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Critters & Kids House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

Calendar Girl

When I was creating our holiday cards, I came across a slogan on a template that I couldn’t get out of my head: “What a year.” Like many three-word combinations, they said it all. When I look back on the past twelve months, these are some of the memories that make the highlight reel.

When we flip the calendar to January each year, we enjoy a bit of downtime before diving right in to preparing for calving and bull sale seasons. We had lots of fresh air, rosy cheeks, hot chocolate, and some calm before things hit the fan.

Once February arrived, it was darn cold for a long time, making calving a marathon and sprint. (There were no mosquitos, however). We celebrated the birthdays of a lot of baby calves and also half the members of our household, so in between dressing warm and tagging and chores, we carved out a little time to eat cake.

March brought warm spring winds, very little mud, music festival, and early clothesline weather (if you don’t know yet, you soon will realize – I’m obsessed). Between bull deliveries and outside work, the kids got creative feeding themselves and one another. Necessity (hunger?) is the motherhood of invention.

In April, we branded and paired off most of the herd to pasture, checked fence, picked crocuses, and decorated Easter cookies. I also ripped apart and reorganized the hardest-working room in the house – the porch/laundry room. I don’t function well with a discombobulated house, so I probably yelled a lot, but I believe the results were worth it.

There were baby kittens, optimistic trips to the greenhouse, sorting and hauling more pairs, and rounds around the field planting the crop in May. Branding season started and the kids kicked up their 4H work into the next gear.

In June, we said good bye to a faithful horse, and hello to a couple fresh ones. Achievement Day, baseball games, family milestones and birthdays, the end of school, lots of days in the saddle, and an early start to haying season rounded things out.

Like everyone else who’s been surviving weird pandemic times, in July we got a puppy! (Note, this is the first time we’ve had a pup when I haven’t had a baby to care for simultaneously so I had time to bond with this border collie and channel my inner annoying dog mom). We had family visits and birthdays, swimming lessons, and we put up canola silage for the first time ever. Because, 2021.

In August, we baked pies, took a quick trip to the Cypress Hills, moved cows, and kept our eyes to the skies. Oh, and we picked choke cherries, because that’s what you do. What you do with them after is up to your discretion and if you still have full bags in your freezer, who am I to judge?

September started with school. It was no one’s first “first day,” and no one’s last “first day,” so I got to enjoy an unsentimental return to routine. We weaned purebred calves, sowed a hopeful acreage of fall rye, got really good at hooking and unhooking the water hauling unit, and I snuck away to the mountains for a quick working vacation.

In October, we shipped steers, which is my favourite time of year. With one truck appearing an entire 36 hours ahead of schedule, it made for a memorable Thanksgiving. We got through fall run smoothly and it felt a bit like we got across the finish line, simply making it to this season. There was a lot to be thankful for.

In November, we moved the herd home (a good seven weeks earlier than normal) to optimize feed and water. Later in the month, we took our herd of humans (and a few cattle..and horses) to Agribition. During the day, we reconnected with friends and fellow cattle producers…By night, we would cozy up in our single hotel room and discuss the finer points of who’s turn it was to sleep on the chair.

December saw decorating and dugout skating, catching up at the Medicine Hat Pen Show, chores, little sis’ birthday, and a move to the “big boys’ room” for little brother. We had a quiet Christmas with time to reflect on what happened in the rear-view mirror and what may lie ahead.

In 2021, we may not have seen a lot of pasture and crop growth, but we grew in other ways – in our adaptability and capacity to solve problems. Here’s to a new calendar year, with 52 weeks’ worth of opportunities, challenges, and ideas. May we all enjoy growth in 2022 – both forage and personal.

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Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

At the Corral – Then & Now

Part of what I love about ranch life is the rhythm of seasons. We start out with calving, then move to pairing out for pastures and breeding, and before you know it, fall arrives and we’re looking at weaning and spending a few days (or weeks?) in a corral somewhere.

Over the years, I’ve developed a list for all the bits and bobs necessary to make chute work a little easier. To help streamline prep, I start with an idea of all the supplies we normally need – such as ear tags, pliers, parasite products, vaccines, needles, syringes, and the all-important list of “who’s got a one-way ticket to town this fall.” It was during a review of this list that’s taped to my filing cabinet that I realized the cattle work doesn’t change a lot from year to year, however the humans that make up the work crew perhaps do.

I can now scratch diapers, babysitter, soother, and car seat off my list from yesteryear. Instead, I quickly poll our young students on what they’re working on at school and whether they feel like they understand it fairly well. This is handy information to have when we arbitrarily suspend book-learning and formal school attendance so we can channel our child work force toward the ranch, for a few days anyway, while staying somewhat within societal norms.

Of course, helpers – old and young – need to be fed and watered. There was a time not so long ago that beer and water were the important considerations. Fast forward a few years and I’ve got an entirely different idea of the sustenance required to get us through the day. Do I have Advil? Tums? Ice packs? Hot water bottles? Band-aids? What about the large band-aids? Tensor bandage? A5-35? Ok team, let’s do this!

As well, the ration requirements of people have changed. Our family, friends, and neighbours are pretty easy going when it comes to simple food, however the volume of food that our growing youth consume warrants special consideration. You can never pack enough snacks; this is a simple fact. You may have a full cooler when you leave one corral only to find it is completely empty by the time you arrive at the next. Of course, this all happens prior to 9:00am. For this reason, I like to hide snacks and/or ration them throughout the day. Rumen overload may be a livestock issue, but human overload is a thing too.

Another change from the good old days is that we now take a wiser look at how much we can pack into a day. We used to cram three or four long days into one or two, commenting “yeah, we got another hour or two of daylight.” Then at the end of a long, dark workday, we would go off to meet up with friends and stay out late. The next morning, the alarm would go off, we would jump out of bed without a care in the world, and do it all over again. Don’t get me wrong, we can still put a shift in, but now we spread things out a bit. We allow times for break-downs, unexpected snags, and dwindling daylight and if we happen to be back in the house by a decent time, we can tuck ourselves into bed and be asleep five minutes later.

Whether you are still footloose and fancy free, packing a diaper bag and wrangling little ones, or reaching for the anti-inflammatories, have a safe, productive fall and winter ahead.

 

Categories
Beef & Business Ranch & Real Life

When the Going Gets Tough….

It’s hard to think about much else right now other than the dry conditions that so many of us are faced with. Across much of the Prairie Provinces and the Northern Great Plains, farmers and ranchers are dealing with drought, water shortages, and pests. Years like ’61 and ’88 are often referenced at the coffee shop and around the kitchen tables of producers who are old enough to remember those times.

The summer is speeding by, yet somehow things also feel like they are at a standstill. One day stretches into the next, another pasture is checked, another scratchpad filled with numbers and figures and plans, another dozen phone calls are made. Tangible and timely solutions are hard to come by yet there is an abundance of questions. How will we get through the year? What about next year? What will the winter be like? Will there be any help?

I’m an (annoyingly) optimistic person and even I’ve become discouraged at times. I don’t have any answers to the hard problems everyone is faced with, but when things seem bleak, I try to shift my focus on what I can control. It’s not precious bales of hay, or tonnes of silage, or subsidies, or even rain that will pull us through (although sign me up for all of that, please and thanks). I’m learning that the most valuable resource we have and need is right in front of me – people.

When the going gets tough, find the helpers. Some people complain and some people figure things out, but now is the time to dip into your network, identify your problem-solvers and stick with them. It’s very easy to get sucked into a vortex of worry and “why me?” but for every fool out there, there’s actually a positive person lurking too, you sometimes just have to work a little harder to find them. There are many farmers and extension folks who are willing to share their experiences, provide insight or tips, ask a question you haven’t considered before, or provide simple reassurance. Putting my energy and time into talking to people who have fresh, innovative ideas or the wisdom that comes from decades of experience has been a good return on investment so far.

When the going gets tough, get a puppy! Okay, perhaps this is not sound advice. Perhaps you should consider visiting family and friends regularly as a feasible and intelligent alternative. But I’m not going to lie, our new border collie that arrived this month has been a welcome distraction. I’m almost at the point of being an obnoxious dog mom, which is highly unexpected behaviour for me. We have also been lucky to connect with some non-furry family members this month, allowing us to recharge our batteries and provide us with some much-needed grounding.

When the going gets tough, focus on what you do have. Low yields and dwindling water might pull our attention toward what we don’t have, but we should remember what really matters. Do we have our health? Are the people we care about safe and well? I’m keenly aware that we are fortunate to check those boxes, but not everyone is. Do we have enough food in our pantry to sustain ourselves? Past generations of farmers who dealt with harsher conditions had to make do with less. We are lucky to not have those worries.

Without a doubt, this year will leave a permanent mark on farmers’ memories and be a defining time for many. As the old saying goes, every drought ends with a rain, and someday, this one will be over too. But the people will endure.

Gelbvieh cattle grazing a pastures in southwest Saskatchewan that is limited by stock water.
Gelbvieh cattle grazing a pastures in southwest Saskatchewan that is limited by stock water.
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Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

Greener Pastures

I recently posted a few photos of our kids and their horses roping, loping, and grinning. I included a caption about how horses bring another welcome set of eyes and another brain into a situation to help riders tackle whatever job they might be working on. I added that a good horse is more than just a tool. They are perceptive and observant, and teach patience and trust. I trust them to carry our kids, my most precious cargo of all.

Perhaps the only downside of having a good horse for a teammate is that you rely on them to always be there. Whether we go to ropings or brandings, or help neighbours move cattle, or play around in the front yard racing a brother or sister through mom’s carefully planted trees – those are all jobs for you and your horse.

Our kids have formed a strong bond with their horses, I’ve seen them grow together, learn what one another’s strengths and weaknesses are, and how to read their horses’ signals. I’ve observed them have a difference of opinion with their mares, but that gets sorted out quickly as only it can when your behind is in a saddle and there’s work to be done.

When we discovered our son Cameron’s young mare Willow dead in the corral one morning, it was a punch in the guts. His teammate, his teacher, his friend – was unexpectedly gone.

Our kids had just spent a fun few days in the saddle at some neighbourhood brandings, learning things better learned from other encouraging ranchers rather than their own mom and dad. They roped, gathered, scratched ears, combed and patted, performing the familiar rituals with their horses without realizing or noticing what they were doing. After the busy weekend, I was even convinced to let the kids stay home from school on Monday morning, so they could move one of our herds to summer pasture.

I’m sure glad I did.

Cameron took the hard news better than a grown up would. He was comforted knowing Willow didn’t suffer and he was happy that he spent four good years with her. Caring friends and family reached out to let him know they were sorry. His buddy, a fellow cowboy, even painted a good likeness of the grey mare and handed it to him after ball practice one night, which caused me to get a sudden case of “dust in my eyes.”

I will always be grateful to Willow for helping Cameron’s confidence grow. Willow taught him about pressure and release, where and how to get into the right place to turn a herd, how to pull a stubborn bull, treat a sick animal, or just let loose and play.

What’s next? There will be new horses to start and form bonds with, new teammates to learn alongside and the rhythm of ranching will keep going as it will and it should.

Thanks for being a part of our family, Willow. You earned our trust and respect, and you were a good horse and a true friend.

DSC_0239 Cam & Willow DSC_0506 Willow DSC_0668 Ash & Cam & horses DSC_0346 Willow & Cam

Categories
Pastures & Prairie Ranch & Real Life

Pasture Lost & Found

If you take care of the land, the land will take care of you. It’s a familiar sentiment that stirs feelings of pride and heritage in most farmers and ranchers. It takes an ironic twist though, when we discover – and subsequently have to deal with – the valuable, worthless, and downright weird artifacts and garbage that appear on our pastures and farmland.

Most of our fields are a couple hundred kilometres from the nearest Tim Horton’s, which helps filter out some riff-raff, yet even so we regularly end up dealing with other people’s junk. For others who live along busier corridors, they have found everything from abandoned camper trailers, tires and clothing, to actual people tenting in their pastures. Other unique findings reported include undetonated explosives, a bathtub full of cement, household remote controls, and a couple risqué items I don’t think can be printed in a newspaper.

After cleaning up after everyone else, it would be nice to find the long-lost phones, pocket knives, and fencing pliers we’ve deposited ourselves over the years but we’re still looking.

Balloons & Boots. Helium balloons are a classic pasture find. Where do they come from? How far have they travelled? Watching a balloon waft across a meadow is enough to create confusion among man and beast alike. Our most recent find was a balloon that said “You’re #1!” and while I appreciate the sentiment, the original possessor obviously wasn’t great at picking up after themselves. Another very common pasture find is assorted footwear, mostly in singles. I’ve recovered fairly new footwear in some remote and untraveled spots. These aren’t settler’s artifacts; these are modern day shoes and boots that warrant an explanation. Did a shoe get tossed out of someone’s saddle bag? Did it fall right off someone’s foot and they somehow didn’t notice? Did it come out of the sky? Or were people trespassing and littering?

Obscure trinkets and treasures. Some pasture finds appear to be potentially lucrative. One person found a safe that had been stolen from a small-town watering hole. Thieves apparently dumped it out and it tumbled to the bottom of a coulee. The landowners were left with a mess to clean up and a trail of six or seven loonies for their trouble. Another person came across a jewelry box wrapped in grocery bags, the owner and origin which remains a mystery. Yet another reported discovering “treasure” of a different sort, this time in some purchased bales. Imagine the farmers’ surprise when they found their cows munching on someone’s collection of R-rated magazines during winter feeding. What’s the relative feed value of Playboy magazine, anyway?

Trash. This is the final, largest, and most frustrating category. Farmers find everything from seemingly benign trash like pizza boxes and beer cases to truckloads of construction waste. It takes time, energy, and money to clear these items out. A broken bottle can start a fire, a pile of shingles or batteries can sicken cattle and cause death. I once found a mountain of moving boxes along our road allowance. It took me (plus two toddlers and an infant) a couple trips to pick and dispose of the garbage. Were the litterers too lazy to take it to the dump? Too cheap? Did they really not think about someone dealing with the consequences? Or did they drive three miles out of town, turn down a dirt road, dump out their trash and simply not care?

Our land is an investment, and something we take pride in. As a rancher, I feel like it’s an expensive but important responsibility to manage ecosystems, filter water, provide habitat, conserve biodiversity, and sequester carbon – all things that benefit society. Society can remember something too – our fields are not a garbage dump. Someone has to deal with your sh…belongings, when you won’t.

Categories
House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

Tune Up

March brings warmer weather, a little mud (if you’re lucky), an awakening of gophers (if you’re less lucky), and the piano tuner.

If you were playing a game of “one of these things is not like the other” and had to select a single item from our camp that fit that criteria, most would look to my beautiful grand piano. There is nothing about our home – not the lingering smell of manure, nor the multiple loads of laundry looking to be folded, nor the kids armed and ready with their BB guns – that says “I bet a classical pianist lives here.” Yet, here I am!

Growing up, my parents had a nice Baldwin piano where I plinked away over years of lessons, music festivals, piano exams, and even the disciplined drudgery of theory. Perhaps this inspired my dad who, rather than have the local music festival return the Yamaha back to its city habitat after that year’s event, diverted it to our farm. He had budgeted for a new hay bine for the upcoming season, but instead invested in this musical machine with the instruction that if (when) the old New Holland limped back to the shop for repair, I was to play the piano loud. Dad did upgrade the hay bine a year or two later and I got fairly experienced at operating that unit too.

Like any musical or mechanical implement, the piano needs a little maintenance every so often. I’m sure that piano tuners encounter all kinds of situations when they travel to different homes, and that is a great comfort when I consider some of their experiences here. One time I was expecting the knock at the door to be said tuner, but instead it was a surprising (and welcome) visit from friends. A long afternoon of swapping stories and daytime beverage consumption ensued. Our rowdy cowboy company joked that they could probably tune my piano and I assured them (insisted, really) that we should leave it to a qualified professional. When the expert did arrive to this redneck scene, he was greeted warmly and loudly by everyone on site.

During that session, he recovered numerous odd articles from within the piano, some of which I could blame on the kids. When he extracted a long-lost food item, I had to admit that probably fell under the realm of sketchy housekeeping. Finally, as the he was finishing up this particular appointment, my toddler daughter – who never coloured on the walls before or since – thought this was a great opportunity to make her mark. If this guy was writing a book, he could file this visit under the hillbilly chapter.

To be clear, this tuning service is incredibly professional and most diplomatic, something I appreciate greatly. Subsequent appointments have gone smoothly with delightful musical outcomes. Yet, the memories from that specific day are very motivating for me. I now do a pre-tuning sweep of the interior of the piano as well as a thorough living room clean. And I lock down the kids’ art supplies. And keep the liquor cabinet shut.

The general chaos around our ranch and home can make our life seem off key, but it’s nothing that some fine tuning can’t fix. That, and patience.

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Categories
Ranch & Real Life

Back in the Saddle Again

Back in 2014, I started writing a column for a quality local newspaper over a three-year period. During that time, I shared a bit about life on our ranch and what it was like to raise our kids among the daily activities of breakdowns, calving cows, and lost dogs. I covered the challenges and triumphs around our newly established homestead including how to manage one mule’s emotions and my war on gophers. I shared anecdotes about that “one time” I got stuck (and that “other time” I got stuck), and the occasion when my twin four-year-old’s confidently rode away to gather pairs declaring they didn’t need me any longer. I answered the question no one actually asked – why does a woman from treeless southwest Saskatchewan self-identify as a tree hugger? Of course, no self-respecting ranch writer can avoid talking about the weather so that thread wound its way into several op-eds. Crocuses, gender equality in agriculture, love stories, and politics were a few of the completely arbitrary topics I unpacked over the years.

I enjoyed the literary exercise of writing things out and it became a diary of sorts that I like to look back on. I also think it’s important to engage audiences who may be unfamiliar with farm life to help create a connection between them and where their food comes from. And of course, I appreciated when fellow ranchers or parents could resonate with some of my experiences. It’s nice to be back in the saddle again.

The metaphor is also fitting for a new year and a fresh start. January always seems a bit familiar and routine for me, in a good way and it does remind me of saddling up once again after a long time grounded.

This last year has been full of confusion, chaos, and controversy for most everyone. However, I like to think that there were some opportunities too. If 2020 taught us one thing, it’s that we can adapt and switch gears when we need to. Things that seemed so important at one time, suddenly were not as significant as we thought. When society was unencumbered by commitments and schedules and hustle and bustle, the silence was deafening and a little uncomfortable. But sometimes discomfort is okay.

In our household it felt like we were given the gift of more time with our four kids who range in ages from three to ten. We ate every meal together, the kids spent more hours than ever with their animals, they used their imaginations, and learned plenty of real-life skills. As with anything, a little can go a long way though, and more quality time came with some struggles too. (Why is everyone hungry again? What is “new math” and why can’t I carry the one? What is the Zoom passcode? Why am I incapable of baking bread? How many hours until bedtime?).

For me, getting back in the saddle is maybe more about gaining a different perspective. Finding a change in scenery, getting outside of my own head and having a chance to see things from another hilltop, a different vantage point. It’s about being intentional with my time and energy (you have to catch the horse and get it saddled after all), but also staying calm and cool during unanticipated events (for example, when your saddle slides off when you lean too far over to identify a plant because you left your cinch too loose. Yes, this is a very specific example).

You never know what you’re going to encounter when you hop on your horse and head out, but part of the beauty is not knowing. Just remember to cinch up.

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Categories
Beef & Business Critters & Kids House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

WFH Woke

Well friends, these are some unexpected times, aren’t they? Life has changed with #COVID19 and recommendations for social distancing (although for ranchers, self-isolation is a normal and usually welcome practice). Schools and day-cares are closed and employers have transitioned to telework where possible, as society pulls together to minimize the spread of the disease that will potentially overburden our health care system.

I’ve been working from home (WFH) among a menagerie of children, cattle, and laundry for seven years. Most of my work is writing, analysis, and developing content, and I’m fortunate to work remotely although my approach is a bit unconventional. I’ve captured interviews in my truck from the Wal-Mart parking lot, simultaneously giving my kids the “mom eyes” to will them into silence. There is currently a soundtrack of Paw Patrol (“we’re on a roll!”) playing in the background of all my video and conference calls. I wear the abstract WFH wardrobe (hi there, ugly 17-year-old cardigan and Video Conference Head Band). And yes, I’m guilty of buying work time from my children for the sum of an unending supply of fruit snacks and the promise of binge-watching Dude Perfect on YouTube.

I’m not perfect. Nobody is, but working remotely for me is my everyday reality. Now that friends, family, and colleagues are unexpectedly riding the work-from-home wave, I’ve gotten a chuckle out of their experiences. Here are a few ideas and tips I’ve put into practice over the years:

Manage your expectations. And your guilt. At first, I was disappointed when I didn’t get a solid eight hours of “work” in each day, but I’ve grown to realize that it’s not realistic for me right now. I’ve also learned to cut myself some household slack because when I am in work mode, my house will be messy and other parts of my life will feel disorganized. Unfortunately, the mom guilt is real and I still struggle with explaining to my kids why I am distracted and not able to give them my full attention at certain times. There is also work guilt that creeps in when I ignore emails and undone projects in order to focus on other important things in my life.

There are no rules. I do have dedicated home office space that moonlights as a guest room but thanks to the nature of my live-in kinfolk co-workers, the boundaries are very porous. Sometimes my office works well, but I’ve also learned that perhaps I can get more done when I set up my laptop in a common area and become part of the general chaos. Plus, I can keep an eye on things (Put down the scissors! No more juice boxes! Why is there a cow herd in the front yard?!).  

Do not underestimate yourself. You will surprise yourself with how much work you can get done especially if you are under a little pressure. While I don’t advocate putting pressure on yourself, somehow the work that needs to get done, always does. (Why, yes, I am a procrastinator).

Prioritize. Each morning, I take a moment to mark down the essential family, ranch, or work duties that need to get done that day, plus a few nice-to-do tasks in another column. I also try to go with the flow, and work on creative tasks that require my full attention when the spirit moves me. I save perfunctory jobs for times when I don’t feel as focused.

Put your phone down. No, really. It’s a vortex, especially now with constant updates and alerts, and it can put a real damper on your productivity, not to mention your mood. Avoiding my phone is tricky because part of my work is to curate social media accounts like Twitter and Facebook. However, there is a fine line between uploading a disciplined professional work post and accidentally spending 45 minutes trying to identify desert range plants on a friend’s Facebook feed. I have adjusted the screen time settings on my phone to set a time limit on social media apps, which helps. I also place my phone out of reach. I can still hear it and respond as needed, but it’s a little more difficult to get distracted.

Back up yo’ files. Get to know your external hard drive. Appreciate it. Become one with it. While having things available on shared online folders or “the cloud” is a revolutionary way to share resources and collaborate virtually, make sure you download the files you really need to do your work. I’ve learned this the hard way thanks to rural internet challenges, but no one is immune to technical issues. It is frustrating when you get focused and ready to work, except you can’t because your material is inaccessible.

Budget your energy. Parents all have the grand scheme to maximize work during our kids’ naptime. This is a great strategy…if your kids get the memo. Which they never do. In order to enjoy the luxury of a quiet workplace, I used to pride myself on being able to stay up late and get lots of hours in. Then sometimes I would try and get up extra early to get a few hours in too. All this extra time did allow me to accomplish some work, however it came with a nasty side effect of me becoming a burnt-out crazy person, so I had to dial that back. I still occasionally will get up early OR stay up late, but then I try to budget my energy accordingly for the rest of the day.

While the COVID-19 situation is challenging everyone in an unprecedented way, it may also be an opportunity to show employers that working from home, even with kids around, is possible. Our families can learn more about the work we do while we spend less wasted time (and money) commuting. Plus, we can spend less time listening to Felicia from Human Resources drone on and on about her dog’s babysitter.

Now get off your phone, put on your office blanket-disguised-as-a-sweater and get at ’er. You can do this. We can do this. We truly are in this together.

Categories
Beef & Business Critters & Kids Pastures & Prairie Ranch & Real Life

Beyond Meat is Beyond Me

It’s hard to beat a beautiful Canadian summer! Fun in the sun, beach time, lake days, and of course, the sizzle of a grill as you barbecue a simple patty comprised of twenty-one ingredients, like bamboo cellulose, vegetable glycerin, gum arabic, and pea protein isolate…just no actual meat. Yeah, I’m talking about the Beyond Meat sensation that is on the news, in your Facebook feed, featured in advertisements, and speculated about on Wall Street.

When it comes to food preferences, I’m not opposed to options. While I enjoy serving and eating ranch-raised beef, I also eat other proteins, so long as they aren’t in disguise. I make a mean lentil chowder, serve baked beans at many large meals, and have been known to eat an entire container of hummus at one sitting (don’t judge me).

Diet diversity is important for what it is – diversity. However, some Beyond Meat proponents make false claims, saying it is “healthier” or more “environmentally friendly.” Well my friends, the devil is in the details, and when you look at the fine print, these claims are wrong.

Myth 1. Plants are always healthier… right?

Wrong.

I took a minute to compare nutritional parameters between beef and peanut butter, our other handy household protein source. A small serving of peanut butter (32 g) had less protein, more calories, more fat (including saturated fat) and zero iron, compared to 75 grams of cooked lean beef. I’m not going to cut back serving either to my kids but I’ll admit I was a bit surprised that when it comes to packing a nutritional punch, beef handily surpasses an old-fashioned PBJ.

What about looking at how the Beyond Meat burger compares with a beef burger? According to this article, a 113 gram Beyond Meat patty has 250 calories, 18 grams of fat, 390 mg of sodium and 20 grams of protein. Health Canada rates 113 grams of lean ground beef as having 292 calories, 16.5 grams of fat, 105 mg of sodium and 33 grams of protein. If consumers need a nutrient dense, high protein, low-sodium diet, real beef is the healthier option. If people are worried about consuming processed foods, a faux meat patty made from 18-21 ingredients is the much more highly processed option. A ranch-raised beef patty served here isn’t processed at all, unless you consider the four pairs of helping hands that went into forming it.

Myth 2. Plant-based protein is better for the environment.

No! NO! This is wildly inaccurate.

I’m not sure exactly what inputs are required to extract bamboo cellulose or derive pea protein isolate, but I do know that grasslands and beef cattle support natural wildlife habitat, preserve fragile land, and make use of marginal land incapable of producing other crops. No other agricultural enterprise in Canada supports natural biodiversity or maintains sensitive ecosystems as well as beef cattle. Grasslands provide habitat for thousands of species, including many species at risk such as loggerhead shrikes and short-eared owls. Grasslands also provide dozens of ecosystem services like carbon sequestration, groundwater recharge, soil protection, and nutrient cycling, to name just a few. Does gum arabic do that? What is gum arabic? Beef is truly the ultimate plant-based protein and the beef cattle sector continues to make positive strides to become more efficient with water and energy. Plus, innovation and research is enabling beef farmers to make use of human-inedible by-products like ethanol distillers grains, potato peels, and even leftover beer-making ingredients.

At the end of the day, I am just a mom, standing in front of her hungry kids, trying to feed them a well-balanced, healthy diet. If they want a healthy, environmentally-friendly juicy burger that looks like beef, tastes like beef, has the same texture as beef, and smells like beef – I’m going to serve beef!

Beyond meat is beyond me.

Additional reading:

Isn’t Beef Canada’s Ultimate Plant Based Protein? Beef cattle Research Council

Vegan Beyond Meat burgers are just ultra-processed patties that can be bad for our health National Post

Why Canadian beef? Canada Beef

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This short-eared owl, a species at risk, looks on as cattle graze at Lonesome Dove Ranch.

Categories
Beef & Business Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

Calving Certainties

People are pretty particular about how they raise their cattle. The breed, colour, size, temperament, horns or no horns, registered or commercial, roped or tabled.… The list of variations, and associated opinions about different methods, can go on for a country mile.

Calving season is one example of how different farms and ranches can be. Do you calve in winter? Or wait until spring? Are the cows out on grass, or in a pen? Do you have a short calving season, or does it have stages? Do you tag your calves or not bother?

When it comes to preferences around cattle, I’m more of a “you do you” sort of person unless you ask – then I will tell you! It’s easy to get caught up in the differences, but I’ve been thinking a little about some of the similarities too. Regardless of breed, season, or herd size, there are some calving facts that apply to every cow-calf operation.

They Move on Their Terms

It is remarkable to watch newborn calves stand up right after birth. At first they might wobble a bit, but with a nurturing mama and a belly full of milk, they are quickly bucking around. Until you want to move them into a different pen, that is. Sure, these calves were racing with their cohorts a minute ago, but now that you want to move them in a coordinated effort, perhaps even as part of a tiny gang, it’s a different story. You nudge them, poke them, and push them in the right direction, one at a time, then start again with the first calf who has already wandered off in the wrong direction. When you get everyone within a hair’s breadth of the gate (or whatever goal you’ve been doggedly working toward), those calves regain their energy and race their buddies…back in the opposite direction so you can repeat this process again.

Fecal Contamination

There is nothing stickier, smellier, or with a greater ability to coat all the surfaces you don’t want it to than fresh, yellow, baby calf poop. At best, you might get away with just a little on your boot or perhaps you kneel in some. At worst, you’ll get fresh poo on your glove, then transfer this fudgy, goldenrod sh*t to the tractor door handle, then gear shift, steering wheel, and finally your coffee cup before you smell its distinctive odour and realize your error. You will encounter this stinky substance both in a corral and in a large grass pasture. No rancher is immune – it will find you.

Flat as a Pancake

With longer daylight comes bright, warm sunshine that is most welcome however also responsible for the emotionally charged job of checking calves. Calves will stretch out flatter than a pancake out in the field to capture some rays. Honking the horn yields no movement, so you are compelled to walk or ride or drive over to check. You get closer and still nothing moves, other than your quickening heart. This was a healthy, live calf last night when you checked! You proceed to get a look at the tag and at the last moment, the calf springs to life, flashes you a “dude, what’s your deal?” look and bounces away, leaving you with a roller coaster of emotions that at least has a happy ending.

Whether you’re all done calving, right in the middle, or haven’t started yet, enjoy this season of birth and renewal…and all the manure that goes along with it.

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Ranch & Real Life

Deep Freeze

I’m no weather forecaster, but I am a major weather stakeholder, and follow trends and temperatures regularly. As we enter our fifth (sixth?) winter, it’s hard to deny that this spring has been unseasonably cold. Scratch that, it’s cold as #$%*. However, being the optimist that I am, I’ve picked up a few tips to help even the most soured up folk get through this trying time.

Bird watch – spring is a special time for bird-watching as our feathered friends return from their warm winter vacays and prepare for breeding and nesting. This spring is no different. In fact, I’m actually taking more interest in bird-watching than normal because the birds seem confused and annoyed, and this sort of amuses me. I have no less than 200 Canada geese circling our home yard, and while geese usually seem grumpy, this year they are downright cantankerous and full of personality. I’ve seen some trumpet swans pass by looking for warmer climes and watched a small flock of meadowlarks doing their best to swing their sweet song. The hawks are the only bird group that seem to be dealing, and have an “I got this” attitude.

Change up your décor – up your game and decorate as though it really feels like spring. (Note, I am highly unqualified to dispense decorating advice – even though I do have a copy of the unauthorized biography of Martha Stewart). I bought more Easter flowers than what I normally budget and I even stuck a couple of spring-like wreaths on my gate. Since then, it warmed up to -14C and another pair of confused and bitter geese rolled in. I’m pretty sure this decorating thing really works.

Convert – for reasons unknown to generations of Canadians, Trudeau the First championed the metrification of Canada…and forever made us sound colder than necessary. When an unseasonably cold day time high is -18C, wouldn’t it be more fun to say it is zero degrees….Fahrenheit? When it seems too cold to bear, just mention the metric-imperial debate in your local coffee shop or in a social media discussion forum and things will automatically heat up – guaranteed.

We cannot do a thing about the weather, and that aggravates us humans. All we can do is be patient, cope as best we can, and take heart knowing that in a few short months we will get the warmth we deserve so we can complain about those 100 degree Fahrenheit days.

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Beef & Business Ranch & Real Life

Gender Bender

Recently there has been some discussion surrounding women-oriented agricultural events and groups. Organizations like Women in Ag, and national conferences such as Advancing Women in Agriculture, have sparked debate and even inspired a column in the Saskatoon Star Phoenix about this “dicey topic.” Questions have surfaced…Why aren’t there men-only agricultural events? Are women just creating their own barriers? Why don’t more women join agricultural boards? Should men encourage women to participate more? Or should women just step up to the plate?

I’m a rancher and an agricultural professional and I’ve thought a fair bit about my experiences as a woman in agriculture. I have a heritage of strong, rural women. My fore-mothers worked hard on their farms, raised large families on little, and in some cases, had to navigate new languages. My mother was one of just a few females Agros in her class and later became the first female extension agrologist in Saskatchewan. She overcame gender roadblocks that my generation fortunately never had to encounter. Compared to past  inequalities, I’ve got it made in the shade.

Yet, I still participate in female-focused agriculture events. I’ll never forget the first time I went to a women’s range workshop where I found kinship among women who shared my passion for grass and cattle. We also shared common struggles, discussing how to budget on one annual calf cheque, or how best to physically handle a roll of baler net wrap — these ladies spoke my language, I had found my tribe! I continue to attend women’s events, big and small, specific or general, because I find them useful on a personal and professional level.

When it comes to the old boys’ club rhetoric surrounding industry representation, I admit I’m not doing my demographic justice. I do not currently hold a role on an industry board, but it’s not because “many women just aren’t interested in rural municipal politics” as per the Star Phoenix piece. Noooooo. Ugh. God, no. I would do great things on a board, and perhaps someday I will. At the moment however, I have four kids aged zero to seven, and a board role would cause my family, my ranch, my household, and other community commitments to suffer. My lack of board participation is certainly NOT because I’m disinterested. In fact, I serve in other capacities, and maintain close contact with beef lobby groups, participate in formal mentorship programs, and attend industry meetings (with or without a baby on my hip).

As a rancher and a professional, I look to several leaders that represent both genders and span many generations. I value male and female perspectives, but I still think there are differences between men and women – good, bad or indifferent. If we can have women’s sports organizations, female religious groups, or business women networks, why shouldn’t we have women’s agricultural groups? Agriculture absolutely needs positive events and organizations that build capacity in women and men, in families, groups, and sectors.

Maybe it’s time people stop mansplaining how women’s ag events don’t work and start thinking about how they do.

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Beef & Business Critters & Kids Pastures & Prairie Ranch & Real Life

#OurFoodHasAStory…what’s yours?

October is Agriculture Month in Saskatchewan, and friend and fellow rancHER Adrienne Ivey asked me to share my food story as a guest post on her blog VIEW FROM THE RANCH PORCH. Adrienne is sharing a variety of food stories from people across Saskatchewan as part of Saskatchewan Ministry of Agriculture’s #OurFoodHasAStory campaign. Head over to Adrienne’s blog to read my story and what food means to me… better yet, participate on social media and share your own story!

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Ranch & Real Life

All You Need is Love

No matter who you talk to, most people will agree that sixty-five years is a long time. Depending on how, or perhaps who, you spend sixty-five years with, probably makes the time feel longer or shorter. My husband’s grandparents celebrated their sixty-fifth wedding anniversary last November. Even though that is a long time, I’m sure they would both agree that it’s been the best sixty-five (and a half) years of their lives.

The first time my husband took me to his grandparents’ farm to meet them, his grandpa Angus asked me if he could show me the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Curious, I complied, following him down the hall where he showed me a photo of Marlene, his bride, taken a couple of years before they were married. I hardly knew my Other Half at that time let alone his extended family, but it was pretty clear to me that theirs was a love story that had stood the test of time.

We’re so fortunate to raise our family near all of our remaining parents and grandparents. Over the years I’ve enjoyed visiting and learning from everyone and seeing them all in a new light as my own life evolved from a girlfriend to a wife, and now mother. With Marlene and Angus, it’s been most interesting to observe how they’ve stayed the course of commitment for several decades, in spite of challenges that one can only imagine would occur from the 1940’s to present day. They’ve been blessed with children and grandchildren, and still continue to welcome great grandchildren with enthusiasm and love. In fact, when my Other Half and I were off to the hospital to usher in one such great-grandchild, we unexpectedly dropped off our two-year-old twins at their farm in the middle of the night. Naturally, they took it in their (then) octogenarian stride.

They remain each other’s biggest supporters, although there is evidence of daily compromise. For example, I’m not exactly certain what happened, but I do know that Angus has been responsible for making his own porridge every morning for more than six decades. And I also recognize the patience Marlene has that can only come with being married to someone blessed with a strong sense of humour, a twinkle in his eye, and a penchant for teasing.  Angus’ brand of humour hits very close to home for me because my husband has inherited it as well. I’m going to go ahead and say it takes a special person to fully appreciate that Davidson comedy each and every day.

They enjoy hosting guests at their farm and appreciate a good visit. After even a quick stop, you’ll leave with your tank full of homemade baking, hot coffee (with cream and sugar), and at least one or two previously unheard stories to file away. If you’re lucky, you might get a quick peak at a new set of lambs from Angus’ flock, or Marlene might send you home with one (or twelve) jars of chokecherry jelly, just because.

Someone recently remarked to Marlene that sixty-five years was a long time to be with the same man. Without missing a beat, Marlene’s response was “it helps if you choose the right man in the first place.” That good choice not only changed her life, but created generations of family that I’m grateful for.

In a world that often seems topsy-turvy, their unwavering commitment to each other is inspiring. After more than sixty-five years, Angus and Marlene are an excellent example of what can be accomplished with love, faith, good humour, and of course, a sprinkling of compromise.

Marlene and Angus

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House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

Like a Lion

Ahhh, March. The thing about March is…well, there are a lot of things about March, really. It’s a month of transition as we move from winter to spring (in theory anyway). It’s a month of variability, due largely in part to the aforementioned seasonal shift. For some organizations or companies, March may mark the fiscal year end or the completion of the first quarter for others. For some, winter sports come to an end and time that was spent in a rink or gym is often diverted elsewhere. For all the things that March is, it often offers a promise of new beginnings. Farmers and ranchers start thinking towards seeding crops, planting gardens, or are preoccupied ushering sweet baby calves into the world. I’ve assembled a short list of what March means for us

Porch Pandemonium: I’ve waxed poetic before about the pivotal role that my porch plays in the running of our household and ranch. It is the place where clothes are laundered, the room where our drinking water is kept, and the main location for our garbage can. It is also a landing spot for school bags, boots, veterinary supplies, tools, tape, flashlights, automotive items, livestock show banners, left-over Valentine’s candy, mail, and so much more. There’s random tack that shows up, the odd time someone lets a dog in, and it’s the place where all of our transitional items end up before coming or going from the house. In spite of vacuuming and scrubbing this room more than any other in my house, by the time March rolls around, the porch is in a funk all of its own. Please pass the Scentsy.

Tax time: I’m a little odd, but I actually sort of enjoy book work. That being said, this year I am woefully behind tax preparation in general and have yet to meet a few specific deadlines in spite of some pleasant correspondence from the nice people from the government. While some keen folks may have already filed their returns or perhaps are already blowing their tax refunds on great things, tax prep hasn’t quite made my radar yet. Rather than actually prioritizing our taxes, I’m writing about how I should really get around to prioritizing my taxes. I think I might know what my problem is…

Laundry lament: March is all about being prepared for a variety of temperatures from -30C right up to +20C. If ever there is month where you need to be outfitted for cold, warm, muck, wind, snow, mud, slush, ice, dirt, manure, and afterbirth, March is it. I don’t mind laundry, but when I’m stuck in a time warp of washing the same coat thrice weekly, I don’t exactly feel like I’m moving forward with my life. Of course all of these operations take place in the porch (refer to point 1) meaning I’ve even had to re-launder certain items that were clean at one time but inadvertently became dirty simply by being present in the porch.

Day length delight: March brings the promise of spring in a tangible way with its noticeably longer days. Gone are the cold, dark mornings of shepherding kids onto the school bus, or returning home from an activity at 5:30pm to a dark yard. The days are longer! The sunshine is back! You have just a few extra minutes of daylight every day to get chores done, or go for a walk. We prairie folk finally get our just rewards in March for slogging it through yet another winter…and our precious reward is in the form of earlier sunrises and later sunsets. We will take it!

March offers it challenges with a few prizes thrown in there to keep us all going. Whether the rest of the month will be as gentle as a lamb or lion-fierce, at the very least we can take comfort in knowing that spring is on its way.

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Ranch & Real Life

The Age of Aquarius

People seem to get a little worked up when their birthday approaches. Children hold their birthdays in high esteem, or at least they do in our household, counting down the days until they can officially proclaim they are such-and-such years old. Yet as adults get older, apparently nobody likes to talk about their age. Adults seem to prefer time to stand still, or even go in reverse if possible.

I keep waiting for the day when I have my age crisis but my recent 34th birthday wasn’t it. I think it probably helps that my birthday falls smack dab in the middle of February which is one of the busier months on our ranch. A birthday at this time of year tends to come and go, much like all the other days, filled with stuff that needs to be done thanks to our calving cows and an impending bull sale. There are newborn calves to tag, cows to feed, pairs to sort, and assorted promotional and administrative tasks that make their way to the top of our priority lists. Our twin boys also celebrate a birthday in February so when you factor that in, as well as Valentine’s Day festivities that also rate highly with the younger folk, celebrations become a little hectic and are always infused with a speck or two of manure.

My birthday also tends to fall in the middle of school break. When I was a kid, this meant many of my friends were away from home skiing or travelling. As I got older, my birthday fell during university Reading Week break, which was a little more fun. This was back in the “olden days,” when my college-aged friends and I were busy munching on KD to stretch our tuition dollars or build our businesses. Instead of jetting off to Mexico or some other expensive Spring Break destination, we tended to congregate in our Rural Municipality homeland, reconnecting at the local Windsor Hotel for a visit, celebrating birthdays and whatever else was going on in our lives.

Of course, during one spring break, my Other Half and I did embark on a special birthday trip…to North Central Saskatchewan where we were enrolled in a bovine artificial insemination course. We had the good fortune to stay with my college roommate’s family, who just happened to host annual AI courses. For anyone unfamiliar with artificial insemination, you spend a good amount of time sticking your arm (shoulder deep) where the sun, ahem, doesn’t shine. It’s a darn good idea to remove your watch and rings beforehand. Given the good company, great food, ample manure, and my favourite chocolate cake with brown sugar icing, it was a grand birthday. On a similar note, for many years after we would regularly spend my birthday administering breeding soundness exams on our bulls. Again, this is a job that involves lots of time at the…business end of a breeding bull, shall we say. It’s a very important day and in keeping with the theme of my birthday festivities, there is a lot of manure.

This year, my birthday had a little bit of everything. I ended up spending the day in the city running errands and attending appointments. There wasn’t a lot of manure in my day, but I most definitely would have preferred it if there was. However I did enjoy a nice lunch out with my mom and daughter, complete with a birthday dessert mercifully served to me without the lacklustre restaurant birthday song that typically accompanies said dessert. Earlier that morning, I filed a nice article on leafy spurge, a noxious weed that I passionately despise, so that was kind of a birthday high point. And I enjoyed many greetings from friends and family, near and far, in person and virtually throughout the day and into the night.

On the birthday celebration continuum, my 34th fell pretty much in the middle, not the best but definitely not the worst. There was a dreaded trip to the city, but there was no age crisis and lots of baby calves and greetings, which is a pretty good gift in itself.

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Beef & Business Ranch & Real Life

Land Down Under

I enjoy traveling. The whole idea of going to a faraway place, where the surroundings and customs are unfamiliar to you is exciting. Traveling pushes me out of my Type A comfort zone and into a place of adventure and fun. As a self-confessed organizer, going on a trip is one of my best reminders that some of the best experiences come from flying by the seat of my pants. In the past few years, our expanding herd of humans and bovines has made travel a bit trickier from a logistical standpoint. One might not necessarily realize my wanderlust because I typically keep my travel to within a radius of three rural municipalities, or so, but I know that will change too someday.

Ten years ago this month, my Other Half and I embarked on a better-late-than-never honeymoon to Australia for three weeks. This was before the era of smart phones or readily available internet access. I had to book our plane tickets using dial up, and while I did make quite a few travel arrangements via email, there was no Google Maps or iPhone to rely on, and no text messaging.  We boarded our flights with a little Australian cash, a list of phone numbers for people we might know and hope to run into, and a Lonely Planet guide book.

Being interested in agriculture, we planned to mix in visits to different cattle and stud stations with tours to vineyards, beaches, and cities. As we hopped off our long flight into the humid, Australian air on Boxing Day, we were excited to start our ambitious agenda. We holed up in those quaint little spots known as “phone booths” (millennials, please ask a grown-up what that is), and started calling friends, acquaintances, and even strangers before we hopped on trains, planes and buses on our whirlwind excursion.

It was as much fun as we had hoped. We bartered for an already cheap suitcase at China Town in Sydney. We enjoyed beverages in small town pubs, large downtown nightclubs, and small, medium and large family-owned vineyards. We navigated roundabouts and dodged kangaroos in our rental car. We toured the Great Ocean Road in a backpackers’ bus named “Pigeon” along with a Brazilian sugar cane famer, German fashionistas, wandering souls from Romania, ag journalists from Switzerland, and a pair of (very) avid photographers from Hong Kong, among others. I had a rather long conversation about spicy Asian food with a well-meaning tour guide before I realized she thought I said I was from Szechuan, not Saskatchewan. An unwelcome emu ate my sandwich right out of my hand. We unintentionally stumbled across Kent Saddlery, a renowned tack and saddle-building outfit that had an impressive shop and an even more impressive mobile following. We ate schnitzels the size of steering wheels, met up with good friends, and made new ones.

We toured eleven ranches in four different states, ranging from small mom-and-pop operations right up to some of the top purebred studs on the continent. We caught up with farm friends that we had hosted in Canada and have been fortunate to host many others since in return. We spent New Year’s Eve with a delightful Canadian/Australian farm family that treated us as their own, and spent the next day at another top notch farm that was most welcoming. Along the way we got to view one of the best, and dare I say, most efficient, mobile embryo transplant laboratories in action.

When I think back on the trip, the people were phenomenal. Everyone was friendly, welcoming, and totally stopped what they were doing to show us around during a busy time of year. The people you meet are what makes traveling so valuable to me. And while I can’t argue that it’s nice to enjoy a trip to a warm climate during a Saskatchewan winter, we’ve met some pretty great people on quick jaunts to Medicine Hat, AB, or Outlook, SK, or Havre, MT. And those trips don’t usually involve retrieving a suitcase thoroughly soaked in Bundaberg rum from an airport …

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Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

Sugar and Spice

This month our daughter Jaime turns four years old. In several ways she follows in the footsteps of her older twin brothers but in many other ways, she is blazing a trail all of her own. To me, she can be summed up neatly with Shakespeare’s famous quote: “and though she be but little, she is fierce.”

While many of our children’s milestones are typical to those of others, there is one milestone that is unique to some ranch kids. A kids’ first solo horse ride is the milestone that gets me in the feels every time. I don’t know if it’s because I’m not quite prepared to have my kids take on such a big responsibility or if it’s their enthusiasm to do “grown-up work” that makes me a bit teary-eyed. Perhaps it’s actually my subconscious understanding that I will now have to catch, saddle, pack around, and unsaddle yet one more horse that makes me misty-eyed, but probably not, that’s a small price to pay.

We were on the second leg of trailing cows home the other day, when Jaime’s golden opportunity to ride came along. Up until then, Jaime and I had been travelling with the herd in the truck and trailer, stopping cows from going in the odd gate, but mostly staying warm, visiting, and eating all the snacks. My Other Half stopped us part of the way home and asked Jaime if she wanted to switch her brother out. I made a few feeble protests, including mentioning the fact that she didn’t pack ski pants (“she can wear her brothers,” my husband reasoned) and my concern that it was too cold and snowing too hard for a three-year-old to be out riding. Those excuses fell on many pairs of deaf ears, however. After some horse trading between her brothers, and a mutual agreement that left one of them graciously stepping off so she could take their place, Jaime scrambled up onto Betsy and rode away before I could say too much more. Not that anyone was listening to me anyway.

It was cold and it started snowing even harder, but Jaime didn’t notice. She followed the herd, grinning, and learned to ride down into the ditch to bring up the odd slow cow. She would sneakily hold her horse back a bit so she could trot just a little ways in order to catch up. Sometimes she would hang back so she could talk to me but more often than not, she would stay several yards ahead, and wasn’t too worried about looking back at her old ma. Her dad and grandpa were paying close attention to how she was doing and her brother, with his advanced age and experience, gave her plenty of instructions to follow too.

Almost three hours later, the cows arrived home, and only then could I pry her off her horse. But I couldn’t pry the smile off her face.

This isn’t exactly an earth-shattering admission, but raising kids is not easy. As a parent, I worry that we’re not hard enough on our kids, or maybe we’re being too hard on them. Maybe they shouldn’t log as many hours with us as they do on the baler, or at the corral, or hauling bales and perhaps we should give them more time to play and have fun and be a kid. But when I see them tackle some “jobs” and have so much fun while they’re at it, maybe I should learn a thing or two from them.

Regardless, this month will see our daughter celebrate another birthday and gain a bit more independence. And our ranch gains another willing cow hand, one that is made of sugar and spice, with a shot of perseverance and some grit for good measure.

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Beef & Business House & Homestead Pastures & Prairie Ranch & Real Life

Home/Work

Entering into the ranching business is not cheap. It takes work, planning, mostly lots of luck, and to be perfectly honest, capital. Without money, you can’t buy grass. Without grass, you can’t buy cows, and if you want to buy cows, guess what you need? For this reason, I have almost always worked off-farm in some capacity. Lucky for me, my off-farm employment revolves around prairie management, forage, beef, and communication, which is a pretty nice complement to my on-farm life too.

I used to drive to an office every day to work full-time. This was okay for a while, but three babies later, I decided to live the dream – ranch full-time…and work from home too. How hard could it be? Other people seemed to successfully work from home so why shouldn’t I? Blissfully ignorant, and I was looking forward to achieving the elusive (and annoyingly cliched) “work-life balance.” There were some myths that I quickly and systematically busted after just a few short weeks.

Myth: you will never again have to brave 105 kilometres (one way) of slippery roads, making the trek to the office in blizzard-like conditions. You’ll be safe and warm at home and weather will no longer impact your work like it once did.

Myth-buster: on beautiful, sunshiny days when you would love to be outside with your other ranching peers, you’re slaving away in your basement office tapping out your next report that is due in 47, wait… no… 46 minutes.

Myth: working from one’s home, you’ll surely be able to pop a quick load of laundry in the dryer while you run upstairs to grab a home-brewed cup of java, after which you can throw some supper in the slow-cooker. You’ll have well-planned meals and the cleanest home ever, all the time.

Myth-buster: your ice-cold coffee sits untouched until your alarm rings to go pick up the kids for music. You realize you haven’t yet brushed your teeth, so you do and run out the door, ignoring the mess in your house that accumulates because you are now in your house all the time. But hey, you got that last project submitted 3 hours before it was due!

Myth: you’ll get so much extra work done without the hassle of extended water cooler breaks and random chit chat. You won’t ever have to deal with office politics. Also, the flexibility of working from home means you can take off a bit early to get the kids to those music lessons, as long as you make the time up somewhere along the line.

Myth-buster: When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you realize you’re looking at the craziest woman you’ll ever share an office with. Wish you had someone to run a concept or idea by? Want a second opinion? Good luck finding a colleague that’s willing to chat at 11:52pm on a Friday evening when you’re making up for lost time.

Myth: with careful organization, you will at time create large blocks of time (during the daylight) to get a jump on work deadlines. Free from distractions, there is no reason you can’t put a good dent into your project.

Myth-buster: You’re focused. Wait…is that a knock at the door? It’s a traveling salesman, wanting to show you his wares. You send him on his way and just as he drives out, you hear the mooing of an errant bovine (or several) rambling through your yard. Once you put them back where they belong and return to your desk, the phone rings and it’s your long lost friend you haven’t chatted with since 2013. Then it rings again and you are needed out in the field. A quick four and a half hours later, you are back at your computer, smelling like diesel, but more focused than ever. Time to get some work done, people!

As the saying goes, if you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life. I’m lucky to love my ranch work and “home/work” and enjoy the privilege of doing both. However, I can definitely say that I continue to learn a lot about that work-ranch-life balance. Some days the grass may seem greener on the other side, and sometimes it’s greenest right under your feet.

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House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

Paradise City

There has been a lot of upheaval and uncertainty around this world and indeed in our own province this last week. Rather than dwell on the unknown, I’m going to cover a topic that is as certain as death and taxes – the rancHER’s trip to the city.

Let me preface this by stating that I love to shop locally every chance I get. Groceries, parts, fuel, hardware, herbicide, prescriptions; the list of purchases I make in our two nearby small towns goes on. Prices are usually competitive, and I appreciate not having to drive an hour to buy the things we need. Plus, it’s usually friendly service with a smile with the exception of one local business that insists on addressing me as Old Lady Davidson…. but I digress.

Alas, operating a ranch inevitably requires taking a trip to the big city 100km away. Whether it’s for specific parts, banking, dental appointments, new chore clothes, or wine-making supplies (don’t judge me), eventually you have to hop into the pick-up and head off for the bright lights.

My love for lists is well known, and no list is more complex, organized, and edited, than my list for the city. The list is a “living” document if you will, continually evolving with new additions as time passes between trips. I like to categorize the list according to stops and priority. I usually aim high, and try to get everything done on my list, but as my caffeinated motivation, time, and spirits flag throughout the day, realistically there will be places that I don’t get to. I organize my list of stops made throughout the city so that the route makes sense, taking into account any closed overpasses, any Trans Canada highways that bisect my route, and of course, any stores that have potential restroom stops for my three passengers (or as every retailer predictably refers to them as, “mommy’s little helpers”).

My husband’s approach to a day in town is completely different. We rarely travel together to the city except for important business transactions, family funerals, or say, the birth of our children, so I always marvel at his cavalier method of shopping. As I’m furiously categorizing my list en route (basically taking all of the fun out of a family trip to town) my Other Half casually grabs a livestock manifest and randomly scribbles a few places to stop on the back of the book. When he accompanies me, I guarantee the kids and I spend way more time waiting in the truck, we spend way more money than I anticipated, and we come home with at least one item that my Other Half deemed 100% essential to the operation of our ranch, even though up until he buys it, I had no idea it even existed.

A few weeks had passed between my required urban journeys when we ended up making a recent unscheduled trip to the dentist. I was trying my best to get organized, get one child on his way to school, and the other two packed up for a big day of adventures in town. I quickly reviewed my quintessential list, set out things that I needed by the door, and got everyone dressed and ready to go. As I left, I looked for my list and realized it had disappeared. I looked in my usual places, I looked in odd places, upstairs and down, and I looked in the truck, in case I had set it in there earlier. I had just had it!

The clock was ticking. You really only have a few brief moments between having the kids ready to load in the truck and having them decide they should have one last drink of water or wear a different outfit. What could I remember from my list? Did I have an old manifest book in the truck that I could scrawl on?

I found the list. In the deep freeze.

A bit confused, we set off for another expensive day in the city so we could come back home and keep living the dream.

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

The Write Stuff

I don’t typically consider myself to be a writer. If asked to describe myself, I usually stick with wife, mom, rancher, Gelbvieh breeder, and sometimes range ninja (or in other words, a prairie plant geek). I even still refer to myself as a piano player before a writer, although based on my behavior, I’ve pretty much retired from tinkling the ivories.

I do not possess an English degree and I haven’t taken any classes in journalism or communication. In fact, I only took one required English class in university where my biggest victory was the fact that we covered Shakespeare’s Macbeth, the very same play that I studied a few years earlier in Grade 10. Having kept all of my old high school notes, they came in very handy that semester and I didn’t overexert myself in that class.

These characteristics do not a writer make. In fact, these are the very characteristics that annoy actual, legitimate writers. I recently discovered, however, that I do have a voluminous lifelong portfolio of mediocre writing to my credit.

In a recent fit of productive procrastination, I decided to clean out numerous boxes of childhood mementos and made some interesting discoveries.  These boxes, which I had “accidentally” left behind at my parents’ when I moved, and were now taking up prime real estate in my basement, needed to go. Opening them up, I found the usual doodles and school pictures, comic books, and science fair projects. I discovered binders full of class notes from university that seemed much more relevant in the olden days before smart phones and Google. Among these time capsules were extensive archives of written stories. They were all in my hand writing and they looked somewhat familiar, but I didn’t remember writing so many.

There was one story I recall pitching to a well-known author who happened to be a family friend. While that particular venture didn’t go as my eight-year-old-self had imagined it would, apparently it didn’t dampen my spirit because I continued to write volumes. As I got older, I moved past writing fiction (where the main character was inevitably name Sarah) and delved into the non-fiction that defined my teenage years. Somehow I had also forgotten that I wrote page after page in journals, documenting the angst and drama that apparently permeated my teenage rural Saskatchewan existence. There were also never ending dramatic letters that friends and I wrote to each other about our perceived teenage struggles. I now realize how many trees were sacrificed just to get me through my adolescence. Apparently I’ve been writing stuff down for several years without really noticing and I have a body of “work” to show for it.

In spite of not really being a writer, I do spend a considerable amount of time writing these days, especially with my part time work. I don’t necessarily allocate a lot of time to writing this column (perhaps that’s better kept a secret?) but I am always writing a piece or two about prairie conservation, species at risk, invasive weeds, or beef production for a few different organizations. I get the opportunity to write riveting technical reports, web content, newsletters, fact sheets, even the odd funding proposal. The subject matter isn’t always charming and it can be a challenge to present a topic (i.e. bovine internal parasites) creatively, but the content is useful.

I do enjoy the creative challenge of this column. I appreciate the deadline, for without it I would not take time to cobble 650 words together a couple times a month. Life gets blurry and I like documenting the highlights and perhaps even more so, giving literary credit to the boring, everyday things I experience as a rancher, mom, and wife. I like stirring memories in others and hearing about their experiences with clotheslines, calves, lost dogs, stubborn kids, getting stuck (not that I do that!), and anything else they may identify with.

I may not be a writer, but I think I’ll keep doing it for a while.

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

The B List

It’s hard to deny that summer is drawing to a close. The days are becoming noticeably shorter, I’m starting to see a few migratory birds acting as though fall may be on the way, and I can no longer ignore back-to-school prep. When I think back on this past summer it was pretty good all around, and a few B-list highlights include building, berries, bites, bales, and bikes.

Our children really grew in their freedom this summer and they continue to develop skills, the least of which are their independent carpentry techniques. They have spent all summer building, constructing, destroying and re-building an old pallet crate they have deemed the tree fort. Their fort has taken on a life of its own and currently features a (non-functioning) fire pit, a (fully functional) garbage can, an area for their most precious treasures, and a bathroom zone (please don’t ask). At any given time this summer at least one pajama-clad child was wandering the yard barefoot while two were randomly hammering, ahem, “building” onto this structure.

A highlight of the summer was the sheer volume of berries! Chokecherries were particularly bountiful in our yard and we picked, jellied, picked again, froze, and picked once more for good measure. The children proved to be especially efficient pickers and took pride in their work. They also ate a lot of fresh chokecherries, marveling at how they “dried out” their mouths, and they apparently stashed a fair amount in their pockets too. Of course I didn’t notice that until after I had washed their clothes, but what’s a day of wash without surprising discoveries?

This was also the summer of bites, as swarms of mosquitos descended upon us in early August. I was also the recipient of my first bee sting, which turned out to be completely harmless. Slightly more harmful however was the spider bite I also managed to acquire. I must admit I never fully believed spider bites were that big of a deal. And at the beginning, mine wasn’t a big deal either. Although two weeks after I was bitten and my hand swelled to twice its normal size, I couldn’t remove my watch, and I could feel every heartbeat and every loud noise in my hand, I realized what all the fuss was about. While two medical professionals actually recoiled at the sight of my bloated hand, they did get me on the track to recovery and my hand is (almost) back to normal.

Our family once again spent quality time making bales. Between the cutting and the checking and the baling and the hauling, we have endured plenty of “together” time. One could argue we almost spent too much time in close quarters. Between the “she’s repeating me!” and the “are we just about there? When are we gonna get there?” and the eye rolls that punctuated baling, there were a lot of picnics, ladybug hunts, and storytelling. Apparently the latter events are those that memories are made of.

This summer also proved to be successful from a bike perspective, as our two older boys learned how to ride their two-wheelers. Given the rocky and unstable terrain of our yard, teaching our kids to ride a two-wheeler was not very high on my priority list. It turns out it was high on their list however, and they took it upon themselves to modify their training wheels so that they were lifted off the ground. They climbed to the tallest hill in our yard and I happened to watch them teetering down the hill toward the house picking up speed as they went. There were a few collisions and they both had a few scraped knees, but nothing will compare to the big grins they wore coming down the hill that first time.

This was a summer to remember and it was a nice balance of work and play. It looks like fall has some pretty big shoes to fill.

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

Breaking Bad

There are a few certainties that come along with farming and ranching, and one of them is The Break Down. If you have equipment you know that at some point (usually at an incredibly inconvenient time, like a Sunday morning of a long weekend) you’re going to have a break down.

Personally, I’m not a great mechanic. Unless the Break Down is incredibly obvious and easy to fix with few tools and little skill, I’m unlikely to actually solve the mechanical difficulty. That doesn’t mean I can’t help though, and after assisting a variety of different “fixers” with break downs over the years, I’ve made a few observations about being the support staff.

Know when to talk. Know when to listen. Through experience, I’ve discovered that hovering over someone’s shoulder asking “What’s wrong?” and “How do you fix that?” is not only unhelpful, it’s unappreciated. Similarly stating the obvious, such as “ooohh, that looks bad….” doesn’t help much either. Unless you’re a mechanical engineer, keep your observations and questions to yourself.

Find your niche. Everyone has some sort of talent that can be harnessed into something useful during the Break Down. Perhaps you have a valid driver’s license and can go on a parts run to town (or Timbuktu, depending on the idiosyncrasies of your machinery). Maybe you are good at offering a little encouragement to your mechanically-inclined friend. I’m far too sarcastic to fill that role, however my twig-like arms and spidery finders have proven useful at grabbing tiny things from even tinier spaces so I’m somewhat purposeful.

Read the signals and learn the codes. Be prepared to listen to a lot of muttering and try to decipher this into something tangible. Did you hear “3/4?” Then grab the wrench and ratchet version of that. Is your spouse randomly banging on something with a rock? Get them a hammer. (Because that always fixes the problem.) Were you asked to retrieve bolts that are in a red plastic bag on the driver’s side dash only to find what they actually meant was a blue paper bag of nuts under the passenger seat? You cracked the code, congratulations! However, if you find you consistently can’t tell a 9/16 from a 7/8 and you’re not willing to learn, then just go home.

Plan B. During the Break Down, there may come a time when you need to consider Plan B. I’m not always quick to diagnose a problem, but I’m fairly good at thinking of a Plan B, but I still have to work on my timing. Early in the Break Down, I usually go straight for the alternative, which yields no response from my husband. I repeat my Plan B suggestion, a little louder the second time (completely ignoring point 1. above). Again, it falls on deaf ears. If we’ve tried a few other solutions and we’re still no closer to fixing the Break Down, my husband grudgingly suggests the Plan B idea, and I quietly nod. (And smile.)

Keep things in perspective. Unless the Break Down results in an actual human injury, remember that things can always be worse. Of course, it’s hard to remind yourself of that when you’re in a race against time and weather, but try to be happy for small mercies. Like mosquito spray. And cordless impacts.

Perhaps some farmers experience a break-down-free existence in the field, but I guess I’m not one of them. Good luck and happy fixing.

Categories
Beef & Business Ranch & Real Life

East or West

We have several friends and cattle customers down east that my Other Half and I have been wanting to catch up with. In late May the stars aligned, or to be more specific, the clouds gathered and it rained, which afforded us a few days away. Travelling is always a good opportunity to recharge and regroup, but more importantly for us it is a chance to learn from others. This trip was no exception and below are a few of my observations:

Canadians are Canadians: We did spend a bit of time in Canada’s largest city. Being modest country folk, I was expecting the people in the GTA to be busy, bustling and distracted with their own agendas. That they were, but it turns out they were also friendly, courteous and helpful. People held doors open for us and returned our smiles. And, after noting my dear husband’s cowboy hat, only one person on Yonge Street asked if we were from Texas.

Do as the Romans do: when we travel, we usually spend minimal time taking in the culture, entertainment or sporting events of an area, and spend maximum time focusing on cattle. For this trip however, there was a Blue Jays game starting an hour or two after our plane landed so I bought a couple tickets and we joined in the fun, following the wave of blue people heading toward Rogers Centre. We cheered right along with our seatmates (who also happened to be from Saskatchewan), we indulged in frosty, over-priced-but-incredibly-refreshing beverages and bought tickets in the 50-50 draw…which naturally amounted to $43,000. (Note: we were not the lucky winners).

Age is just a number: One major difference I saw between Saskatchewan and Ontario was that of history and heritage. In Ontario, most farms had homes that were 150 years old and many had working barns and outbuildings that were of the same vintage. Here at home, my 55 year old house is sometimes considered quaint, but out east, it would be positively youthful. It’s a similar story for generational family farms. My husband and I, both fourth-generation Saskatchewan farmers, were visiting with a fourth-generation Ontario producer…who was five decades our senior.

The coffee pot is always on: at home, if I am craving a fresh, hot cup of Tim Horton’s coffee, all I have to do is drive 96 km to our nearest franchise and purchase a steaming cup. Of course I don’t do that, therefore a hot cuppa Timmy’s becomes a nice treat every once in a while. In Ontario, if you’re jonesing for a double-double, all you have to do is wait five minutes. There are literally Tim Horton’s locations scattered at five to ten minute intervals across the entire province. And they are all busy. And the coffee is all fresh.

Farmers are farmers: there are of course similarities and differences between farms in the west and the east but wherever we went, people were welcoming, very hard-working and generous. Everyone made time in their busy schedules to show us their farms and answer our questions. The farms were efficient and very well kept. Whether we were visiting traditional family farming operations or state-of-the-art enterprises, the animals were all very well cared for and the farmers noticed subtleties between individual animals even on very large operations. No matter where you are located, all farmers deal with challenges including land prices, soil conditions, market volatility, weather fluctuations and consumer pressures and I realized we have more similarities than differences with our eastern counterparts.

As the saying goes, east or west, home is best, but to be honest, I felt at home for the entire duration of our working holiday. East or west, Canada is home.

Categories
Critters & Kids House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

It Happened so Quick

“We like the things that summer brings… Summer brings so many things!” exclaims a favourite childhood book of mine that I now read to our children.

Summer is a time of fun and excitement, it is truly filled with so many wonderful things for farm families. Summer is also an incredibly dangerous time of year. Farmers and their workers, including children, are exposed to a variety of hazards on the farm and in rural, remote locations. Threats vary in immediate risk from prolonged exposure to sunlight and insects carrying a variety of diseases, to working with heavy PTO and non-PTO equipment.

One thing I hate about summer are the dreaded radio reports, or the feared phone call, when someone shares news of a farm accident, or the very worst, a farm fatality. We all know victims and families who have been impacted. It is the most horrible thing ever. Farm accidents resonate so strongly with us, with other farmers, families, and neighbours because in almost every case, victims are just like you or I. They were simply doing their jobs as they had so many times before. They were capable, cautious people, not overt risk-takers. One can’t help but think, if it happened to them, it can happen to us too.

So how do we prevent farm accidents? It’s a question farm safety advocates, farmers, and families have been trying to answer for decades and it’s obvious, there is no quick solution. It’s a complicated topic that everyone agrees needs to take centre stage, yet farm accidents continue to occur across Canada.

From my own experience, every time I hear of a terrible farm accident, I do spend the next few days taking a little extra time when doing jobs, taking more opportunities to explain risks to my children, and generally think about safety a bit more. I see our ranch and farm operations with fresh, albeit scared eyes, and notice things that once were part of the background all of a sudden jumping out as potentially unsafe. A major challenge of farm safety is that we live where we work, and we become habituated to on-site hazards. Unfortunately, inevitably the shock factor fades, and I lapse into old habits and previous inadequate ways of approaching safety. That’s simply not good enough.

Recently, FarmOn.com created a series of farm safety videos that can be viewed at YouTube.com/user/FarmOnVideos/videos. There are longer videos that share the stories of victims through their families, as well as shorter films that demonstrate farm hazards. Please take the time to watch and share these videos. They are haunting and very impactful. They are not easy to watch, and they all have a common theme throughout — “it happened so quickly.” The films also touch on valuable points, like making safety just as important of a topic on our farms as business management and production practices. One victim’s family points to the fact that people take workplace safety more seriously in non-farm environments, and it must be a priority on farm environments as well.  Another victim’s family says that farms employ accountants, lawyers, even cooking staff, perhaps it’s time to bring in safety experts who can help farmers evaluate safety hazards and mitigate risks.

There are no easy answers. Farming is dangerous. Hazards are real. However, maybe some first steps are to share the hard, gut-wrenching stories. Discuss safety regularly with everyone, including owner/operators, workers, children, neighbours. Look at your surrounding with fresh eyes, watchful of potential dangers. Think about what you would do in an emergency. Do you have cell service? Who would you call? Do you know your exact land location? Who on site has First Aid? If working alone, does someone know where you are? Do they know when to expect you home?

Let’s keep the joy in summer. Let’s slow down. Let’s keep farm safety at the forefront.

Categories
House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

City Mouse, Country Mouse

One of the things I love most about ranching is the wide, open spaces. Life on a farm is very different from life in the city, and while both have their benefits and drawbacks, I know that living in a (usually ambient) rural setting is what’s best for me and my family.

I did give city life the old college try (literally) when I lived in Saskatoon for four years during university. I also lived in other urban locations for a handful of summer jobs along the way. The centers I occupied as I worked during the summer ranged in size from 17,000 city occupants down to approximately 100 urban dwellers – give or take a few.

Urban life does have a few benefits including access to a diverse variety of restaurants, activities, shopping centres, cultures, and events that my quiet home quarter simply does not offer. On the flip side, absolutely every time I left my city apartment, I usually spent some money somewhere. One thing the city does offer is access to reliable high speed internet. As a rural business owner and contract project manager, I actually can’t think of a drawback to this one. In fact usually a few times a year I become a temporary urban resident as I lurk in a library, Tim Horton’s, or nearby school parking lot that may offer free Wi-Fi. A girl needs to update her devices every so often and I require such highfalutin internet connections in order to maintain my ability to do business from my internet-deficient location. But I digress.

Once in a while, I do have a moment of longing to window shop on Broadway or order a very fancy coffee or have a picnic down by the river in a beautifully manicured park. However that moment is fleeting. When I get to a city and I hear the noise, see the traffic, and encounter one person after another who avoids eye contact with me, doesn’t return my smile, or doesn’t hold a door open for me after I’ve extended the same courtesy to them, I’m quickly reminded that I don’t belong there. And I don’t really want to belong there. Forget about having a quiet dinner in a new downtown restaurant or pub, I want to order from the same menu I always do and talk about the price of corral panels, replacement heifers or canola with my neighbours at the next table like a normal human being.

But that’s just me. I don’t expect anyone to understand why I love to live the way I do and I shouldn’t. I also realize that I have to share some of the benefits that the city can offer to my kids so they can be somewhat adaptable and open-minded if and when they encounter city life themselves.

I was able to do just that with my youngest daughter recently. We had a day in the city with a few hours to spare and we made the most of it. We sauntered through a beautiful museum (and only set the You’re Standing Too Close to the Display Alarm off once!). We visited a park and explored the…er, “wildlife” that the park had to offer (dodging geese and associated dung along the way). We went shopping. We indulged in a fancy smoothie as we walked downtown.

As we made our way back to the truck (quick question, how come parking spaces are so teeny?!) I said to her, “You know, we are really lucky we live where we live.” She beamed up at me and said “Yeppers! Nobody lives by us!” Then she paused for a minute and added “except for bales. Lots of bales.” I think she summed it up nicely.

The city can be a nice place to visit, but I’m so glad I live where I live.

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

More Than Meets the Eye

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but what if one beholder has 20/20 vision and the other beholder is somewhat blind?

My Other Half and I agree or at least compromise on pretty much everything in our daily lives, however I realized pretty early on that when it came to eyesight, there was a deep chasm between us. In fact, we couldn’t be more different. He could see things far away and in great detail, and I couldn’t. He could enter a building after being outdoors and not think twice, but I had to stop and wait for my glasses to defrost. He could hop out of bed and see instantly and, you guessed it, I could not. Working in the various “offices” that one has on a ranch, I would notice our differences often.

“You see that coyote over there on that hill?” my Other Half would ask as we moved through a pasture.

“Er….where? I think so…maybe?” I would squint in the direction I thought I should and look as hard and earnestly as I could, and often still saw nothing. Unless the coyote, or any subject that he was pointing out, was extremely large, slow-moving, or better yet, dead and immobile, it would have long scampered over the hill by the time I could ever spot it.

Gathering cows, my husband would regularly explain how I should bring pairs up through a draw towards a distant gate that he would make reference to which was apparently on the horizon somewhere. Initially, I would ask questions until I was certain I knew the specific gate on a particular knoll that he was talking about. After a few years I’d save us all the hassle and say “yeah, sure, that gate over there,” and start gathering cattle, hoping I would figure out what Eagle Eyes really meant when the time came. Not exactly a solid plan for either herding livestock or preserving a marriage.

Having to wear glasses is a First World Problem, really. There are far worse things in life than having imperfect eyesight, and I got by for decades by wearing contact lenses, and when that failed, I had glasses to rely on. But….it was a First World Problem that I knew could potentially be solved by laser eye surgery. After looking into it, visiting with friends and family who had undergone the procedure, and going through the appropriate optometry channels, I went ahead and booked my appointment last May on the day we happened to be celebrating our tenth wedding anniversary. Who doesn’t deserve a night away in the city with the love of your life on a special occasion? (Even if you have gauze and plastic shields taped to your eyes and are solely dependent on said husband for the following 24 hours).

When we planned our wedding in May so many years ago, we discovered that on a ranch, there are bad times to get married and there are really bad times to get married. The same holds true for scheduling a voluntary eye procedure, but I made it through the brief and relatively simple convalescence fairly well, even if I did have to tape goggles to my head for a day or two when we were sorting pairs for breeding pastures. The lasting results (for me) were worth the discomfort, dust-preventing contraptions, and yep, even the money. This summer, when I was baling into to the sun, I no longer had to squint through my old glasses, I could throw on a pair of sunglasses and see just fine. This winter, when we walked through a barn, I didn’t have to wander around in a fog. And when Old Eagle Eyes can spot things that seem to be several miles away, through the magic of technology, now I can too.

There is always more to life than what meets the eye, but it sure helps when you have better than 20/20 vision.

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

Note to Self

I am one of those people who enjoys a good list. Sometimes I lean a wee bit towards a Type A personality, and I organize and file and use notes to support my tendencies. I feel like a thorough to-do list helps me stay on track, and the odd time I even complete something on those numerous scraps of paper. In theory, at least.

I gained an appreciation for The List as a child when I would watch my mom make her list then cross each task off as she completed them. She always got a lot done and her system seemed effective, so I guess I can blame my love for The List on her.

I have a variety of lists including daily to-do lists, short-term lists, long-term lists, ranch lists, project management lists, people-to-call lists, and more. If it’s anything from goals to groceries, you can bet I have them noted on a sticky note tucked away somewhere. These sticky notes cause much grief for my dear Other Half. I feel as though my system works just fine, but I suspect he doubts its usefulness when I’m searching for the right little orange piece of paper for a specific important detail. He even once bought me a notebook, I think to sort of reign in my sticky note dependency. I’m not so sure where that book is now, but I currently have no less than thirteen scratch pads within inches of my computer. I just counted them.

I must admit that lists have gotten me in trouble a time or two. During an elementary school group project once, my classmates and I had a long list of tasks to complete so we decided to split them up. Naturally, I made a list of tasks for each of us Grade 5 kids to accomplish which didn’t sit very well with some of the adults. It turned out I should have kept my lists to myself.

I have a few favourite list types, including my ongoing gift list. I keep track of ideas for presents for my family and friends and add to it throughout the year, subtracting as I gift them. Another list preference is the list-within-the-list concept, where I prioritize “need to do” vs. “nice to do” in tidy little columns. I’m sure there are many a household with a Honey Do list, but mine flew out the window about nine years ago.

Probably my most beloved list, and arguably the most important one, is the list I’m working on right now…the calving list. For every calf that’s born, we note it’s birth date, weight, gender, colour, and who their mom and dad are. We keep track of all of this data and information in a magnificent oracle known as a calving book. It is such an important little booklet that, because I like lists and what-not, I actually make a duplicate book. A “his” and “hers” calving book, if you will. The chance that a singular calving book could get misplaced, or tumble out of a shirt pocket and into a cow pie, or spontaneously combust is just a risk that I’m not prepared to take.

Before we started calving, my six-year-old made his own list of veterinary supplies he thought we would need to have on hand. He can’t spell all of the words yet so he made a graphical list that was fairly detailed. A veterinarian later sent me a supply list that he sends to his clients prior to calving. I think other than a few items (and a few less pictures on the grown-up version) the lists were pretty similar. A good list will not be limited by age or literacy level.

Thinking and planning about doing something sometimes gets in the way of actually doing something, so there needs to be a happy medium. A list for the sake of a list is pretty redundant, and I need to remind myself of that every so often.

Maybe you make a list and maybe you don’t, but I can’t imagine my life without one. Long live The List.

Categories
Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

The Help

We are starting a new phase of ranching for our family here at Lonesome Dove Ranch, and it’s a stage I have been anticipating for a long time. Of course, I’m referring to the fact that our kids are slowly but surely starting to earn their keep. Opening and closing gates, fetching things, even helping remove twine on bales when we feed cows…the balance is slowly starting nudge in our favour. Of course, having an extra set of little hands pitching in around our ranch isn’t the primary reason for having children, but it certainly can be a nice little side effect. There’s never a shortage of work that needs to be done.

One of the best things about life on a farm is working alongside your family. I’ve done a straw poll of ranchers and farmers over the years and when asked what they love most about ranching, their answer almost always includes working hand in hand with other generations. This response has come from young ranching mothers and grizzled, grumpy old cowboys alike.

Probably the best gift my parents ever gave me was the gift of growing up on a farm. When you’re a kid, you don’t realize what you are learning when you’re out in the field or riding shotgun or picking rocks but as a parent, I’m realizing that the lessons never stop. We talk about how and what and why we are feeding our cattle. The kids watch the numbers on the scale increase and they notice how they go down when we put out the feed. They learn the importance of monitoring the health and welfare of our animals and are quick to notice anything that might not be feeling well. They learn about nature and keep watch for the snowy owl that watches for us every day when we check the water bowl. It’s probably the broader values of daily chores, like responsibility and safety and adaptability, that sneak up on them and me too when we’re donning our ski pants for the 83rd time this season.

I usually like to do things quickly and efficiently so I can move onto the next job on my to-do list. However, when you’re packing around three willing helpers aged three to five, molasses in January moves faster. Their staunch independence also slows things down because whatever chore they task themselves with, they insist they must “do it myself!” From them, I have learned that I am darn short on patience and that I really need to relax. Even if it takes five minutes for one kid to pick twine from a bale, that’s okay. Where do I have to go that is more important?

The help hasn’t been limited to farm work either, I might add. Every time we make a meal, or throw wet clothes into the dryer, or wash dishes, a chair magically appears beside us with one to three children ready to get in the fray. I even went to check on a kid the other day after I noticed he was a little too quiet and I discovered he was folding towels. Folding! The towels weren’t folded to my standard specifications, but I’m learning that it doesn’t matter. They were folded! By someone other than me!

According to most people, we are in some of the very best years of our lives. I’m not quite sure when they started and I don’t know for certain how long they will last. I just know that for now, the help is willing and sweet. And I can use all the help I can get.

 

Categories
Beef & Business Ranch & Real Life

The Year of the Cow

I have had a variety of New Year’s Resolutions over the years. They vary from the unattainable — a couple favourites are drink more water and just be a nicer person already — to the more realistic goal of having more haircuts in 2014 than the solitary cut I had in 2013. (Totally nailed that last one, by the way!). For this upcoming year, I thought I would appeal to my literary side and decided to read more books than I had in the previous year. It seemed like a good plan until not one, but two family members reminded me that I had actually made that resolution last year.

My favourite resolution of all time however, was in 2011 when I randomly resolved to do a better job at promoting the beef industry. I would love to say that there was a deeper meaning behind my goal, that perhaps I was concerned about the growing disparity between the farmer and our urban consumer counterparts, or that I had just had an altercation with a vegan, but there was no real method to my madness. It was just a New Year’s Resolution.

But I really meant it. For most of the year leading up to January 1, 2011, I was on maternity leave with my twin babies and on our ranch full time. For the first time, I was finally able to be involved more in the 7am-6pm aspects of our daily ranch life instead of just running a second shift after I was home from my day job. Being more present, both physically and mentally, on our operation reminded me that cattle ranching is important to me and that it’s a valuable part of the food system and our economy as well. Hence my subconscious was thoroughly promoting my beefy New Year goal.

My resolution also coincided with a new program called the Cattlemen’s Young Leader that was just getting off the ground. This national mentorship program, through the Canadian Cattlemen’s Association, was accepting applicants to participate in a yearlong journey of learning, leadership and networking in Canada’s beef industry. I was intrigued so I thought I would apply and see what happened. The fact that I actually clicked the online application button with about twenty minutes left to spare before the midnight deadline perhaps would point to a need for a procrastination resolution someday but that might be better in 2017. Or 2018.

I was a lucky CYL candidate and my experience was second-to- none. I was reacquainted with old friends and classmates, met several inspiring people, and toured some amazing facilities. It reinvigorated my appetite for learning and my love for all things beef. I gained a better appreciation for all segments of the beef value chain, from the science behind forage and feed grain production, through to feedlots, packers, retailers and chefs. The experience paired me with a mentor that I’m close with to this day, and she and others continue to encourage me to share ranch stories, including those in this column. The experience also reminded me that when you gather several 18-35 year olds from across Canada with similar interests, a lot of fun can be had. Also, given the spread in ages and demographics, a natural division occurs between those that are excited to stay up all night long and those who are excited to get a full night’s sleep. (As the mom of young twin babies, I totally fell into the latter group).

CYL will be accepting another crop of applications starting on January 1, 2016. If you’re interested or want more information on this mentorship program, visit www.cattlemensyoungleaders.com.

Technically 2011 may have been the Year of the Rabbit. But for me, that year and every year to follow, really is the Year of the Cow.

Happy New Year and all the best in 2016!

Categories
Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

Picture Perfect

‘Tis that magical time of year when homes are decorated, goodies are baked, families gather, and holiday traditions are upheld. One of my favourite things during the season is receiving updates from friends and family through their annual Christmas cards. It’s fun to open the mailbox and see stacks of notes from loved ones near and far, most of them including the quintessential family photo. You know the kind, the ones where impeccably dressed children beam at the photographer, while parents appear to be in love with each other, their children, and the world in general. Everything is perfect.

We too usually include a family photo in our Christmas card and I can tell you right now, obtaining that pretty picture can be a challenge. Whether you endeavour to get a flawless family picture or simply attempt to have all of your family members in one place at a single time with photographic proof, the process is easier said than done. The frustration level increases if the ages of the children are five or younger and it multiplies if any of your family members are male. There seems to be a lot of bargaining and organization and gnashing of teeth to get the show on the road.

Sometimes I attempt to capture a Christmas-card-worthy photo of my husband and me with our angelic little darlings and I set up a tripod, explain the process to everyone and hope for the best. Other years I get a photographer who has much more skill and patience than I to take our photos. This involves setting up an appointment, because while our family is often together, we are usually sporting mended chore clothes and dirt-spattered faces, hardly the shared vision that the photographer or I have for a shoot. I schedule a time, but usually have to reschedule at least once before I can finally herd our family towards our adaptable (and did I mention patient?) photographer.

Immediately prior to our session, I’m compelled to trim our kids’ hair as it grows shaggy seemingly overnight. The children have a (not entirely unfounded) fear that I will accidentally nick them during their trim, which means I usually have to distract them and reassure them that I won’t draw blood. Then repeat the process for all three heads.

Securing an outfit for everyone is the next step. Where are the shirts? Should I iron those shirts? Do I even have an iron? Now I’ve found the iron, but do I have an ironing board? I procure an ironing board but I think I had better dust it before I do anything else. Each child is later clothed in their predetermined outfit, and the real question remains, how do I keep everyone’s freshly ironed clothing clean for longer than two minutes?

After getting everyone else dressed, I quickly dress myself yet all of a sudden nothing fits right, nothing matches and somehow I become the person delaying the process. I quickly throw on a shirt that I purchased from a grocery store four years ago and hope it looks…fresh.

When I take the pictures ourselves, I’m pleased if at least one photo out of twenty captures 80% of the subjects looking sort of happy. I’ll take what I can get. Photographers however somehow magically capture lots of amazing pictures, probably because they know what they are doing and how to direct us. Lovely photos are the end goal, and yet I’m always drawn to the outtakes. Whether it’s a grumpy toddler photobombing the shot, or someone’s squinty (or angry!) eyes, or a parent embracing-but-really-gently-restraining a child, those photos seem to be the most authentic representations of a picture session. Part of me would like to actually use one such outtake for our Christmas card some year. It would certainly stick out.

From our house to yours, have a wonderful picture perfect Christmas.

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Categories
Ranch & Real Life

Outstanding in Her Field

I love a good news story but most days, good news is hard to find in the media or online. So when I came across a positive story hitting the mainstream media about women, agriculture and Saskatchewan, I was intrigued.

Tiffany Martinka, a farmer and agricultural professional from northeast Saskatchewan started a grassroots social media initiative called #womenofharvest15 and it has been gaining major traction. It all started when she sent a tweet asking women to share photos of themselves from the field, the combine cab or from wherever they happened to be helping out during this busy season.

For anyone unfamiliar with Twitter, it is an online social media forum that allows users to “follow” people they are interested in following, and share information to their own “followers” all in 140 characters or less. Brevity is key. (See what I did there?). Twitter users select a handle, for example mine is @tara_m_davidson, and you can send out photos or videos and messages to other interested people who follow your posts. You can use “tags” such as #farm365, #westcdnag, #loveCDNbeef or #ranchlife and other users searching for those tags will come across your brief, and theoretically witty, tweets. There are a lot of farmers and agricultural organizations using Twitter and I use the platform to market cattle, follow livestock conferences and events, or to find answers or provide solutions for mystery plants, animal health conundrums and other things. I follow everyone from our current Prime Minister to a peanut farmer from Alabama to Glamour magazine…I guess I have diverse interests. I also happen to follow Tiffany (@MartinkaTiffany) who inspired the #womenofharvest15 campaign.

Women have long played a valuable role during harvest, whether it is operating a combine, swathing, baling or trucking grain. Women also seem to get more than their fair share of work when it comes to keeping the revolving hampers of laundry flowing, servicing and fueling equipment, running for parts, providing nutritious meals for their family and field crews, and paying the bills for all the necessary-but-expensive agricultural items our male counterparts keep on buying. And like it or not, often women farmers are the ones to prop their family up during challenging times, low yields, poor weather, or yet another break down.

The #womenofharvest15 campaign shines a bright light on all of that. I’ve seen women tweet harvest photos from all across Saskatchewan and Canada and beyond, with many American farm women jumping on the (grain) cart too. There are pictures of friends, family members, former Agro classmates, daughters, mothers, grandmothers, pregnant gals and even infants, all proud to be out in the field, doing their part to bring their harvest home. I even participated myself, sharing a collage of three different pictures with each of my kids while I was out baling and raking.

Saskatchewan farms are incredibly diverse and whether harvesting means combining grain, baling hay, weaning calves, or managing the farm office, you can count on women to get the job done. The demands are constant and the stress may be high but the #womenofharvest15 movement demonstrates farmers supporting each other at a time of year when they may need it most. It’s one more example of fearless female farmers seeing opportunity all around them while they are out, standing in their fields.

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Categories
Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

Picking and Choosing

It’s summertime in Saskatchewan and that means it is prime rock-collecting weather for young children everywhere. Ahhh, the rock collection…. I mean, who didn’t collect rocks as a kid? I had my little red Edwards coffee tin of rocks carefully stowed in my parents’ garage just like everyone else. Consequently, it’s only fair that my own kids have picked up the endearing little habit and have been collecting precious pebbles in their own coffee cans, plastic containers and even Ziploc bags for the last few years. My one son especially loves his rocks and I often come into the kitchen to find his entire collection laid out on my heirloom dining table, sorted into piles according to shape, size and colour. He has a keen eye for spotting petrified wood in particular, and my flower pots and flower beds are almost overflowing with all of his findings.

When I think of the numerous adventures (or misadventures) that my mom has had with rocks I realize that collecting them might be hereditary, a genetic predisposition that perhaps skips a generation. My mom and son share the same enthusiasm towards a good sedimentary specimen and she “ooh’s and aah’s” more than most over my son’s latest discoveries. Together, they paw over the goods and as I listen to them, I realize I had better make room for many more rocks that are likely to find their way to our humble homestead. I’ve seen this behaviour before.

Mom’s interest in rocks, and dirt for that matter, seemed to evolve from a young age. She started out making mud pies and ended up with a degree in soil science, collecting more than a few stones along the way. For one particular geology lab she had to purchase a rock specimen collection and packed it to school. After accidentally leaving her sack of rocks on the bus, the driver called her back to retrieve what he must have thought was the World’s Heaviest Lunch Bag.

As a rock hound, mom would always keep an eye out for the most unique varieties on our farm, especially a nice chunk of petrified wood. Each spring my family would drive up and down our fields methodically, picking rocks into the back of the truck box and dumping them all on the rock pile. All except for a few gems that my mom had discovered and had to bring back home to place in her garden or somewhere special.

My mom liked to collect rocks from the many places she visited and didn’t let the law get in her way. Once, on a trip to a National Park (that shall remain nameless), we stopped by the side of the road along a mountain pass and she walked to a nearby pile of rock rubble. Finding a nice rock, she thought nothing of loading into the vehicle with us to add to her collection back at home. Upon her return to the truck, there was a note on the windshield from someone reminding her that removing rocks from a park was an illegal activity. Oops.

Mom even bought a box of rocks at a farm auction one time. Paying a sum of $1, mom became the proud owner of someone else’s lifetime rock collection, and I must say it is a beautiful collection. The original curator was a trapper who spent many years out on the prairie. Each of his rocks were unique and beautiful and I’m sure they all would have had a special story attached to them.

My little boy comes by his love for rocks honestly and I can only hope he stays on the right side of the law to acquire them. Watching my mom and her grandson discuss the fine attributes of his latest rock discovery is another example of how you can find beauty all around us if you have the right attitude.

Some people pick rocks, and some people choose them.

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

Can’t go over it. Can’t go under it.

When it comes to fencing, I’m better at some jobs than others. I’m fairly adept at placing the post-pounder into just the right spot. I’m getting better at pounding in miles of staples because there was only one direction for me to go as I couldn’t really get any worse. Mending fences however, is not my forte. I can (sort of) get the job done but it’s not very pretty and the wire may not be especially tight. The cattle are courteous and respect the fix but we all know that it doesn’t meet my husband’s exacting fence-fixing standards.

So it struck me a bit odd when my Other Half said he had a special fencing project that he needed help with and I was the best one for the job. Stranger still, he elaborated that we didn’t need a pounder, or even staples or wire, but I had better bring my swimming togs. Normally when you’re spending the day fixing fence, you want less skin exposed, not more, so I was obviously growing more doubtful about this project with every detail that was divulged. In hindsight, he maybe should have told me to pack a pleasant attitude too.

Earlier this spring, we constructed some new fences and there were a couple of wetland areas that hadn’t been secured yet. We needed to wade into the water, install some anchors, and affix the wire to the under-water anchors. My husband couldn’t think of a better way to enjoy some quality time with his favourite wife than wading through the cattails, swatting mosquitos. He added that other couples were likely enjoying a refreshing dip in their local waterholes over the long weekend too and there was no reason we shouldn’t either.

We had a few jobs to do together that day. Around mid-day when the water was sure to be nice and warm (i.e. stagnant and malodorous), we headed to our destination, parked the truck, stripped down to our swimwear and entered the water. Usually with tasks of this nature, there is no shortage of traffic driving by at exactly the wrong moment but in our case, we were pretty lucky. There were no additional bystanders except for our herd of curious bred heifers that kept circling back to inspect our work, perplexed.

I experienced a few benefits from our fencing excursion. I’ve done some work assessing wetlands in the past, but never from within the wetland so I finally had the opportunity to experience sediment trapping first hand with the squishy, squelchy mud. Also, I had the opportunity to pull a few old posts out of the fence line that I’ve always wanted to retrieve but never had the chance. And of course I was reminded that I should always be at least somewhat skeptical of my Other Half when he invites me on an adventure.

Sometimes there is no way around a situation other than literally getting your feet wet. When you can’t go over it, and you can’t go under it, you’re left with just one option – you have to go right through it.

Categories
Pastures & Prairie Ranch & Real Life

The Green Green Grass of Home

I love haying season. I love the smell of hay, the anticipation of walking up to a swath to see if it’s dry, and the sound of a baler whirring across a field, provided the sound is indeed a whir and not a clank. I suspect most ranchers love seeing hay bales dotting a field because they know that in just a few short months, they’ll feed those very bales to their hungry cows when the weather is a brisk -40C.

I suppose one could learn how to make hay from books, or by researching information on-line. The topic was probably covered extensively during one of my 8:30am classes back in college, but I can’t tell you for sure. You could attend a workshop to learn about the best method for cutting your crop, letting it cure to an appropriate moisture level and baling it at precisely the right time.

Luckily, I just learned about haying from my dad.

As long as I can remember, haying was an exciting time in our household. In the early days, Dad made square bales, but when I was still pretty little, he and I picked up a New Holland round baler from Mankota Trading and slowly towed it home, anxious to put it to use. We logged a lot of hours together in the field that summer and for many summers after that – cut, bale, repeat. I learned how to listen to the way the swath rustled so you could tell if the hay was cured. Dad taught me about the pros and cons of conditioned versus swathed hay and how and when to feed test. We would watch seagulls swoop down to eat the grasshoppers and the hawks dive down to eat mice as we baled the swaths. We observed watchful does who would usher their fawns to the next strip away from us as we cut.

In Dad’s mind, there was nothing worse than having rain fall on a swath that was curing. Mom and Dad would obsessively follow the weather on the American Weather Channel, as that was deemed to be the most accurate at the time, looking for signs of impending thundershowers. Notes were made about humidity levels and the length of time it was taking for the hay to dry and Dad would assess the situation and cut a very specific amount of the crop to reduce the chance of having rain fall on it. I should probably mention that while I don’t like to have swaths rained on to this day, I don’t exactly go to the same lengths that Dad did to avoid it.

Dad enjoyed making hay, selling hay, and calculating (down to the penny) how much each bale cost to make. Dad loved to talk about hay too. This became problematic when I would drive four hours home from school to visit my Other Half. He would arrive to pick me up for a date only to end up engaged in an enthralling discussion about hay with Dad for a couple hours. Neither seemed to notice (or more truthfully care) that this was interfering with my date night.

This is our first haying season without Dad, but he hasn’t been far from my mind. He no doubt would have some choice words to say regarding the low yields and the sporadic showers that produced just enough precipitation to stop us from our field work but not quite enough to measure in a rain gauge. Conversely, an as experienced hay seller and exporter, Dad would be dancing a jig about the record-setting hay prices across the province and beyond.

My son and I were baling one day, and as we went up and down the swaths, we talked about Grandpa, reminisced and shared stories. We also talked about when to cut and how to tell if the hay was ready to bale and we talked about how this years’ crop is slim pickings. My son watched the hawks and gulls circle overhead and land nearby, searching for their prey. We spied a coyote and kept our eyes open for ducks in the swale.

I’m not always ready for life when it comes full circle.

After a while, my little boy went home and I kept on baling. But I wasn’t alone. Out in that field, bale after bale, someone somewhere was riding along with me.

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

Battle of the Babes

These days, it seems like consumers are really taking an interest in what they are consuming and looking for more information on their food. I’m a consumer, I’m a mom, and I’m also a rancher (i.e. person who produces food) and I think it is fantastic that people are interested in learning more about the food they feed their families. The source of this information, however, is worth investigating.

A woman who calls herself the Food Babe (her real name is Vani Hari), is a former computer programmer-turned-self-proclaimed-internet-food-authority with a legion of followers who call themselves her Army. Ms. Hari widely markets her concerns about eating chemicals and the use of ingredients she can’t pronounce. I usually cook with ingredients like “potatoes” and “beef” so at first glance, her claims seem fairly innocuous. After further reading though, things kind of go off the rails for me and I realize that there isn’t much I can or should eat, according to the Food Babe, because it’s full of toxic and poisonous chemicals. Add in Ms. Hari’s feelings about preventing communicable diseases and her vapid post about how airplane cabin air isn’t even straight oxygen (er, no, the air we breathe on Earth contains about 78% nitrogen) and it becomes clear that we disagree a lot more than we agree.

Of course, I don’t think we should randomly prepare toxins for our families to eat. Yet, it’s worth pointing out that we are surrounded by chemicals all day long and it’s important for consumers to understand that. My favourite chemical, and likely yours too, is good old dihydrogen monoxide, known by its friendlier name as water. Acetic acid, another one, can be a terribly caustic lab ingredient. My favourite way to use it in my daily life is by dousing my French fries in it. I also use it when I clean my floor (on a biannual basis, but that’s another story). It’s vinegar. The poison depends on the dosage, and the corresponding fear should depend on the context. The Food Babe, with her pretty hair and make-up, is not always up front about that.

Several critics have started to speak out against the Food Babe and her methods, including Yvette d’Entremont, who refers to herself as the SciBabe. She has dedicated her work to debunking myths purported by the Food Babe and, well, anyone who makes strange claims with no scientific backing. With the sheer volume of bad information out there, SciBabe will have job security for some time. And if that doesn’t work out, she can always fall back on her former career as an analytical chemist with a background in forensics and toxicology.

Preparing food to eat is not easy. You have to buy ingredients, set time aside to cook, factor in people’s preferences and possible dietary restrictions, and the list goes on and on. Sometimes I nail it and my family is well-fed and happy. In years when I grow a garden, I can proudly cook tasty meals for my family that are sourced entirely from our farm. Particularly when it comes to beef, I can tell my consumers more than they would ever want to know about the steak on their plate, including the animal’s birth date, its dam’s grandpappy, and whether or not it liked long walks in the pasture.

People should absolutely take an interest in preparing and eating nutritious and safe food for their families, and I do too. I also know that I get tired at the end of the day, and sometimes I don’t care what makes macaroni and cheese that neon yellow colour, I’m just glad that I can get it on the table in nine minutes. Sometimes the “5-second rule” that relates to food falling on my floor extends into the “35-second rule” and when I can’t locally source an heirloom cucumber in Saskatchewan in January in -40 degree Celsius weather, I don’t stress.

Sometimes food is complicated and sometimes it’s not, but at some point, consumers need to make peace with it. After all, we should eat three square, nourishing meals daily, and while we’re at it, we better wash it down with the recommended eight glasses of dihydrogen monoxide.

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

Love & Livestock

When I flipped the calendar over to the month of May, I realized that it’s been a decade since our Lonesome Dove Ranch officially registered as a business. That also means that my Other Half and I will be celebrating ten years of marriage this month. I am not an expert in either topics of love or livestock, however apparently I have at least ten years of both under my belt and it’s very difficult, in fact darn near impossible, for me to separate the two.

There is a lot of compromise in marriage and in ranching, and our place is no different. For example, I ignore my Other Half’s perpetual teasing about my advanced age. I am, after all, an entire 122 days his elder which practically makes me a cradle robber and my poor husband a young, defenseless victim. Meanwhile, my dear, sweet husband overlooks the fact that I just about ran him over with a post pounder on two completely separate occasions. Oops.

When listening to other farmers and ranchers discuss what they love most about agriculture, a common refrain is their joy in working together side by side with their family. For spouses, it certainly can be a blessing and a curse. At times, ranching and marriage are both rife with challenges, but sometimes just as quickly as things can fall apart, they can be put right back together again. Amid the chaos there’s just enough charm and wonder scattered about in a relationship with your spouse and a relationship with your ranch to keep you curious about what’s around the next bend in the road.

My Other Half pushes my buttons all right, but he also pushes me out of my comfort zone, challenging me to do things I’d rather not do, but afterwards I’m glad that I did. He’s shown me that sometimes you just need to take a leap of faith and everything will turn out all right in the end. In turn, probably due to some nagging, er, “effective communication” on my end, he’s discovered that a leap of faith that has been well organized and thoroughly researched is good too. As a friend once described us, my Other Half is the throttle and I am the brakes, and it’s a simple and true estimation of our relationship and our ranch. Sometimes you need to speed up but you have to know when to slow down too. We’re on the same team, but what we both lack in patience, we make up for in stubbornness, so there is still ample room for personal growth.

Our lives have been full of beautiful occasions like the birth of our children, many family milestones, some productive growing seasons, and the recent record cattle markets. Most times though, our lives are comprised of seemingly insignificant things. Moments like riding together through a pen full of cattle, or receiving a handful of spring’s first crocuses picked by little hands, or discovering that someone stapled a rope to all of the tough gates so that their bride can easily open and close them while they cruise on through – those moments are what make our marriage what it is.

Our version of wedding vows included the same old vague “in sickness and in health” and “in good times and in bad” stuff, but ranchers could stand to add a few caveats when tying the knot. It might be more realistic to add something more targeted, like “during drought and during flood, through record high and record low cattle prices, in both minus and plus 40C temperatures, and through sleepless nights and pre-dawn mornings.”

In my entirely inexperienced opinion on matters of love and livestock, I would conclude that marriage isn’t for the faint of heart…. and ranching isn’t either. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

wedding - tack room

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

Hear Me Roar

The month of March is Rural Women’s Month, officially proclaimed by the province of Saskatchewan. International Women’s Day was also celebrated earlier this month, and it’s important to understand the significance of these celebrations, especially if you have a pulse, if you were born to a woman, if you are a woman, or if you are raising a woman (or several women!). This month, I’ve been reflecting on the many strong women I’ve been fortunate to have as influences in my life, many of them from rural communities.

For generations, rural women have been known for being tough and resourceful, seemingly able to make something out of nothing. Today, women in rural areas are leaders in their communities, they volunteer and organize, they operate successful businesses, they create awareness about important causes, and do this all while keeping their own home fires burning. Rural women sometimes deal with challenges like being few in numbers and far from resources when compared with their urban counterparts. Yet compared to our grandmothers, we’ve come a long way, baby.

Running water. Indoor plumbing. Electricity. Refrigerators. Google machines and Smarty-pants phones that connect to the Interweb. Our foremothers probably couldn’t even imagine these daily conveniences that we can’t imagine our life without.

At least daily, I think of two women who have shaped my life and are indeed responsible for it – my two grandmothers, both rural Saskatchewan farm women. I didn’t know them well, yet I often relate their experiences, perhaps real and perhaps perceived, to my own life.

My maternal grandmother, a German-speaking Russian, immigrated to the prairies from Argentina with her family when she was four years old. After she was married, she had fifteen children, including my mom, the youngest. Midway through the birth order of her children, she had a set of twins, which I can’t help but compare to my own experience as a twin mama. Except that I had a washing machine, zero other mouths to feed, seven months of lead time to prepare for twin infants, and Pampers, so there really isn’t much to compare. My grandmother was widowed young and life dealt her many tough challenges which she handled because she had no other choice. Her poignant German sayings that have been passed down indicate to me that she was wise but also somehow maintained a sense of humour.

My paternal grandmother grew up in southwest Saskatchewan, in an area termed as the “heart of the Dust Bowl.” She was an accomplished cook, gardener and canner, no doubt establishing her skills as a young girl both at home and while working in the kitchen for another family in the area. In her wedding photo she looks beautiful and elegant, yet I see her hands are strong and know hard work. I’ve heard that she was a gracious host and would welcome anyone in for a meal that was prepared with care, even during times when the larder was running on empty. She took pride in her chickens and turkeys and grew a substantial garden to feed her husband and children for the entire year.

They were very different women, yet my grandmothers both endured challenges that tested their resourcefulness and tenacity. They were women of faith. They lived through droughts and crop failures and long, cold winters. They both buried children. They did without and persevered because they had no other choice. The stove needed tending, the potatoes needed to be peeled, the wash needed to be done, the noses needed to be wiped.

Through two generations, my Grandma Kohlman left a legacy of over one hundred descendants (and counting!), including farmers and pharmacists, accountants and administrators, nurses and musicians, chefs, teachers, and even a brain surgeon. Interestingly, my Grandma Hilda’s direct descendants are distilled down to me, and now my three children. Both of my grandmothers provided opportunities for their children and grandchildren, many who have channeled those opportunities into travelling, obtaining higher education or raising families of their own.

During times when I’m scrambling to put together a meal for unexpected company and serve it using one of Grandma Hilda’s spoons, or when I spontaneously apply one of Grandma Kohlman’s famous German sayings to a situation, I realize that these two rural women of the past continue to inspire this rural woman today. Let’s draw upon the strength of our heritage and celebrate our foremothers for keeping it all together so that we can too.

Categories
Beef & Business Ranch & Real Life

Pretty Paper

When I was a kid, I knew that I wanted to be a farmer when I grew up. I knew that I wanted to do other things too, but early on I knew that I enjoyed working with cattle, making hay, marketing products, and analysing the weather, all things that I thought would be important for operating a ranch. I did, however, miss the memo regarding how much paperwork and administration that would be involved with farming. I’ve had off-farm jobs in sectors well-known for red tape, paperwork and excessive form-filling, yet not one of those jobs has ever come close to the filing, recording and notation required with running our ranch.

For any farmer and rancher reading this, I’m preaching to the choir here, but if you’re not involved in primary production, the amount of administration and paper-pushing that is required to be a rancher these days might come as a bit of a surprise. The voluminous paperwork really seems to mount at this time of year too. There are bull sale catalogs, contracts and agreements, maps, manifests, forms, registrations, equipment manuals, calving data books, financial records, feed inventories, licenses, statements of net worth, design blueprints, warranties, and advertising to keep track of. Then we have pedigrees…oh the pedigrees. There are dog pedigrees, horse papers, and of course cattle registration certificates for any and all registered animals who currently or have ever called our place home. I’ve dabbled with international paperwork, importing and exporting goods and services like animals and tractors, and possess a filing cabinet full of forms and documents to show for it. I haven’t even brought up the day-to-day book-keeping, bill-paying, invoicing and tax documents that all folks and businesses have.

I would be remiss in this paper discussion if I didn’t include my treasured tape calculator and the pretty ribbons of curled paper that it produces. This handy calculator has assisted me over the years, both on and off the farm, in navigating the murky waters of tax preparation, government paperwork, and dozens of non-profit funding proposals and reports. There is a direct correlation to the length of my calculator tape and the amount of midnight oil I have burned.

Our personal papers add to the fray, and the fact that I’m kind of nerdy doesn’t help my cause. We have a lot of books in our house, including reference books, children’s books and the odd piece of fiction. We also subscribe to many newspapers and agricultural publications and my beloved Rangeland magazine. The very newspaper in which you are reading this column enables the paper pervading my life. And all of these previously mentioned papers combined can only amount to a mere fraction when compared with the depth and breadth of children’s drawings that have accumulated in our home.

Not all of our ranch work involves paper I will admit, and society’s quest to become ‘paperless’ has had an impact. We use our ranch web-site, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and YouTube accounts to connect with potential customers and consumers, and if I can pay a bill on-line, I certainly will do that instead of sending a cheque away in the mail.  But time and again, I’ve learned from many wise people that a tiny piece of paper hoarded away can come to the rescue and confirm a detail or prove a fact. Paper does indeed have a place.

I’m not sure I’ll see a reduction in paperwork in my near future, either in work or in play. Perhaps it would be wise to put pen to paper once again, and plan out where to plant a few pretty trees so I can do the right thing and replace all the ones I’ve killed.

Categories
Beef & Business Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

Reality TV

I must confess, we’ve recently started watching a lot more television in our household. This television watching has coincided directly with the start of calving season and there is one very specific show that we all take great interest in. This show has no commercials. It always features something interesting to watch. It’s (mostly) family friendly and the content sparks a lot of questions from our small fry.

We installed calving cameras.

Sometimes known as cow-cams, these wireless security cameras mounted in our pen and barn transmit live video footage of our calving critters to our TV in the house.  We started talking about purchasing cameras last year, and after pricing a few systems out and finding the right deal, a cumbersome parcel was delivered to our post office just in time for our main cow herd to start experiencing the first pains of labour.

I know excessive television watching isn’t meant to be good for us, but I’m pretty sure excessive cow-checking isn’t so healthy either. Cows don’t like to be interrupted by well-meaning pen-checkers as they’re getting down to business birthing babies. Somewhat like humans, I suspect they don’t want a lot of onlookers.  Most humans, of course, wouldn’t welcome a live-feed video of their birth, however when it comes to cows, I figure what they don’t know won’t hurt them. Besides, it’s a nice technological counterpart to the view I have from my kitchen window of cows having calves.

It is really interesting to watch cows who don’t know that they’re being watched. Even during other times of the year when I’m peeping on them out in the pasture from a quarter mile away with my binoculars, they’re still aware that I’m there watching them. Their prey mentality makes it kind of hard to sneak up on a cow and pull a fast one on her. This makes the cow-cams a bit more fun and we’ve made a few interesting observations. If you catch a cow or heifer in the process of calving, you better not blink because you’ll miss it. The whole process is quick. It’s also really fun to watch baby calves get up just moments after being born. Of course, you can see this in person too, but again, cows are distracted by a person’s presence and they act much differently than when they are left completely alone. I was pretty sure that our calves were quick to get up and nurse, but now that I can watch them in action from the comfort of my home, I’ve been quite surprised at just how quick they are to get up and at ‘em.

We’ve always had a policy of no television in our bedrooms, however because of the orientation of our barn to our house, the closest and most logical room to set up the television is in – you guessed it – our bedroom. When you add a couple TV monitors, a few wires, antennae, and three interested children into the smallest room in our home, it gets a bit crowded, not to mention it becomes an Interior Decorating Don’t. Fortunately the gadgets are temporary and my decorating skills are already pretty inadequate so the effects are minimal. Another beneficial side-effect has been my motivation to keep our room very clean in the event that my Other Half drags some interested person into our room to show them how crisp and clear the video is.

There have been other less obvious benefits to the cow-cam as well. One camera pans 360 degrees, providing a great shot of the entire barnyard, including our horses and our diabolical mule, Dexter. It definitely doesn’t hurt to be able to continuously monitor Dexter via video surveillance especially when his mischief often peaks at this time of year. It can be also useful for me to keep tabs on my Other Half, generally creeping on him at random intervals…. I mean “making sure he’s safe.”

Overall, I’d say we’ve gotten our money’s worth out of the cameras. When we all gather around the television to watch whether High Society, Buttercup or Sabrina are about to go into labour, I realize we’ve found our ultimate reality TV show.

Please pass the popcorn.

Dexter caught on camera.
Dexter caught on camera.
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Ranch & Real Life

Change is in the Air

Lately, I’ve found myself with a spring in my step, driving with the windows down and the radio up, and as the song says, letting the wind blow through my hair. The creek is running, the kids are happily making mud-pies and I keep expecting a meadowlark to belt out a tune at any moment.

It’s January.

Call me crazy, but something doesn’t seem right about this. Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not complaining about the warmer weather. I hate the snow and cold and bitter winds of winter as much as the next guy, but there has been something a bit unsettling about all of these record-setting warm temperatures. I can’t help but wonder if Mother Nature will issue some type of attitude adjustment in the future and apparently payback is a …. er, payback can be unkind.

One year ago, North America was embroiled in one Polar Vortex after another and I was incorporating long underwear into my wardrobe on a daily basis. Winter clothing was layered on carefully to protect against wind chill and frostbite and the kids could only be released from the confines of the house for the briefest period during the warmest part of the day. The last few years have shown that it’s been slightly hard to predict what will happen next weather-wise.

When I was a kid, it was cold and snowy in the winter time, and hot and (usually) dry in the summer, end of story. There were some severe droughts thrown in there, plus a couple brown Christmases. I remember one winter where I missed a lot of school due to too much snow, but overall, the weather was as to be expected. Fast forward to today and it seems there can be severe flooding in one part of the province, drought in another, summer in winter, and snow in summer.

Climate change is in the news almost daily. I can’t even pretend that I know a lot about climate and weather, but I know that they are not the same thing. Weather is a measure of conditions in the short term, whereas climate is the long-term average of weather. Some folks seem on the fence about whether climate change is a “thing” at all, but I think most would have to admit that at least in the short-term, there have been some extreme weather events. As we have more extreme weather events taking place over a longer period of time, these variations are going to impact our average long-term weather patterns.

As Canadians, we are a nation obsessed with weather. We joke about how there are just two seasons, Winter and Not Winter (or alternatively, Winter and Bug Season) and we can probably hum the tune of all five versions of the Weather Network soundtrack. Weather is important, it affects what we do, how we feel, and in the case of farmers and ranchers, it has a direct impact on our ability to do business.

When Mother Nature deals us a bizarre hand of topsy turvy weather, there isn’t a thing we can do about it. Hopefully we can adapt and be prepared for every situation, but that isn’t always possible. Usually if we are patient enough to wait ten minutes, the weather will change again, but not always. With all the uncertainty regarding weather, we can take comfort knowing that there is one thing that will always remain constant — the wind will keep blowing.

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Critters & Kids House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

Working Hard or Hardly Working?

We are in the throes of winter. The wind may be howling, the snow might be flying, and it could be forty below outside, but in my house, particularly in my basement, the conditions are just right for baling.

My basement is currently home to many tiny toy tractors, panels, implements, trucks and trailers, all different species of livestock, a small barn, and of course, a baler and numerous bales. The floor is a veritable minefield of equipment and infrastructure that is required to make one’s farm run just right, all at 1/32 of the original size. If our wee farmers don’t have exactly what is needed to get their important work done, they do what regular farm folk do — they improvise. Although their creative inventions usually involve pieces of cardboard, bread ties, old spaghetti boxes and things that are better placed in a trash bin.

Our three small fry spend hours organizing their farms, sometimes working in collaboration, and sometimes working very much alone. Art indeed imitates life, and their pint-sized farming activities tend to be similar to what we are doing in real life. When we are busy picking bales, they too are carefully loading and hauling their wooden blocks and plastic bales out of their fields where they are scattered in a uniform layer. When we are installing a cattle guard, their Lego pieces are working overtime, modified and set up to replicate fences and a crossing with just the proper slope on it. At this time of year, as we put our efforts towards our bull sale, the kids too set up a ring and an auction block and sell the bulls one at a time. I’ve even come across a small farm dog riding in the back of the old farm truck, parked by their tiny corral.

Our real ranch is home to a beloved old feed truck we call ‘Bernadette’ and interestingly enough, the children’s outfit also has a feed truck, one that they have named ‘Vernadette.’ I’m curious to see if ‘Vernadette’ burns as much oil as her real life example, but I’m kind of scared to ask. And I definitely don’t want to invite any trouble by having them consider how they could top up the fluids in their miniature machinery.

It has been very entertaining to watch their farm work/play evolve. Early on, the kids received a farm set that featured a rather mournful looking little bull with horns. Within a day or two, one of the boys performed his due diligence and snapped the horns off, thereby dehorning him before he accepted this new critter into his herd. It didn’t do much to improve the bull’s looks, but at least he wouldn’t be responsible for discounted carcasses due to bruising. A recent toy addition, a roping steer, sustained an unplanned horn (and ear) injury. Ironically, the kids wanted me to glue the horn back on.

The children’s work has grown to include pre-planning stages, and they now draft corral plans on paper before setting them up downstairs. A month ago, I had a huge stack of such drawings and everyone who dropped by our house received a complimentary set of corral blueprints whether they wanted them or not. The kids are quick to remember the PR and marketing aspects of their farms as well, and they now draw small signs to set up at the entrance to their ranches and bits of paper they tape to their trailers.

The kids are able to modify their miniature corrals on a whim, adding and subtracting pens as they need them, and moving Lego stock water-bowls here and there. I wish it were that easy in real life. It’s a good thing that their set-ups are as flexible as they are though, because every so often a tornado that is Little Sister touches down and causes destruction on their carefully organized enterprises.

There’s the saying “if you love your job, you’ll never work a day in your life.” No matter what path they choose as individuals in life, I hope they enjoy their work as much as they do right now.

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Ranch & Real Life

Three Things

Every Christmas, I send out a Christmas card with a picture or two of our family and some little phrase of well wishes. This year I set up a tripod, wrangled everyone (big and small) into some presentable looking clothing, and somehow got all five of us in the same frame when the timer went and the camera snapped. Four out of five of us even look somewhat decent. The photo on the back side of the card is more realistic, showing three grungy, mud-spattered children looking far less presentable, but wearing big grins after a spontaneous session of puddle-jumping.

The message says “Merry Christmas” and at the bottom I included three things: “Give thanks. Have faith. Love.”

It was a very tough fall around our place with my dad passing away earlier in September. We’ve experienced many peaks and valleys in the last few short months. Along the trail I’ve made some observations and learned a few things that all boil down to those three statements I wrote at the bottom of our card.

Give thanks. This year, we’ve been blessed to receive so much kindness from friends and family and it has been expressed it in so many different ways. Kindness showed up on my table in the form of a ready-made meal for my family, just when I was wondering what we were going to eat. Kindness was someone stepping in at the last minute to cover my responsibilities when I couldn’t cover them myself. Kindness has been a friend or neighbour who stopped me on the baler or stopped me on the street or stopped me at the grocery store to offer their condolences. Perhaps most striking of all is the kindness of perfect strangers. Someone who went out of their way to make our lives a little bit easier, someone who remembered us from one day to the next in a strange and unfamiliar environment, or the entire family of strangers who offered us prayers, Kleenex, comfort and even a place to stay if we needed when we were far from home. We are thankful to have wonderful people in our lives.

Have faith. We are never alone, even though sometimes it feels like we are. There were so many times this year when I needed my faith restored….and it was. Sometimes the message was loud and clear, other times something subtle would happen, almost like a coincidence, and I wouldn’t take too much note of it until afterwards, when I realized it was another piece of the puzzle. All along the trail this fall, there were many small reminders in different aspects of my life that would pop up in different ways, on different occasions, reminding me that when we are tested, sometimes the best response we can have is to just have faith.

Love. Christmas is a great excuse to bring people together from far and wide, cram them into a small space, add food and drinks, and sit back and see what transpires. It can be chaotic. It can be wonderful. Whatever the minute-by-minute feelings are that we are experiencing, remember that love is what brings everyone together. Life is precious and quick and we don’t know what will happen next. The best thing we can do is show our loved ones that we care.

It will be very different this holiday season. Dad won’t be there to light a fire in the fireplace on Christmas day, making the house so unbearably hot that we have to seek refuge on the deck. He won’t be tunelessly humming ‘Rocking Around the Christmas Tree’ while we play Chinese checkers. There will be no fire extinguishers, or saw horses, or winter survival vehicle kits, or any other practical (ie. tax-deductible) Christmas gifts wrapped dad-style under the tree. It’s not the gifts we will miss but his presence. But we’ll share memories, and maybe even a laugh or two. Like it or not, we’ll have to create some new traditions.

Merry Christmas. Give thanks. Have faith. Love.

In the end, isn’t that all that really matters?

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Beef & Business Critters & Kids Pastures & Prairie Ranch & Real Life

East or West

They say everyone deserves a day off now and again, a holiday or a getaway of sorts, to help rejuvenate and renew your soul, inspire your work, even make your work more productive and valuable upon your return. It’s a great theory, but one that’s not always easy to put into practise.

People these days seem pretty busy. There’s a never-ending to-do list of regular tasks plus a whole host of other jobs that get added onto your plate depending on the season. This makes it hard to take time for that coveted vacation. If you have small or medium or even large children, the thought of going on a relaxing vacation where you can put your feet up is almost laughable, especially for some members of the family (*cough* moms). There’s packing and laundry and lists and cleaning and vehicle organization and activity planning that can sometimes (always?) get in the way of having a worry-free holiday. Then when you arrive home, the real fun begins: unpacking, more laundry, vehicle clean-out, more laundry, recovery of lost items, and… more laundry.

Late in the summer, it didn’t look like we were going to get away for a weekend trip anytime soon and that didn’t sit well with me. I’m very familiar with the concept of the ‘staycation’ or ‘holistay’ or whatever the trendy term is these days for having a vacation in your own backyard, so that’s what we did. Except when you’re a rancher, you have a pretty big backyard, and instead of sticking in our literal yard, we ventured down to camp in one of our pastures. It turned out to be a pretty good arrangement. I was happy because I only had to pack whatever was needed for a 12 hour camp out (which is still a lot, but less than what it could have been!), the Other Half was happy because the destination was close and involved cattle, and the kids were happy because when you’re little and you go somewhere, it’s always a fun and exciting adventure. We explored, ate snacks, watched shooting stars and even entertained some good friends who managed to find our campsite in the dark.

More recently, we went on a larger-scale family trip that again incorporated work, play and cattle, something we seem to be adept with here at the Lonesome Dove Ranch. Our family shows cattle annually at Agribition, and after the kids and I sat out for much of this show and others over the last couple of years, we decided it was time to bring everyone. Ten days, three kids, one hotel room, lots of cattle in two different barns, thirty changes of clothes for the children alone… My overarching goal was survival and I’m pleased to say that we achieved that deliverable. Additional benefits included meeting new people, visiting with friends, family and customers, and as an added bonus, we did well in the show too. Some of our kids really cottoned onto the promotion and marketing aspect of showing cattle, some had fun combing, some felt we walked a bit too far, and one child thought one of the black bulls would look better with a pink barrette in his hair. With a little help from friends and family, we had a very memorable time at Agribition this year, albeit a much different experience than what I remember having in the past.

Our family enjoyed two very different holidays this year in spite of a challenging fall for us. Whether you go far or stay near, whether you leave the ranch or whether you take the ranch with you, embarking on a getaway is important and valuable. They say you will return home from a vacation with a more positive outlook on life, be healthier and feel more connected to your family. They also say that ‘east or west, home is best.’ The hardest part of a vacation may be to leave. The best part of your holiday may be your return. Except for maybe the laundry.

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House & Homestead Ranch & Real Life

Home Sweet Home 2.0

In a column I wrote earlier this fall I started to share a little compare-and-contrast exercise of some of my house renovating observations from a decade ago. Shortly after landing our house in the middle of a pasture in 2004, I had sent a newsy email aptly titled “The Top 10 Reasons to Move a House into the Middle of a Pasture” to some friends and family members. One recipient saved it and sent it back to me. There are still a few disconcerting points worth sharing so here are more “Top 10 Reasons” of yesteryear with my present-day update.

2004: You can become one with nature. I actually watched a coyote roam through the front yard. And when asked where all the feathers in the house came from, Other Half replied “Oh, that’s from when I caught the bird that was in the house.” Of course, how obvious.

2014: Fortunately, our inner sanctum has remained free of wildlife, avian or otherwise. The outdoors, however, is teeming with critters. During the summertime gophers, hunted by badgers, hawks, owls, and the odd weasel share our yard. Coyotes continue to amble up to the house, killdeers spend the summer vocally worrying about our presence, and barn swallows swoop at my head whenever I enter or leave my home. During the wintertime rabbits dart through the trees and the odd deer tries to find a quiet nook in our yard in which to relax. There aren’t many things about our yard that exude peace and quiet, so to any prospective deer interested in coming here to chill out, I say good luck with that. Naturally, our domestic critters often trod a thoroughfare through my space as well, and that probably won’t change.

2004: You can shock everyone with the crazy colours you’re painting your house… that’s right, we’re painting rooms NOT WHITE.

2014: Clearly, the whippersnapper who wrote that last point had a pretty youthful (ie. naïve) colour palette which has fortunately mellowed….it had to, there was no other direction for it to go. A bright yellow laundry room, a kitchen coated in fresh apple (okay, neon) green, and a living room that turned out much more peach-coloured than I would like to admit… I’ve traded all of the colours in, not for white mind you, but much more foregiving tones. Neutral colours receive bonus marks for their ability to camouflage mud, sticky-hand residue and manure.

2004: You get a new perspective on things. I mean, come on, is a candy pink bathtub really that bad?

2014: It was. While I’m sure it was very stylish in 1961, the cotton candy-coloured bath tub and associated fixtures were some of the first items to be removed from our house. Not having the proper tools to actually remove the tub, I believe a potato fork among other things, was called into service during the destruction phase. I clearly remember tossing that old tub into the bucket of the tractor and watching it ride off into the sunset. We replaced it with a new shiny white tub. Oddly enough, my inexperienced self didn’t consider white as a good colour for walls yet it was (fortunately) my preferred choice for bathroom fixtures.

Our little house on the prairie continues to evolve and change to suit our needs. We’ve updated windows and siding and added a front and back deck, and as per an earlier column, we recently had our kitchen renovated. Although our house hasn’t grown from its original dimensions, the number of occupants has grown by a factor of 2.5 which means the mess has increased exponentially. But other things that have increased include the hugs and kisses. And the bathroom line-ups. And the cuddles. And the uniform distribution of toys scattered across the entire floor. And the giggles…I could go on and on but I think you get my drift.

Ten years later our house is a home.

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Critters & Kids Ranch & Real Life

Remember to Remember

It is more important than ever for Canadians of all ages to pause during Remembrance Day and reflect and respect the men and women who have served and continue to serve Canada during war, conflict and peace. Older generations likely remember all too well their wartime experiences, or at least stories about the uncertainty and fear that gripped communities. In today’s media-driven world, news of fallen soldiers, including the shootings that recently took place on Canadian soil, travels so quickly. War, deployment, and casualties are broadcast far more quickly than ever before, yet most young Canadians have no comprehension of the toll that war can take on countries and entire continents. I hope they never will. Yet all of the memories and stories, remembrances, must trickle down.

My interests in observing Remembrance Day were shaped by my small-town school, which I attended for thirteen years straight. Every year the school, community and Legion would come together to put on a beautiful Remembrance Day ceremony. Before the service, teachers would walk from classroom to classroom ensuring that all kids had (and were wearing) a poppy, buying new ones for students if necessary. Whether you were a youngster in Kindergarten or a teenager graduating high school, we all played some role. In the choir, we’d belt out Blowin’ in the Wind, or John Lennon’s Imagine, or the White Cliffs of Dover, for the crowd’s enjoyment. Our renditions may not have been especially tuneful, but they were earnest. Our teachers fostered our interest with poster and poetry contests, and we could enter a Remembrance Day essay as well. If you were lucky enough to win, you received an envelope with your prize winnings of $5 or $10, money which was no doubt donated. We would solemnly listen to the Last Post, wait to see which grade 12 student would read In Flanders Field and reverently watch the local war vets march into the school gym. Some of my classmates had grandparents who were veterans and we would pay especially close attention to them as they walked by. During the moment of silence, we were so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Since becoming a Grown Up, I haven’t actively participated in Remembrance Day activities the way I did when I was a student. With my children, however, I have an opportunity to get involved again. This year I doled out poppies to my kids and attempted to explain their significance in an age-appropriate manner. The smaller fry have inadvertently referred to their poppies as ‘copies,’ ‘peppers,’ and ‘pokies’ and I’ve picked poppies off of floor mats, out of the inside of boots, off the ground, and out of children’s hands, when they were ironically being wielded as tiny swords. I can’t keep three poppies on three children yet I recall my teachers ensuring a hundred students, give or take, were properly wearing poppies.

Our children are perhaps too young to fully understand the meaning of Remembrance Day and war and loss, yet they are old enough to learn that we live in the greatest country in the world. The daily freedoms and rights that we as Canadians all enjoy, young and old, are not experienced by people in other countries.

I recently learned that not every province in Canada observes Remembrance Day, including some fairly populous provinces, which I found surprising. It’s a good reminder, however, that it is our personal duty to honour Remembrance Day, no matter what we are doing. If you’re sorting cows in a corral, if you’re wiping runny noses, if you are relaxing on a day off work, or simply going about your regular activities, remember. Remember how privileged we are to live in Canada. Remember the people who made the ultimate sacrifice for our country. Remember the soldiers, veterans and families who paved the way for our freedom at their own expense. Remember to remember.

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Pastures & Prairie Ranch & Real Life

These Boots are Made for Walking

Ten years ago this summer I made a dear friend. We were hired as summer students, to hike around some of the most beautiful parts of southwest Saskatchewan and identify plants, measure shrubs, and assess habitat for a particular species at risk (SAR). This gal and I spent four months working and living together, and also depending on one another for field safety. It was fortuitous that we became friends, but I think we balanced each other out well. She taught me everything I didn’t even know I didn’t know about native prairie plants, and I brought a sensitivity towards landowner rights to our dynamic (deranged?) duo. At the beginning of summer, we were handed topography maps, a GPS unit, and the keys to one dilapidated quad to share between the two of us with instructions not to ride double (wink, wink).

Some landowners allowed us to access sites with our unreliable quad, while others restricted us to foot traffic only, which we respected. Some days were literally a walk in the Park, and we would lace up our boots and hike upwards of 25 km. We encountered rattlesnakes, black widow spiders, greater shorthorned lizards, numerous bovines, the occasional tourist, an eastern yellow-bellied racer, and many other birds, mammals and SAR, small and large. We came across the humble remains of many abandoned homesteads and tipi rings, we befriended landowners, we waded across the Frenchman, we planted a geranium in a mysterious toilet present on our deck, and we stayed out of the flat when it rained 1mm or more. We had a blast.

One day, we were heading to a location that we were allowed to access by quad, provided we kept our route short and sweet. We parked our truck at a central spot, unloaded the quad and drove down the pasture trail towards our site which was about 8 kilometres away. Just before we arrived, we encountered a low spot that was semi-full of water. We paused briefly before confidently proceeding through this watery depression, only to find that our quad, when weighted down with field supplies and summer students, didn’t have the stamina to make it through to the other side. It glugged, sputtered, and stopped. We pushed and pulled, swore and kicked, but it was no use, that quad would not budge. Resigned, we set off on the brisk walk back to the truck, accepting the fact that we weren’t going to get too many assessments completed on that beautiful summer afternoon.

Hot, dusty, and somewhat disappointed with our day, we arrived back to the truck in about two hours. I hopped in the driver’s seat and declared to my friend, ‘I’ll have the keys.’ ‘You already have them,’ was her response. We looked at each other in horror. Neither of us had the keys. They were clipped to the quad keys. Which were still in the ignition of the quad. That was stuck in an ephemeral riparian area. Eight kilometres away. Our fatigue and frustration made the lines between laughter and tears rather blurry, and by this point in our day’s adventures, we found the situation a bit hysterical. The facts that our keyless truck was still parked several kilometres away from the nearest landline and that cell service was negligible didn’t help our state of mind.

While we hatched a plan for our next course of action, we heard a distant buzzing that gradually got louder and louder. Before long, we had made a rare sighting of a cowboy riding a quad, one that seemed to operate better, or at least faster, than ours. It turned out this fellow was loaded with posts to fix some fence and was headed right towards us. He cheerfully offered us a ride back to our collection of keys sunk out on the prairie, and towed out our quad to boot.

We didn’t have too much to show for that day’s work other than some life experience and a sincere appreciation for helpful cowboys who show up in the right place at the right time. We were tired when we arrived back to town, but we laced up our boots for one last walk: down the street for a welldeserved brew.

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Critters & Kids Pastures & Prairie Ranch & Real Life

Independence Day

Autumn is a bittersweet time of year. It’s wonderful to see the crops being harvested and watch the leaves change colour, but it also wistfully signals that summer is gone once again and we’re on the cusp of my not-so-favorite season.

Autumn is also incredibly busy. There are bales to haul in, cattle to move, pens to set up, cows to pregcheck, and calves to wean and market. Weaning is my favorite ranch activity, followed pretty closely with calving. It’s gratifying to see the calves come in, weigh them up, administer their vaccinations and basically see the fruits of our (and their mamas’) labours. The data we collect is a measuring stick we can use to see if we’re on the right track with our breeding and grazing plans or if we need to make some adjustments. Weaning is also the most stressful period in a calf’s life, so they need extra monitoring following their newfound independence.

Some cows appear relieved to see their babies go, and they’ll wander off over the hills to graze in peace. Other mamas, usually the older herd matriarchs, are a little less eager to be sorted off, always staying at the back of the herd when we’re gathering. I’m not going to argue the intelligence of cows (or some would say, lack of), but when we start gathering a field, I know many of those mamas understand the emancipation that lies ahead.

Usually weaning is a family-friendly event, and this year we had multiple generations of hands on deck. Our three littlest helpers came with and alternated between staying out of the way, getting in the way, eating snacks, napping, and playing with sticks, rocks, ladybugs, and other treasures they came across. Then one day, my Other Half saddled up a couple of extra horses and our four-year-olds got to really ‘help,’ much to their delight.

It was a chilly, windy morning but they were determined to gather pairs out of our roughest pasture. They rode into the coulee and never once looked back. They didn’t go real fast, and I suspect Grandpa rode several extra miles to cover some ground that the boys didn’t, but I don’t think anyone minded. When the cattle came through the gate, I asked if they wanted off, and they replied no. A little ways into the next pasture, once again I asked if they wanted to ride in the warm and cozy truck with me.

“We don’t need you, mama,” my one kid cheerfully hollered over his shoulder at me as he kept riding away through the tall porcupine grass.

Oooph. I’d never been physically punched in the gut, but I think I felt the metaphorical equivalent at that moment. “Okay then, I’ll just keep following with the truck and trailer,” I called back. Had I not been travelling with a co-pilot, I probably would have wept softly into my coffee cup and felt sorry for myself, but there was no time for tears.

My boys’ independence and determination doesn’t surprise me. My Other Half is, ahem, rather strongwilled, and I too am stubborn and have a hard time asking for help. But their response did point to a slow and steady shift I’ve been noticing in the last few months. Our boys are growing up, and with that, they lean on me less and less. Intrinsically, I know that it’s a good thing. They’re making decisions and acting with conviction, but it still smarts a bit.

Eventually, the boys came back to the truck and dismounted, somewhat regretfully. “You got anything to eat, mom?” asked one. “I need a Kleenex,” said the other. “Of course,” I replied, and got them what they needed, relieved that I wasn’t completely irrelevant in their independent pre-school lives. Phew. That was a close one.

Categories
Pastures & Prairie Ranch & Real Life

GPS or GP-No

Technology is a marvelous thing. In the last century, humans have been able to accomplish more, understand things better, and share and transmit information at an almost unfathomable pace. That’s good, right? Right???

I had a tech-savvy co-worker who employed a GPS to navigate his route on trips, apply herbicide to invasive plants, mark out pasture trails and important landmarks. I learned a lot from his methods and through trial and error, I soon learned what a valuable tool the little handheld device could be. A year or two later, my colleague quickly learned that a GPS is only as accurate as the information it receives, and will correctly navigate you to the town you specify…even if the town you specify is incorrect. Typing ‘Carnduff’ into a GPS and expecting it to take you to ‘Carlyle’ is optimistic.

On another occasion, I was headed to a winter work meeting in the beautiful Cypress Hills. I wasn’t travelling with colleagues and had some extra travel time available, so I chose to make use of the two hour “short cut” between our ranch and the park. This route doesn’t take you through any town at all and I didn’t make this choice lightly. I ensured I had a full tank of gas, a fully charged cell phone, winter survival gear, and I actually wore my chore clothes, mainly because I had already gotten in an early morning of pre-work calf-tagging. People at both ends of my departure and arrival locations were aware of my plans and route and I had my trusty grid road map in case my Spidey Senses weren’t tingling.

The trip was beautiful. At -30C, it was chilly and rather desolate, but the sun was bright and the snow crunchy and sparkly, and I was enjoying the trip. After the first 45 miles, I did not meet another soul on the road. Things were going a little too well, in fact I was even running a tad ahead of schedule and anyone who knows me knows that is pretty uncommon. I headed around the correction line and made note of a little coyote trail that veered east that I had taken the previous summer while working with a women’s range workshop. And I quickly did a double take. There, impossibly far down the road allowance completely blown full of snow, was a tiny silver SUV. It was more than a little stuck. Accompanying the immobilized vehicle was a man, clad in a nylon windbreaker and loafers, futilely scraping snow away with an ice scraper.

And so it came to be that I met Dan from Wisconsin. Normally, as in my first example, I would change or omit the name of anyone who may be implicated in a story. In this case, however, I doubt that Dan from Wisconsin is a subscriber, and in case he is, a refresher on winter travel safety probably wouldn’t hurt. Dan had been travelling from Saskatoon to Frontier in his rental vehicle that brisk February day. Dan confidently left all the navigation up to the GPS on his BlackBerry, which deviated in and out of cell service. When Dan finally trudged up to my truck parked a long distance from his puddle-jumper, we exchanged pleasantries and I had a couple of questions I just had to ask.

“What possessed you to drive down this trail packed four feet deep with snow?” I asked. Dan sheepishly replied, “Well, the GPS told me to go this way.” “Didn’t you know you would get stuck?” “The SUV had four-wheel-drive. Plus, I didn’t know how else to get there without following the GPS,” Dan countered.

Friends, GPS navigation can be great, some would even argue it is a time- and marriage-saver. But if a GPS told you to jump off the quintessential bridge, would you do it? No amount of technology can or should ever replace common sense. Had I not happened upon Dan, he would have eventually walked to the nearest farm, or someone else would have found him, but he took a heck of a risk driving through unfamiliar and unrelenting country, relying solely on technology.

Technology is amazing, and takes humankind places we’ve never been before. And that’s the problem.

Categories
Ranch & Real Life

Be Prepared

I’ve developed a personal motto over the years: “don’t plan on anything but be prepared for everything.” I’m not sure if I’ve adopted this slogan because of my experience with raising human and bovine critters, or because I live with my Other Half, or because we carve out a way of life that is at the whim of Mother Nature, but whatever the reason, this motto has served me well. I’m not saying I’m always prepared. On average, I figure I’m halfway prepared 50% of the time, but I try to learn from my past experiences of being ill-prepared and hopefully do better next time.

Nowhere is it more important to be prepared than in your vehicle. Whether you drive a two-door sports car, a van or a beat-up pick-up, the mantra ‘be prepared’ applies. For us, there aren’t too many days when we aren’t on the road heading somewhere, or just tending to the regular chores of hauling cows, trailing cows, or checking cows. I’ve discovered, through experience, that it pays to have certain items stowed away in your vehicle. While everyone should have the obvious safety materials on hand (ie. Water, booster cables, tire iron…) I’ve prepared a list of additional items that have enabled me to maintain my sanity whilst out and about.

1. Fencing pliers. And staples. If you have one, you should probably have the other. Cattle like to stay put 99% of the time, but when they do get out, they wait for the perfect moment when you’re in a hurry, wearing highly inappropriate footwear and have a cab full of groceries and hungry kids. Coming across an errant bovine at just the right time and with the right tools can save you a lot of hassle in the long run. Fencing pliers can be useful in a lot of other situations too, so useful that sometimes my personally labelled set wanders off to help someone else in need and fails to return to my truck.

2. Reading material. For those unexpected minutes (hours) that you end up sitting at the corrals, almost anything can be used for entertaining storybook material. Old dog-eared bull sale catalogs, auction sale flyers, and machinery brochures can be used in a pinch, but there’s nothing like cuddling on a blanket by the bumper of the stock trailer reading a favorite book while you’re waiting.

3. Small piece of rope. Gate too tight to shut? Need a string for your puppy? Want a makeshift halter? Decided it’s finally time to follow through on your threat to strap the kids to the roof? (I’m kidding on that last point). A short chunk of soft rope can get you out of a tight spot, it’s a handy thing to stow away.

4. Diapers & baby wipes. Ever wander the streets of your small town after supper in search of a baby diaper? Uh, me neither. But if I did, and say the little girl who handed me with the muchneeded diaper gave me advice to take an extra one for the truck, I would take that advice. And the diaper. As for baby wipes, they are just handy to have in general, whether you’re a kid or a grown-up. You’ll use them, trust me.

5. Snacks. A very wise mom once told me that you can do anything and go anywhere as long as you have snacks. I find it best to pack what you think you’ll need, then quadruple it. Snacks will buy you a lot of time and ward off unpleasant whining and hunger pangs, however as the snack supply dwindles, be prepared to come up with an alternate plan, fast.

These are just a few things that I have used (or wished I had!) to help make long, short or unexpected journeys a bit more pleasant. As I read through the list, I realize I have to stock up on some items myself. Time to round up that missing pair of pliers.