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January-March, 2002
Oh, geez! Here I am again! For the past couple of months,
it's been moose in the alfalfa pile, raccoons in the chicken grain,
grandma in the snow bank (icy roads and balding tires), and spring
 cats
a caterwaulin' (how do you spell that, anyhow?) Regardless, we've
been kept quite busy 'round these parts. And, while early winter had
promised significant snowfall, we're now summing up the makings of
a terribly droughty situation. Been no real measurable precipitation
since December, 2001. Not much wind, either, except for a few days
scattered here and there - just enough velocity and strength to unfurl
the many beautiful American flags that have taken to the blue skies
during the past six months.
Though today is warm and balmy - it's a false illusion,
no doubt, of winter slipping and dripping  away...one
tiny droplet at a time from the roof icicles. We've shuddered multiple
times all during this winter season...through random, unorganized
mornings of sub-zero temperatures - ranging anywhere from 0 degrees
to 35 - 40 below. During the worst frigid, finger-biting days, Outlaw
and Peppy, the boss's new horses, flopped their warm muzzles over
the top rail, coaxing me to get the lead out and quickly throw out
some oats and hay. And Tramp, our orphan Border Collie, trooper that
he is, just shivered and dove beneath the couch coverlet several times
this winter! Fortunately, though, these days have been short-lived
and merciful.
Four brave Blackbirds have returned to dine at the
dog pellet dish, and one lone Canada goose is surveying the warm springs
in the meadow. And even as I sit here visiting with you, a rare snowfall
gives up its heart to us in the form of slight, but precious, moisture.
Three times now, this winter, we've gathered at
our aging Daniel schoolhouse - once for the December Christmas party,
once for the annual box social and dance, and again for the poker
run, held each year to earn money for our area fire department. Famous
Chili Cookoff comin' up on March 30! But, no matter what the occasion
here in the Daniel Valley, I am most warmed by the forever bonds and
commitments of family and friends, and pictures of moms and their
little cowboys.
 Over
the winter, we've watched many gorgeous sunsets slip sleepily beneath
the night covers of the Wyoming Range, and we've breathed cold, damp
fog rising from the morning riverbank. I dearly love the hour of sunup...the
dawn...the sunrise...almost as much as I delight in the magic hour
of sundown...sunset...dusk...
They say today's full moon is closest to the earth
for this year. Indeed, at eleven o'clock tonight, I can see moose,
nearly one mile away - a cow and calf trailing toward the alfalfa
stack in our back yard. And I can see the heifer calves bedding down
for the night in a patch of willows two hundred yards away. Daisy
May, the expectant milk cow, lies contentedly chewing her cud among
the younger "gals." And near the river's edge, a night owl
is silhouetted against the towering, barren bluff and the iron-gray
shades of the advancing midnight hour.
Recently, we captured all the saddle horses and
trimmed hooves, gave flu shots, and shoved nasty worm medicine into
very resentful mouths. A couple of the older horses will need to have
their teeth floated (a dental filing of the sharp, snaggled teeth)
before summer grass begins to grow.
I'm looking forward to spring this year, more than ever it seems.
It's been a long winter despite the lack of snowfall. I look forward
to the return of summer birds and deer herds and the soft mounds of
warm dirt piled high from gophers' and badgers' construction of summer
homes...
 I
forgot to tell you...last summer I witnessed a most unusual scene
while returning home from checking on the home of an out-of-state
friend. It was a quiet, peaceful night - dark as the inside of a cow
as I steered the old gray Ford pickup along the dusty, country lane.
The three dogs kept a welcome vigil in the seat beside me - whining
at a scattering of jackrabbits and cottontails traversing the twisting
roadway. Within two hundred yards of the paved highway, I rounded
a bend and rumbled from a little patch of thick willows. There, illuminated
in my headlights, stood two very opposite personalities - like a rose
and a thorn - curiously, mutually, sniffing noses - a young buck deer,
forked horns shimmering in the season's velvet glove, and a granddaddy
badger, oblivious to my certain approach. Normally, my dog herd goes
ballistic at any opportunity to defend me from the "unknown,"
but tonight they sat fixated by my side, cocking puzzled heads at
the unusual sight before us. I touched the brake, lightly, to slow
my loping,  country
road momentum, and wished that I'd carried my camera with me as often
as I do my cow dogs. As I rolled closer to the unlikely pair, they
turned away toward opposite sides of the road and disappeared into
the thick, dark night. I will carry with me always, the wonderful
memory of these two animals meeting, greeting, and befriending each
other in the still of a summer's eve.
So, until we meet again at calving time...very soon...the
mama cows have come home to wait...the horses are starting to shed
their winter wraps...gotta warm up ol' Jasper for the ski joring contest
this weekend...and I have to put dinner on the table...
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