could, then Sturdy gathered him up and motioned me to get on.
"Are you going to scrape me up out of this corral when he bucks me off?" I asked.
"Well, if you think he's gonna do that," Sturdy said boldly, "I'LL ride him." So he got on. Gremlin didn't like it much, but he didn't try to buck with Sturdy, who rode him around the corral a while with the hobbles on. When he was going around there pretty good, Sturdy had me very carefully take the hobbles off, then continued to trot and lope him around the corral. When he had a little sweat breaking, Sturdy got off and told me, "Now you get on."
I walked up to Gremlin and took the reins in one hand and the stirrup in the other, but when I went to put my foot in the stirrup, he gave a little mean squeal and struck out with a front foot. He was warning me not to get on him. Sturdy stepped up, yelled at Gremlin, and held him while I got on. I rode him around the corral just like Sturdy had, until he kind of settled down. Then I dismounted and mounted several times.
Sturdy was a storyteller. We used to call them Sturdy stories. Well, he sure liked to tell that story. He was so proud that he'd helped me tame my renegade, and I was too. But the story got bigger every time he told it. Pretty soon word got around that Gremlin was cow-kicking the stirrup right out of my hand when I went to get on, and Sturdy stepped in there and kicked him a good one right in the belly. Oh well, it was his story, I let him tell it however he wanted to. I was just glad to have his help to get a handle on my little renegade again.
All the guys up here kept telling me I'd better sell Gremlin--that he was going to hurt me. Well, he did hurt me a few times, but I'm still here and so is he, 24 years and counting.

My Old Friend, Sturdy

Sturdy was one of the first people I met when I moved to Lance Creek. His sister owned the local tavern, where I soon became a regular. He was probably nearly 75 years old at that time. He had lived most of his life in Niobrara County. A hard drinkin' old cowboy, he would put away about a fifth of whiskey a week. He was still raising and starting colts when he was 83 or so. He died when he was 85.
In the course of a normal day, Sturdy would load a horse up in his pickup stockrack, go help someone ride to gather or work cattle, wind up back at the Pronghorn Tavern by two or three in the afternoon, then drink until his sister, Esther, who owned the place, had to pour him out the door. They fought like siblings, or worse. Esther would mix Sturdy a drink, and he'd look at it disapprovingly, and say, "I thought you might put a little whiskey in that." She'd get mad and pour him a straight shot with only three tiny ice cubes, and that would make him happy.
Esther and her husband, Jim, fought like cats and dogs. A lot of people in the community only went to the bar to see what they were fighting about that day. One fine Saturday morning, Sturdy and his stepson came in all dressed up and wanted Esther to cash a check for them, because they were going to a horse sale. Esther took their check, and said, "Oh, kid," she called everyone kid, "Jim just went up to the pasture and if you just wait a few minutes he'll be back, and I know he'll want to go with you." She fetched their liquid refreshments they'd ordered, and then just figeted with their check in her hands. After about twenty minutes, Pat, Sturdy's stepson, said, "Esther, we're in a hell of a hurry, would you just cash the check, or we're going to be late for the horse sale." Esther acted like she hadn't heard him.
Presently, Jim came tottering in the back door, and Esther lit into him like ugly on an ape. "Alright you old s.o.b. These guys are going to the horse sale, and I suppose you're going with them and leave me here to pack this beer all by myself!" She was using some reverse psychology, I think.
Jim covered his head and ran for his stool, "No, no, I'm not going anywhere," he said as he began reading his newspaper.
So Esther reluctantly fetched some cash from the drawer, handed it to Pat, and he and Sturdy went on to the horse sale.

Twins Should Have Ponies

Growing up in a family of 14, counting parents, sure was fun. Challenging at times, to be sure, but fun. My twin brother and I had Shetland ponies from the time we were about age six, and we had more darn fun with those things.
I got the first one. My dad just knew I had to have a horse or I would die. He managed to get me my very own horse when I was young. Only thing was, he never managed to pay for her. The man she belonged to, Doug Lay, came and repossessed her after we had kept her about a year, and dad hadn't made a payment. Dad had good intentions, but raising 12 kids took every penny he could earn working as a ranch hand. We were so poor we couldn't pay attention.
As you can imagine, dad was nowhere in sight when the man came to get the pony. I caught her for him and handed him the lead rope. Between sobs, I told Mr. Lay that I had broken her to ride while she was there, and I hoped that was ok with him. He said it was quietly, and then backed his pickup up to a bank, from which Bell jumped into the stock rack and rode away, as I stood dying.
I don't remember how long I cried, but I tried to take it in stride, because I knew horses had to cost money, and I didn't have any. I think it was only about six weeks later, and Mr. Lay came driving back in our yard in that same old pickup with the stock rack and the same black and white pony in it. This time, he jumped her off and handed me the lead rope.
"I want you to know," he said, "this is your horse, and you have access to any horse in my herd." I was so excited. I just couldn't believe it. The man probably had 50 horses in his herd, but there was only one I cared about, and I was holding her. I guess he couldn't get the thought of my pitiful little face out of his mind. Anyway, during the six weeks Bell was back at his place, she had managed to find a boyfriend, because about a year later, she delivered a sweet little filly foal. I gave her to my twin brother, so we could each have a horse. Of course, it took another two years before he could ride his, but I shared with him while we waited.
Bell was half Shetland and half thoroughbred. She was mean and she could run. She loved to jump sideways just to see if she could unseat you. She never did know how to buck very hard, but she would crow-hop to show her disgust sometimes. In addition, she would bite. One day she reached out, quick as a flash, and bit a button right off the front of my shirt. Made quite a bruise on my chest, too. Good thing I was still flat chested!
Dale's pony never got as big as Bell, but she could keep up. In fact, she had most of her dam's bad habits. Dale named her Cherry, I guess because she was somewhat red.
We would always water the ponies on the way back to the barn, because if we didn't, then we'd have to carry water to them. They got in the habit of stopping at the creek to get a drink when we crossed it. Cherry's favorite trick became trying to run back to the barn, but suddenly turning and ducking her head in the creek. Sometimes Dale would go flying off into the creek if she did it too suddenly. I would laugh because it was funny, but that would make my brother furious. I learned to stifle that laugh, because if I didn't, he'd always find a way to pay me back. Like when giving me a leg up bareback, he'd give a bug push at the last, and I'd go tumbling over the other side.
I was trimming hooves on a five-year-old mare today and she was giving me a tussle, and I sure was wishing my twin brother was here to hold her for me--or, better yet, do the
trimming. She pulled back and broke three lead ropes, so I finally had to give her the belly-rope treatment. That's where you take a lariat rope and circle it around their bodies just behind their front legs, then run the rope up between the front legs, through the halter and tie it off just a little shorter than the lead rope. When they set back, the rope tightens around their girth. They don't do that too many times, although she did it about six times before she finally realized she was not going to escape again. Then the pedicure could proceed.
True to form, just as I finished that big project, my horse friend from Cheyenne came driving in the yard! I think he sat up on the hill and watched until I was done. Naw, he's a truck driver who had just gotten in from a long haul, and he was pretty bleary-eyed. If he'd have stopped very long, he'd have been asleep.