I was thinking that I should post another old postcard. I haven’t had much news, and I have half a hundred cards that should be shared. Something caught my eye out the window while I was preparing a sauce for spareribs.
May 2010 be an excellent year for health, happiness, harvests and lots of rides.
Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it. Do not believe in anything simply because it is spoken and rumored by many. Do not believe in anything simply because it is found written in your religious books. Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders. Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations. But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it.
This morning I had breakfast in Red Lodge at the Cafe Regis and said goodbye to my newfound friends, Elizabeth and Steve.
We met the other afternoon. I was in the laundromat washing a down comforter. They were obviously traveling, so I asked if they were staying in town or hitting the road. It’s a curse, being shy. Elizabeth immediately picked up on the vestiges of my accent. We soon discovered that we had been as close to being neighbors in New York as it gets.
There was so much to talk about that we decided to meet for supper later. We enjoyed a great dinner and company that night at the Carbon County Steakhouse.
Incredibly, we kept finding more things in common. Steve’s parents had owned a grocery in Queens. My father and grandparents owned a grocery in Brooklyn.
Elizabeth mentioned Wurtsboro. I asked about the gliders. Aside from being world travelers, they’re both pilots!
This morning they told me about a trip that they took yesterday through Elk Basin, to Powell and on to Cody.
They unknowingly drove right past the farm and out to where our cattle ran.
I have been busier than usual - not bad for someone who doesn’t have a job. I’ve been getting lots of things done. I’m just not sure that they’re the things that I should be doing. Oh well, busy is good, right? I have been feeling better, too. I’m on a new RA medication, and so far, so good.
I’m not the only one in Carbon County who has given up on spring. The heck with it. I’m ready for summer.
March is a hard month for me. This year was exceptional. With the RA medications wreaking havoc, my team of doctors began seeking alternatives - and took me off the meds.
There’s nothing like a weakened immune system when everyone around is coughing or getting over some bug. I guess that it was simply my turn. Miserable March and I’m sick with the latest cold/cough/congestion/crud. I started a course of antibiotics. You’re allowed to do that as long as you’re not taking your RA meds. It never seemed to kick in, so I began another antibiotic.
Hmmmm. . . yesterday morning I was feeling different. Not better, but definitely different. I emailed my nurse with my symptoms. When she didn’t get back to me, I decided to try to give her a call. I got right through and started to explain.
Two minutes later I was grabbing things and packing the dogs in the car. I walked in the clinic and told the receptionist what the nurse had said. I was rushed into an examining room. I told them the way I had been feeling and gave the doctor the antibiotic bottle. He looked at me strangely and asked, “What antibiotic are you on?”. “Whatever that is - something like penicillin.” He handed the bottle back to me and I started laughing. “Okay, that’s Lucky’s prescription for DES, and no, I didn’t take the DES.” “I have been tempted to take Ty’s deramaxx, but so far I’m not needing anything for incontinence.” I’m glad that no matter what is happening I continue to amuse those around me.
The nurse gave me benadryl. I have some prescription strength allergy medication, and I’m not taking any more antibiotics. Believe me, you don’t want to have an allergic reaction to an antibiotic. Now I’m waiting for this cold - or whatever it is to run its course.
And yes, it’s snowing again.
It’s not very green here, but we wish you a great day. Spring is not very far away.
Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers—
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours—
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through!
One day last week I looked back at the chain on the bale spinner as I fed. I thought, “Allan used to break that a couple of times a year.” Apparently, I called on the Law of Attraction. Yes, all I did was think about it two days earlier. Two little spins and the roller chain was split.
I dropped the bale in the pasture and headed for the shop. Rudy was at the gate, so I showed him my broken chain. Thank goodness for Rudy. It was cold and windy, and we were working without gloves. Neither of us have hands that work well. I didn’t have reading glasses with me. I can’t see anything close without magnifying glasses. Rudy’s vision isn’t any better than mine. We worked together, not like “the blind leading the blind”. Neither fell in a pit. Rudy removed the broken link ends and explained how to put the new one on. We managed to loosen the box that the sprocket was on and get the chain on. The fun had just begun.
It took tears (not really), teamwork, thanks and time, but I got the new pin link in. I’m sure that we used tools never intended for the job. The connecting link plate went on easily. The spring clip was another story. Tears were called for, but I didn’t cry. I did swear once. We were working by feel without working fingers with a wicked west wind. Wow - what an alliteration! When I did get the clip on, I was shocked. Rudy tightened everything up and got the grease gun. He found a zerk that was plugged and removed it. I stuck it in the vise, grabbed a hammer, found a nail and unplugged it. We get creative, and we get it done.
I returned to the pasture, picked up the hay bale and spread it. Then I let the cows out. You’d think that they were starving.
Later that day I had my Remicade infusion. We’re all in need of repair. Even Mister Ty is wearing the lampshade on his head again.
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.
Mrs. 49 finally got around to having her son. Last year she was first. This year she’s second to last. Well, maybe third or fourth to last. I have a couple of tail enders. Mrs. 49 likes to stay by herself with her calf the first few days. Last year she was out in the field for several days. I know that she had to be going to water, but I never did observe it.
I was surprised to see her in the feedlot the other morning. I locked her in and went out to eartag her calf. I found him resting above the creek. He was not asleep, but watching me. I started to straddle him, and he threw me off, bellowing. I’m not sure who was more startled. I followed him, tagger in hand, laughing.
He turned around, roaring - and started head butting me. There was no way I could hold him, and I was getting my butt kicked. Or at least I was getting my legs butted. He was getting madder and I was laughing harder. He gave up, ran away, and started flinging himself into the fence. I tried to get him away from the barbed wire, but he was too wild. I walked back to the pickup and watched as he headed north, still slamming against the fence. When he reached the open gate he was still bellowing. He didn’t need open gates, he went through the next gate, continuing north. Then he headed west across the new plank bridge. That floored me. I’ve spent plenty of time trying to convince cattle over bridges. Some will never cross, preferring to swim. They at least like to give you a hard time about it. This calf wasn’t twenty hours old and he’s heading to Red Lodge on his own.
I went and let Mrs. 49 out. Her calf was no longer on my place. I thought that if she’d look for him, after much bellowing - there should be a reunion. I drove over to my father-in-law’s, and turned Rocky around. He was still making all kinds of noises. His mother was beyond the fence, across the pasture, on the opposite side of the creek loudly searching for him. I was behind him, making my best baby calf noises and calling for bossy. She completely ignored us, even though she could see and hear us. Her calf was not where she left it, and that’s all she knew.
The calf was on a mission - he had to get away from me. He went east through the fence into the pasture. I ran back to my pickup, watching as he ran the fenceline. I had my fingers crossed that he wouldn’t go out on the lane. I drove into the pasture behind him. He spotted my pickup and scrambled over the ditch. I got out and tried to head him northeast to mom on the opposite side of the creek. He turned around and stared at me, a long string of blood hanging from his mouth. Then he ran straight at me. I ran straight at him yelling. He decided to turn tail. Thank goodness. I would have hated to have to explain all this to the 911 dispatcher.
