Saved by the Green

You can't go wrong with a St Patrick's Day pie. Especially if it is from the fruit you picked last year and froze and it's mulberry, blackberry, blackcherry. Especially if it is for your 40th wedding anniversary.  That's B for berry.

40 year anniversary pie

It's hard to believe we've been partners for 43 years. The first three years, while dating, we were mostly far apart, sometimes on different continents. Alaska, Germany, Washington, Minnesota, Oregon, Yukon Territory. When we finally decided to get married and go to work on a ranch, we thought we might be spending more time together. 

Bridge railing supplies

We soon found that ranch work involves long distances and often long separations. I've always loved working with Mike, even though sometimes we 'disagree' on how to get things done. He decides. I consider. Then we negotiate.  About half the time we come up with the same solution. The other half of the time I'm right, or he is. Either way the jobs get done, or they don't, but we try hard and mostly we do good work. Together.  

Gabe and Mike install railing on new bridge

Sometimes when Mike worked for McClarans, if we wanted to spend a night together we had to sleep in the old travel trailer at the heifer lot on Cow Creek. All four of us. Mike and I bunked on the bottom and the two kids bunked on top, about 18 inches over our heads. This was BZ. Before Zeke.

Our home place back then was at Brown Canyon near Imnaha. Mike only got one day off every few weeks and most of that was spent driving back from Cow Creek, doing laundry and fixing stuff. You can see why I thought the heifer lot was better than nothing.  

Don't fall in the river Mike! 

Gabe and Prairie had a blast getting into stuff, helping chore, 'driving' the truck. I think they were three and four. It was the same year Grey Ghost, a McClaran pack horse, went berserk packing fence material. She bucked off her pack and ran all the way back to Cow Creek, where she jumped off a little rim, knocked open a swinging gate by the yard, gathered up the saddle stock and ran them into the pasture where the kids and I were walking back to the house. The horses thundered towards us with Prairie obliviously running ahead of me to 'win the race.' I yelled at her and she stopped and saw the horses. Maybe she was petrified, but she stood stock still while the running horses parted around her like a river around a rock. Scared the beejeezus out me, but I learned something. A horse isn't likely to run over you if they can avoid it.  

Abby 2 1/2, looking like a little Mongolian

Just like Prairie did, Abby sometimes wears attire that I concoct from whatever is on hand. I made Prairie overalls and dresses on my beloved treadle sewing machine, using fabric cut from old garments, curtains or tablecloths. Sometimes I got wool at the mill in Pendleton. With Abby, it's mostly my vests, when she forgets her coat at the house and the wind comes up when we're choring or fishing. It's not quite in keeping with her fashion standards (she takes after Cammie), but she tolerates it.  

Cammie and Abigail on the way to Witch's Hat

McClaran's are celebrating 100 years on their ranch this year. Sometimes when I meet Scott on the river road and we stop for a chat with our windows down, we talk about all the changes we've seen over the decades. The people who've come and gone. The people we miss. And sometimes we marvel at the fact that of all the people who have come and gone, we're the ones still here following the cattle, riding the range, packing salt, driving bad roads. 

Skinny cow that tried to take Sara down

There's a saying that there are only two kinds of cowboy poetry.  The kind where somebody dies, which is tragedy. And the kind where they survive, which is comedy. So I guess it was comedy when a cow almost gored me back in March It was right after Snowmageddon and she was so poor I could count her ribs. We kept her in when the other cows trailed back to the bench so we could feed her hay by the box elder grove. I was hauling a couple buckets of water for her from the river and I looked up to see the 'feeble' cow jumping over her pile of hay and coming at me like a freight train, head down, horns forward. 

I dropped one of the buckets and backpedaled as fast as I could over the hummocky hard ground, yodeling for Mike, who was somewhere behind me at the truck. "Drop the bucket and run!" he shouted. But I couldn't. The bucket was the only thing between me and the cow and she was already butting it. Right when I started to stumble, I heard Mike come up behind me with a stockwhip and the cow reversed gears. I dropped the bucket and turned around, wobbling my way to the truck. For days, I cringed every time I thought of those pitchfork horns just wide enough to fit one on either side of me as long as I stayed on my feet. Every time Mike thought about it he laughed.

Weston made it to the top!

That's the nature of a good partnership, reliability. If you add up all the disappointments and the disagreements and the misunderstandings and the frustrations, they still don't amount to near as much as the times you saved each others' lives, which in the ranching business seems to happen more often than usual.

Mid March and still snowing

And even if all you need is moral support, you can count on a partner to share the load.  Whether it's bad storms, a sick horse, a brokedown truck, climate change or social upheaval, when you're the one down, your partner helps you see the future with a little more acceptance, a little more gentleness. And when they're in a dark mind, you take your turn to paint a picture of good things that might come again.

Hallelujah! The grass is growing at the end of March! 

And so green finally came to the canyon again, transforming in its magical way the hungry bodies of ruminants. And I'm thankful for all the animals who can rise up on this nutritious food, and for the power of spring to rejuvenate us in this corner of the world. And I think of the people who have lived here for thousands of years, and the ones who have been here just a hundred years, or maybe even just forty.

From Sara at Magpie Ranch, home of Bunchgrass Beef

Bad Trails Shifting Loads

Packing salt in early February did not go as planned. Although the West bench was mostly dry, it turned out that even without snow, the East bench was treacherous.

East side, half frozen and greasy.

 Mike and Andrew wanted to give Looking Glass a packing lesson, so they loaded her up and set out with Chester and Sedona.

Andrew and Mike headed upriver

After they left, I fed the yearlings in the weaning pen and the early calver with her calf "Dirty Snowball." He was born at Pumpkin Creek just before we trailed back to the Imnaha.

Dirty Snowball and his mother Little Red on the chow line

I kept an eye out and eventually I saw Mike climbing the steep trail to the bench. He was riding Sedona and leading Chester and even from a distance I could see Chester lunging for footing. The question was, where was Andrew.

Looking Glass  getting ready for packing lesson

After a while, Andrew came back, leading Looking Glass along the river. He told me she slid off the trail and rolled her pack. They switched the pack to Chester and Mike continued on up the trail. Looking Glass was okay, but it wasn't a good day for a packing lesson. Andrew and I got busy with other chores and in the late afternoon, heavy snow clouds began to roll in.

Snow moving in

There was no sign of Mike. I thought he was taking an awfully long time and I started to worry he might not get back before dark.  That's when I spotted him coming off the bench on foot.  He arrived at the barn, weary and dirty and reported the trails were goo. Even in sharp shoes the horses couldn't keep their feet. After both Sedona and Chester slid on the trail, Mike got off and walked the whole rest of the way. He fell down a couple times too, but he got the job done.

Cork gouge near the coronary band. 

I kind of wished he'd given up.  In the scramble to get his feet, Chester corked himself, gouging the top of his left front hoof with the rear caulk on his right front shoe. That was some fancy footwork that kept him on the trail, but left its' mark, and I hoped it would heal okay in the muddy conditions.

Snow top to bottom in the canyon

Next morning, we woke up to snow clear down to the river  It was the beginning of a long hard spell so I guess it was a good thing Mike got the salt out after all. 

From Sara at Magpie Ranch, home of Bunchgrass Beef 

Little Red

Looking Back Thinking Ahead

Right when you think the days will never get any longer, the sun rises on the shortest day of the year. What a relief.

Valley sunrise

And I think of all that has happened since the last time I felt this way.  Wandering backward through the year, trailing cattle to the winter range, and before that -- the move to fall range, and before that---trailing out of the canyon to the Zumwalt prairie. And scattered in between, there's packing salt, weaning, branding, steer harvest and all the other chores of running a ranch.

Trailing to the winter range

And none of it happens without help. Of which it seems we need more and different of the last couple years. And some of the faces are familiar, old hands like us from the old days. And some are younger, but still familiar, ready for the hard climb, the careful travel on remote and icy range. And some are newer, wanting to contribute, and we are willing to figure each other out, willing to try to understand the work together.

Andi, old hand and wild woman of range 

When I look back, I can't help but think its a long ways forward. The work and unfinished business ahead can feel overwhelming.

Gabe, steep country for fencing

Then I remember how as a child, when I had to get somewhere on foot and it was taking way too long, I'd tell myself, "A while ago you were at the bottom of the hill by the creek thinking it was too far, and now you're already at the top of the hill and pretty soon you'll be there." It was like a game of mental leap frog, and it always helped me keep going.

Starting point, the old riparian feedlot 

In the Magpie Ranch chapter of our life, this taking stock now goes back not one year, but decades. I think of starting out, how the river bar was a winter feedlot where we worked as hired hands. A place deep in mud and manure churned up by hundreds of black-bally cows taking their daily ration of hay and waiting to have their calves and be turned back out on the range.

Old feedlot, now restoration project

There was something grim about it back then, after the flood of '97, and all those the feedlots. When we bought our first cows and made our first plans I wondered if our ideas and our labor could get us at least close to where we wanted to go. Now when spring rolls around and I walk through the old feedlot, I look at the lush grass and think of the years of burning and seeding and weeding and tell myself, "Well that didn't take all that long, really." And I feel like going forward will bring some other good change, and I'm ready to keep walking.

Old Newt on one of his last trips to the canyon

Old Newt dog won't be walking with us this year. He departed for the cowdog range in heaven last October. He was fourteen. His legacy as a good dog with heart was measured also by his surviving being run over by me driving a truck loaded with hay when he was ten months old. The months in a cast and pins almost drove him crazy, but he healed with a crooked hind leg that didn't stop him from working hard for ten more years.

Mike taking a break from herding

So here we go into the new year. Hopefully remembering to find a good rock to rest on, and to rest on it when we need to. And maybe have a conversation about the work still needed to end the day, or maybe even a conversation about life and the world and us in it, making choices, looking for help, managing the range, as Mike says, "like gardening on a very large scale."


From Sara at Magpie Ranch, home of Bunchgrass Beef

Feeding You

Back in July, our customer Alivia mailed us a sweet note along with the deposit check for her order of Bunchgrass Beef.

Dear Mike and Sara, We hope this finds you enjoying summer with family and friends. May we relish the cooler seasons coming soon.  We look forward to crossing paths, Cheers Alivia and Justin

Gathering the cow herd at the summer range

We met Alivia and Justin when they won the bid on a ranch stay that we donated for Zenger Farm. Our daughter Prairie works at Zenger in SE Portland. She helped start their Community Chefs program to 'support women food leaders who nourish and strengthen communities through food, knowledge and solidarity.' I've had a chance to be at the farm a few times when these women shared their food traditions. It gave me a powerful and rejuvenating feeling of connection, with stories and laughter and questions in different languages while we cooked and ate together.

Not all the Zenger ranch stay folks have become beef customers, but they have all helped us learn, exchanging knowledge and friendship across differences. We are thankful for their support of Zenger Farm and they remind me of the life goals Mike wrote down twenty years ago. As pastoralists, an important part of our vision is sharing educational opportunities, along with involving our children, feeding people, and providing a place of refuge.

Looking southeast, upriver last spring

We never know what will speak to our guests during their visit or what they will teach us. This year we hosted Paul and Laura. I loved learning about Paul's long career in China and seeing Laura connect with the horses and dogs that work on the ranch.  Laura also sent us a sweet note.

I remain deeply touched by the time we spent with you and Mike at Magpie Ranch.  We delighted in all that we learned and found it so refreshing to be pulled out of our “city” existence. And I had a BLAST with the dogs and horses. We loved learning about your ranch and the deeply informed and unique approach you take to raising cattle.  The time spent with you really refreshed my soul.  I’m so grateful!

Laura  and her admirers Ruby, Opuntia (Punch) and Bell

This year I'm paying extra attention to the little notes.  At the beginning of the new millennium, in early 2000, I was on an airplane and my seatmate was a Pakistani man from Idaho who was returning home after hearing the Dalai Lama speak. The man seemed reserved, but I could tell he was deeply moved. His Holiness had said this century would be one of unprecedented cooperation. The man and I talked about this possibility, how at the turn of the century technology offered us information about virtually every place on our shared planet. We wondered, would we be able to move beyond technology to human connections that could influence our decisions, and distribute power in less selfish ways? Would we survive the next century?

My idea of a real cowboy, trims 93 year-old mother-in-law's fingernails

These days that cooperation feels both like it's coming closer, maybe just around the corner, and like it is disintegrating and running through our fingers. I find myself looking for it. Studying small actions. What we do for each other. What we do for strangers. And last spring when I realized there were people that I avoided looking at, I started making eye contact, opening myself to the stranger in this tiny way. It is changing me, even if I'm not sure how.

Pat helps Gabe load post and pole material from Pat's thinning job

The simplest notes are still encouraging, like the one from Andrew written on the memo line of his check. 1/2 beef deposit, can't wait! And there are ones like Richard's that seem to invite me to peek into his kitchen. Sara and Mike we are very much looking forward to this year's order! Just in time, we have 3 pieces left in the freezer. 

Abby's heifer with first calf. Two years old, just like Abby.

For a brief time our planet holds us tilted neither toward nor away from the sun.  Harvest days are warm as summer and tucked between a nightly chill.  I can almost feel the planet shifting on its axis, listing toward the dark. And I am humbled and encouraged by people I rarely see and the little messages that reflect back to us their view of our work, our family, the animals we raise and eat.

Hello Sara and Mike---we are quite happy with the order. Thanks so much for your passion in these endeavors. It's so nice to count on your quality beef. Enjoy the sweetness of autumn. 
Dennis and Carrie

And I move on into the coming year, in the last century of my life, a little braver than before. 

Looking south from Cactus Mountain

From Sara at Magpie Ranch, home of Bunchgrass Beef

Sprung into Summer, New Mongolian Friends

We sprang into a green green world sometime back in April when the rains started. And it seemed like it just kept raining. It was beautiful. All that rain, soaking into the ground. I even let the horses in the yard a few times just to help me keep up with the mowing.

Chester and Theo in the yard

With all the rain, the river was high and muddy. Luckily the only flash flooding that occurred was in a side canyon fifteen miles away, on the road to town. The state highway crews jumped in and cleared away tons of debris so the road could reopen after a day. 

High and muddy Imnaha

We had some welcome help from family and friends as we rounded the corner toward summer. Branding, repairing fences, and getting ready to trail cattle out of the canyon to the prairie. 

Harlan on the horse swing with Jon

The boys slept in their tent on the porch. They figured the rattlesnakes probably wouldn't come up there. Abby slept in the house, but joined the party the next day so she could read up on sharks...

Tent nest on the porch

Dawson, Abby and Weston

As it often does in spring, the weather seemed to suddenly turn off hot, hot, hot. I got overheated brushing out blackberry and poison oak on the Log Creek trail in preparation for trailing cattle. I was very happy to have my itchy sweaty labors rewarded by finding a hummingbird nest amongst the blackberry vines. 

Baby hummingbirds

It was an easy trail to the summer range at the beginning of June. We enjoyed a couple days of cooler weather, a little rain, but not so much to make for muddy trails. I remember one year when the temperature dropped into the forties with a cold driving rain. We had been on the trail two days and we were nearly there. Gabe said, "I think we can make it all the way if we keep going for a couple more hours." Through chattering teeth I responded, "I cccccan't ffffffffeel my ffffffingers. I hhhhave to ggggget in the ttttttruck and wwwwarm up." 

Harlan ready with walkie-talkie and tools

Gabe and Prairie and Cammie did most of the riding this year. Moms and kids took over on the last day.  Prairie on Chester with Harlan in front, Dawson on Buddy, and Cammie on Bird with Weston on the back. Little did we know this would be Bird's last trip out of the canyon. After a brief illness, we had to put him down in July. RIP bird, you were a wonderful horse and we miss you. 

Moms and kids on the last day

June also brought special guests when Mike hosted a study exchange of pastoralists from Mongolia for the Nature Conservancy. I was grateful to be included in several days of activities as the group met with local people involved in ranching, range management, conservation and community development. 

Welcoming the Mongolian delegation with cowboy scarves

It was a big surprize and a lot of fun when Mike and I and Bayar (Science Director, TNC Mongolia) figured out that Bayar was the person who years ago lent a car to our Mongolian friends Ene and Aza so they could drive from San Francisco to Joseph to visit us. What a connection! 

Study tour stop on the Zumwalt Prairie

I love it when pastoralists from different countries have a chance to meet each other. There is always a lot to learn and even with language barriers (those translators are kept BUSY) we seem to understand each other. Whether checking out fencing tools or horse tack, discussing our marketing or production methods, or talking about the serious challenges to rangelands around the world, we relate to each other in a special way. 

Visit to USFS range allotment with rancher and scientist Dennis Sheehy

Mongolians have a robust culture of horsemanship and are enthusiastic about horse races. At Buckhorn overlook, we made a stop to learn about Nez Perce fisheries, tribal rights and practices, ranching in the canyons, and research applying remote sensing and weather data to predict forage conditions on vast rangeland areas. During lunch, a Mongolian delegate got out his phone and we gathered round to watch a tiny video of his horse winning an important race back home. I made a joke about how in Wallowa County our horse races are to see who can go downhill the fastest...that got a reaction as they looked over the edge into the canyon. 

Looking into the canyon from Buckhorn

  

There were many emotional moments. I especially enjoyed visiting with the women delegates and was reminded how women have many leadership opportunities in Mongolia, more so than in the United States. And we had a lovely evening near the end of their stay hosted by Mike and Nikki Beachy and their boys for a potluck, s'mores, a traditional Mongolian-style toasting circle, and wonderful singing in several languages. 

Joe receives his special gift.

One of the most moving interactions during the study exchange was a presentation of a special amulet to Joe McCormack.  The man making the presentation said that as a child he dreamed of making a journey to the other side of the world and meeting other native peoples. Now to his amazement, his dream had come true. We all felt a tenderness in our hearts as we watched Joe accept this gift with grace on behalf of the Nez Perce people. 

Qe’ciyéw’yew’ Joe. 

Thank you Joe.

Tá’c kîiye pîihekin. 

It is good to see each other. 

From Sara at Magpie Ranch, home of Bunchgrass Beef

Those People Who Can't Afford

Sometimes I wish this second-class, we-are-not-them qualifier wasn't part of our thinking and dividing of community.

 Restoration project, Sara pitchforking burning kochia

As in, "Isn't it great that we bought bike helmets for the poor kids whose families can't afford them?" Or, "Isn't it great that even kids whose families can't afford other fun stuff --like skiing or boating---can enjoy this nice park we just built?" Or, "Isn't it awesome that we volunteer to grow vegetables for families who can't afford fresh food for their kids?"

First calf, I'm glad he was born before the storm

I seem to hear this comparison more and more in my community. I've been part of one of those families and I don't remember people talking to me that way.

Hay for the horses on a windy day in the canyon

Sigh.

Punch, Ruby and Bell, the faithful ranch crew in travel mode

It's like an invisible sword where people don't know they just stabbed the heart of the mom they are chatting with. She is one of those people who can't afford, but she hadn't been thinking of herself that way.

Still few people, but feels more fragmented and less connected

She was thinking of herself as a person who was part of community, making a contribution, of equal value.
Bike helmets for all. Parks for all. Gardens for all.

Heading out for the day's gather upriver

I want to be on a journey toward change. Which trail will lead me away from division and fear and toward association and sharing?

You get the ones down low and I'll get the ones up high

I'm very thankful for all the ways and all the people and all the places and all the times that are helping me find the trail, stay on the trail and have the stamina and hope to get over the ridge and see what is ahead. And that includes my partner of nearly 40 years!

Happy St Patrick's Day and 39th Anniversary Pard! 

From Sara at Magpie Ranch, Home of Bunchgrass Beef