A Trip to the Fishing Hole

 

"Your chariot awaits."

Cinderella may have had a pumpkin-shaped coach and a fancy new dress for her outing. I get a loud John Deere Gator and old blue jeans on the way to a fishing hole.

Rain in June finally had the water in the Ninnescah River pasture flowing. This old Cinderella and her Prince much prefer nature's paintings over a fancy crowded ballroom anyway.

We didn't catch a thing - other than a feast for the eyes.

The rain had refreshed the pasture landscape to a verdant green.

Many years ago, hunters created a dam at the Ninnescah, and the spillway always fascinates me. I duck-walked on the rounded pipe that forms a bridge, holding on to the railing. Rushing water gave a feeling of vertigo, but I snapped a few photos before carefully making my way back. No old ladies were harmed in the snapping of this photo.

However, I preferred being back on solid ground where I could enjoy the sights and sounds without fear of falling in!

I did put a line in for awhile.

Patience is not my virtue. I ended up wandering around taking photos instead, leaving Randy to keep trying his luck. 

He had some nibbles, but no catfish dinner for us that day!

I did have some success in the beauty department, though.

These may be pretty yellow flowers, but I don't like the "stickers" attached.

These itty-bitty blue flowers - erect day flowers - are some of my pasture favorites. 

Even Randy was ready to pack up the fishing gear after awhile. But we still enjoyed a Gator ride through the pasture.

It was the very definition of "pastoral."

Even though we aren't the "official" cattle checking crew, we still had to drive through them. 

 It appeared they were enjoying their summer vacation spot.

 Cattle are curious creatures.

We made our usual stop at the bridge, too. It was nice to see some water flowing.

That was a Saturday morning well spent! I came home and made something other than fish for lunch. And that was OK, too.

The Ninnescah

  

We live in the shadow of many people who came before us. Our families both settled in Kansas in the late 1860s, not long after the 34th state joined the Union. Our great-grandparents, our grandparents and our parents all made a way that we continue to follow. I suppose I could say they "paved" a way, but in our part of the world, our everyday roads are more commonly dirt. 

But the shadow extends far beyond blood ties. Through the years, other families have given us the opportunity and privilege to care for their cropland and pastureland. Early in November, we were at one of those special places - the Ninnescah pasture owned by the Johnson family. Randy and his dad began renting the pasture in 1977, right after Randy's junior year in college. (Our house was originally owned by the Johnsons, too. We moved into it when I was eight months pregnant with Jill and bought it several years later. We are still grateful for that, too!)

This November was our final round-up there as active farmers/ranchers. We will retain ownership of our mama cows, but we've worked out an agreement with, Tye, a young neighbor who is farming with his parents. We will continue to provide our cows and the pasture, but he'll do the work of caring for the cows and then calving them out for a share of the calf crop. (As I wrote about the Big Pasture round-up, I won't be surprised if Randy ends up helping with future round-ups, if asked. Old habits die hard.)

The Ninnescah Pasture is a beautiful place ...

 

2019

... winter ...

May 2019

  ... spring ...

Ninnescah Pasture - June 22, 2020

  ... summer ...

... or fall.

Don't tell the boss, but it has never seemed like work to ride a 4-wheeler in a pretty setting. Well ... I take that back. A couple of summers ago, it was definitely work as we struggled to keep about five pairs in the pasture. We took way more 4-wheeler rides that summer than we wanted, and it was most decidedly not fun.

The Ninnescah River runs through the property. It's ideal for cattle.

Well, it's ideal unless they are playing hide-and-seek among the trees clear across the pasture when you're trying to get them to leave their summer vacation spot for a trip back to the farmstead.

On that November Saturday morning as we moved cattle, it was also a sanctuary for bird hunters (though we probably disturbed the peaceful vibe).

Eventually, we got the bulls, the cows and their calves moved into the corral. 

I could go on and on about the beauty of the pasture. And as we are facing the end of an era, there's that temptation. 

But there is a rest of the story. One of our trailers had a problem when the shackles broke. (... Whatever shackles are! I was driving at the time, but Randy says it wasn't my fault - whew!) So we ended up making a lot more trips, using just one of our trailers, along with Tye's trailer. We won't miss having to deal with the breakdowns and the myriad of other challenges that are the day-to-day minutia behind a successful operation. (The same day, we got a call from an oil field driver who happened to see one of our bred cows drop dead at a different pasture. It was a young cow in its prime, so we think it may have choked on a hedge apple, but we don't really know. I will edit myself and not share a photo of that.)

Instead, we'll look forward to summertime fishing trips to the Ninnescah, rather than chasing a few ornery escapees. 

Heifers and Helpers

  

I may not be as cute as this little helper at the Pratt sale barn. But I like to think I was just as indispensable. 

I am under no delusion that I was the most vital helper during the County Line's latest cattle work. That honor went to our veterinarian, Dr. Bruce.

He was at the farm Monday to preg-check 25 heifers - our first-time mothers. Many times, he has done  the examinations manually. But this time, he brought along a helpful machine. It's like a sonogram machine for cattle.

I seem to have mostly gotten Bruce's reflection in the photo below, but maybe you can also see an image, too. It's a little hard to see what you're photographing when you're taking the shot over someone's shoulder in bright sunlight. (Thanks for your patience, Dr. Bruce!)

 Most of the first-time moms were 2 1/2 to 3 1/2 months pregnant. 

I was the secretary for the ladies' doctor's appointments and also helped move them up the lane. Dr. Bruce inserts a wand to get the image and determine the approximate gestation, based on the size of the baby.

When I saw 001 come through the chute, I had to take a close-up. I knew I'd be able to find a baby photo of her. She would have been one of the first babies born in 2020, and she would have been born to a heifer, too.

August 2, 2021

January 25, 2020

No. 001 was pregnant, but three of her pasture mates were not. Those three - and an Angus bull - made a trailer trip to the Pratt sale barn. 

To make the sorting job easier, Randy always marks the  "open" cows with "O" on their sides and puts a chalk streak down the front of their faces. 

 

We sorted them off from the rest, and they had a chauffeured ride to Pratt, where they'll be sold on Thursday.

As one was walking away at the sale barn, I realized the Hereford-looking one was my 2020 Valentine's calf. I always thought she was so pretty, and I also noticed her as we fed silage this past winter. But, just like a sports team, you have to make tough cuts to the roster. And not being pregnant is a big deal for cattlemen.

Notice the "heart" shape on her chest: She made an appearance on the blog in February 2020.

 The rest of "girls" were transported to a different pasture, where they will graze as "ladies in waiting" until this coming winter when they will deliver the Class of 2022.