|Abigail Marie - two days old|
The short month Mike was home had flown by. Beef harvests, deliveries to Portland, trailing cattle on the Zumwalt. Before I knew it he was leaving again and I was on my own holding down the ranch. Still, I took advantage of having the cattle settled and headed to the river with Gabe and the boys for a day of harvesting walnuts and fishing.
|Dawson uses his hat to gather walnuts|
Last year I missed the walnut harvest and the turkeys got them all. This year Dawson and Wes helped gather nuts onto a tarp and cavorted about, climbing the broad limbs of the walnut trees, building train tracks in the house, exploring the river after what felt like a long absence.
|Looking north from the Salmon hole|
It was turning into a beautiful evening when we headed down to the salmon hole. Gabe and Dawson hooked several fish right away. Weston and I wandered, sneaking around in the willows, following the twists and turns of an imaginary quest.
The biggest adventure was Weston finding his first rattlesnake. We were hiking back to the truck, holding hands as we walked through the bleached grass, when suddenly Wes jumped sideways against my legs. "I thought I saw a..." and there it was coiled and camouflaged next to the trail.
The first time a child of the canyons finds a rattlesnake on their own, it's a relief to know they will have the heart-pounding instinctive reaction to move away as fast as possible. At three years old, Wes was right on schedule.
|Early morning checking cows on the Zumwalt|
After the river trip, I got busy. The cattle needed checking, and there was fence to fix and steers to move. My dawn trips to the Zumwalt were rejuvenating. I sped over the gravel road, riding the familiar washboard and watching light sharpen the peaks of the Seven Devils and creep across the canyon.
|Cows coming to see me on the prairie|
|Enjoying the morning|
My list of chores was growing. When Mike and I skyped, he reminded me to harvest the great basin wildrye seed, check on the bulls, take more salt to the cows, treat the bridge planks, clean out the barn, get the hay delivered, doctor the horse. I made myself start early and work until dark.
|Clipping great basin wildrye for seed|
|Stubborn gate fix|
At the steer pasture the fence repair I thought would be a half-day job turned into three days. A cowboy pastured his horses there last year in trade for fixing the fence, but he never got around to it so the job fell to me.
Once into it, I was discouraged by the number of broken wires, rotten posts and busted gates. There seemed to be no end to the tangle and mess. Stretch, splice, pound, repeat. I managed to scrounge enough material to get it all to where I thought it would keep the bulls and steers in.
|A mess on the ground, now up looking like a fence|
It was a relief when Zeke came home for a few weeks and pitched in. Splitting and stacking wood, hauling protein and moving cows, keeping me company, talking about the world.
|Zeke putting out salt|
|Pairs in the new pasture|
Hunting season arrived. Gabe was siphoned off on a pack trip into the Minam with Luke. After getting his elk he came home to haul the bulls and steers to fall pasture and helped me put treat on the new bridge material. We got all the planks treated on one side and I followed up a few weeks later to treat the running boards. I feel intimidated when I think about the job of redecking the bridge at the river. I try to take one step at a time and not let myself think too much about all the work ahead. I try to picture us at the river when the bridge is already done.
|Many boards to be treated|
It's an old habit of mine, leaping ahead in my mind to the other side of something I want behind me. As a kid walking home in the rain, I'd say to myself, now I'm at the top of the hill and in a little while I'll be down by the corner thinking of when I was back up here.
|Rotten bridge deck|
This month, when I bogged down in my chore list I pictured myself at midnight in the lobby of the Walla Walla airport. Watching the weary travelers straggling in from the tarmac, watching Mike walk through the glass doors.
From Sara at Magpie Ranch, home of Bunchgrass Beef