Karbon Kounty Moos

It was a last minute decision. Let’s go somewhere. Let’s do something. I have half a hundred things that I should be doing, but. . . they will still be there later. No one else is going to do them. N suggested a ride. Good idea - as long as we didn’t head to Red Lodge or the Beartooth Pass. Not on Sunday, at the beginning of the tourist season. The thought of driving behind motor homes up the switchbacks, and then on to Cooke City wasn’t appealing. We headed out on the gravel. Not far from home we found these cows in search of shade.

I drove through Elk Basin and cut across to Frannie, Wyoming. A bit further south we stopped for something to eat. Bad move. We walked in the cafe and looked at the salad bar. Hmmmmm. The mushrooms were rotting. I don’t like mold with my fungus. The lone waitress directed us to a booth. It smelled like bleach. The table was wet. So was the seat. The waitress moved us to a dry booth, and tossed the menus on the table. I said, “I hope that the kitchen is cleaner than the menus”, as the waitress brought N’s coffee to the table. N opened a half and half container and poured it in her cup. It curdled. We walked out.

Crossing back to the car, I suggested knocking on someone’s door and begging for a meal. A few people were coming out of the LDS Church. We asked a woman if she had any ideas on a place in Lovell to eat. Lovell has never been known for its fine dining. The lady told us where not to eat. I continued south. We stopped at Minchow’s Food Court. The teens working there were very entertaining.

I was still eating my ice cream cone when I noticed the Buelingos from the previous post. The next stop was one of the overlooks in the Bighorn Canyon. There are incredible views from every direction. I was amazed by the speed (and the sound) of the swallows that buzzed over my head.

Wait until I tell you about the horses.

This was just sent to me from Kristi Pettis, Associate Ag Director at Northern Broadcasting.

A little more wait and see.

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.

Here we go again. . .

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.

They may not be the traditional warm and fuzzy Easter babies, but they are a couple of the spring calvies here.

They are supposed to start calving on March 1st. They’re jumping the gun here.

This cow had a calf when I went out at six. She was licking it, and I left them alone. Except for the two dozen other cows in the pen. At seven she was taking care of two calves. I kicked everyone else out of the pen at that point. She is being a good mama, has accepted both calves, and they know what to do. I will keep them separate for a while.

Another cow calved, the clutch went out on my orange pickup, and one of my father-in-law’s heifers at the feedlot had a calf, too. I penned them separately, and they’re doing well. Sometimes, some things work.

Actually, they were watching me. This photo was taken last month while I was breaking a trail for them to cross the creek. The drifts were huge and rock hard.

It was fifty degrees Fahrenheit here today. There’s still ice and snow, plus some mud now.

The girls should start calving the first week in March. I’m playing catch up. My taxes are also due on the first. I’ve yet to figure out my aversion to getting that done. I can’t blame it all on my computer woes. There are a few other disasters brewing, but I’ve grown accustomed to that.

Pronunciation:
\ri-mis\
Function:
adjective
Etymology:
Middle English, from Anglo-French remis, Latin remissus, from past participle of remittere to send back, relax
Date:
15th century

1 : negligent in the performance of work or duty : careless

2 : showing neglect or inattention : lax
synonyms see negligent

— re-miss-ly adverb
— re-miss-ness noun

I don’t think it’s neglect, inattention - perhaps. I have been busy, so this little blog of mine doesn’t shine. Honestly, everything internet and computer related has suffered. My iMac died after six months. It wasn’t sick, didn’t have an accident, it simply crashed. Can anyone explain that? Why does Apple only have a 90 day warranty? Inquiring minds want to know. I was not overworking it. I am using my old Dell now. I use the internet when my modem works. Which is about half the time lately. Forget about printing. Oh Brother, it works as a copier, but I was using it with the mac and can’t find the installation cd. What made me cry about this? Six months of photos gone with the wind. I know, I didn’t put them anywhere except iPhoto. Yes, some of them made it to flickr, but you know how many photos I take. Too many.

January was hectic. Sugar and I traveled to Casper. I used cruise control, so we met no law enforcement officers. The toaster behaved very well. I would have liked to have visited Casper, but my time was limited. I saw my room, a takeout window, a gas station and the hotel that the meeting was at. It was business, no pleasure whatsoever. I probably wasted my time and breath.

My home is known as ” the place where vacuums come to die.” This has something to do with three dogs, one cat, a lot of dirt, and a woman who does not enjoy cleaning. I used to call it bad vacuum karma - but it goes beyond vacuums. My two year old washing machine was out of commission for a couple of weeks. I even went to the laundromat. Finally, the plumber had some time. Right after that, the thirteen year old dryer quit. I don’t find clothes frozen solid on the line amusing. Then I decided to give a water softener a try. The water is incredibly hard here, which creates unique problems. When the tech came out to put the softener in, he found that needed some plumbing installed before he could. Another job for the elusive plumber. That was done and the water softener was installed. The next morning my basement was under water. That’s the fourth time since June. At least this was soft clean water, not mud or the usual irrigation ditch water. Another tech came out and helped cleaned up the basement.

The following morning I went into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. I had heard the airplane. Coffee makers are traditionally short-lived here. They die messy deaths. I took one look at the counter, and made myself a cup of tea. It was too early for bourbon.

I replaced the solar fencer last winter. It was ancient. No matter how new the battery was, it had seen enough sun. It was at the company for weeks before they determined it was time to let it go. I paid dearly for the young one, and it worked well. Until I hooked it up this year. Dead as the proverbial doornail, they just don’t make them like they used to. I put the electric fencer out with an extension cord. I knew that it was working, once I got it grounded properly. The brand new fence tester I bought wasn’t working, so I used the time-tested-testing method. Snap! Then the power went out. When did this happen? The day after the Cuisinart cratered. I lit some candles, found a flashlight, opened a bottle of beer and feasted on crackers and canned cheese. Didn’t want to keep opening the refrigerator.

Even though this has become “the post that Word Press and my browser kept chewing up” and it took me two days to complete -

Life is good.

The Sunday before Christmas, a friend and I went to Cody. As soon as I crossed the state line, I said to Nada, “I have to remember that I’m in the Cowboy State.” We were talking, and I wasn’t paying attention to the speedometer. Not long after, I saw the cruiser lights behind me. I pulled over, fumbling for my license, registration and insurance card. Actually, I couldn’t get my license out of my wallet, it was in there so tight. The police officer was very young and very serious. He asked, “Do you know why I stopped you?” I said, “How fast was I going?” Apparently 47 in a 35 is not a good thing. The officer went back to his car with my papers. I had never been pulled over before. Oh, I’ve been a passenger in vehicles that were pulled over more times that I care to admit, but I was never stopped while driving. I was wishing that I hadn’t recently viewed Super Troopers. The thought of the movie was making me laugh. When he came back to my car, he wished me a Merry Christmas and asked me to slow down. I apologized again for not paying attention, thanked him and also wished him Merry Christmas.

Not long after, Sugar and I traveled to Billings. I was just getting up to speed out of Bridger, singing along with the radio. I noticed a Carbon County sheriff vehicle make a u-turn. I was being pulled over. Once again, I got my papers together as the law enforcement vehicle sat behind me with lights blazing. Deja vu. The serious young deputy asked, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” I asked, “How fast was I going?” He replied, “You were going eighty, and the speed limit is seventy.” I said, “Oh. I’m sorry, I was singing with the radio, I was not paying attention to my speed, and I was only keeping up with the rest of the traffic.” He shook his head and took my documents. He sat in his vehicle behind me for what seemed like a long time. When he came back he handed me a written warning and told me sternly, “Slow down!”.

So, if you are passed by a toaster in Montana, I swear that it isn’t me. I have been re-introduced to my cruise control.