The Exodus

There have been some rowdy protests going on around the globe as the pandemic continues.

We had some protests at The County Line last week, too, but they have nothing to do with the coronavirus. These mamas were a bit upset that they were separated from their babies. They didn't know that it was for their babies' own good.

We sorted them from each other so we could haul them separately to summer pastures. It's better for the babies if we put them in one trailer and haul the much bigger cows separately. We don't want the babies trampled in the trailers as we traverse down the roads from the farmstead to the pastures.

So despite the loud protests, it's really for their own good. Hmmm ... perhaps there's a message there, too. (And that's as political as I'll get here.)

The babies are much less concerned about the separation. Their bellies are full for the moment, so they are more curious about the humans who've invaded their space. (As I was looking through photos I'd taken, I decided these youngsters were trying to count by 2s and got a little out of order. So much for homeschooling, right? There are probably some parents who can relate to that at the moment!)

Anyway, after three days of gathering, sorting and hauling, all the mamas and babies are at summer pasture. (And the pairs were reunited in just a few hours. This anxious baby couldn't wait to get into a more traditional position to begin nursing.)

It sounds so simple - three days of gathering, sorting and hauling in the beautiful days of spring. Idyllic, right? But as with Paul Harvey, there's "the rest of the story." While the transition from April is more traditionally known as "showers to May flowers," at The County Line, it's also the signal for cattle to make the exodus from lots near home to their summer pastures.

Depending on the location, the methods vary.

At a couple of the winter locations, it includes a 4-wheeler ride. That's not necessarily a bad thing on a nice spring morning - as long as the participants cooperate.

The day before this move from the pasture south of our house, Randy had shut the cattle off from water so that they'd be more inclined to come up into the lot. It worked, since the gathering went well. They did need some nudging to get them up into the next corral for sorting. 

It's true love that he drives across the muddiest parts so that I don't have to.

Even with the smelly lots, I couldn't ignore the beautiful blue sky as a backdrop.

There might be even fewer photos than normal of the sorting process. This year, we have some part-time help, but there's a learning curve when it comes to sorting. While our helper hauled a cow who hadn't calved to another lot, Randy and I sorted the mamas from the babies.

 

As I said earlier, the mamas are a lot more concerned about it than the babies.

There are no photos of getting them loaded into the trailer either. All hands on deck are needed to push them into the trailer, and no camera needs to be crushed or dropped in the process. My leg got a whack from a kicking calf; the camera didn't need to suffer the same fate.

This group went to the Ninnescah pasture. The old cottonwood at the gate is the first witness to the annual spring ritual as Randy swings open the gate.

I wish its branches were as plentiful and strong as they were 30 years ago, but like the rest of us, the cottonwood is showing its age.

We added the double gate a year ago. The old gate got knocked out as we were slipping and sliding because of excessive rain. Even though the reason was an inconvenience, we are enjoying the new, spacious entry into the pasture. (See more about the soggy conditions last year that added 12 miles to the journey with each load in this 2019 blog post.)

We put all the cattle into a holding pen while we haul all the mamas and babies to the pasture. 

Once they've all arrived, it's time to let them out of the holding pens, where the babies find their personal milk machines ...

And they head out into the pasture to explore.

With the Ninnescah Pasture populated for the summer, it's off toward home and resting up for more days of gathering, sorting and hauling to other pastures. 

Sorting and transporting the bulls to the different pastures happened on another day. Below, the bulls take off to find the "ladies" who'd arrived at the Ninnescah a couple of days before.

Last Friday, we moved the pairs from Peace Creek to the corrals about half mile away. We drove them down the road, nudging them along with three 4-wheelers.

The mamas were definitely distracted by the green wheat along the way.

This littlest calf had to work hard to keep up.

We eventually got them into the corral and sorted (though again, there is no photographic evidence of the actual sorting).

But, eventually, they ended up at the Rattlesnake pasture, a place where Randy's family has been taking cattle for more than 100 years.

Even when the circumstances around us seem foreign and incomprehensible, it's a comfort to have these spring rituals continue.

Heifer's arrival at Palmer's pasture

A Penny for Your Thoughts: A Horse Tale

Lisa on Penny and me on the ground - where I belong!

A Penny for your thoughts. Really, Penny was in my thoughts Tuesday evening as a couple of cowboys came to help us round up a bull.

I've never been a horse person. I didn't go through the preteen fascination that seems to afflict a bevy of girls, including my sister, Lisa, who had a horse named Penny. I left the fancy fringed shirt and cowboy boots to Lisa and her 4-H project. I was much more inclined to have both feet planted firmly on the ground. Give me a foods project or the reading project - both decidedly indoor activities - and I was much happier. I even liked working on 4-H books. (I know I am an anomaly, but I've always liked the art of telling a story.)

We typically use what Randy calls "Japanese horses" for our cattle roundups. But we've attempted on more than one occasion this summer to round up a bull who decided the neighboring pasture looked better than the one he was supposed to occupy. The Kawasakis just weren't doing the job this time. Every time we'd get there, Mr. Bull would hide in plum thickets.

A neighbor recommended a freelance cowboy who had helped him with a similar predicament. Cory's business card reads, "I don't turn wrenches and I don't build fences!"

He and his friend, Tyler, didn't have time until evening, so we were dodging raindrops and nervously watching lightning streak across the sky as the cowboys unloaded their horses - Darlin' and Marly - and took off across the pasture in search of Mr. Bull.

 

We parked the pickup and trailer on top of a hill so we could watch the cowboy's progress and bring in cattle panels if the job required it.

Have you ever heard the song, "The Cowboys Lament?" I had my own lament going as I regretted not grabbing my real camera as we dashed out the door to go load up panels.

My cell phone camera's telephoto lens didn't do the scene justice. The bull who had dashed swiftly into the plum thickets on Monday during our attempts at a round-up ambled up the hill toward the portable corrals.

I could see one of the cowboy's lariats swirling on occasion to provide a subconscious nudge when the bull had other ideas. I could hear a subtle "yip, yip" as the cowboys completed their mission.

With little fanfare, the guys helped us load the bull into the trailer and rode off in the sunset.

Well, they rode off to the north, where there pickups and trailers were parked, but you get the idea.

Kinley and Brooke are now in that little girl horse fascination phase. I have to say I'm understanding that attraction at the moment ... not enough to get on a horse, of course. Just enough to appreciate them a little more.

And the bull? He got a chauffeured ride to the Pratt sale barn.

The Little Things in the Big Picture

The vastness of the prairie landscape is undeniable. On a recent morning, isolated lightning flashed in the distance and the rumble of thunder punctuated the undertone of insect song. The trill of a bird in a nearby shelterbelt joined in the morning serenade. 

It looks big and vast. And, yet, if one looks closely, there are treasures. Some - like the Kansas sunflower - are big and bold, splashing bright yellow against an azure blue, cotton-cloud sky.

But even those bigger blooms reveal a smaller secret upon close examination. The dewy morning had left behind tiny droplets of moisture, enhancing it like a necklace decorating a model's delicate neck.

Likewise, the snow on the mountain wildflowers so prevalent this year rise above the shorter green grasses, swaying in the Kansas breeze.

Earlier, we had driven 4-wheelers across CRP grass and pasture vegetation attempting to get some wayward cows and their calves back in our pasture - AGAIN! And while the cattle lumbering along the fence line were my primary focus, I caught flashes of blue and purple and yellow, hidden in the underbrush below the 4-wheeler tires.

Unfortunately, these escapees have been the motivation for many a morning - and evening - ride on the 4-wheelers. And while I can't say that I've been happy about the disruption to my schedule OR the phone calls about our wayward cattle OR their unwelcome brunching on the neighbor's soybeans, the repeated excursions have revealed a bounty of treasures nestled in the prairie grasses.

Even though I've zoomed in tight to reveal each variety's intricate beauty, many are really quite small - some smaller than Randy's thumb nail.

I guess good things really do come in small packages.

It's kind of like that message on your car's rearview mirror: "Objects seen in the mirror may be closer than they appear."

I'll revise that to say, "Objects in these photos may be smaller than they appear."

 “Looking at morning dew serenading on the petals of flowers is an ecstatic moment. This makes us realize that it is the simple pleasures of life that give us the most happiness."

― Avijeet Da

Even those blooms surrounded by stickers or those fading after full bloom are beautiful in their own way.

 It just requires a closer look.

A visit to the Flint Hills during the National Master Farm Homemaker Guild convention at Manhattan in August revealed the same thing.

It's hard to capture the undulating roll of the tallgrass prairie via a camera lens.

The vastness can make us feel small in comparison.

But, yet again, the underlying beauty is there for the taking.

 

A Time to Think
Devotional from Guideposts

The simple act of stopping and looking at the beauty around us
 can be prayer.
 –Patricia Barrett, author

A Time to Act

Today notice the little things that make your day special.

 

A Time to Pray

Thank you Lord, that however small or seemingly insignificant our gifts,
You can weave them into Your glorious symphony.

I am beginning to learn
that it is the sweet, simple things of life
which are the real ones after all.
--Laura Ingalls Wilder