Beefy Things

We're getting to the beef processing time of year. Its when we select and weigh the beeves that are finished and ready for the next phase.

Cultural side note...apparently "beeve" is the accepted term for a grass finished steer or heifer here in the US, according to The Stockman Grass Farmer publication. (I'm happy about that because a dear friend and customer wanted to call them beeves before we realized it was ok.) In New Zealand we refered to this class of livestock as "cattle beasts" or "the beasties." We're getting better at calling them beeves, and it does have sort of an of-the-land ring to it.

Anyway, after weighing, the customer is invoiced and then about a week later the processing begins. Don't worry, I won't show photos of that, mainly because I get faint at the sight of blood and so any photos would be of the sky as I'm lying on the ground recovering.

Every year at calving I wonder how these personable little creatures...

 can possibly grow up to be somewhat personality-neutral, beef producing converters of sunlight and chlorophyll...

 But they do as they head into their second summer.  After those winter coats are shed, the muscle definition (read steaks, roasts and burgers) really shows up. The endearing calf curiosity that had them racing around in groups during the previous summer is replaced by the cycle of head-down-and-eat-then-chew-cud-then-stand up-and-begin-all-over-again.

These are cattle with a purpose for their lives. They aren't named or fawned over but we sure do admire their ability to provide. It's a privilege to work in tandem with the natural cycles of life. And when someone asks, to be able to say, "Beef, it's what's for dinner®."

Here's what happens on weighing day...

The cattle come into the yards where we have the scales set up.

Guess which of these tools I use when working with the beeves (hint: it doesn't have any white on it.)

Here's the weigh platform. It's very accurate. Personally, when testing scales by standing on them I prefer them to weigh light.

The read-out. Bless the person who perfected electronic, battery operated scales.

#18, weighing in at 1238 pounds.

Oops. Forgot to shut the gate.

Tis the Season for Riding

Winter and spring are when hiking with dogs rules. But summer is best spent with furry friends who have longer legs. And that you can hitch a ride on. And who sweat more than you.

Summer is for riding.

I am blessed indeed to have two fine riding animals. Peanut my paint pony mare and Danny my dashing dark mule. (Sorry, I couldn't resist all that alliteration.) Actually, I prefer it when Danny isn't dashing but is calm and sensible. Which is just about all the time. He's never dashed off with me on board and long may that continue. Peanut, well, Peanut is just about the perfect pony. My Christmas dream.

I'd sure like it if I could ride all the time, but that doesn't happen so each day of riding becomes a shining memory in the catalog of good times.

Here are some photos of our most recent adventures...

This is on a ride out from Sisters Cow Camp, a place that intrigues me when I think of its history. There's an old loading chute in the horse camp there, left from the days when cattle were allowed to graze in the mountains of Sisters Country. Nowadays, the ranch we manage has the permit for the only grazing allotment left in the Sisters Ranger District. Hazing cattle through this country must have been the highlight of the year.

And Peanut, my faithful cow pony would have been up to the job!

Today my friend Gayle and I went for a scenic ride up Green Ridge, that forested arm that reaches out to the north from Black Butte in the Metolius Basin.

It was like riding in a park, God's park. The sky was clear, the air calm and we could hear chickadees calling as they flitted through the trees. The Santiam Lillies were still bloomimg, butterflies did their butterfliey thing between our horse's ears and the trail just kept on going around the next bend. Until it was blocked by a really large tree that even the dashing Danny couldn't jump over.

Mountain views never get old!

Danny actually spent a lot of today with his head near the ground, snacking as we went.

It was like riding through a quiet country park. With no other people .

Three Fingered Jack

The perfect place to start a new life, complete with a mentor.

Danny managed to find grub no matter where we were.

We still covered 10 miles and got our engines revved for more!

Far From the Madding Crowd

I think I've used that title before, but it's apt for where we went today. We (finally) took our annual hike on the Crooked River Grassland.

Goddy and I usually do this in February or March, but time slipped by us this year. I did go up there with my dear friend Becky then, so it was a bonus for me to have two meanders in a still-fairly-wild place. Well, calling it wild might be a bit of a stretch. How about relatively undisturbed by crowds of people?

We've never seen more than one or two others out there and there's so much space its easy to lose sight of them pretty quickly. Not that we're anti-social...

...but the flowers are so much prettier surrounded by nothing but space

We parked the truck in a hunters camp, just off the main road that goes across the area. Then we set out in the general direction of Wychus Creek. I wanted to get to where we could see the creek. If you don't have some sort of a goal in mind when heading out, you just wander around. Which is good on some days, don't get me wrong. A mindful wander can be very invigorating.

As long as you can see a mountain you won't get lost.

It rained this week, so there were some bonus tiny tarns for the dogs to quench their thirst. They lapped up the opportunity like seasoned pioneer dogs (which they aren't but you wouldn't have known that today.)

We got to where we could hear the creek and see across the canyon but weren't too keen to navigate down to the water. This time of year, when Goddy is shearing most days, his legs protest at going down steep canyons and since we want to keep those pins happy we stayed up top.

As we wandered back toward the truck we both were thinking about why this grassland exerts such a pull on us. There are many more beautiful places to hike in and certainly less rocks to clamber over. But this was our space as we learned how to be Americans again.

When we worked at Long Hollow Ranch, which has the permits for the grazing allotments on the grassland, the cattle summered on the expanse. We rode around the perimeters of the pastures, checking fences and getting familiar with the lay of the land. We hauled water up to the cattle every day, and organized the drives to move them through the pastures and bring them back to the ranch at the end of the permitted time. Although our time at the ranch was short, the hours spent on the grassland helped us understand this western way of life we would be part of. We marveled at how different it was from the mild green hills we'd farmed in New Zealand.

Our first thoughts, when we realized we were going to live in central Oregon, were that we'd be among those tall ponderosa pines, like they have up in Camp Sherman. When we pulled into Long Hollow and saw the rocks and juniper there were a few moments of surprise at the starkness of the landscape. But getting familiar with it from the backs of our faithful dude string horses, and because of the cattle, brought about a change of heart that still sits deep within. There is a stillness out there, punctuated by the trill of a meadowlark and the ceaseless flow of the creek. Yes, the rocks are a drag, but how much more we appreciate the oases of sand that appear every now and again. It's not very green but there is beauty in brown and tan. There are remnants of stone walls built by pioneers made of much sterner stuff than we will ever be. Those walls are reminders that others too  started new lives with the grassland as a classroom.

The landscape out there is a reminder that soft and mild, while soothing, are not necessary for life to persist. Plus, all those rocks and the possibility of snakes keep the crowds away, which is really why we go there.

A Matter of Perspective

They say its (whatever "it" is) a matter of perspective. Some argue that that's relegating things to relativity, blah, blah. Life is black and white, right and wrong, good and evil. In constant turmoil.

On some levels this is very true. Lines are drawn in the universe that God has said, "Don't cross." I get that. And I'm pretty good at staying on my side.

On other levels, it is ALL about perspective. On a day like this, it doesn't matter if I'm looking at a cow

or a mountain,

it just looks better between the ears of my horse.

It's a matter of perspective.

Good Therapy

I went on a therapy hike today. Therapy because I'm feeling the loss of Ben. No, he didn't die but he isn't part of our family any more.

Ben 

 We (I) made the difficult choice to send him back to his previous owners in order for Max to stay with us. You know, when it comes down to it, family really does trump all other things. Max belonged to our son and his sweet family, and they relocated to Virginia. So Max is now a ranch dog. A job he does very well.

Rin-Tin Max

But, as a confirmed animal lover and one who bonds strongly with my animals, it was not an easy choice. I keep seeing Ben's intense amber eyes, focused on me as if they could see right into my heart. It was a sight that kept me in tears most of yesterday.

So today my dear friend Becky and I took our dogs, Sadie and Max, and my mom's poodle, Henry,
on a hike to Alder Springs.

Henry, ready for adventure. If only he knew what was in store for the day.

Becky and Sadie, true adventurers

It's way to heck and gone on the Crooked River National Grassland, along a bumpy road. So when we got to the trailhead and it said the springs were only a mile hike I was a bit disappointed. Seemed like we should get more bang for our buck for bouncing along that road.

Well, we did. We did a wee detour to the 'Old Bridge Site' and since I knew the area from a while ago, we went down to Wychus Creek to explore along it for a while.

"Let your roots go down deep into the soil of God's marvelous love." We can learn from this tree - there was no soil in sight but still it grows.

Alder Springs at last!

Nearly two miles later, after scrambling around large outcroppings, through brush and an area that got burned in a forest fire last fall, we arrived at Alder Springs. I can't say we took the scenic route, because there's nothing scenic about an area that's slowly regenerating from a hot fire, but we sure  filled the day with adventure.

 We got to the point where we weren't going to turn back because we knew the springs were 'just around the next bend.' We said that many times before we arrived at our destination.

There's a lot to be said for not taking the easy way, especially when you have a good friend and good dogs for company. It helps that you'll know when you've arrived.

And seeing the bluebird of happiness is validation for the journey.

Cha-cha-cha-changes...

One of our favorite sayings is that a change is as good as a holiday (or vacation, if you don't speak Anglo.) I know I haven't been posting very much, but that may change. May not, but that sentence went with the theme of this post.

What I have done is make some changes to my office. Not earth shattering but kind of a holiday for the mind. Maybe with the re-arrangement my creative flow will return and I'll feel like writing again. Even when I know on every level that 'feeling' like it shouldn't even enter the equation. But then, I never was very good at math.

This is what the space looked like before the makeover. I actually got the idea to change things from watching the t.v. at the gym - a dual purpose workout!

 So here's the new look. Hope you'll come visit and we can holiday together!

It's in the little things

I know that the best part of Christmas is sharing it with the people and pets I love the most. But it seems that I don't get that Christmas groove until I've spent some time alone with my thoughts and favorite Christmas music.

Today was the day. Goddy headed off into the sunshine for a round of golf and I had a list of to-dos to get the house and cookie jar ready for a wonderful heap of people.

I don't do a lot of lavish decorating, even though I love looking at other people's efforts. For me there are a few special pieces, usually embellished with some tartan ribbon, that change our home from everyday  to Christmas eclectic.

Go All Blacks!

A few days ago I was getting a bit concerned that I didn't feel the Christmas spirit. You know, that warm fuzzy feeling that goes along with a secret belief in Santa and a grateful heart. I believe that we celebrate our Savior's birth in this season. I also believe that the other aspects of the holiday season have their place. Well, except for Black Friday. That could go away, along with Wal-Mart but I digress.

By the end of today there will be a batch of shortbread cooling on the racks, the sideboard is festive in silver and red, my office is ready for a guest and the menus will be planned. It is not the end of the day as I'm writing this so I'm doing that self-help trick of if-you-say-it-it-will-happen.

In the meantime, I'm going to have a cup of tea, enjoy a sneaky read of my sappy Christmas novel and marvel that it's mid-afternoon on a December day and both doors of the house are open to the fresh air and sunshine.

May you too get your fill of Christmas in all the ways that mean the most.