TAKING THE BITTER WITH THE SWEAT

                                           Not quite dandlions, but at least yellow!
                                     Published in Intermountain Farm & Ranch, July 22, 2011

            There are a lot of memories that come with the cutting of hay. Having been born and raised on a farm, at a young age I was expected to be out in the field helping with the raking of the hay. I love the smell of fresh mown alfalfa and the sight of the neat rows lying in the fields. Even though there have been a lot of changes in farming with bigger and more efficient equipment, those big machines don’t eliminate that fresh-mown hay smell! And there is the good feeling of getting prepared for the long winter months by having enough feed for the cattle.

            As with all farm jobs, cutting, baling, and hauling hay is hard work. Before we had some of this newer equipment, neighbors used to work together at the ranch at haying time. And I would be expected to cook for the extra crew. Boy could those men eat. But there was one time, a number of years ago, when they didn’t eat everything on their plates.  

            It was time for the first cutting of hay and we were running a bit short on cash.  The previous year’s grain and calves had been sold, but that money had been used to pay outstanding bills. We raised our own cattle for meat; ground our own wheat into flour for bread; had a garden and I canned large amounts of produce from that garden. These things really helped. However, the first cutting of hay comes before the garden starts to produce much of anything except radishes. 

            One day I wanted to serve a green salad with the dinner being prepared for the hay hauling crews, so I asked Boyd if there was money to buy groceries. “Don’t have any,” was his reply. (He’s a man of few words.) That was as close to a “no” as could be and never being one to accept “no” for an answer, I decided to take things into my own hands. I remembered hearing that dandelion greens, when young, were edible and could make a good, but different, addition to any salad. However, as the dandelion plant matures and flowers appear, the greens become bitter. First cutting of hay comes after the dandelions have matured and flowered. 

            We certainly had a good crop of dandelions that year. Going out into our yard, I picked a bowl full of dandelion greens. Washing the greens, I combined them with radishes from the garden. I didn’t have any lettuce to dilute the dandelion flavor, so the dandelions weren’t an “addition” to the salad, but the only greens in the salad. But this salad looked right pretty with the red radishes and green dandelion leaves.  

             I watched closely as the men dished up and sampled their salad. No comments were made, though I noticed a lot of strange looks on faces as they ate this exotic salad. Even a liberal application of salad dressing couldn’t take the bitterness from those greens. There were no requests for seconds on the salad and all of the plates had salad left on them when the meal was over.

             As they left the table and walked out the door to head back to the hay field, the always courteous farm helpers thanked me for the meal and complimented me on my cooking. My husband, however, walked past me and through the door. He stopped. Turning around, he pulled his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans, opened it and handed me some money. “Get some groceries,” he said as he left the house and joined his crew.

            Not only are farmers hard workers, but they are quick to learn. I never had to resort to the dandelion trick again.  In fact, if I ever mentioned that I needed money for groceries, I would be told there he would find some somewhere. 

APPRECIATING OUR FREEDOMS

                                               FIRE WORKS ON THE 4TH OF JULY

            Just this week we have celebrated one of our biggest holidays, the 4^th of July. Amid the parades, ball games, picnics and fire works, how many of us have taken the time to stop and think of why we celebrate July 4^th? I’m going to give you a short history lesson.

            Unrest was prevalent in the colonies in 1776. The people were upset as Great Britain kept trying to make them follow more rules and pay higher taxes. These colonists no longer wanted Great Britain to be able to tell them what to do, they wanted their independence.

            In 1776 Congress met in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and appointed a committee to write a formal document that would tell Great Britain that the Americans had decided to govern themselves. They wanted the citizens of the United States to have a document that spelled out what was important to our leaders and citizens so they committee asked Thomas Jefferson to write a draft of the document. Jefferson worked on this assignment in secret for days. On June 28, 1776, the committee met and read Jefferson’s paper. They made some changes and declared their independence on July 2, 1776. This was officially adopted on July 4, 1776. That is the reason July 4^th is called “Independence Day.”

            The Declaration of Independence is more than just a piece of paper signed by men.  It is a symbol of our country’s independence and commitment to certain ideas. The people who signed the Declaration of Independence could have been hung for treason by the leaders in Great Britain.

The Constitution was written in 1787 and amended in 1791 to include the Bill of Rights. Some of the items in this were adopted from the English Bill of Rights.

So every July 4^th we should think about all the effort and ideas that went into the writing of these documents and about the courage it took for these signers to stand up for what they knew was right – Independence.

How many of us appreciate the freedoms we enjoy because of what these men risked their lives for so many years ago?

As I just recently drove over to Jackson, Wyoming, I thought of countries where travel is restricted. Going across the state line into Wyoming, there wasn’t a gate or a guard checking my credentials, making sure it was legal for me to cross that border. Not all countries have that kind of freedom. WE DO!

When I read the letters to the editor in the newspaper, I realize how blessed we are to be able to publically voice our opinions, even criticize our government officials, without the fear of being severely punished, even executed. Not all countries have that kind of freedom. WE DO!

I don’t always agree with our elected officials, but I appreciate the fact that I have the freedom to vote for whichever ones I feel will do the best job. Because I take that opportunity to vote, I feel free to voice my opinion on how those elected are doing their jobs. Not all countries give their people the opportunity to vote. WE DO!

I have the freedom to worship as I choose. I have the right to bear arms, I the right to a fair trial with a jury when accused of a crime. Not all countries have those privileges and freedoms. But WE DO!

Let’s all of us take time, not just on July 4^th but every day, to appreciate what this wonderful country has to offer us. Maybe we should quit complaining so much and become more involved in order for us to maintain our freedoms and independence.

WRITING HISTORY OF OUR LAND

                                              Published in Intermountain Farm and Ranch on
                                                               Friday, June 24, 2011

This is the time of year for family reunions. We sometimes enjoy these, sometimes not. But they are important. It is a time to reunite, thus the word reunion. Many times family members are only seen once a year – at reunions or maybe at funerals. As we get older these times mean more to us. We start thinking of histories, where we came from and where we are going. What are we leaving our children in terms of their historical background? Do our children know where their grandparents came from, do they know what occupations their aunts and uncles have, do they even know their cousins?  So I would like to address the idea of writing histories.

            Writing history can be fun. The more one researches, the more one learns and the more one wants to learn. The first thing in writing a history is to determine what type of history to write. One area I have found interesting is the history of the land. What makes this type of history so interesting is that as farmers most of us refer to the fields we farm with the name of the original owner. At the ranch we have the “Anderson” place, the “Doman” place, the “Rushton” place, “Cal’s and Eli’s”, etc. With some research, it is often possible to find some descendents of those people. Most are willing to share life histories of their parents and grandparents. When you get that information you have a treasure as the land starts to reveal its secrets to you! These histories will contain information about droughts, price of products grown, illnesses, celebrations, and many other things the people recorded.  Let me quote a couple of things from my book, Dehlin, A Forgotten Community:

Joseph Olsen wrote: “I filed a squatter’s right on land across Willow Creek, what is known as Dehlin or Horse Butte. Later we filed a homestead on 240 akers.”[original spelling]” (Dehlin, p 13)

“The Thomas Joseph Pearce told how, during the years of the depression, the people struggled to make a living. Prices hit rock bottom. The price of wheat was down to twenty cents a bushel. It became difficult to make it on the dry farm. Gradually more and more of the Dehlin dry farmers moved to the valley to try to find employment elsewhere.” (Dehlin, p 109)

            This type of information makes history come alive, helps us understand what our ancestors went through, and why they sometimes lost their land and moved on.

These early homesteaders were not rich. With the use of a metal detector we have found old farm equipment, a bent tea kettle, parts to stoves, a bed frame, a saw, and many nails, bolts, and pieces of harnesses. That in itself is history. 

We have also located the foundations to many of the homes. There are a couple of the old homes still standing, one is about ready to fall down and probably isn’t safe to go into anymore. But they tell a story about the lives lived in them.

The Bureau of Land Management has a website that enables you find the names of homesteaders. You need the legal description of the land you are interested in, or just the name of the person you think homesteaded your land, and this website will do the search for you. The web site is:  http://www.glorecords.blm.gov/ . 

This is an exciting website! Not only can you get the information on who homesteaded certain pieces of land, but you can print a copy of the homestead papers.

            A quote I have in my files, but I’m not sure where I got it from, says it all: “family history is not just delving into your past, but it is preserving your future.” What better gift to give our children than a sense of belonging, a sense of importance because of where they came from! And what fun to have the history of the land we farm!

FAMILY TOGETHERNESS

Published in Intermountain Farm and Ranch June 10, 2011

About a year ago, the women’s auxiliary organization in our church challenged all women to have their family sit down together for five meals a week. We received that directive on a Sunday. Well, by noon on Tuesday I had fulfilled that goal for the first week. I wondered if now I could quit cooking for the rest of the week.

This did make me stop and appreciate the advantages of living  on the farm/ranch. Yes there’s a lot of cooking, but the family does sit down together for meals, and not just five meals a week. There are also other advantages of this life.

We lived at the ranch during the summer when the kids were all at home. As soon as school was out in the spring we would move up. We would come down to the valley on weekends and attend church, buy groceries, and then head back up Monday mornings.

Many mornings, after chores were done, I would pack them a lunch and the kids would take off exploring. The old Cutler house was a fun place to go, or up to the foundation of the old school house, maybe to one of the groves of trees near by. They would usually arrive back to the ranch house in time for dinner, our noon meal. They liked to take their bikes and ride over to Hell Creek. Once a summer on a Saturday morning, I would pack a lunch and the older ones would ride their bikes from the ranch to our valley home. This was approximately twenty miles which took them most of the day on a bike.  

Every afternoon about 3 or 4 o’clock, I would get the kids in the car and we would go out to the field to take their dad a treat. Then we would head to Hell Creek where the rest of the afternoon was spent swimming. The water wasn’t deep nor the current swift, but it was water and a chance to play in it. Home again and they would play their games, sometimes Anti-Eye-Over ( or Anti Over), or play on the old equipment. We had an old combine that they especially liked to play “Love Boat” on. There always seemed to be something to do!

We didn’t have a TV as there was no electricity. We did have a battery powered radio which was turned on every morning to get the news, and Boyd listened to ball games in the evening on it.

For quite a few summers we had “Red” the hired man. He was an older man that Dad Schwieder would hire in the early spring to help get the ground ready and he usually stayed through the fall harvest. We only have two bedrooms in the house and “Red” had to sleep in the back bedroom with the kids. He didn’t like that and would get grouchy with the kids if they were too noisy. I don’t think “Red” liked me up there. He wanted to do his own cooking. I never spiced things enough for him. When I would serve a meal he would put so much pepper on his food that you couldn’t tell that he was eating anything but pepper. But he and I tolerated each other as best we could. In fact, we integrated him into our “family” as best we could. I think he was always glad to see us depart for the valley on Saturday afternoons.

The first day of school would see us settled again in our valley home. Now as the kids are grown and some of them have moved away and have their own families, they often talk about the memories they had of those days at the ranch.

Even though the kids have moved away, the cooking is still being done for those family members that help on the farm. And more than five times a week we sit down as a family and eat together.

Perserverance Pays Off

Skyler finishing up on a cross-country run.

I went to a high school track meet the other day to watch our grandson, Skyler Young, participate. While watching him I was reminded of a story I had read last fall in a church newspaper. I did some web surfing to get more information on this story because I thought it would interest some of you.

            It seems that for quite a few years Australia was host to a 543.7 mile (875 kilometer) ultra-marathon endurance race. This race started in Sydney and ended in Melbourne and took five days to complete and usually only attempted by world-class athletes who have trained specially for this race.

            In 1983, 61-year-old Cliff Young showed up at the start of the race, dressed in overalls and work boots. Cliff picked up his race number and joined the others at the starting line. Many people told him he was crazy and that there was no way he would finish the race to which he replied, “Yes I can. See, I grew up on a farm where we couldn’t afford horses or tractors, and the whole time I was growing up, whenever the storms would roll in, I’d have to go out and round up the sheep. We had 2,000 sheep on 2,000 acres. Sometimes I would have to run those sheep for two or three days. It took a long time, but I’d always catch them. I believe I can run this race.”

            In order to complete the race in 5 days it was understood that the competitors would run about 18 hours a day and sleep the remaining 6 hours.  However, Cliff claimed he would run straight through to the finish without sleeping.  He didn’t run like the trained athletes did, his gait was actually an odd shuffle. Each night he came closer to those in the lead, and by the final night Cliff was in the lead. He was the first to cross the finish line setting a new course record.

After the race Cliff told reporters that he just pretended he was searching for sheep and trying to outrun a storm. When he was awarded the $10,000 for winning the race, he was surprised. He wasn’t aware there was a prize for winning.

            Cliff entered the same race a year later and came in seventh. Having a displaced hip during the race did not stop him from finishing, though it did slow him down.        

            Today the “Young shuffle” is used by many of the ultra-marathon runners because it is considered more energy-efficient. And during this Sydney to Melbourne race, the competitors no longer sleep. (http:www.elitefeet.com/the-legend-of-cliff-young)

            Cliff Young suffered a stroke in 2000 after competing in a race that he was unable to finish. He passed away November 2, 2003 at the age of 81. Until the time he had the stroke he participated in a number of races.

            Here was a farmer/rancher who persevered: he didn’t back down when people said he couldn’t accomplish what he set out to do; he didn’t worry about not having clothes that matched everyone else; he paced himself according to what he knew he could do; and he won.

Isn’t that what farming and ranching is all about? Farmers may not be involved in well advertised races, but they do race against time, weather, and the markets. A wet spring like this one may slow them down some, but as soon as they are able, they are out in the fields getting the soil ready and the seeds planted. And the usual attire is overalls and boots.  Yes, they continue to move forward, maybe only with a shuffle, and quite often with a lack of sleep. During the busy times it is not unusual for many farmers to become sleep deprived.  But they persevere, and by doing so they too win the race.  And the prize at the end of the race often is the good feeling of knowing a job has been accomplished.

MOTHER'S DAY

 Published in the Intermountain Farm and Ranch, May 6, 2011

       Mother’s Day is probably my least favorite day of the year. I have never felt that I was a good mother, and hate listening to all the accolades paid to mother’s that are wonderful, knowing I don’t measure up. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children and would do anything for them, but I don’t feel that I set a very good example for them to follow. A few years ago we had a special incident on Mother’s Day that made me realize the love that animal mothers have for their young. That incident has caused me to view Mother’s Day differently.



A newborn calf with it's mom.



Moving the cattle to spring/summer range is not always easy. The upper pasture we take them to is twenty miles from where they have spent the winter. We used to trail them up, but have found it is less labor intensive to haul them in trucks. The cows and calves need to be separated, as we take the cows in one trailer, the calves in another. Making sure the pairs get there the same day is the goal. And usually we meet that goal. Boyd has a little red book where he keeps the record of the numbers of the ear/brisket tags for all cows and calves. As the animals are loaded onto the trailers, that book is checked.

A couple of years ago we ran into a problem. When the last load of cows was dropped off at the upper pasture, we noticed one cow from an earlier load standing by the gate, calling for her calf. That in itself is not unusual because the calves and cows have to find each other after they are unloaded. Checking around, everything else seemed to be okay: fences up; gates shut; feed and water available. 

However, here in the valley we heard a calf bellering all night long for his mother. That is a sad sound. The next morning we were sure a mistake had been made as there was also one cow that had a full udder and she was adding to the noise level. Taking his little red book out, Boyd walked through the remaining cows. Sure enough, we had a cow and calf that didn’t belong to each other. 

            That was a Sunday morning, Mother’s Day at that. Deciding to take the mismatched cow and calf to the upper pasture after church, we commenced to do what needed to be done and attended our meeting. As we approached home after church, there was a cow walking on the road toward us. And she wasn’t just meandering, stopping to eat grass, etc. She was walking as though she had a strong incentive to get to her goal. Turning into our lane just ahead of our car, she went straight to the gate leading into the pasture. Just standing there mooing, her calf came running from the back pasture. All it took for us to do was open a gate for cow and calf to be reunited. Who said that cows or for that manner any animal, don’t love their little ones, that they don’t have feelings and emotions. We certainly watched the display of love that morning.

After we ate dinner we loaded the cow and calf plus the other cow whose calf was at the ranch, into the stock trailer to take them to the summer pasture. When we arrived, there by the loading chute was a calf crying for its mother. And its mother started answering its cries before we had turned the pickup off.  They were all unloaded and off went a happy mom with her little one beside her, and a happy reunion for the other cow and calf.

            And to think this happened on Mother’s Day, a day that we honor our mothers and all they have done for us.  Has your mother walked twenty miles all night to find you?

The Therapeutic Value of Dirt

THE THERAPEUTIC VALUE OF DIRT

Published April 22, 2011 in Intermountain Farm and Ranch 

            Getting one’s hands dirty is so much a part of the farming culture that I just take it for granted.  You don’t accomplish much on the farm or ranch without dirt getting on your hands, under your fingernails, and on your clothes. I will admit that because of the dirt I don’t have the beautiful fingernails that my urban sisters have. 

My kids always played in the dirt.  They had their trucks and tractors, and farmed their little farms just like their dad farmed his big one. Sometimes they would come in for a meal as dirty as their dad did. When the kids were young, I had a verse on my fridge that read:

No matter how much I scrub and clean,

No matter what good plans I start the day with,

My kids always look like the kind of kids,

I wouldn’t want my kids to play with.

I often hear young mother’s say to their children as they go out to play – “don’t get your hands dirty,” or “stay away from that pile of dirt.”  Isn’t that taking away the fun of playing outside?  My father-in-law once said to me, “There’s nothing wrong with good clean dirt.”  I believe that!

            I can remember making mud pies as a child.  We would stir the mud and water and form the pies.  Then we would put dandelions, grass, even bugs on the top to decorate them, and bake them in the sunlight, (probably one of the first uses of solar energy).  I guess they were more like mud cakes.  I think we even tried to eat them a time or two. The only time Mother got upset with us for playing in the dirt would be on a Saturday afternoon after she had washed and put up our hair for Sunday.  Then if we went out into the dust, and especially if we played house and swept the dirt floor in our make believe house causing the dust to fly everywhere and into our clean hair, she would get upset.  Other than that we were allowed to wallow in the dirt.  Oh what fun!

            The other day I went to a meeting.  When I returned home I was frustrated at how little was accomplished.  It seemed like everyone just visited about things that didn’t pertain to the business we were there to accomplish.  It frustrated me as I had things at home that  needed to be done. By the time I got home I was “chomping at the bit,” so to speak.  So I changed my clothes and went out to work in the strawberry patch.  Kneeling in the dirt, feeling the warmth coming through my jeans was comforting. Digging, weeding, transplanting, feeling the dirt run through my hands, all those things had a healing affect on my mind.  It didn’t take long for me to calm down and put things in perspective. 

            Perhaps when we work in the dirt, we can look at life more realistically.  Simple things become real and precious.  The challenges in life don’t seem as big. The hectic pace we travel disappears as a feeling of calmness takes over.  Why worry about things we can’t control?   Why worry about what did or didn’t get accomplished at a meeting?  Why let a so-called wasted afternoon spoil the rest of the day for me? 

            Maybe we all need our own personal sand pile to play in at least once a day where we can sit and let the sand infiltrate into our shoes, our socks, even our underwear.  We could make sand castles, pretending we were at the beach.  We could throw the sand in the air and laugh as it gets in our hair, eyes, and ears.  You know, that might be as beneficial as sitting in a psychiatrist’s office and a quick shower will wash away all the bad effects of it.  Inexpensive therapeutic therapy!