Karbon Kounty Moos

Times change. Things change. Life happens. Hopefully, we grow.

I am very much alive. I have not been here - on the blog. But I have been here, in Carbon County, Montana with Ty, Lucky, Sugar, Rocky and Tuffy. I haven’t taken the time to post. I haven’t found the time to sit here at the keyboard. I rarely keep up with my telephone correspondence. Ask my friends. Before I married Allan I worked at a desk, with a telephone and a computer. That company did not have internet service then. We took orders over the phone and by mail order. Ahhh, but they were still making their product in the US at that time, too. Sometimes I wish that I had the luxury of constantly being on-line. Then I come back to reality.

I still field the question at least once a week, “You don’t work outside the home?”

Come on in, you’ll see what I get done inside the home. Not much.

This grey morning was spent irrigating pasture. I hid Sugar’s frisbee so I could get some water set. She’s the only one I spoke with this morning. Sugar doesn’t answer me, really. I called her off the road a time or two. She listened. I implored her to quit eating cow pies. Sugar paid me no mind. I always say that it was a good thing I didn’t have children. I can’t even get the dogs to listen to me.

I have had time to think. We always do. What we do with all that thinking is what matters. Way back when - in August of 2004 - I started writing here. I was introduced to blogging shortly before that. Ed Kemmick’s blog, City Lights was the lively place I first encountered. Ed recently called it quits - at least for a while. Hopefully, it won’t be too long a while. I miss that place already. I began writing about day to day happenings here on the farm, or “in the neighborhood.” I’d post photographs, all scanned then. Some were mine, and some were old postcards that I’d collected. After I started taking digital photos, I began posting them to flickr, which quickly became a new addiction. Flickr can be a very real community. I should say communities. Karbon Kounty Moos and Flickr accurately depict much of my life. At least the parts that I chose to share.

I think that everyone who has blogged, or blog commented - and those who post to flickr have had these moments. You are in the middle of something, exciting or mundane - and you think, “I have to blog about this”. Or - “I have to shoot this and post it on flickr”. Remember “Kodak moments?” These are more intense. I never considered myself a journalist, I’m just a person who likes to read and write. And share. I never take myself serious. I was chided on flickr for my “snapshots”. I’m someone who enjoys taking photos, no delusions of grandeur here. I have been accused of being naive and uninterested about politics. Not true. I am very interested in politics. I also collect condom tins, and I know that this is the first time anyone has read that here. There are more than enough political bloggers out there. I am not interested in becoming yet another one. I don’t think there are any condom tin collector bloggers. I mean, other than me.

I have met some wonderful people through blogging and flickr. You know who you are. I met some crazies, too. You know who you are. I would not have met all these people without sitting at the keyboard. I am very thankful for that. I treated my blog visitors as if they were sitting in my kitchen. Some of them actually did. I discovered friends in the most incredible places. All because of my lousy hunt and peck skills. I like to talk, but I do know how to listen. I have a tendency to interrupt that I’ve been trying to break for forty something years. There is no 12 step program for it. I simply ask my friends to point it out to me, and if all else fails, tell me to “shut up.”

My blog readers have been great. You have seen me through the last four years of my life. And what a ride it’s been.

Postcards, fairy tales, and hangovers. Millionaire farmers, harvests and cemeteries. Recipes, bucket calves, and too many dog stories. Radio shows, memes and missing links. Ciphers, my hejira, and my mother’s death. Job descriptions, parts runs and strange encounters. Halfhearted HNT attempts, the Sugar Dog and Rascal Fairs. Gated pipe lessons, sugarbeets and corn. Beer drinking in parking lots, barley and Pioneer Days. Mosaics, bumper crops of eggplant and missing waffle irons. Getting kicked by cows. Allan getting sick. Allan finally diagnosed properly. Being reminded that there are people who take pleasure in other’s misfortunes. Trying not to turn this into a medical blog. Modems, calving and hospice. Losing Allan. Photographs and memories. My wonderings about black clouds and helicopters. Learning to irrigate and run the loader. Fences, rattlesnakes and raccoons. Flowers, cattle, and friends. Songs, silliness, and tractors. Feeder trucks, the romance of ranching, and switching to WordPress. On the radio - but on the cutting room floor, since I was not talking about politics - as usual. Trying my best to maintain these little places. Karbon Kounty Moos and my farm, by myself. It takes a lot of energy and a lot of time. I continued to post photos, work my butt off and laugh at myself.

Everyone gets fed here before me. Too much coffee in the morning isn’t a good idea when you’re wearing coveralls and out in the open. Once I know that everyone else is okay, then I can take care of my needs. Which involves copious amounts of coffee. I learned to do many things by myself these last two years. I have always believed that there’s always more to learn, so that’s been fine with me. I’ve learned a lot about myself and other people. Brucellosis has taught me more. I am tired of repeating myself. I have written (and linked) extensively on my experience, it’s all here. Click on brucellosis at the bottom of this post - you can find all my postings.

Last night when I heard one of the “B” words (the other one is “beets”) on TV, I knew what I had to do. It was time. I haven’t posted since April. Mostly light hearted posts with photos. Yes, I write about my bad luck. It’s excellent blog fodder. Much of it is unbelievable. Especially since it’s happening to me. Why has it been so quiet here? Because it hasn’t been. I may write about my misfortunes, but I don’t think that I am the “whining government farmer” that I’ve been accused of. I really don’t think that’s ever going to happen.

I sold last year’s calves a little earlier this spring than usual. It was probably a good decision. The market was so-so, but I was exhausted and tired of feeding at the lot and in the pasture. Once I did that I could devote myself to the cows and the new babies. Calving went pretty well. My shoulders, back and arms were killing me, but I kept pushing. There was sugarbeet drama, equipment to sell and property to buy. There were friends who needed me, and friends that I needed. There are people who enjoy being thorns in one’s side. I ended up with three bucket calves and hands that wouldn’t work. I was being beat up by baby bovines and my feet hurt so bad I considered the emergency room.

Yes, I had found the time to diagnose on-line. RA. Yes, I have seen a doctor and a rheumatologist. I have not seen a black helicopter in a while, though.

The last few weeks have been hectic. Everything that needs to get done is getting done. Maybe not as quick as it should, but it is getting done. I found happy homes for the bucket calves. My cows are doing well. I even kept some heifers back. I am on medication and keeping my fingers crossed.

What do I know? I know what I’ve read. I know what I’ve heard. But simply because you read or hear something does not make it so.

A bear passed through here last week. I didn’t see it, or hear it, but I know that it was here. No family of raccoons could have made that big a mess. The Raccoon Family Robinson did make a mess before that and has almost every day since, though. I haven’t fixed my (wince) traps.

I know that we had a wolverine here a few years ago for over a month. Research that. Wolverines do not live here, everyone knows that. This is not a pine forest. Well, I was not the only one who saw our wolverine several times in broad daylight.

I know who I am. I know who I’ve been. I know that they are the same person, even through the changes.

Times change. Things change. Life happens. Hopefully, we grow.

I know what I like. I know what I don’t like. I know better than to try to change people or their minds. I have changed. I have often changed my own mind. It is always something that I chose to do. I know who I love. I know that I am loved. I know that my life is good.

Times change. Things change. Life happens. Hopefully we continue to grow.

My grandmother with my father.
Someone cropped out my grandfather to show the car.

My mother with me.

Click on photos to view LARGE.

A year ago today, I got in the car and headed east.
A year ago today, my mother passed away.
The last year held hurts and disappointment; health and illness;
joy and smiles.
A lifetime of memories in twelve short months.

Yesterday, the Sugar Beet Baron, the dogs and myself camped out in the bedroom. We had some new flooring installed, and we left the crew to their own devices. It looks wonderful. Now everything is covered with a fine coat of dust. If you’ve been here - you know that it usually is dust covered - but there’s never been anything fine about it before. I’m also still searching for things. . .

When you look into my eyes
And you see the crazy gypsy in my soul
It always comes as a surprise
When I feel my withered roots begin to grow
Well I never had a place that I could call my very own
That’s all right, my love, ’cause you’re my home

When you touch my weary head
And you tell me everything will be all right
You say, “Use my body for your bed
And my love will keep you warm throughout the night”
Well I’ll never be a stranger and I’ll never be alone
Whenever we’re together, that’s my home

Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike
Indiana’s early morning dew
High up in the hills of California
Home is just another word for you

Well I never had a place that I could call my very own
That’s all right, my love, ’cause you’re my home

If I travel all my life
And I never get to stop and settle down
Long as I have you by my side
There’s a roof above and good walls all around
You’re my castle, you’re my cabin and my instant pleasure dome
I need you in my house ’cause you’re my home.
You’re my home.

You’re my home.

(Hat tip to Billy Joel for the lyrics.)

The Sugar Beet Baron and I are happy to be home. The pack is thrilled to have us here, too. We’re hoping to be here for a long, long time.

Those who truly care about my husband.

Those who have gone out of their way to help.

Those who’ve sent sincere cards, wishes, thoughts and prayers.

The family that has always been there for us.

The friends - old & new.

Those who have stayed connected and tried to make things easier.

The nurses, doctors and all the health care workers.

The dentist, who has managed to fit me in on a second’s notice.

The crew at Archie Cochrane Ford who made me cry - in a good way.

Thank you all.

For better or worse

We proved the doubters wrong, didn’t we? Those who “just knew” that it would never last. How could it? The Montana born Lutheran farm boy and the recovering Catholic/Buddhist/Humanist Brooklyn born girl. Worlds apart, yet with worlds in common. Far from youngsters when we met and married, we were two old dogs - who learned quite a few new tricks from each other. We found our way together through too much adversity.

For richer or poorer

Financially, we stayed on the poorer side. But we are so much richer. Simply by sticking together and making things work.

In sickness and in health

Together, we knew the joy of my first pregnancy - at the advanced old age of thirty eight. Together, we suffered its loss. Happy a year later when we somehow managed to beat the odds. Devastated when we lost again. This formerly healthy woman then had half a dozen ailments, followed by the same number of surgeries. You stood by me - giving me the most important reason to recover. I did. And now I sit at your side. Hoping for time. Precious time with the friend and the love of my life.

Since Thanksgiving the roads have been bad. But we’d been here, dealing with the regular day to day things - and our own dramas.

Yesterday we went to Billings. My husband was scheduled for another test. He was driving when we went off the icy road before we’d gotten ten miles from home. He managed to get the pickup out. A big THANK YOU to the couple who stopped and kept an eye on the traffic as we manuevered back on the road. We were fortunate that it happened where it did. A quarter of a mile away in either direction would have been another story. We went back home and traded vehicles. We took the farm pickup.

We still arrived in time for the appointment. But to say we were anxious would be an understatement. We locked the pickup and went in the hospital. Six hours later, I went out to bring the pickup around. There I found that the keys no longer open the doors. Either door, either key. I don’t think that the pickup had ever been locked before. We stood in the cold parking lot, weighing our options. The tools buried beneath the orange twine did not include a screwdriver. But all were readily accessible and worth more than the pickup. What a brilliant idea of mine, to lock the doors.

I called a friend who arrived with some smaller tools. THANK YOU, Don. The Baron forced the vent window and opened the door. Then he insisted on driving. The roads were clear, and we made it home - safe and sound.

Things that I have to be thankful for:

A wonderful husband.
A roof over my head that no longer leaks.
Plenty of food.
Very good friends.
My family.
The folks that I’ve met because of this little place.
The animals that share our lives.

Happy Thanksgiving.

May you all appreciate things to be thankful for today, and everyday.