tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14224595426667445222024-03-13T02:00:44.420-07:00Cowgirl in ParadiseAva was a suburbanite working at a high-tech company when illness changed her life and her brother advised her "Don't die with dreams in your pockets." She is now pursuing her dream and living the life of a cowgirl on a remote ranch with the perfect cowboy. This blog is her way of sharing her experiences and thoughts with family and friends.Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-50762581214664322312013-01-01T23:48:00.001-08:002013-01-01T23:48:37.787-08:00Make a Farmer a FriendMy friends and family will absolutely confirm that I did NOT grow up a farm girl. I wasn't in 4-H as a kid, and I wasn't a member of FFA (Future Farmers of America) in high school. Yeah. I rode a horse now and then. But the closest I ever got to raising food was growing okra and tomatoes in my suburban backyard in Georgia. <br />
<br />
Since growing up, I've been a high school English teacher in Georgia, lived and worked in the People's Republic of China, been a mom, and been blessed by a highly successful career at Microsoft in Redmond, WA. I've lived in a lot of places and done a lot of things. But during the first 46 years of my life, I never got close enough to touch a cow, never slopped pigs, never watched a lamb born, and never artificially inseminated ANYTHING. I thought those first 46 years were pretty exciting (anyone who successfully maneuvers an adolescent into adulthood knows what excitement is), but to be perfectly honest, they were NOTHING compared to the years since I became a cowgirl at age 46. <br />
<br />
I am now 50 and have survived an incredibly steep learning curve (I have the thighs to prove it). I've had to master many lessons in the art and science of being a rancher, livestock manager, and business owner. I can build fences, milk cows, change irrigation pipe, drive a tractor, artificially inseminate cows, buck hay, pull a calf, command a cow dog, and cut cows on my cutting horse right alongside an experienced cowboy. I've also learned tough lessons about life and death. And I still have many lessons to go.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GbQGLFNxAWDyiKA4cJ94P_Y1_mBP6UDjnouoMnEV_AuXvffXPordnrwxUf1LxnT3ksxyXe3CJUFPXZIDzTYx4bnElM_pcIf4AExK_SMqB_s_KxhP8qDeEUf91w23D1gQCU9F5bQ4gpM/s1600/Rose+and+Xubie+June+2011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_GbQGLFNxAWDyiKA4cJ94P_Y1_mBP6UDjnouoMnEV_AuXvffXPordnrwxUf1LxnT3ksxyXe3CJUFPXZIDzTYx4bnElM_pcIf4AExK_SMqB_s_KxhP8qDeEUf91w23D1gQCU9F5bQ4gpM/s320/Rose+and+Xubie+June+2011.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Babies keep me very busy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Most people think the hardest part of being a rancher is doing all that physical labor. Every day is full of chores. There are no vacations or holidays from work. There are no sick days that we can take off. Cows have to be milked, animals have to be fed and watered, hay has to be cut, chickens have to be butchered, and the list goes on. <br />
<br />
But really, the most challenging part of our job isn't on that list. It's selling our products to customers. Coming in contact with customers (we live in a very remote location), communicating the value of our products to customers, meeting customer demands and expectations, and finally selling meat all involve exhausting, frustrating, and, yes, rewarding hard work. <br />
<br />
I'm now an insider in the world of agricultural products, and I've learned first-hand how hard it is to be a successful, small farmer/rancher. It's easy for me to see why so few people want this job. But it's also easy for me to see why this job is so important. Not just for me and my personal health and well-being. But for every person. <br />
<br />
We live in a time when most of our food is raised or produced in factories. Pigs and chickens are raised in buildings and never see the light of day. Milk cows spend their lives standing on concrete and never walk on grass (much less eat it). Beef cows are crammed in feedlots and fattened on grain. All these animals live such unnatural lives that they have to be fed antibiotics in order to keep them alive long enough to produce the product that goes to the grocery store. We eat things out of packages that our grandparents made at home, like butter. We eat totally artificial things and call them 'food', like Twinkies, margarine, and Cool Whip. <br />
<br />
But there is hope that one day we'll return to our earth-bound roots. Thank goodness there are more and more people who are actually looking for real food raised on a real farm by real farmers and ranchers. I'm now one of those ranchers.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJHZNcoyPewfd6N1N5x8VACwtS7rliuvIdHpw4gJ91JfwSyA7P0tk71g33vjpp9r9wKg3PiLrBnsp7jjLSPfydqMNWpszqu_8hII-bHK6N-BhMK7WnL-rkYwLINCIo4Nk49y72hD0uwE/s1600/Day+After+Snow+Working+Cows+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJHZNcoyPewfd6N1N5x8VACwtS7rliuvIdHpw4gJ91JfwSyA7P0tk71g33vjpp9r9wKg3PiLrBnsp7jjLSPfydqMNWpszqu_8hII-bHK6N-BhMK7WnL-rkYwLINCIo4Nk49y72hD0uwE/s320/Day+After+Snow+Working+Cows+(3).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just finished sorting cows before branding.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I rub shoulders with other farmers who are passionate about, and dedicated to, growing food. All of us are faced with the challenges of competing with grocery stores, convenience, and flashy marketing. We're simple people doing a tough job to produce a basic product. We do our best to take care of the land we use, the animals and plants we grow, and the people we serve. But none of us can be successful without lots of other folks who are just as passionate about actually eating real food. <br />
<br />
If all of us want better food, a better environment, and a better world, then we all need to do our part to support the small farmers and ranchers in our areas. <strong>I encourage you to make a New Year's resolution for 2013. Make a commitment to your own health and the health of your local farming community by committing to do business with at least one local farmer this year.</strong> <br />
<br />
To help you understand the level of commitment that's required, I'll share my insider's tips based on my personal experiences of the last few years. I hope they inspire you to adopt and patronize a local farmer.<br />
<br />
1. Be kind. Be interested. Be respectful.<br />
<br />
Find a local farmers market and become friends with the vendors. Remember that most of the folks who grow and raise food are most comfortable with their hands in the earth or their feet planted in manure. They aren't necessarily great conversationalists and they aren't necessarily comfortable around lots of strangers. So, it's up to you not to be shy. <br />
<br />
Introduce yourself, ask about their farm or ranch. Tell them what your favorite foods are. Ask them about what they grow and how they grow it. Ask them to show you some of their favorites and share their favorite recipes or cooking techniques. <br />
<br />
If you can, visit the farm or ranch. I don't know one farmer who isn't proud of what he does and doesn't want to share his stories and his food. <br />
<br />
But whatever you do, don't introduce yourself by saying, "You know, I could get this food cheaper at Walmart." The truth is, no, you can't. And if you think you can, you're not as smart as my pig, Petunia. And if you buy your food at Walmart, Petunia eats a lot healthier food than you do. <br />
<br />
2. Be patient.<br />
<br />
Plants grow when it's warm and animals are born at certain times of the year. Whether it's convenient for you or not, the truth is that all food is seasonal. I happen to live in the Pacific Northwest where raspberries are ready in June, Hermiston watermelons are ripe in July, and my favorite apples get sweet and crunchy in October. An apple in July, a watermelon in December, and raspberries in February come from far, far away. So far away that I know nothing about the farm or person where they came from. And if I know nothing about the farm or person where my food comes from, then I know nothing about the food itself. I'd rather not eat it, thank you.<br />
<br />
Be patient with your farmer. A lot of roles are packed into one person. The individual selling vegetables at the farmers market is probably the weeder, accountant, marketing director, deliveryman, and farm manager. He has a lot to do. And he's trying to serve a lot of different people who have very diverse demands. <br />
<br />
Be responsive to supply and demand. Remember that if you just drop by every few months for a few carrots or a bag of potatoes, it'll be hard for a farmer to remember you. If you're a regular customer who buys a consistent supply, your farmer can actually make changes to ensure that your needs are consistently met. We grow lamb today because our consistent beef customers asked for it. They have been more than patient while we spend years building a flock of sheep large enough to support the year-round demand. In the meantime, when we say, "Reserve lamb now!" our regular customers know that what we really mean is "NOW!" And when the year's lambs are sold out, they patiently wait for the next batch to be ready. And we'll make sure the next batch is bigger because we're confident our customers are waiting. Eventually, we'll have lamb available every month thanks to our patient customers.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikBOZH73-Foo9o_NNqsFbm8iMK0144q8Ea_QBl00MFpzRpVGC0pVQKc8QVqyVsE7cdECDVEZIAGdWdAGTkfjVqdN7Y2ALKbfFfkbwdZrzJ_ewHX_w3Dhc8pGX5V0m16kgosEz5P5Diisw/s1600/Paradise+105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikBOZH73-Foo9o_NNqsFbm8iMK0144q8Ea_QBl00MFpzRpVGC0pVQKc8QVqyVsE7cdECDVEZIAGdWdAGTkfjVqdN7Y2ALKbfFfkbwdZrzJ_ewHX_w3Dhc8pGX5V0m16kgosEz5P5Diisw/s320/Paradise+105.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our hogs are sold long before they're butchered.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
3. Be flexible. <br />
<br />
Most small farmers don't have a storefront with regular hours that's open year-round. And, unfortunately, most farmers won't be as convenient for you as the local drugstore. If you've ever been down-wind from a chicken farm or a dairy, you know why folks don't like farms in their neighborhoods. If product labels that show cows and red barns were scratch-and-sniff labels and accurately scented, the smell would not increase sales. I know this because I raise pigs, cows, chickens, and sheep. Everyone who gives me a hug knows it, too.<br />
<br />
And although you might be wearing headsets in both ears connected to your phone, e-mail and Facebook all at once, the average small farmer isn't so wired or wireless. They usually don't take credit cards for technical and financial reasons. They might not even use e-mail. High-tech to us is an electric chicken plucker. <br />
<br />
So be flexible with time, location and product availability. Make an effort to learn how to communicate and stay in touch. Be the first party to reach out. Drive the extra distance that it takes to pick up produce from the farm or the farmers market. And don't expect raspberries in February.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYJdODX1bzxQPlCk7xt67d2eFBeEVdclHV1lELwQmXuc8Wzw9eOk5v-kAtFg-LwBeKhc7qvn9igmz3vgjFGp61yj-U4D8epU8OoWp4Z3zH7KMBh71yEUxVcXLgL9I9Hlv-FyMFXUq19I/s1600/Paradise+from+the+Mountains.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkYJdODX1bzxQPlCk7xt67d2eFBeEVdclHV1lELwQmXuc8Wzw9eOk5v-kAtFg-LwBeKhc7qvn9igmz3vgjFGp61yj-U4D8epU8OoWp4Z3zH7KMBh71yEUxVcXLgL9I9Hlv-FyMFXUq19I/s320/Paradise+from+the+Mountains.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some people would say we live in the middle of nowhere. We call it Paradise.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
4. Be fair and honest.<br />
<br />
A farmer can't pay his bills if he gives his product away. Don't be a cheapskate. Pay what the asking price is. I can guarantee that you're getting more value than you're paying for. And don't wait until the last 10 minutes of the farmers market and ask for a huge price break. It takes our friend, Jose Martinez, the same amount of time and money to grow that food whether you buy it in the first 10 minutes of the market or the last 10 minutes. <br />
<br />
I don't know a farmer or rancher who isn't compassionate and generous. When folks tell us they're on a tight budget, we help them pick sale cuts that meet their needs. We can certainly suggest recipes and cuts that will feed a crowd at a reasonable cost. I've even been known to pull older meat from our personal freezer and sell it at reduced price to someone who was struggling financially. We try very hard to make good food accessible to everyone, regardless of budget.<br />
<br />
When you're face to face with a farmer selling carrots for $4/bunch or burger at $5/pound, imagine yourself sitting behind a lemonade stand. How much lemonade would you have to sell to pay your bills?<br />
<br />
5. Be real.<br />
Farmers don't live in Disneyland. On the farm, crops fail and die, animals die, equipment breaks, people get hurt, and sometimes we even get a little testy. We aren't perfect, our products aren't perfect, the places we live aren't perfect. Those things only exist in advertising. Small farmers don't have the time and money to do much advertising. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2v7AmlNmvv1TtUw1qTn56BcNAL2Inxrj9IxoC6VQf2foEhDmOfG7ftOCP3Cpkk00vKZXlp_b-MzrY2mSceVN5uo2dIdyevVFU6pS6JidDIHXsAHIqSQK2OZ-9_ffIMSdQHmWqbzOEyts/s1600/Hydraulic+Pump+Surgery.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2v7AmlNmvv1TtUw1qTn56BcNAL2Inxrj9IxoC6VQf2foEhDmOfG7ftOCP3Cpkk00vKZXlp_b-MzrY2mSceVN5uo2dIdyevVFU6pS6JidDIHXsAHIqSQK2OZ-9_ffIMSdQHmWqbzOEyts/s320/Hydraulic+Pump+Surgery.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ross wrangles cows AND repairs tractors. Even in freezing temps.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
That means the apples may have a few blemishes, the potatoes might be a little bumpy, and the steak isn't cut exactly 2 3/8 inches thick. <br />
<br />
If you want perfect, don't talk to me. That'll just make me cranky. Remember, a calf just kicked me in the face today because I was dragging him into a warm barn when he was too hypothermic to walk. That doesn't happen at Disneyranch. Talk to me about what comes from a real ranch and how I can share it with you. If you want perfect, there are plenty of perfect products advertised in glossy photos and sold on glitzy web sites. Go buy those things. But I warn you. Perfect looking food is probably not good for you. There's a reason it looks perfect. It was probably manufactured in an industrial environment using lots of industrial chemicals. <br />
<br />
6. Be a teacher, a student and an advocate.<br />
<br />
Be an example to your children, neighbors, and friends. Eat real food that you prepare yourself. If you're as busy as I am and you prepare your own food, you'll learn how to cook simple, quick meals. You know what? They taste great! Everyone knows how wonderful a home-grown tomato tastes. That's because you're eating something only minutes off the vine and warm from the sun. You can enjoy the same experience with all your foods by getting them direct from a farmer. Carrots, onions, potatoes, beans and endless other fruits and veggies taste remarkable when picked ripe and not treated with chemicals to keep them from sprouting or rotting. <br />
<br />
Take your kids and friends to a u-pick farm and pick raspberries. Better yet, pick strawberries. You'll find out how backbreaking that work is. Trust me. The more your back hurts, the better the berries taste. You'll also eat a few bugs in the process. But even your kids won't notice. Just make sure that when you smile at your spouse, you don't have a leaf hopper stuck between your front teeth. <br />
<br />
Advocate for a better food lifestyle. Encourage the people you care for to eat better. Be bold! Be brave! Get rid of your pantry. It's a place for boxes and cans. Farmers don't grow boxes and cans. Eat whatever you want to eat. But make it yourself from real food ingredients. <br />
<br />
7. Be committed. To yourself and your farmer.<br />
<br />
Don't be a fair-weather customer. Whatever the season, whatever the product, buy SOMETHING. When you see your favorite farmer packing up at the end of the farmers market, buy his last bag of apples or last cucumber. Buy - Buy - Buy.<br />
<br />
Spread the word and help others get connected with the farmers that you know. Share your recipe for roasted turnips.<br />
<br />
And if I don't have exactly what you're looking for, surely something can substitute. How about an arm roast instead of a shoulder roast? I'm sure that one of the 5 kinds of apples that Jose picked and brought to the market will work for you even if it's not the name you're familiar with. You know what? You might even like it better.<br />
<br />
8. Be appreciative.<br />
<br />
It takes a lot of work and heartache to produce food. The steak that you ate in less than 30 minutes took 3 years to grow. The box of strawberries your kids are snacking on were hand-picked. The chicken dish you're enjoying tonight tastes so good because you didn't cut its throat, scald the body in hot water to loosen its feathers, pluck it, cut out the vent to reach inside and pull out the entrails, and chop off its head. There's a reason people buy food. It's a lot of trouble to grow it. And I haven't yet met the person who actually enjoys butchering chickens.<br />
<br />
Say "Thank you" repeatedly. Sometimes, just hearing an expression of gratitude is all that keeps a farmer going. I know. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HVUGWXqCFQgQvR5tGorJ-Iw9p8ZqAPH-M_X27AMDdtnMoEeUg7verVe2hbfDNpuTCMRozNt4j1-Ml7N0B5eeKgpXXyiegG-5HSod1tMMqkMo94na4P7yz0VkJS3S8MBIAbYzhv2pPwA/s1600/My+Unfavorite+Job.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HVUGWXqCFQgQvR5tGorJ-Iw9p8ZqAPH-M_X27AMDdtnMoEeUg7verVe2hbfDNpuTCMRozNt4j1-Ml7N0B5eeKgpXXyiegG-5HSod1tMMqkMo94na4P7yz0VkJS3S8MBIAbYzhv2pPwA/s320/My+Unfavorite+Job.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One down. Ninety nine to go.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
9. Be a squirrel.<br />
<br />
Learn how to can and preserve seasonal delights and put them away to enjoy during the cold, winter months. You'll have delicious eats on dark days and you'll appreciate your food and the seasonality of it a lot more. You'll have healthy 'canned' foods without the can, preservatives, dyes, and other additives that we should all avoid. <br />
<br />
Render lard, make meat jerky, put up pickles and preserves, can peaches and pears. I put up all these things along with about 100 lbs of tomatoes every year. Those tomatoes make chili, spaghetti sauce, barbecue ribs and other wonders. The best thing is that when I open a jar, I know exactly what's in it. Because if I didn't put it in it, it's not in it. I don't have to read labels. <br />
<br />
10. Give feedback.<br />
<br />
Every farmer is limited by size, climate, workforce, time, etc. Try to understand your farmer's limits and provide feedback with those limits in mind. Tell your farmer what you like and what you'd like to see more of. Tell him if something he does really doesn't work for you. But remember. Farmers have to make the best choices about how to meet and deliver to a lot of customers - not just you. Help them get connected and help them improve their products for you AND your neighbors, friends, and community. <br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>What do you get when you take the time to patronize a local farmer?</strong> <br />
<br />
You'll change your life for the better. You'll find health, happiness, and satisfaction as you become more connected to the earth and enjoy real food that's charmed from the soil. You'll feel enriched and empowered as you alter the course of your local food system and put food back in the care of farmers instead of industries. You'll be blessed as your friends and family follow your lead to a healthier lifestyle. You'll make a good friend. <br />
<br />
Happy New Year!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVPTzN0voYwwckTmmKJfhLHD3nvmc-Wv6_pq5BvioQ9_Qk8t1omJDx67uSlrwKT7lmG8adjHOc5hyphenhyphenCJfxaMeNV51Lzq3_kkS3S6mmTLbm4mnv5Msj7gTWL8g_WUzQOIgGm0bzJuAg92s/s1600/Walking+down+the+Road.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVPTzN0voYwwckTmmKJfhLHD3nvmc-Wv6_pq5BvioQ9_Qk8t1omJDx67uSlrwKT7lmG8adjHOc5hyphenhyphenCJfxaMeNV51Lzq3_kkS3S6mmTLbm4mnv5Msj7gTWL8g_WUzQOIgGm0bzJuAg92s/s320/Walking+down+the+Road.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-87441052738598406852012-05-09T21:27:00.000-07:002012-05-09T21:27:13.714-07:00The Thin Line<warning: animals="" are="" dead="" graphic="" in="" of="" pictures="" post.="" there="" this=""><br />
<br />
Spring is almost finished and most of our babies for the year have arrived. Lambing is over and the flock is happy enjoying their pasture shared with our Guernsey Girls. Soon, they'll move to fresh pasture at Eden where they'll spend the summer. Our big pasture is full of cows with their calves. We were surprised this year with several sets of twins. And of course, we always get our batch of 100 chicks every month. There is never a shortage of babies!<br />
<br />
But spring always brings the reminder that there is a thin line between life and death. As Ross says, "We're just a heartbeat away from death." On a ranch with lots of livestock, there are bound to be animals that get sick or injured and no matter what we do, some will die. There is bad weather, cold weather, wolves, coyotes, eagles, common diseases like scours, uncommon diseases like white muscle, and the list of antagonists goes on. Some babies are born premature, with congenital defects, or have problems that are never diagnosed. For me, the hardest part of being a cowgirl is death. <br />
<br />
<br />
</warning:><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFJnDtTSSIMvS20tKf3TzhTwRIbK62IGeMrEl4OulCg5h96pmGnENCClecoytHCQzMEBxP5xtSYlKt7hGNIHSnWbfQOBm-47efpwNhYQjl8aXoEJ8tUQ3iatmzG6izLqJetYgjDMzwJA/s1600/Calf+Carcass+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFJnDtTSSIMvS20tKf3TzhTwRIbK62IGeMrEl4OulCg5h96pmGnENCClecoytHCQzMEBxP5xtSYlKt7hGNIHSnWbfQOBm-47efpwNhYQjl8aXoEJ8tUQ3iatmzG6izLqJetYgjDMzwJA/s400/Calf+Carcass+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remains of calf that died unexpectedly while on pasture</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We always have our triumphs when we face off with Death and actually win. The most notable example this year was Snow. Her mom had twin calves in a snowstorm. When Ross found them, her brother was already dead and she was near death herself from hypothermia. Her mother had spent her time trying to take care of the dead calf, so little Snow didn't get licked and dried at birth. Ross loaded her limp body on the tractor and brought her to the house where he carried her into the furnace room in the basement. We've learned from experience that the best way to save a hypothermic animal is to put them in the very warm furnace room where they breath hot air. They can only be effectively warmed from the inside. When Snow arrived in the furnace room, she was unresponsive and her mouth and tongue were cold. Even her breath was cold. We immediately tubed her with warm milk and colostrum from our milk cows. Then I spent a long time rubbing her with towels to get her dry and stimulate her circulation. The first good sign was shivering.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK974cR3EiAOzXUb-7DXyS1_KI2r_hw1oQT9ivVNTSMejcXnOSI9tPlUskpTRaUFK3kLN1tkLRrcvewwwbgmrAVKBQTJJPhN_GgjSnuqAO94JNU3QTDGldJW5ZuRRsF2FSEDXQ7_wOAc/s1600/Hypothermic+Snow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFK974cR3EiAOzXUb-7DXyS1_KI2r_hw1oQT9ivVNTSMejcXnOSI9tPlUskpTRaUFK3kLN1tkLRrcvewwwbgmrAVKBQTJJPhN_GgjSnuqAO94JNU3QTDGldJW5ZuRRsF2FSEDXQ7_wOAc/s400/Hypothermic+Snow.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unresponsive Snow<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left">
Cows are tough animals. And even calves fight hard. That was our Snow. With every breath, she got a little bit warmer. By the time she could stand, we knew she would be just fine.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-gpwnka0fMvFLYbTY-pTZ_psImBEhXg8cdp9MYLvspuTXuoUNQGChIg7tPZYFmmblZLcKpEKn-yRqTNORaCRbefSe01WZ6I1jCYkyeKQ-VYSknTkiR5Ax9iMrqNP5kf-yn7ExoCuttw/s1600/Snow+standing+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz-gpwnka0fMvFLYbTY-pTZ_psImBEhXg8cdp9MYLvspuTXuoUNQGChIg7tPZYFmmblZLcKpEKn-yRqTNORaCRbefSe01WZ6I1jCYkyeKQ-VYSknTkiR5Ax9iMrqNP5kf-yn7ExoCuttw/s400/Snow+standing+(1).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Triumph</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left">
As soon as Snow was out of danger, Ross and I saddled our horses and rode into the storm to find Snow's mother. We had to bring her back to the barn so we could reunite them and she could take care of her own baby. On a ranch, emergencies never seem to happen during good weather or at the right time. That's why we have plenty of all-weather clothes and we don't wear watches. </div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<div align="left">
Sure enough, as soon as Snow was plenty warm and able to stand on her own, we returned her to her mom who was very glad to see her. </div>
<div align="left">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtecJ1cEpPkM_2EWc711lwfvGwU2KtbSV2bwQiZYtack2bqBRlXnwLcS5uAinzHhxEeybO6FnXS8kYqhVWc6WfWTejgNOz_5I5XiUft59Mx5CnXwfxzzGPxtP3AIvYPNLQbM-AxixJkg/s1600/Snow+and+Mom.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtecJ1cEpPkM_2EWc711lwfvGwU2KtbSV2bwQiZYtack2bqBRlXnwLcS5uAinzHhxEeybO6FnXS8kYqhVWc6WfWTejgNOz_5I5XiUft59Mx5CnXwfxzzGPxtP3AIvYPNLQbM-AxixJkg/s400/Snow+and+Mom.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow and Mom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left">
I probably make it harder on myself because I have the practice of naming any baby who comes into the nursery for care. All the healthy babies born on pasture that are successfully raised by their moms remain nameless. It must be those nurturing genes in all females. So every baby that I care for and doesn't make it, had a name. I love them, stay up long hours with them, feed them by hand using bottles, syringes, or tubes, snuggle with them, pet them, encourage them, and generally do whatever it takes to give them a chance. Even if the chance is very small. <br />
<br />
Gumby was a very small chance. We live in a selenium deficient part of the country. Sheep, horses and other livestock require selenium in order to be healthy. This is why we provide a mineral salt for all our animals. Gumby was just fine at birth, and his mom did a great job taking care of him. But one day we noticed the little lamb couldn't stand up. Over several days, he got stiffer and stiffer. We brought him in to the nursery and consulted with the Merck Veterinary Manual as well as a local vet. Sure enough, all the symptoms pointed to white muscle disease or "stiff lamb disease". The suggested treatment: injections of a selenium/vitamin E combination. But selenium is also toxic, so it can only be given in small, restricted doses. The vet said that he might recover and he might not. So, we did our best. I propped Gumby up on straw and gave him a bottle several times a day. Over weeks, he started eating alfalfa too. When it was clear that he'd be in the nursery for a long time and he still wasn't able to stand on his own, I made a special sling out of a feed bag and hung him up. He regained flexibility and mobility in his head and neck and expressed quite a personality. I couldn't help but smile everytime I gave him his bottle. His favorite game was pulling off the nipple and making a mess all over both of us. Every day for about 6 weeks, I was his mom. And one day his heart stopped. Evidently, it had been irreversibly damaged. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEief5168nzqffmheq6jAT8LAWKhj-QcAL0tfl3jkjzxrcRRWq4s-iW0pP0tv3PrHdPyewNzRxmfQixx06vpJ8W3-3Ebujv9ZIhWIOatHc6wj7T1jeiJY7VDNpYpAvjQXY-3KZk_d2ghVdI/s1600/Gumby.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEief5168nzqffmheq6jAT8LAWKhj-QcAL0tfl3jkjzxrcRRWq4s-iW0pP0tv3PrHdPyewNzRxmfQixx06vpJ8W3-3Ebujv9ZIhWIOatHc6wj7T1jeiJY7VDNpYpAvjQXY-3KZk_d2ghVdI/s400/Gumby.JPG" width="288" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gumby</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Despite the heartache and sadness that comes with every tragedy, I'll keep right on keeping on. I lost Monster and Gumby, but I have all the lambs on pasture with their moms as well as my three naughty bummer lambs: Princess, Pea, and Dufus. And every time I look at Princess, Pea, and Dufus, I remember the others. And even though we've lost a few calves, we have about 90 healthy ones running and bouncing around the pasture.<br />
<br />
For those who think that ranching and raising meat isn't humane, they should come visit Paradise. They might be surprised at how many tears I shed on the job. Ross and I do what our ancestors have done for thousands of years. We live with our domestic livestock and care for them. They, in turn, care for us by providing our milk, eggs, and meat. We love what we do with all the ups and downs, and we're frequently reminded of our place in the universe. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
There is a thin line. We are one heartbeat away.</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8XIVg0o3DChqw-gwZM7ySRByvHtOrXNxhvyvaXDXjcGA3yusRhaQ2yNa2dj3hbGrK_v2DjvznitiDU8hTfQUEW2ybt-2Ma2kvNQJ8hk3DH7vLq-75MI7UCa_HPsRUGneJh5Z40ZUs-A/s1600/Ava+with+Steer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8XIVg0o3DChqw-gwZM7ySRByvHtOrXNxhvyvaXDXjcGA3yusRhaQ2yNa2dj3hbGrK_v2DjvznitiDU8hTfQUEW2ybt-2Ma2kvNQJ8hk3DH7vLq-75MI7UCa_HPsRUGneJh5Z40ZUs-A/s320/Ava+with+Steer.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ava with a steer ready for butcher. We raised him from birth.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-82469401148791641462012-01-16T19:39:00.000-08:002012-01-16T19:39:37.469-08:00Twelve Things I've Learned From My Flock of SheepOur little ranch continues to grow and expand to reflect our personal interests and the needs of our customers. In 2011, we added a small flock of Suffolk sheep so we could raise grass-fed lamb. Our sheep graze the same pastures behind our angus cows and add their distinct fun to the mix. We raised some fantastic lamb, and our little flock is slowly getting bigger as my education continues. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvrulXQuMszLTRXnkjKTj0_1vWN54ZF3cRjyvCRcc83viQthvGLXffJDLacGixvN4vTQPdIZg-tdq9jecMRrD-u0NtB8sKScbzmf5GMYKY09zSGDAKAHWVrArDlZTOlJAWW-KkJvS3GY/s1600/Lamb+for+Butcher.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319px" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvrulXQuMszLTRXnkjKTj0_1vWN54ZF3cRjyvCRcc83viQthvGLXffJDLacGixvN4vTQPdIZg-tdq9jecMRrD-u0NtB8sKScbzmf5GMYKY09zSGDAKAHWVrArDlZTOlJAWW-KkJvS3GY/s320/Lamb+for+Butcher.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><strong><span style="font-size: large;">I would like to thank our sheep and rams for being very entertaining teachers. Here's what I've learned so far:</span></strong><br />
<br />
1. Every flock has to have a leader. If you're the leader, you either make the others look smart or look dumb.<br />
<br />
2. You don't need a reason to jump and kick up your heels. <br />
<br />
3. The best place to be is on the top of the pile.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl-1EIHqg4ou93nFV9xjUHrc7j2Qs9eZoiNU_Rz1WrS7lqJBZMjddVJi4N3bYdlkdZzxcp9n05voaFoPjhdtx0mgj8FztS_gDnEScFv3FWCVsVT4Rw09nyhvsjxSK9E-maWrS8b7lHOyE/s1600/Bottoms+Up.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl-1EIHqg4ou93nFV9xjUHrc7j2Qs9eZoiNU_Rz1WrS7lqJBZMjddVJi4N3bYdlkdZzxcp9n05voaFoPjhdtx0mgj8FztS_gDnEScFv3FWCVsVT4Rw09nyhvsjxSK9E-maWrS8b7lHOyE/s320/Bottoms+Up.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
4. Leave smaller poops behind you and fewer people complain.<br />
<br />
5. Tight-fitting knits do not make you look thinner.<br />
<br />
6. There's safety in numbers for everyone except the unlucky one. Don't be the unlucky one. <br />
<br />
7. Act stupid and people will lower their expectations. But you'll be left hanging out with other stupid people. <br />
<br />
8. Everybody needs to change their clothes occasionally.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibA7rsW1sBEuwIGMNbvvCHYHpY2_fDVHk0DEEOTofUXO60AZobpmORKNPmU3xf3wfAfy1VsIcsW1OGXIfO4B3ANzSUbECZf85mCrJ_0eHHr0_0InP22zEQLLuIPwpYGsSb3bwbhdqF_ZE/s1600/Almost+Done.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibA7rsW1sBEuwIGMNbvvCHYHpY2_fDVHk0DEEOTofUXO60AZobpmORKNPmU3xf3wfAfy1VsIcsW1OGXIfO4B3ANzSUbECZf85mCrJ_0eHHr0_0InP22zEQLLuIPwpYGsSb3bwbhdqF_ZE/s320/Almost+Done.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
9. Size isn't everything. Agility counts for something.<br />
<br />
10. Small things can come in big packages. And small things can have big packages.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioA3As6l34dRlZGtdgJd2saPJmpbA8IM1wfLRMAN7-1A0N8JG02eqe7_4YVP9yLulS5CFZGktp09aMUPfKmDXvw0Lt1oIJJs_In_Mj-8RM-NEbfFl_EnxeCWAr94gCB7DaD3usbbwcFbE/s1600/Rossa%2527s+Rams+%252811%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240px" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioA3As6l34dRlZGtdgJd2saPJmpbA8IM1wfLRMAN7-1A0N8JG02eqe7_4YVP9yLulS5CFZGktp09aMUPfKmDXvw0Lt1oIJJs_In_Mj-8RM-NEbfFl_EnxeCWAr94gCB7DaD3usbbwcFbE/s320/Rossa%2527s+Rams+%252811%2529.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
11. Don't be difficult. Don't be last. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAE2KQ3cckfoTKvyfmxpBqGXokLn95fFNuUpeZ2EYM0ml-7mn-K14XzQ6tFPkL88jfstJSSKMs2z6-3NG0vbtzRvKPbSqFQyE4OK8Sh43U_DvMnoBRqSWzeUl-zDT55m1H8NN6sdc2U9A/s1600/Dragging+a+ram.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAE2KQ3cckfoTKvyfmxpBqGXokLn95fFNuUpeZ2EYM0ml-7mn-K14XzQ6tFPkL88jfstJSSKMs2z6-3NG0vbtzRvKPbSqFQyE4OK8Sh43U_DvMnoBRqSWzeUl-zDT55m1H8NN6sdc2U9A/s320/Dragging+a+ram.JPG" width="206px" /></a></div><br />
12. R&A Paradise Ranch lamb tastes GREAT even if you've never liked lamb!Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-80590216527375046482011-12-22T00:05:00.000-08:002011-12-22T00:05:08.511-08:00If Cows Were Meant to Fly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Q2-8Bga0Eg/TvLeYNESzeI/AAAAAAAAAGY/7nk1qkMHRA0/s1600/lawn.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272px" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9Q2-8Bga0Eg/TvLeYNESzeI/AAAAAAAAAGY/7nk1qkMHRA0/s320/lawn.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div>Rose died this month. She was only 8 months old. She was my littlest Guernsey Girl and I was especially proud of her because she was my first AI calf. She made me a "daddy", and I fell in love with her the moment she was born.<br />
<br />
<br />
She was a very special and valuable little cow. You see, she was supposed to grow up and share her milk with us and our friends. It was her destiny from the moment she was conceived to group up and live her life in Paradise. She was going to be one of the rare milk cows who actually walks on green pasture, eats grass, spends hot afternoons hanging out under an old apple tree, and is known by a beautiful name, not a number. I was going to hug her often and know that if she had arms, she'd hug me too. But I was going to be satisfied with a wet kiss on the cheek. <br />
<br />
She was a registered Guernsey - Ava's Paradise Rose. That was important because like so many livestock breeds that aren't popular for huge commercial farm/ranch operations, Guernseys are on the American Livestock Breed Conservancy list of "watched" livestock breeds. Their numbers are declining rapidly. Holsteins (the huge black and white cows) star in the California dairy ads. They outproduce any other dairy cow for quantity, but their milk has little butter fat. Old timers refer to it as "blue milk." Dairies use Jerseys to add fat. They have the highest butter fat content in their milk. So, there's no place for Guernseys in the quantity-centered commercial dairy world where cows need to produce in a confined environment. And it's a shame. Because Guernseys produce a unique milk that is truly unlike any other dairy breed in the world. <br />
<br />
Guernseys are known for producing high butter-fat (5%), high protein (beta casein A2) milk with a high concentration of beta carotene. Combined, these give Guernsey milk its wonderful, rich flavor and beautiful gold color. <br />
<br />
You're curious. How did Rose die? She ate corn. But we don't feed our cows corn. They're grass-fed. You're right. Little Rose escaped from her pasture one night and got out onto the road where I had put poultry feeders with corn and wheat for our turkeys and chickens that roam about. She couldn't help herself and ate all the chicken feed in the feeders. She didn't eat rat poison, fertilizer, or herbicide. She just ate corn. In less than 24 hours, she was critically ill. Because cows don't have wings. Her sensitive and complicated digestive system was meant only for grass and its pH was neutral. Mature grains like corn turn a cows gut acid - destroying all the beneficial bacteria responsible for digestion, thus shutting it down. The acid also destroys the lining of the gut. Despite Ross's heroic efforts, consultations with our vet, and all our love, little Rose hemorrhaged and bled to death.<br />
<br />
A lot of folks like their corn-fed beef. They like the higher fat content and the "marbling" beef has when it's corn-fed. What most people don't know is that cows are corn-fed in feedlots only for a short period of time. 60 - 90 days. Because the day they start eating grain, they start dying. They have to be fed antibiotics with their feed because without a normally functioning gut, they are susceptible to all kinds of infections and illnesses. To keep them alive until they're fat enough to slaughter, they're also fed antacids. Sweeteners, like molasses, are added to the grain to get them to eat even more than they normally would. After all, the clock is ticking and they need to be fat enough before they're slaughtered or die on the feedlot from eating corn. <br />
<br />
I'll never forget Rose. I artificially inseminated Dicey and conceived my first calf. I watched Dicey give birth and touched her calf when she was just minutes old. I named her after my grandmother who died the week she was born. I bottle-fed her for many months. I picked out the little red calf halter that she wore so I could grab her when she was being naughty. Along with Xubie, they were my "kids."<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HS-fyWSyvH4/TvLhEclGGCI/AAAAAAAAAGk/z7NzoU_Erx8/s1600/Rose+and+Xubie+June+2011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316px" rea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HS-fyWSyvH4/TvLhEclGGCI/AAAAAAAAAGk/z7NzoU_Erx8/s320/Rose+and+Xubie+June+2011.JPG" width="320px" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I hope Rose can teach a lesson to folks who don't know much about their meat and the animals that provide it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>If cows were meant to fly, they'd have wings. </strong></span><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>About Guernseys</u></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The Guernsey breed originated about 1000 years ago. Three monks on the Isle of Guernsey bred cows to produce the characteristic golden milk that Guernseys are now famous for. Today, science has confirmed that these dudes were really onto something.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Guernsey milk has three distinct qualities that set it apart from the milk of all other dairy breeds: high levels of beta carotene, high levels of omega 3, and the protein (casein) A2. Evidence suggests that Guernseys excel in absorbing the nutrient carotene and transferring it to butterfat. This extra carotene is what gives Guernsey milk its gold color along with cream and butter. Everyone who has sampled our Paradise butter knows how amazingly bright and yellow it is in the summer when our Guernsey Girls are eating green grass. Guernsey milk also contains three times as much omega 3 as other milk. And the ratio is considered to be superior - 1part omega 3 to 2 parts omega 6. Other milk is 1 part omega 3 to 6 parts omega 6. Recently, Guernsey milk is getting more attention because of the type of protein it contains. Guernseys are the only breed of the 6 major dairy breeds that carry 95% or more of their beta casein as A2/A2. Other breeds are between 33% and 50%. These breeds carry the A1 protein. Some research suggests that A1 protein may exacerbate conditions for people with compromised immune systems and cause diabetes, heart disease and other illnesses. But the protein A2 does not. Many people report that they are "lactose intolerant" and cannot drink most cow milk, but Guernsey milk is OK. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">What do I think of all this science and research? I don't know. I'm not a scientist or a health practitioner. You should do your own research. What I know is that Ross gave me Dicey as a gift expecting that her special milk would help heal my gut (from Crohn's disease) and restore my health. Today, I drink vast amounts of raw milk from all my Guernsey Girls and eat sunshine-in-a-stick at every opportunity. You be the judge. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">You can find more details on the web:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://albc-usa.org/">The American Livestock Breeds Conservancy</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://a2guernseymilk.com/cm/">Guernsey milk info from the UK (where Guernsey cows are popular)</a><br />
<a href="http://www.worldguernseys.org/">World Guernsey Cattle Federation</a><br />
<a href="http://www.studbook.co.za/Society/guernsey/">The South African Guernsey Cattle Breeders' Society</a><br />
<br />
</div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-38542485562337027332011-07-02T13:37:00.000-07:002011-07-02T13:37:25.209-07:00Out of the OysterIn February of this year, we got a pearl out of an oyster. Yep, we brought another Guernsey cow home to Paradise from a commercial dairy. She fits right in here at the ranch and is a wonderful, if bossy, companion for our other milk cow, Dicey. And her name is Pearl. <br />
<br />
We bought Pearl so that we could have fresh milk year-round. In order to achieve that, it's necessary to have two milk cows because one will always need to be dried up (stop giving milk) for several months before she has her new calf. In addition to that, I just love Guernsey cows. They're beautiful, friendly, full of personality and they're actually an endangered livestock breed. I'm very proud of my little Guernsey herd and happy to give them a wonderful home.<br />
<br />
Dicey and Pearl have actually come to us from the same dairy. We're sure they would never want to return. To be truthful, we have a great deal of compassion for the dairyman who operates that dairy. He's an older man who loves his cows and is dedicated to his life as a dairyman. He has very little interest or help from his family and children and consequently his operation and animals suffer from neglect. <br />
<br />
His operation is very typical of the vast majority of commercial dairies. Cows are kept in small pens and fed rations of grain and chopped hay. They are never far from the milk barn. They spend most of their day standing in manure while waiting to be milked. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeAQGSpAtIJv_gTpph65NRvFx2_LsmTFGA0AfB2OVv_S53Jmpg6nKVAa94AkAr38css7hliosmXd9BMaFYHrar5zveTSUhU61NVWpl1etdwILgKzhSxdPOVJ175uGy9mf598x0OtQQCyA/s1600/Cows+at+Dairy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeAQGSpAtIJv_gTpph65NRvFx2_LsmTFGA0AfB2OVv_S53Jmpg6nKVAa94AkAr38css7hliosmXd9BMaFYHrar5zveTSUhU61NVWpl1etdwILgKzhSxdPOVJ175uGy9mf598x0OtQQCyA/s400/Cows+at+Dairy.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting to be milked</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Pearl, like most dairy cows, spent her days standing on concrete floors covered in mud and manure. When she came to Paradise, she had mud and manure caked on her legs so heavily that we were afraid to remove it for fear of pulling off the hair and skin. Standing on hard concrete causes swelling at the top of the foot. Because Pearl spent 8 years in such an environment, her feet are permanently enlarged. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7em7MEKE53GW7sHOrBl-Oj_fnWBXWTKSXcrICsMzFw0nHr27How2ITkGvbFem9U9I3v47F4-IwLuJDmbttURjIeiuI7ZQ6d-giNsgEogMjN65NU84lzxKKYLxXYXNKK94Mqw7UQkN_C0/s1600/Cows+at+Dairy+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7em7MEKE53GW7sHOrBl-Oj_fnWBXWTKSXcrICsMzFw0nHr27How2ITkGvbFem9U9I3v47F4-IwLuJDmbttURjIeiuI7ZQ6d-giNsgEogMjN65NU84lzxKKYLxXYXNKK94Mqw7UQkN_C0/s400/Cows+at+Dairy+%25281%2529.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a lot of poop</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Cows produce a LOT of manure every day. It's no wonder that cows kept in close quarters are not clean. And it's no wonder that their milk has to be not just pasteurized but "ultra" pasteurized in order for it to be safe to drink. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXuM4XedNpwAJqbsshwx35HK29N4fRybwK25rlygGH7Vqd3a4oI4w8H3et5lgzA3C50VuQHIN0OlnR3AqvjqDsIIyfr4iCtfmAyt_LAUc3l5LE270qIL9vyRMtHuJHIY_jwspLhuABU20/s1600/Curious+Jersey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXuM4XedNpwAJqbsshwx35HK29N4fRybwK25rlygGH7Vqd3a4oI4w8H3et5lgzA3C50VuQHIN0OlnR3AqvjqDsIIyfr4iCtfmAyt_LAUc3l5LE270qIL9vyRMtHuJHIY_jwspLhuABU20/s400/Curious+Jersey.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Can we be friends?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This Jersey cow was one of Pearl's companions. Because milk cows have been bred for thousands of years to live in close proximity to humans, they are wonderfully social and curious. They love pats, treats, and interacting with people as well as other dairy cows. And because I live in a very remote area, Dicey, Pearl, and Spicy are my best girlfriends. I scratch their favorite itchy spots and in return get big, wet, smoochy kisses on my cheek. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrn1Y7b9NATlLD2pX_fhlsIgVjRj8EkDcCvR1lWgr6384KrfBikjWDGI4VEZ1yyo7BA66xwZKsf3eTDZQ_wXFzwczCnCBSu_fHw14FPnC-gAZyauEFIVN4uxTThOezYnuWOHx0NdEeVWM/s1600/Waiting+in+Line.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrn1Y7b9NATlLD2pX_fhlsIgVjRj8EkDcCvR1lWgr6384KrfBikjWDGI4VEZ1yyo7BA66xwZKsf3eTDZQ_wXFzwczCnCBSu_fHw14FPnC-gAZyauEFIVN4uxTThOezYnuWOHx0NdEeVWM/s400/Waiting+in+Line.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing in line</td></tr>
</tbody></table>What our Paradise cows and commercial cows have in common is that twice a day, every day for the entire time they are fresh, they need to be milked. Every 12 hours, our girls show up at the barn waiting for the relief that comes with an emptied udder. And every 12 hours, the commercial cows line up and wait their turns. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjyyffhwqW51AInAj6rpNwWW_I2IKasUWxKTMTolEBPxYgD7ekCSh-pFZpo2-_CMkaeSz-32nWJfd3UjQoVfmPNhqjFdr0pq8pGQE21m-j2nFhztL9byGAG7i7K2QHpqbFnlS-cradPWA/s1600/Leaving+the+milk+parlor.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjyyffhwqW51AInAj6rpNwWW_I2IKasUWxKTMTolEBPxYgD7ekCSh-pFZpo2-_CMkaeSz-32nWJfd3UjQoVfmPNhqjFdr0pq8pGQE21m-j2nFhztL9byGAG7i7K2QHpqbFnlS-cradPWA/s400/Leaving+the+milk+parlor.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Done, for now</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It takes about 20 minutes in the milk parlor and they're done. They know the routine well. They march out and return to the same filthy paddock where they will eat and wait for another 12 hours.<br />
<br />
But our Pearl is out of the oyster. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WmEK7RKACDKDBpYzPq4koMNvmuKWFpE6DC0DavvjUR2GZdxqKFoAmdL12U-LmqYNxHCcVqbvhyphenhyphenOvqfylVH2QWiU2zqoNQpKpMG5RDrqPEdn0fSZ6B1UcdUjc8-r9w6RcEGs56hrzsp4/s1600/Pearl+on+Grass.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300px" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1WmEK7RKACDKDBpYzPq4koMNvmuKWFpE6DC0DavvjUR2GZdxqKFoAmdL12U-LmqYNxHCcVqbvhyphenhyphenOvqfylVH2QWiU2zqoNQpKpMG5RDrqPEdn0fSZ6B1UcdUjc8-r9w6RcEGs56hrzsp4/s400/Pearl+on+Grass.JPG" width="400px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pearl on July 1, 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When Pearl first came to us, she habitually stood right near the barn all the time. She didn't know she could walk far and she'd never eaten hay that wasn't chopped up. Needless to say, this spring when we turned her out on pasture, it was a new experience for her. She had never eaten green grass.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For the first time in her life, Pearl now enjoys walking on green pasture and grazing among her friends all day. When it's hot, she lays under an apple tree in the shade. And when she's thirsty, she walks to the cool creek to get a drink. She's loving her life at Paradise. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But if you look real close, you'll see a little piece of the oyster. (She has a bump of a horn on the left side of her head.) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thanks, Mia, for the beautiful and very fitting name. </div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-43816836299667514502011-04-18T20:03:00.000-07:002011-04-18T20:03:34.086-07:00Life sucks, and then . . .Life sucks, and then you drag yourself up, dust yourself off and take a step forward like you mean it. Like you really mean to keep right on living in spite of everything. All of us have this happen numerous times during our lives.<br />
<br />
For me, it happened once again just about 2 weeks ago. No doubt, ranching is dangerous work - big equipment, big animals, and big spaces make for big risks. Ross and I always work with safety in mind, but this one day doing a chore we do every day all winter, we lost sight of each other. The spring snow was very thick and visibility was only a few feet. Ross thought I was on the hay wagon. I thought Ross was in the tractor. So, I hopped off the hay wagon and walked between the wagon and the tractor to connect them by putting the pin in the tongue. Like I've done a million times. <br />
<br />
But Ross wasn't in the tractor. He was driving the truck and trailer forward to get them out of the road. What he couldn't see was that the trailer caught on some of the bales on the hay wagon and pulled the wagon forward with it. When I realized the hay wagon was coming toward me, I tried to get out of the way. But I wasn't fast enough. Just as I was getting clear, the hay wagon hit my hip and pinned me against the tractor's 3-point.<br />
<br />
As I felt the 3-point push into my pelvis, I screamed for Ross. He heard me and immediately thought that somehow some bales of hay had fallen on me. It only took him a few seconds to find me where I was being crushed by the heavy equipment. He jumped in the tractor and moved it forward. I fell to the ground.<br />
<br />
The pressure had crushed the soft tissue in my pelvis and broken a piece of the bone off the top. Ross was trying to help me and determine how I was hurt, but I was telling him not to touch me because the pain was excruciating. Knowing that it would take several hours to get to the hospital by ambulance, Ross made the decision to get me in the truck and make the drive himself. That would cut the time down to 45 minutes. I gritted my teeth, and Ross was able to pick me up and load me in the truck. Off we went.<br />
<br />
I spent a few days at the hospital enjoying soothing pain medications, caring doctors, and helpful nurses. The physcial therapists taught me how to use crutches, and I practiced getting in and out of bed. But when Ross picked me up to take me home, I was feeling pretty depressed. According to the orthopedic surgeon, it would take 3 months to recover. All of Spring. No milking, no working cows, no planting my garden, no riding my horses, no . . . . Life sucks. <br />
<br />
But I have company. The week before the accident, our friend and neighbor, Roddy Campbell, killed himself. He was an ornery, old farmer with a mean streak. I bought my property in Summerville (which we call Eden) from Roddy, and I couldn't help but admire his tough, stubborn nature and his love for butter. He had health issues and was afraid the time would come very soon when he couldn't farm anymore. So, he borrowed a gun from his son and walked into his barn and shot himself. Life sucks.<br />
<br />
While I was in the hospital, another neighbor on the same street, Jude, lost his home and all his belongings when his house burned down. Despite the best efforts of neighbors who used their tractors to pull firetrucks out of the mud in the road to get them close to the house, they didn't get help fast enough. Nothing is left. Life sucks.<br />
<br />
A few days after leaving the hospital, our friend, Beryl, called. Roddy's son, Rocky, had been life-flighted to a hospital in Boise, Idaho, after suffering a major heart attack. Rocky lives across the street from Eden. He was one of the neighbors who tried to help save Jude's house. Now, he was getting a stint put in one of his heart's arteries. At least he wasn't in the 98% of people who have that type of heart attack and die. Life sucks.<br />
<br />
But on this beautiful Monday, most of us in my little town who have experienced life's suckiness this month, have dragged ourselves up, dusted ourselves off, and are taking steps forward like we mean it. My experiences have reminded me that not everybody gets that opportunity, and not everybody makes that choice - to live life like you mean it. <br />
<br />
Speaking for myself, I'm gonna be back in the saddle in weeks. Not months. Just you watch. I mean it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPa6XSMm1ZREZxklbHuyi6u7_K0otlAJVuxVBerwCiYalsG2V1usxyQVXeVg3LTeiG2SGxCJNdXz_M_c7dj8BcLtPStmvkVKRP_kfMgzkn4eyuL_S43Q0FbgxnlDT4rYT5cqc6Mp0aRCU/s1600/It%2527s+Spring+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPa6XSMm1ZREZxklbHuyi6u7_K0otlAJVuxVBerwCiYalsG2V1usxyQVXeVg3LTeiG2SGxCJNdXz_M_c7dj8BcLtPStmvkVKRP_kfMgzkn4eyuL_S43Q0FbgxnlDT4rYT5cqc6Mp0aRCU/s320/It%2527s+Spring+%25282%2529.JPG" width="247" /></a></div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-26317362083816487002010-12-20T22:30:00.000-08:002010-12-20T22:30:11.233-08:00What I've Learned From our Barn CatsAs of this blog, we have 11 barn kitties living at Paradise where they enjoy hunting and playing around the barn, buildings, and house. They also enjoy a robust diet of M&Ms (milk and mice). We have our kitties spayed and neutered to avoid overpopulation, but we keep one intact male and female to produce litters. Due to our resident coyote population as well as owls, hawks, eagles and other predators, we have a pretty high attrition rate. We encourage the kitties to stay close to the barn by feeding them their milk there.<br />
<br />
Only some of our kitties are named. There's Annie, which is short for Anonymous (I couldn't think of a good name for her when I named the others in her litter). Depp started out as Johnny Depp, but I dropped the Johnny when I discovered she was a girl. Snow White is not a solid white, but she's grey and white with a white face. Bob and Julia are tabbies that our vet named when they got fixed. Nip and Tuck are two solid black cats who were born with short tails. Nip's tail is just a tad shorter than normal. Tuck's tail is just a stub about an inch long. I had a Grinch until I discovered that I have three tabbies that look exactly the same and I can't tell them apart.<br />
<br />
<div> </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiMq5VJrPtbnPXCv7wwD1xiHYtiBcWEzFNwh_nZ47Xw5bhK1tArw1lsfsjlrHQ3aZ_2WFA4KDr4cpjz0uoQEc3nTJCBru14A9z-nwOOXgcOUgx_XB09-O0vMozU16we1stnLdzFpq9ysQ/s1600/Annie+on+the+Fence.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiMq5VJrPtbnPXCv7wwD1xiHYtiBcWEzFNwh_nZ47Xw5bhK1tArw1lsfsjlrHQ3aZ_2WFA4KDr4cpjz0uoQEc3nTJCBru14A9z-nwOOXgcOUgx_XB09-O0vMozU16we1stnLdzFpq9ysQ/s320/Annie+on+the+Fence.JPG" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I bottle fed Annie after her mom was killed by coyotes.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Chore time is always fun with all the kitties hanging around. Like our dogs, they have there own ranch wisdom to share. </div><br />
<div> </div><div style="text-align: center;">I've learned the following things from our kitties:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>1. Cover up your poop.<br />
2. Keep your face clean and be well-groomed. You never know when someone might see you.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lM1jodPemw69kNecKMiCxwWUQXquY0rCRntLLLtgmV_ZhKAY75lCL2pL8ggtNnmsJXRS_Cg1n682AeoEpOAK66yD0S1Bkexb3xBNiybJnZzJF7BnAla2r1hyphenhyphenLFdV2yvblptWeQcb0TU/s1600/Got+Milk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lM1jodPemw69kNecKMiCxwWUQXquY0rCRntLLLtgmV_ZhKAY75lCL2pL8ggtNnmsJXRS_Cg1n682AeoEpOAK66yD0S1Bkexb3xBNiybJnZzJF7BnAla2r1hyphenhyphenLFdV2yvblptWeQcb0TU/s320/Got+Milk.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simon left the ranch to join a family in Washington.<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3. It's best to kill things after dark.</div>4. Don't be too picky. You'll starve.<br />
5. Many things are good and bad. Mice taste good, but they give you tapeworms.<br />
6. It's warmest where the sun shines.<br />
7. Friends are especially nice on cold nights.<br />
<ol><div> </div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgecBYHAchtIs4Q0hB7o81obHBTsJ-cg3maup4FvESjkvoKhTPHFyAwgBR4dqbk4mz8z_9OWOpB3mXH9GPTQym45F2Z7QbCxe4EGUZZhODgAUph1IKaiqIIK6HiDxRoueac6yDXrxxcGQo/s1600/Relaxed+Tabbies.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="176" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgecBYHAchtIs4Q0hB7o81obHBTsJ-cg3maup4FvESjkvoKhTPHFyAwgBR4dqbk4mz8z_9OWOpB3mXH9GPTQym45F2Z7QbCxe4EGUZZhODgAUph1IKaiqIIK6HiDxRoueac6yDXrxxcGQo/s320/Relaxed+Tabbies.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob & Julia enjoying the sunshine.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> </ol><br />
<div> </div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LYomVZOZLEny2cqQuniqD3qKuJoX4UfxMzqFr3PBoSeNqqg9m9awK4tPTynpcLSOHt9a6kiEMLZWTSShHlb8lfNRigs2kI4f1hk5J8j6iucmLnYdDSRuXT88Hx27SUEDXFe1PFi6-k8/s1600/Kitties+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LYomVZOZLEny2cqQuniqD3qKuJoX4UfxMzqFr3PBoSeNqqg9m9awK4tPTynpcLSOHt9a6kiEMLZWTSShHlb8lfNRigs2kI4f1hk5J8j6iucmLnYdDSRuXT88Hx27SUEDXFe1PFi6-k8/s320/Kitties+002.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a little chilly!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <kitties 002=""><br />
8. Don't wander too far from home. You're not the only thing hunting.<br />
9. If you don't drink all your milk, it curdles in the summer and freezes in the winter.<br />
10. Stealth is good until you get stepped on.<br />
11. Whether you can count or not, live like you have ONE life.<br />
12. Don't kill more than you can eat. Eat everything you kill.<br />
13. <u>Noone</u> is the boss of you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnaKzUVydLe1SE0nuW6-KM_slPkiorkhWKuyVAjo9m_8IycjDTtVVX6ceeBEQuh3aHtbsNssUvWUuL1qi9XXIU2kGs8h58-7ED1kQ7zZnS7oWnV-r92i173df13bFlGAIzUhk_NUdbFlA/s1600/Depp+Squinting.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnaKzUVydLe1SE0nuW6-KM_slPkiorkhWKuyVAjo9m_8IycjDTtVVX6ceeBEQuh3aHtbsNssUvWUuL1qi9XXIU2kGs8h58-7ED1kQ7zZnS7oWnV-r92i173df13bFlGAIzUhk_NUdbFlA/s320/Depp+Squinting.JPG" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Depp</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<depp squinting="">Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-57123864382625183762010-12-20T13:36:00.000-08:002010-12-20T13:36:28.076-08:00What I've Learned From Our Cowdogs<ol><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ross has had border collies for many years and can tell tales about a lot of tails. Today, we have two young dogs, Joie de Vivre (Joy) and Easy Living II (Easy). Ross picked them both when they were puppies and we've trained them to be well-disciplined cowdogs. I got Joy before I actually moved to Oregon, and since making Paradise home, she has become my constant companion, faithful cowdog, and friend. She makes it clear to everyone that I'm her boss and she could care less what anyone else things. She barely tolerates Ross. I gave Easy to Ross for Christmas last year to replace his beloved friend who was the first Easy. This was the Easy that introduced us. He died last summer after a short, early retirement due to a brain tumor. Ross and I still miss our old friend very much. But "little" Easy has brought a lot of fun and joy into Ross's life and is becoming an amazing cowdog who is a lot of fun to work with. He'll take pets from anybody.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_clpdgYrHNQ5JWOfGyuenDSe5QhP1Me96F_Di_NXm4TsZdZzqpwd9hOXiuYHIrXAA3r4HQj9PzdIR_JG3qG_4wJGjOdJvaRCa6Qs-FntLTaQQBndQuufgLv0MkICuzndwLxBKVN7SVLs/s1600/GoodJoy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_clpdgYrHNQ5JWOfGyuenDSe5QhP1Me96F_Di_NXm4TsZdZzqpwd9hOXiuYHIrXAA3r4HQj9PzdIR_JG3qG_4wJGjOdJvaRCa6Qs-FntLTaQQBndQuufgLv0MkICuzndwLxBKVN7SVLs/s320/GoodJoy.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joy's piercing glare stops most people from trying to pet her.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've learned a lot from Joy and Easy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicEl1llXENTIM-MAKyXvPjW9Ss55k3oema_OFQYY2cu4VOv_bEY0k4mXUfiTjCaI5SWywx_OGwgFGnl_Ww_28pDWtRjSNoCQ4nQhRC75Gei1xA9Jyna9cy_b09jjRtcIOzwrRXcn5fmeE/s1600/Joy+and+Easy+on+the+Hay+Wagon+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicEl1llXENTIM-MAKyXvPjW9Ss55k3oema_OFQYY2cu4VOv_bEY0k4mXUfiTjCaI5SWywx_OGwgFGnl_Ww_28pDWtRjSNoCQ4nQhRC75Gei1xA9Jyna9cy_b09jjRtcIOzwrRXcn5fmeE/s320/Joy+and+Easy+on+the+Hay+Wagon+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joy and Easy</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div><li>Enjoy what's in your bowl today. Don't worry about what'll be there tomorrow. Whatever it is, it'll be good too.</li>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqoGUm5RkJEApewhnllBF1cFFb2_oqc8uMNEbreYVixSaXAARSbH-9RiahayRItyRGsdVTeaKUd2qEtS5gWkIzwy1QkgFjrGxHNNex9_GihtgcCc9f4A3val6cioez13DA54BJ6tgdEJ0/s1600/Joy+and+Simon+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqoGUm5RkJEApewhnllBF1cFFb2_oqc8uMNEbreYVixSaXAARSbH-9RiahayRItyRGsdVTeaKUd2qEtS5gWkIzwy1QkgFjrGxHNNex9_GihtgcCc9f4A3val6cioez13DA54BJ6tgdEJ0/s320/Joy+and+Simon+%25281%2529.JPG" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joy loves kitties. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><li>Don't hold a grudge.</li>
<li>When you're not working, you should be playing or sleeping.</li>
<li>Don't sniff her butt unless she wants you to sniff her butt.</li>
<li>Share. There are lots of bones.</li>
<li>Be faithful. People love that.</li>
<li>It's OK to eat gophers. Just fill in the hole that you make.</li>
<li>Mean people are mean. Stay away from mean people.</li>
<li>If you have to barf, don't barf on the carpet or in the truck.</li>
<li>Don't kill a chicken. It's never good to start a bad habit.</li>
<li>It's great to ride with the windows down. Don't worry about messing your hair up.</li>
<li>Don't poop on the path where people walk.</li>
<li>Get wormed regularly. Parasites cause problems.</li>
<li>Never eat off the boss's plate.</li>
<li>It's OK to wag and bite. Just not at the same time.</li>
<li>Don't pee on someone else's tree. <br />
</li>
</ol> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZg6DSE_VlMax54hU8A9fmCmPAsKB3sgxrAnJHgijfgUCl-RxPSrh9sL3OudQmrKNacPMWizXbymNSyBNWinz7E-Wl4i4-_Y-jj1zjgvy4wdJTVgjDD2I5M9N0Gi24I3eElTxPcd6l98/s1600/Moving+Cows+in+June+%252817%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXZg6DSE_VlMax54hU8A9fmCmPAsKB3sgxrAnJHgijfgUCl-RxPSrh9sL3OudQmrKNacPMWizXbymNSyBNWinz7E-Wl4i4-_Y-jj1zjgvy4wdJTVgjDD2I5M9N0Gi24I3eElTxPcd6l98/s320/Moving+Cows+in+June+%252817%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joy is working hard at the job she loves.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-88577893336762952022010-12-16T21:37:00.000-08:002010-12-16T21:37:09.872-08:00The Best Christmas Present EverI have a wonderful daughter. Her name is Alexandra. And this year she gave me the best Christmas gift ever.<br />
<br />
Some background:<br />
When I decided to be brave and move from Redmond, Washington to Medical Springs, Oregon, Alexandra was away at college. She was far away at Temple University in Tokyo, Japan. She graduated last December and returned to Washington, but her home had been sold and her Mom was gone. In the year since, we have missed each other very much. I miss her smile, her laughter, her intelligence, and her wit. I miss her very much.<br />
<br />
Last weekend, I enjoyed a brief visit with Alexandra when I was in the Seattle area. She works very hard at a Bellevue chocolate shop and has been learning the skills of a chocolatier. She put those skills to use and made my gift.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94E5fFb_DDwUghwgwHpmpmae_4hcTdXqIQEMRsvp1iV4A-0a2CFYak8qzxTw0LaZtJnXhpzOIYS5Z4xjXMJDRndXVWfWrTSSgGt90BWZWvCa8nMco_rIcXezJ7v-ch-DlqDPk9-Qxbxc/s1600/Christmas+Chocolates.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94E5fFb_DDwUghwgwHpmpmae_4hcTdXqIQEMRsvp1iV4A-0a2CFYak8qzxTw0LaZtJnXhpzOIYS5Z4xjXMJDRndXVWfWrTSSgGt90BWZWvCa8nMco_rIcXezJ7v-ch-DlqDPk9-Qxbxc/s320/Christmas+Chocolates.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I've always loved the Russell Stover chocolate/coconut bird nests with jellybean eggs. So, my gracious daughter made me a HUGE box of her own version with her own hands. This box must weigh over 5 pounds. And they're already disappearing at an amazing rate. DELICIOUS!!!!!<br />
<br />
But the part of her gift that is wonderfully touching and unforgettable, is her Christmas card. Here is the text:<br />
<br />
"Dear Mom,<br />
As I've grown older and mayhap wiser, the more I appreciate the awesome upbringing I got. I totally brag about you to friends and coworkers. I tell them about the late-night last-minute essay fixer-upper sessions, the first driving lessons in the truck, and all those early mornings that you got up at 4:00 AM to braid my horse. All those memories, both everyday & unusual, are the dearest things to me in the <u>world</u>.<br />
<br />
I made you these nests because a) you liked them back when they did 'em right, and b) it's my way of saying thank you and letting you know that I remember all those Reeses' eggs and marshmallow ghosts.<br />
Love,<br />
Alexandra<br />
P.S. You're the greatest mom <u>EVER</u>."<br />
<br />
Because Alexandra is an amazing woman, she also remembered Ross. Even though he's partially responsible for her not having a home in Washington when she returned from school. She made him dark chocolate ganache specifically for making his hot chocolate that he drinks everyday. And she wrote him a beautiful card as well.<br />
<br />
"Dear Ross,<br />
I gotta tell you, for a long time I despaired of ever seeing my mom truly happy & with somebody to share that happiness with. Even though I snickered when I heard of the FarmersOnly.com venture, I'm so glad she did it. Even though I'm not down there too often, I can tell how much you mean to each other. And since you've made my mom so happy, here's a little something to make you happy in turn: real, delicious hot chocolate. Melt 1 block and mix with hot milk for an 8 oz. cup. It's easy to adjust if it's too rich or not rich enough. Enjoy - <br />
Alexandra<br />
P.S. - I like you, and am glad I've never had to inflict bodily harm on you. :-)"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5CSg8Kqm5uPpL8IXElkzoVt0TYMBghJZmqfxWjz7On19DfcjQf0ieGLjf33GuqRwPqfynk486jqEkJ4f08lY_dlKrGU9mRaApO2lM4lESKX1h1g7651DjWbzNBiKy9zjtmWg-qehdIE/s1600/Alexandra+Spicey+and+Mom.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5CSg8Kqm5uPpL8IXElkzoVt0TYMBghJZmqfxWjz7On19DfcjQf0ieGLjf33GuqRwPqfynk486jqEkJ4f08lY_dlKrGU9mRaApO2lM4lESKX1h1g7651DjWbzNBiKy9zjtmWg-qehdIE/s320/Alexandra+Spicey+and+Mom.JPG" width="261" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Me and Alexandra when she visited Paradise in March 2010.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So, this Christmas, I don't need any gifts under the tree. (Actually, our house is so small we don't even have a tree.) I've already opened the best Christmas gift ever.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Thank you, Alexandra. </div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-14213899092321080802010-06-11T17:35:00.000-07:002010-06-11T17:42:11.862-07:00Where's the Red Barn?<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">WARNING: </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There is a red barn, green grass, and happy animals. But they're probably not the inspiration for your average grocery store label.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwjJnexxdpWYUDE4Ati_XxpfpCHU2782fsPG-0_Bx0DYCHFtToJi3gTkvwnhpeDVtr4EGUZIp3VrLXI4UvXAJZeYP5HYyn0D8UBj2Uk59vt4GB6wLcemwlcZNcPc-KMoKkFKaj4PZMj4/s1600/Red+Barn+(5).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidwjJnexxdpWYUDE4Ati_XxpfpCHU2782fsPG-0_Bx0DYCHFtToJi3gTkvwnhpeDVtr4EGUZIp3VrLXI4UvXAJZeYP5HYyn0D8UBj2Uk59vt4GB6wLcemwlcZNcPc-KMoKkFKaj4PZMj4/s400/Red+Barn+(5).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The red-roofed barn at Paradise was built in the late 1800's.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Friends and customers have been telling me about their reactions to some of the recent food documentary films, most often Food Inc. So, Ross and I decided that we needed to watch the movie. On a dark, rainy night we sat down to watch what we knew would be some distasteful content. We weren't disappointed. </div><br />
Food Inc goes a long way to show the real world of food production as it's predominantly practiced in the US today. We weren't shocked or surprised at any of the farming and ranching images. I was surprised that they didn't go further showing more examples of inhumane treatment, but I do realize that most farms that engage in these inhumane practices don't welcome film crews. Here are some things we can add to the examples based on our own knowledge and experience:<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Beef cows aren't the only cows living miserable lives. Dairy cows are often kept in HUGE dairies (My AI teacher provides semen to a dairy in western Oregon that has 24,000 cows). The only way to manage these numbers is to keep cows crowded in closed spaces. Many dairy facilities are actually under roofs and the cows never even get in the sun. They certainly never stand on grass at anytime in their lives. And because they're kept in such crowded places, they stand in a slurry of their own manure and urine. We've personally seen them in such filth up to their bellies. Their long tails become saturated with the filth and their caretakers are annoyed when they swish their tails and get them dirty. The solution? Cut their tails off. It's been a common practice in dairies to dock the cow's tails for many years. But you'll never see a tail-less cow on a milk label and you'll certainly not see a cow standing in its own waste on that same label. What they do depict is red barns, green pastures, and very clean animals. You ARE being lied to. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCSIQQPcP9aGXLfY4fIawBLjnrEqxr8992lNei8MNMleoc4f3f9HP5mJBcI9M4A8maislkoy_2nJ6TaynHfG16E0BLe4goQbgsI51fhQ8Zp8n8CyclRob8NL5RgUUBYmKRxKmHE6kkBw/s1600/Jiggy+eating+grass+with+her+tail.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWCSIQQPcP9aGXLfY4fIawBLjnrEqxr8992lNei8MNMleoc4f3f9HP5mJBcI9M4A8maislkoy_2nJ6TaynHfG16E0BLe4goQbgsI51fhQ8Zp8n8CyclRob8NL5RgUUBYmKRxKmHE6kkBw/s400/Jiggy+eating+grass+with+her+tail.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Jiggy is one of our milk cows. She's enjoying the green grass and her tail.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;">The food industry is not interested in producing a quality product. It's interested in producing a cheap product. Whether that's healthy for you or not. Dairy cows, beef cows, poultry, and pigs are all being fed garbage and industrial waste because it's cheaper than the real food these animals naturally eat. Cows that naturally eat only grass are being fed grains, food processing wastes like sugar beet pulp (from making sugar), and animal wastes like poultry manure. How do you get a cow to eat manure or garbage? You make it sweet with molasses or other additives. Grass-fed animals rarely have the bad e-coli strains or other bacterial infections like salmonella. These are all common in feedlotted animals that are eating our garbage which their digestive systems simply cannot handle. </div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7yYDQDRWkQeao3RLU8uisOdC570B6Qcffdexuo63fYwqkBhNVlG-cRoW9QYF1aPNOAXxJkoxk0Pmv34k95-204EDC764GzEzs9qae53-EdP9Zm6bEeCQpgC6GzfX9FCJF8M8qrCbQZU/s1600/Eden+Cows+on+Spring+Pasture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO7yYDQDRWkQeao3RLU8uisOdC570B6Qcffdexuo63fYwqkBhNVlG-cRoW9QYF1aPNOAXxJkoxk0Pmv34k95-204EDC764GzEzs9qae53-EdP9Zm6bEeCQpgC6GzfX9FCJF8M8qrCbQZU/s400/Eden+Cows+on+Spring+Pasture.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Our cows at Eden eating what cows should eat: grass.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">You should really think twice about eating a fast food burger. Ross and I still eat burgers out occasionally, but he's refused to eat at McDonalds for many years. If you want to know why, come visit us. We'll take you to a livestock auction and show you where some of the fast food burger comes from. Many burger buyers buy cows that are taken to auction because they've been culled from someones herd. Why does a cow get culled? It's a cow or bull who is too old to be productive. It's a cow or bull who is sick, injured, or diseased (like with a tumor). McDonalds can sell $.99 hamburgers because there isn't much buyer competition for the type of beef they purchase. You certainly wouldn't buy an obviously broken-down, sick, or injured animal to feed your family.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So, what do you do if you want to know for sure that the meat products you're buying are from healthy and humanely treated animals? You buy them direct from the rancher or farmer and you visit his ranch or farm so that you know he is accurately representing his business. Our own local butcher told us recently that he has a customer who buys beef cows at the local livestock auction (where buyers know nothing about the history of the cows being sold), trailers them direct from the auction to the butcher, and then sells the beef as grass-fed. So, some unwitting person who is trying to do the right thing for his own health and the health of the animals he eats, is actually eating meat that could contain hormones, antibiotics, other drugs and come from an animal that has never eaten grass. Even when buying food, remember the old saying: Buyer Beware.</div><br />
Understand that when you see those beautiful, pastoral labels at the grocery store, they're probably fictional. And they depict something that is VERY far from the truth. It takes some effort, but you can find an alternative. There are many small farms and ranches that are doing what we do here at R&A Paradise Ranch where it is beautiful, the animals are well cared for, and they live healthy lives. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<strong>Find a red barn, green pastures and happy animals near you.</strong></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GDxL1qDrujUHEQoQZLGBFVcHyyisCf7lRyOOxpoRl-8aRYuJfxXniMqpmLlh9SJl_8SdDtRLvz-EhPDKscILQPCxf1kVAf3ijQPc_dn8Eny09Sa4nRhtrjpDhcnKueYN4RUpiEQrDrU/s1600/May+31+Rainbow+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="281" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GDxL1qDrujUHEQoQZLGBFVcHyyisCf7lRyOOxpoRl-8aRYuJfxXniMqpmLlh9SJl_8SdDtRLvz-EhPDKscILQPCxf1kVAf3ijQPc_dn8Eny09Sa4nRhtrjpDhcnKueYN4RUpiEQrDrU/s400/May+31+Rainbow+(4).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The gate is always open.</span></div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-79739234878471737292010-03-11T23:55:00.000-08:002010-03-11T23:55:22.070-08:00Twelve Things I've Learned From My Milk Cow, Dicey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4f4ODXkgs_UmoKy0IZWDi2bwX5HJTT7qqdbYDt8KLDC7FEzTSfDt3rmorE_Xm24u7GxReSI5N-pl36VLpzAkvFSBmPP8yH0whS39MRu5D9iWk1cZxBhTyWbbdJPiSBhHORHXQCm6d3lk/s1600-h/Dicey+looking+out+of+her+stall+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4f4ODXkgs_UmoKy0IZWDi2bwX5HJTT7qqdbYDt8KLDC7FEzTSfDt3rmorE_Xm24u7GxReSI5N-pl36VLpzAkvFSBmPP8yH0whS39MRu5D9iWk1cZxBhTyWbbdJPiSBhHORHXQCm6d3lk/s400/Dicey+looking+out+of+her+stall+Compressed.JPG" vt="true" width="226" /></a></div>1. If you're going to have big teats, they should serve a purpose.<br />
2. Sometimes the shit is UNDER the straw.<br />
3. Miracles happen every day. That's how a spotted cow eats green grass and produces white milk and cream that is churned into yellow butter.<br />
4. Stop eating and go outside when the sun is shining.<br />
5. Chew your food well and don't apologize when you belch.<br />
6. Don't be an underproducer. They get culled.<br />
7. Wide hips can be an asset. Like big teats, they should serve a purpose.<br />
8. You don't need to be exceptionally bright to be successful at a job.<br />
9. "Pie" has several meanings.<br />
10. If you want to rule the barnyard, you need to weigh over 1000 lbs.<br />
11. Obstinate is a 3-letter word. C-O-W<br />
12. Politicians are like cow pies. They're part of a necessary process, but they stink, make a mess of everything, and attract flies.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvxpCBuWIGK8eg6imyRm5TN76QihsrwYhkH_XGyMouqQrYV3VMttCuh87pYWYlEQXxndCk-wGdZ6_T0eOrtnSuS-5W-_eisE7gepTZe6vgB9H5kq90BHMy4d21DSeZk576jiIJlzozVM/s1600-h/Ava+Napping+with+Dicey+(2)+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLvxpCBuWIGK8eg6imyRm5TN76QihsrwYhkH_XGyMouqQrYV3VMttCuh87pYWYlEQXxndCk-wGdZ6_T0eOrtnSuS-5W-_eisE7gepTZe6vgB9H5kq90BHMy4d21DSeZk576jiIJlzozVM/s320/Ava+Napping+with+Dicey+(2)+Compressed.JPG" vt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">About Dicey:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Dicey is named after the ranch, Paradise. We just call her Dicey for short. She was my first ranch animal. Ross bought her from a dairy that was selling her because she was an "underproducer". She actually produces about 6 gallons of milk a day and that's more than plenty for us. So, she's actually an over producer here. She's a registered Guernsey which is considered a threatened breed because there are so few of them. Most dairy cows in the US are Holsteins. Guernseys make perfect family cows because they're smaller than Holsteins and they have great personalities. They also produce a lot of very high quality cream. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ross got Dicey for me because I have Crohn's disease and he believed that drinking raw milk would be good for my overall health and help restore the health of my gut. He was right! We drink a LOT of milk and cream and nothing is better than Dicey butter. I enjoy taking good care of my favorite cow because she takes good care of me.</div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-65630274283157948842010-02-28T18:38:00.000-08:002010-02-28T18:43:39.609-08:00Harvest Day<div style="text-align: left;">Life and death are inseparable. You cannot have one without the other. For us, nurturing the lives of our cattle ultimately ends in slaughter. We don't have animals as a hobby. Instead, we're dedicated to raising the best beef for people who want to eat healthy and appreciate the most humane treatment for food animals. </div><br />
This blog post describes the slaughtering process that takes place at our ranch. We don't sell USDA inspected beef because that would require shipping our animals to a slaughtering plant where they would be handled and killed outside our supervision. We also simply don't approve of the way animals and carcasses are handled in a USDA facility. It's noteworthy that all meat recalls reported in the US are USDA-inspected meat. Instead, we want to ensure that our animals are treated humanely even at slaughter. This means we keep them at home in familiar surroundings and do nothing to cause them stress. When customers order beef, we pick out the mature animals to be slaughtered. We only slaughter animals that are sold. So, each customer gets the freshest beef from our ranch to their table. <br />
<br />
<strong>WARNING: Please don't read this blog if you'll be offended by graphic pictures. These photos are true to the actual process of slaughter. They aren't selected to be particularly gruesome, but they are graphic.</strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnxJrpU7VOzqdpRD6hExPO_kcwtNGZticlUa3JpXDJDsFbqUZYlIAdvTXjIn3BPEsWxoBWSzf3eRKVgqqSx5LQLAfCvITtsSWx4zVc_PjW1wZ8adQObu_cJf_dhakOnjayYM6jdSIdvw/s1600-h/Ava+with+Steers+for+Butcher+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPnxJrpU7VOzqdpRD6hExPO_kcwtNGZticlUa3JpXDJDsFbqUZYlIAdvTXjIn3BPEsWxoBWSzf3eRKVgqqSx5LQLAfCvITtsSWx4zVc_PjW1wZ8adQObu_cJf_dhakOnjayYM6jdSIdvw/s400/Ava+with+Steers+for+Butcher+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>We walked these steers from the pasture into the corral the evening before slaughter.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Dale is our local, mobile slaughterer. He travels around the area visiting ranches with his mobile abattoir. It's equipped with a generator to power tools, winches, and the cooler. It also has its own water tank. When he arrives, he pulls out barrels for skins and innards and sharpens his knives.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBYUOcD2hJVIsfeu3MZZrlb5fcAB44vLW21Vfp15HAQMJ4dcgOWa27LTzErC5es9zwMKs-nDS64OPJtTy2A0QocWoJyO_hok10WkDIdBSRqnQwrv_jGpFWZwJlMDxhAHLeQ4Fb4bG-1GY/s1600-h/abattoir+compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBYUOcD2hJVIsfeu3MZZrlb5fcAB44vLW21Vfp15HAQMJ4dcgOWa27LTzErC5es9zwMKs-nDS64OPJtTy2A0QocWoJyO_hok10WkDIdBSRqnQwrv_jGpFWZwJlMDxhAHLeQ4Fb4bG-1GY/s400/abattoir+compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Dale is sharpening his knife before he begins</em>.</div><br />
Once Dale is ready to start work, the first step is killing the steers. We move them close to the gate so it's easier to move the carcasses to the abattoir. Dale uses a .22 rifle. He is amazingly fast and efficient. He carefully, but quickly, shoots each animal once in the head. Death is instantaneous.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_l7gFNnB9yV1JvHXUKJfq4kW4ui9R-zndLoesr5jhCi36F4WRve7piSLGCpgCOWFo6OKqSFgddhnXQAlO-rdCb4QJrp7p2cK1bfd3UW_5YuatlI17u2lqsuzcFchT6D8iNYvEvNhMxY/s1600-h/Dale+Killing+Steer+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR_l7gFNnB9yV1JvHXUKJfq4kW4ui9R-zndLoesr5jhCi36F4WRve7piSLGCpgCOWFo6OKqSFgddhnXQAlO-rdCb4QJrp7p2cK1bfd3UW_5YuatlI17u2lqsuzcFchT6D8iNYvEvNhMxY/s400/Dale+Killing+Steer+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <em>Dale shoots the second steer.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dale must immediately cut their throats in order to drain the blood as quickly as possible before butchering the carcasses.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdTltm1vgZrNTgfxVJrLw5n7qybdruFNMYyUVMSM6Vh0iVLwZRR_5GC3b3CF_iUadrNMk_b-khnxgeRBEz2ndtHjFgf1bvbmzBKa09xU3LhaG4K_0hQpoqjGAoIktzM5MpKTd7nPkWdbc/s1600-h/Dale+Cutting+Throats+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdTltm1vgZrNTgfxVJrLw5n7qybdruFNMYyUVMSM6Vh0iVLwZRR_5GC3b3CF_iUadrNMk_b-khnxgeRBEz2ndtHjFgf1bvbmzBKa09xU3LhaG4K_0hQpoqjGAoIktzM5MpKTd7nPkWdbc/s400/Dale+Cutting+Throats+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Dale is draining the blood from the carcasses.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dale prepares the carcass for skinning by placing it on its back and putting wedges under the sides. This ensures that the carcass doesn't roll while he's working. It's very important to keep the exposed flesh clean. Dale removes the legs and puts them in the barrel. Dale sells all the spare body parts to a renderer, so nothing is wasted. Dale is constantly sharpening his knife on the steele as he works.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_nLGChkNg9hU_4KmDIEhE5LPMXyWb2Z9BXE7CPDxppN40Fj722EL6Y6RoVA87_xv4SMQ_KLpZPWSQ5sR6gs-TanxDNjD1h_akI2VFWpR4cMux-NTnlG5qKDyRG06a3IhKwWnnwydQq8/s1600-h/Removing+Legs+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="351" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI_nLGChkNg9hU_4KmDIEhE5LPMXyWb2Z9BXE7CPDxppN40Fj722EL6Y6RoVA87_xv4SMQ_KLpZPWSQ5sR6gs-TanxDNjD1h_akI2VFWpR4cMux-NTnlG5qKDyRG06a3IhKwWnnwydQq8/s400/Removing+Legs+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Dale has removed the front legs.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Once Dale has removed the legs, he starts to skin the carcass. He's very careful not to let the hair side of the skin touch the exposed flesh of the carcass. As he works, he regularly washes his hands and the carcass.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFjZCv8dyFI8Z6IJUhaZxGVhcom4mpTYz9HWkTzxWP6P79Sa3g8eoF0NGRGm0GqYN2D-8qbmfmHmCfKZYsvBzVqXjmZLMWdqceBzClCKOJSQHWvWR1PV85Zssf3tl6u_GdrSoafr1WXrg/s1600-h/Washing+Hands+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFjZCv8dyFI8Z6IJUhaZxGVhcom4mpTYz9HWkTzxWP6P79Sa3g8eoF0NGRGm0GqYN2D-8qbmfmHmCfKZYsvBzVqXjmZLMWdqceBzClCKOJSQHWvWR1PV85Zssf3tl6u_GdrSoafr1WXrg/s400/Washing+Hands+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Dale washing his hands with water stored in the abattoir.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dale works quickly to get the skin off the belly and legs. He'll have to hoist the carcass with a winch and get it totally off the ground before he removes the skin from the back. The skin all comes off in one piece. This keeps the carcass very clean.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMquztCIowN_rIgTTR7P3oFIh-Hr3EWd_fvPSaQTVadI0aO6np4CIYH7DpXEyjRAf5tf2p0JIifAe0n8a0Cjv6pgm1CqCg5U8LzoOYfPmLsPPQ7kBymj1xKuB9plVlLaSv_pavtDXLfxM/s1600-h/Skinning+Cow+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMquztCIowN_rIgTTR7P3oFIh-Hr3EWd_fvPSaQTVadI0aO6np4CIYH7DpXEyjRAf5tf2p0JIifAe0n8a0Cjv6pgm1CqCg5U8LzoOYfPmLsPPQ7kBymj1xKuB9plVlLaSv_pavtDXLfxM/s400/Skinning+Cow+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Skinning from the chest to the back</em>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dale works very fast. Today, he is butchering steers and hogs for us. He has already slaughtered a number of cows for other folks and still has one cow to go when he leaves our ranch.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-MLTR1GqGNm6a7jf0NzeVFO5_PlXzeotOsONoQy_-zGWZUAVybLr8ZFc7zJvsPRMSopiqXAl5YKHBNyC0KkbRKF4fKyeviWMYAwn0_gstudKoq04PODjFA773CYQLQ-HqMGAMAEfs3c/s1600-h/Washing+Carcass+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj-MLTR1GqGNm6a7jf0NzeVFO5_PlXzeotOsONoQy_-zGWZUAVybLr8ZFc7zJvsPRMSopiqXAl5YKHBNyC0KkbRKF4fKyeviWMYAwn0_gstudKoq04PODjFA773CYQLQ-HqMGAMAEfs3c/s400/Washing+Carcass+Compressed.JPG" width="390" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Washing the carcass</em>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Once the belly has been skinned, Dale cuts through the breast bone. This makes it easy to remove the innards when the carcass is hoisted. Notice that he never cuts into the abdominal area while the guts are intact.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUq8d6474_XqF0Gn09G072WcncJqEicxqmxE8lIpZg9juAbsxEIp4nkz7sEaWAnOTS1bOLdEXbmlg1yCQ9Nf35F1gMa9N-cLfHwVVkVNn3cRaYZm0eg9bPfip91eyHw0kB0NXN2KNG0qk/s1600-h/Sawing+breastbone+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUq8d6474_XqF0Gn09G072WcncJqEicxqmxE8lIpZg9juAbsxEIp4nkz7sEaWAnOTS1bOLdEXbmlg1yCQ9Nf35F1gMa9N-cLfHwVVkVNn3cRaYZm0eg9bPfip91eyHw0kB0NXN2KNG0qk/s400/Sawing+breastbone+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Sawing through the breastbone.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dale attaches the power hoist to the carcass via the back legs. The carcass won't flip as it's raised because of the wedges that are still in place holding it in position.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7mK1B7aPIfB6f8ALd4nru2MaiCNcL7QDQQ4KTLEDIJiy5N-8HIVUZXKrBmNfpgF5kNNq5hL_ZrGdt3P_HQD8MLAj5ERe54p6ySrkcSmgYSI0b93S4Q8cO8rAYvKER2J-nvW1uq61dok/s1600-h/Hoist+on+Legs+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="383" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7mK1B7aPIfB6f8ALd4nru2MaiCNcL7QDQQ4KTLEDIJiy5N-8HIVUZXKrBmNfpgF5kNNq5hL_ZrGdt3P_HQD8MLAj5ERe54p6ySrkcSmgYSI0b93S4Q8cO8rAYvKER2J-nvW1uq61dok/s400/Hoist+on+Legs+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>The hoist is attached.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dale raises the carcass a little at a time, skinning as he goes. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdsjjFhyphenhyphenPWoGelkjM-IcpmgrvfmUYmmDUAVzZAYv3NkgGa3ZVe6P1geR0QwPdVR7FvITr-UL7Pbs4cnFKUz7VMMHXBuAPNPiTWgVQFx9Z29eJACTMvFOOBQQkZLMW1sHfqp-F0yqMKl9E/s1600-h/Skinning+while+Hanging+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="375" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdsjjFhyphenhyphenPWoGelkjM-IcpmgrvfmUYmmDUAVzZAYv3NkgGa3ZVe6P1geR0QwPdVR7FvITr-UL7Pbs4cnFKUz7VMMHXBuAPNPiTWgVQFx9Z29eJACTMvFOOBQQkZLMW1sHfqp-F0yqMKl9E/s400/Skinning+while+Hanging+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Dale is skinning from the rump down.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Once the carcass is completely skinned and hanging vertically, Dale makes the final cut through the chest releasing the innards. They just slide out without force. (In a slaughter house, the innards are forcefully ripped out of the carcass by a machine which can cause them to rupture.) This ensures that there are no tears or punctures of the gut that will release bacteria to contaminate the carcass. All animals have bacteria in their guts and some of those bacteria, like certain strains of e-coli, are dangerous to humans. Healthy, grass-fed cows rarely have dangerous e-coli strains in their guts although it is common in grain-fed beef. This is also why we will never sell or butcher a sick animal. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipf9Ar51bpsQYZWybi98FdA5X8PGjYCta2CbRoA_SWFUnJLeC_Cf4MgznfyUI4ZC8tdSq3lSGjBsa_YlQVDQYgeGvF5zvedywNrlAXeG_yR9ZKrWnumFlfzveK1ccpyI4KeQ38RrhCZsI/s1600-h/Innards+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipf9Ar51bpsQYZWybi98FdA5X8PGjYCta2CbRoA_SWFUnJLeC_Cf4MgznfyUI4ZC8tdSq3lSGjBsa_YlQVDQYgeGvF5zvedywNrlAXeG_yR9ZKrWnumFlfzveK1ccpyI4KeQ38RrhCZsI/s400/Innards+Compressed.JPG" width="283" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>The innards.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Dale will cut the carcass in half with a special saw and then put labels on the carcass identifying the customers who have purchased this meat. To satisfy USDA requirements for non-inspected beef, our beef is sold "on the hoof" by the quarter, half, or whole. That means that it is sold before it is actually slaughtered. We cannot sell individual cuts. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjcDt7QYLa9k5zgxKfOiWThEkRIQvfidjZ3ChjXijE0kHGvAmHXmD2tEDw5wNeE5OIsPN7PKlrmEhGMWDllttXjHMfyAPL-Bs2yHlAmvvJvqnup07glriYkIQ4Knb4PMkSCO6dlRZs2I/s1600-h/Sawing+Backbone+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJjcDt7QYLa9k5zgxKfOiWThEkRIQvfidjZ3ChjXijE0kHGvAmHXmD2tEDw5wNeE5OIsPN7PKlrmEhGMWDllttXjHMfyAPL-Bs2yHlAmvvJvqnup07glriYkIQ4Knb4PMkSCO6dlRZs2I/s400/Sawing+Backbone+Compressed.JPG" width="327" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Sawing the carcass in half.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The carcass is now basically ready to go to the butcher. Dale will wash it thoroughly before sliding it on the rail into the abattoir.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2ihHRbGSxd5CgHqGW3fW5uQ_aQZpVy74odA4Qn9fuN3Wcj-oNyaf5wKPsuJ91PlPxYqm2emwjgMSo6PAT23m7O9sLbZQv_qPYCp2H-S2Sd6vyJ3D84EFe1D5b5rA-bGxYMESPeuYF7A/s1600-h/Washing+Finished+Carcass+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv2ihHRbGSxd5CgHqGW3fW5uQ_aQZpVy74odA4Qn9fuN3Wcj-oNyaf5wKPsuJ91PlPxYqm2emwjgMSo6PAT23m7O9sLbZQv_qPYCp2H-S2Sd6vyJ3D84EFe1D5b5rA-bGxYMESPeuYF7A/s400/Washing+Finished+Carcass+Compressed.JPG" width="282" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Washing the finished carcass.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Once the carcass is washed, it's ready to hang in the abattoir. It will be kept refrigerated on its trip to the meat cutter. Note how lean these carcasses are. Our grass-fed meat is not grown to produce fat but to produce muscle. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_1n99avhaHLHAgjICYo8mYM0ctrBNfXX5_aihp81E7W8MoxjR4t5gnAdkVZFKVobIZuOw6CkEFyzDwoazce1IlithmR_CqB_OuUHKtHALj4DKJxRlRA3h5f0DDWJ5sB6uYhyphenhyphenwsxep54/s1600-h/Hang+in+Abattoir+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx_1n99avhaHLHAgjICYo8mYM0ctrBNfXX5_aihp81E7W8MoxjR4t5gnAdkVZFKVobIZuOw6CkEFyzDwoazce1IlithmR_CqB_OuUHKtHALj4DKJxRlRA3h5f0DDWJ5sB6uYhyphenhyphenwsxep54/s400/Hang+in+Abattoir+Compressed.JPG" width="302" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Ready for the trip to the meat cutter. </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">At the meat cutter, the beef will hang for several weeks to age before it's cut and wrapped. The finished meat has a unique flavor associated with grass-fed meat. Unlike grain-fed meat, the flavor doesn't come from the fat, but it's just as tender.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">All of our beef at R&A Paradise Ranch meets the USDA grade for "naturally-raised" beef. That means that it's pastured, never kept in feed lots, and fed only grass and legumes, never grain.<br />
<br />
This meat will go directly to the customers who ordered it. We're sure they're going to love it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-16354811102782668862010-02-20T12:04:00.000-08:002010-02-20T12:04:25.411-08:00The Princess and the PonyOnce the princess discovered that she was really a cowgirl, the ogre decided that she needed a perfect pony. After all, you can't be a successful cowgirl if you don't ride a pony.<br />
<br />
So together the princess and the ogre went in search of the perfect pony. They drove around town and to other towns to look at ponies. Each time, the princess was hopeful that she would find the perfect pony. Each time, she was disappointed. The ponies were too big, too small, too fat, too lazy, too inexperienced, or too political.<br />
<br />
One day, they went to see a pony in a little town named Cove. The princess was very excited. Could this be the perfect pony? This pony looked like the perfect pony. She was a beautiful palomino with a very long mane and a flowing tail. Her gold color was as bright as the sun. <br />
<br />
The ogre was very protective of the princess. He didn't care about a pony's color or it's breeding or how long was it's mane or tail or whether it was conservative or liberal. The perfect pony for the princess had to have a big heart and be willing to take care of something so precious as the perfect princess.<br />
<br />
The ogre decided to try this pony. On went the bridle. On went the saddle. On went the ogre. Instead of going forward like good ponies do, this one went up like bad ponies do. It's a good thing the ogre is a cowboy. It was a short rodeo. The ogre stepped down from the bad pony, handed the reins to the owner, and said, "This is not the perfect pony for my princess. This is a bad pony."<br />
<br />
The princess was heartbroken. Would they ever find the perfect pony? The ogre was more determined than ever. But where would he look? Why, he would look in the same place he found the perfect princess. The internet! The ogre searched site after site and found more ponies that were too big, too small, too fat, too lazy, too inexperienced, and too political. <br />
<br />
But wait a minute. Here was a very handsome pony who was perfect! He was fit. He was the right size. He wasn't lazy. And he was raised on a ranch to work cows. But he was in Montana far away from Paradise. How would he get from Montana to Oregon? He rode on a cattle truck with a herd of cows on their way to Paradise.<br />
<br />
What an exciting day it was when the cattle truck arrived at Paradise. Cows were bellowing, men were hollering and the perfect princess was waiting anxiously for the perfect pony. Finally, the perfect pony stepped into the sunlight. And the princess fell in love.<br />
<br />
It didn't last long. This pony wasn't just perfect, he was headstrong, stubborn, and very fast. And spooked at everything - rocks, fence posts, tree stumps, and his own saddle blanket.<br />
<br />
The princess was frustrated and afraid. Her pony didn't care at all about her. He only cared about food.<br />
<br />
Then the ogre decided to take the princess hunting in a very remote wilderness where only horses and mules could go. So, they packed their gear, their guns, four mules, two horses, and two dogs and went to Idaho.<br />
<br />
When they arrived at the trail to their hunting spot, the ogre was very happy. He loved the smell of his mules, the feel of his gun, the challenge of steep trails, and the thrill of the hunt.<br />
<br />
There was just one problem. His princess had never packed mules, had never killed anything with her gun, and was afraid of her pony. Worst of all, the princess was afraid of heights. The ogre had forgotten this when he decided to take his princess hunting.<br />
<br />
The perfect princess was petrified. She looked at the suspension bridge over the raging river. Her palms were sweaty. Her heart was pounding. Her pony was eating. "Will my perfect pony cross that raging river on a bridge that's swinging?" asked the princess in a very small voice. Without blinking, the ogre said, "He will when I get finished with him."<br />
<br />
So, the princess went to pack her saddle bags and the ogre rode the perfect pony down the road to the swaying bridge. The princess was distraught. Would her pony buck? Would the ogre break his arm? Would the pony and the ogre fall into the river?<br />
<br />
The princess heard the sound of hooves on the road. There was her ogre! And there was her very sweaty pony. The princess dared to ask, "Will my pony cross the bridge?" Without blinking, the ogre replied, "He will now."<br />
<br />
The next morning, the mules were packed, the ponies were saddled, the guns were loaded, and the dogs were panting. Everybody was ready to start - except the princess. Her palms were sweating and her heart was pounding. Her pony was eating. He might go across the bridge, but could she? She sat square in the saddle, gritted her teeth and heard the ogre behind her, "Trust your pony." She focused. She sweated. She almost hyperventilated. Then, it was a miracle! Her pony stepped off the other side of the swaying bridge and they were both alive.<br />
<br />
But things were not right. Gus the mule had refused to cross the bridge. He broke his lead line and was standing on the other side of the bridge with Axel the mule. The ogre would have to go back across the bridge. So, the ogre left the princess with her pony, two mules, and two dogs.<br />
<br />
<em>This is a whole other story for another time.</em><br />
<br />
Finally, the princess, the ogre, four mules, two ponies and two dogs were headed down the long, winding trail to their campsite. It wasn't a short trail. It was a long trail. It wasn't a short ride. It was a long ride. It wasn't a wide trail. It was a very narrow trail. It wasn't a flat trail. It was a very steep trail. It wasn't a straight trail. It was a zigzag trail. And it went up and up. And the princess was afraid to open her eyes because her pony was just barely staying on the side of the mountain. Behind her was the ogre, "Relax. Trust your pony." The princess couldn't relax. She was using all her princess willpower to make her pony keep all four feet on the trail.<br />
<br />
What a beautiful place! See the river far below? See the canyon in the distance? See the birds in the brush? See the eagle flying high? The princess didn't see anything. She was watching the trail.<br />
<br />
The perfect pony never faltered. He climbed steep rocks, crossed bridges, walked through streams, and stepped over logs. He was always on the trail. He set a good pace and never slowed down. He carried the princess without complaining.<br />
<br />
Just when the day was ending and the ogre, the princess, four mules, two ponies and two dogs were near camp, the ogre heard something. Bull elk were bugling. The ogre commanded the princess, "Get off your pony. Get your gun." And the princess did. The ogre stood next to the princess and whispered, "See that bull?" But the princess didn't. "See that bull next to the pine tree?" But they were standing in a forest of trees. The princess didn't know which exact tree. "Right there!" But where was there? "Fifty yards next to the tree!" How far is fifty yards?<br />
<br />
Then the bull elk, next to the pine tree fifty yards away moved. And the princess saw his very big antlers. The princess loaded her gun and climbed the steep hill after the ogre. Surely, the bull elk could hear her huffing and puffing. Then the ogre commanded the princess, "Shoot!" And the princess did. But nothing happened. And the ogre commanded the princess, "Shoot again!" And the princess did. The big bull elk next to the pine tree fifty yards away fell down. And the ogre smiled very big, "Good girl!" And the princess cried real tears.<br />
<br />
When the excitement was over, the princess was worried. Did her pony run away. Would she have to walk all the way back? No. He was eating.<br />
<br />
The ogre and the princess spent a week in the wilderness. And the perfect pony always carried the princess without complaining. He carried her in the rain and in the dark, in the sun, and in the cold. And even though he was much smaller than the ogre's very big pony, he never fell behind and he was never too tired to carry the princess. And each time they came to the swaying bridge, he stepped across without hesitation.<br />
<br />
And when the trip was over, the princess knew why this was the perfect pony. He had a very big heart and he took very good care of the perfect princess. And he was eating.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LMEJS4RLvKw5IJXlxtKnecPJGgND2uu9S295ENdRfEOlY4sC9ZMqZR2lTjdWiFcDqRCTBxvhnGlpQGjU9DwsI810Vpt-X531GK298y7Y_zuzCMwnSz22TtycXUTQUxXYTgIerJhC2wY/s1600-h/Mounted+Up+2+Compressed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LMEJS4RLvKw5IJXlxtKnecPJGgND2uu9S295ENdRfEOlY4sC9ZMqZR2lTjdWiFcDqRCTBxvhnGlpQGjU9DwsI810Vpt-X531GK298y7Y_zuzCMwnSz22TtycXUTQUxXYTgIerJhC2wY/s400/Mounted+Up+2+Compressed.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ross on Silk and Ava on Dandy.</div><br />
<br />
<em>Editors note: My "perfect pony" is really not a pony. He's a registered Quarter Horse named Four Doc Dandy. I call him Dandy. He acts like he's afraid of everything so I'll take him back to the barn and he can eat. But I'm on to him. In his case, breeding is important. He has famous Doc Bar blood and was bred to be a cutting horse. He's amazingly fast, can stop in a skid, and turn on a dime. He absolutely loves working cows. I hope one day to be as skilled and brave as Dandy is. </em><br />
<br />
<em>I also have a few other "ponies". I have a draft cross that I got for my equestrian daughter, Alexandra. Her name is Nadesco (aka Beauty) and she gave birth to a mule this past summer. Then there's Grace who we saved from a feedlot two days before she was going to be shipped to slaughter. She's a beautiful, loving chestnut. And for my mom, I got Meg who is a dark bay and very quiet on trails.</em> <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJRK12m8vOyfXOR1rTKE3LPx4fkzhSShcCT2YQePkojIJipXBN0qeR5P6Bp51oVcIhtKljyMOKFCpjAlu3utRs6IUsQyOctSNpyDdyGrzx0BZe5fZscq5lMWrEP317X49Fwh6yki1wfD0/s1600-h/Mom+and+Horses+Compressed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJRK12m8vOyfXOR1rTKE3LPx4fkzhSShcCT2YQePkojIJipXBN0qeR5P6Bp51oVcIhtKljyMOKFCpjAlu3utRs6IUsQyOctSNpyDdyGrzx0BZe5fZscq5lMWrEP317X49Fwh6yki1wfD0/s400/Mom+and+Horses+Compressed.jpg" width="368" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">My mom giving treats to Dandy and Ross's horse, Silk.</div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-53119190149585128912010-02-09T14:01:00.000-08:002010-02-09T14:01:48.658-08:00The Cowgirl Learning CurveIt's not easy to become a cowgirl when you're 45 years old and you've lived in the burbs all your life. In fact, I'm not sure I'd recommend it for most folks.<br />
<br />
The learning curve is not just steep it's VERY wide (and you have to cover a lot of the territory on foot and on horseback).<br />
<br />
No college degrees are required, but a rancher has to be expert in:<br />
<br />
Animal Husbandry<br />
Fence building<br />
Vet care<br />
Farming<br />
Haying<br />
Irrigation<br />
Horse shoeing<br />
Horse and dog training<br />
Varmint control<br />
Welding<br />
Tractor and truck mechanics<br />
Engineering<br />
Electrical wiring<br />
Hydraulics<br />
Weed control<br />
Carpentry<br />
Plumbing<br />
Concrete work<br />
Painting<br />
<br />
<br />
And at our ranch, you also have to include:<br />
wood cutting<br />
spring water<br />
<br />
So, how am I doing? If I were climbing Everest, I'd just now be getting to base camp, and I'm two years into this.<br />
<br />
<u>Animal Husbandry</u><br />
Ross's arms and hands are too big. So, I'm signed up for AI (artificial insemination) school in April. All I know about AI is that it's a way to get our cows pregnant utilizing my arm inside a very big rubber glove. I've heard that women are very good at AI because our arms are smaller. I'm just worried that mine aren't long enough. Have you ever seen a cow up close?<br />
<br />
In the meantime, we have a very nice trio of bulls (Larry, Mo, and Curly) who are more than happy to take care of our girls. Something tells me they're better equipped to deal with the necessaries than I am.<br />
<br />
Other things I've learned . . . When a turkey hen looks like she's dying, she really just wants some. Whatever you do, don't get between a "dying" turkey hen and her Tom. He's serious and so is she. Turkeys are bigger than you think. Look closely at their heads and legs. These things are definitely related to dinosaurs. If turkeys were as big as people, people would no longer be on this planet. <br />
<br />
It takes all my body weight to hold down a newborn calf. They are not small and they kick with amazing precision. The place you want to watch out for is your crotch. <br />
<br />
<u>Fence Building</u><br />
After building literally miles of fence, this is actually something I am now expert at. You can tell I've had a lot of hands on practice because all of my jeans and shirts now have holes. Barbed wire is not friendly to clothing. I can pound steel posts into the ground, stretch barbed wire or New Zealand wire (for electric fences), clip wires to posts, and wire and charge an electric fence. Pay attention girls: you are NOT getting OUT. <br />
<br />
<u>Vet care</u><br />
The nearest vets are an hour away from Paradise and bad things can happen anytime. It's best to be prepared. I've watched Ross enough to trust him with my OWN care. He has sutured a bad wound on my horse, treated several illnesses (including an outbreak of Leptospirosis last winter), and most important of all, he knows when to do nothing. Sometimes Nature is the best vet. I've learned to give shots, worm cattle, bottle-feed newborns, monitor births (and help when necessary), and lots more. The hardest part of my job as ranch vet is to make the decision to end an animal's suffering. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSDWX5mIV_6WVstgHAYY1VnC0yPEDd2Y5o4TxZyGHgxRl6I-gKhu4odHtQaLhsj1KRc-Lg4mXXl2bRzYvlp3vXyBn-xE12B7FSxJIODsLW-aNOCS8K9ieqOvSe9Kzh99Tjgppc6QJfT8/s1600-h/Ava+with+Syringe+(Compressed).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqSDWX5mIV_6WVstgHAYY1VnC0yPEDd2Y5o4TxZyGHgxRl6I-gKhu4odHtQaLhsj1KRc-Lg4mXXl2bRzYvlp3vXyBn-xE12B7FSxJIODsLW-aNOCS8K9ieqOvSe9Kzh99Tjgppc6QJfT8/s400/Ava+with+Syringe+(Compressed).jpg" width="372" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Cows have tough skin. That's a BIG needle.</div><br />
<u>Farming and Haying</u><br />
Animals don't fast in the wintertime. So, we have to grow a lot of hay for winter feed. I've always loved power tools. Now that I can drive tractors and run really big equipment, I'm UNSTOPPABLE. Sometimes, I face reality. Like the time I ran my tractor over the harrow and got the harrow wound around the back tire. Harrows are big. Tractor tires are big. So, it was a big problem. Lesson learned: do not turn too sharply when you are pulling equipment. I love it all, but my favorite piece of equipment to date is the hay wagon. What an amazing example of engineering. It picks up bales off the field, collects them in a row, throws them onto the wagon, lines them up neatly, then stands them in a stack and drops them on the ground wherever you want your haystack. All with no dedicated engine and only very well orchestrated moving parts driven by the tractor.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVv4cSZfHce0h0b8IzkZXYBOI28Xov6A8S9ANub0wUWBo0lD9CqOZFriLxUagX9ma8nKcz_O0s5UTIsw_Aa7PawlNeM9DyEYycVopryI3nhfVZVqKBGvnVpN4oAShDD3XvhKWmsXXXpoY/s1600-h/Ross+on+the+Swather+(Compressed).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVv4cSZfHce0h0b8IzkZXYBOI28Xov6A8S9ANub0wUWBo0lD9CqOZFriLxUagX9ma8nKcz_O0s5UTIsw_Aa7PawlNeM9DyEYycVopryI3nhfVZVqKBGvnVpN4oAShDD3XvhKWmsXXXpoY/s400/Ross+on+the+Swather+(Compressed).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Ross is running the swather to cut hay.</div><br />
<u>Irrigation</u><br />
Aluminum is a girl's best friend. Those pipes are LONG, and I'm lucky to be able to move them but only if I'm right in the middle so I balance the length perfectly. When we're irrigating, the irrigation lines have to be moved every day. We have a 1/4 mile wheel line that uses a motor and drives itself. That's nice! But we also have lots of pipe that has to be moved by hand. Are you not happy with your thighs? Would you like firmer buttocks. Well, I have the perfect thighmaster for you. Walking miles while carrying huge pipes through deep mud will create perfect thighs and buttocks. Don't believe me? Come on out and try it.<br />
<br />
<u>Horseshoeing</u><br />
All my horse friends pay a farrier to shoe their horses. It's been a while but I remember that bill being as high as $180 and it's something you get done every 6-8 weeks. We have 6 horses and 5 mules. Paying a farrier to keep our animals shod would put us out of business. Ross is our ranch farrier. If you watch him work, you will know why he once worked as a professional. This is one area that I'm not pursuing right now. It takes a lot of physical strength to shoe a horse, and my man is well equipped with that. So, he can keep that job.<br />
<br />
<u>Varmint Control</u><br />
When I first moved here, Ross's cats were old and decrepid and had let the mice take over. I would lie in bed at night and listen to the mice. In the bedroom closet. In the bathroom walls. In the kitchen. On the bookcase. I think you get the picture. That was the beginning. It was good that I started with small varmints and have moved up in the world of varmint control. Lots of cats and a few mouse traps have solved the mouse problem. Then, I moved on to pack rats. They're rats with bushy tails. They're big and very smart. They weren't smart enough for my big rat traps. I now use a gun to get varmints. Coyotes kill and eat our cats, chickens and turkeys. If they have the chance, they'll also kill newborn calves. We don't hunt them in the wildnerness areas; we only shoot them when they're actually on our property. Then our cats visit the body and give it the evil eye and our dog sends a strong message by peeing on the carcass. Clearly, we're not the only ones who think a dead coyote is a good coyote.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdp4pzXsbZkw1pYs2k76kO6r5A11w_YMz9wjGIcW1VJUwhyphenhyphen1ZIYX17vp3abSxKQjKTCz8NVT7cSeqpyoF72VzWjAERmPYqcInqMk0jxw-eztTXQJSnx12kNpxc8OVLdqZa-jIyDYnn4g/s1600-h/Ava's+First+Coyote+(Compressed).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdp4pzXsbZkw1pYs2k76kO6r5A11w_YMz9wjGIcW1VJUwhyphenhyphen1ZIYX17vp3abSxKQjKTCz8NVT7cSeqpyoF72VzWjAERmPYqcInqMk0jxw-eztTXQJSnx12kNpxc8OVLdqZa-jIyDYnn4g/s400/Ava's+First+Coyote+(Compressed).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">My first coyote.</div><br />
<u>Welding, Truck and Tractor Maintenance, and Hydraulics</u> <br />
I won't live long enough to learn enough about these skills to be functional. But I can make brownies and egg custard for Ross to keep him energized while he's working on these problems. He stays very focused and works hard while he looks forward to hearing the sound of the ranch bell and me yell, "It's Brownie Time!" I hate to cook, but he gets a lot done when I make goodies, so it's worth it. And then I can admire the rebuilt hay wagon, the hay fork he built from scratch, the rebuilt truck beds, and the little things that make my life easier, like the steps into the cab on my tractor. When it comes to tractors and farm equipment, nothing is made for women. That's why it's necessary for a cowgirl to have a very good cowboy.<br />
<br />
<u>Carpentry, plumbing & electrical</u><br />
Our house at Paradise was originally built a LONG time ago and the barn was built in 1890. Ross likes to fix things instead of tearing them down and building something new. He's been "fixing" the house and barn for 20 years and he still has a long way to go. The porch needs to go back on the house, the kitchen needs cabinets (with doors), the partially finished wood floor needs to get finished, blinds need to go on the windows, the living room needs to be enlarged so we can actually set up my grand piano (which is currently wrapped up and standing on its side in the hallway), the mudroom needs to get finished so the whole house doesn't serve as the mudroom, and the exterior needs to get finished so it actually looks like someone lives here. I'll be happy if these things get finished; I'll be happy if they don't. We always do what needs to get done first. So, after many years of being without a roof, the old barn is now covered with a red roof. As I type, Ross is working on running electrical throughout the barn and corrals where we work cows. He's installing lights EVERYWHERE so we can work after dark and be safe. One day, I'll even have an electric water heater in the milk parlor, so we don't have to carry buckets of hot water from the house to wash Dicey and the milk equipment every time we milk. Don't worry, we'll never be bored.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxiokdVrt6iPDvl1mtXCO7oj0xqFxMgBJDzq0vI5BgVEsO-K48oxv1_HWtKxJOR7o4DIyA8a610xgoXDz2ODnKwDTMjH1cY44xMQWeOQts-tE1X1cuREO8NyGhs_xMs5qQZQWAGI9m0w/s1600-h/Little+House+(Compressed).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxiokdVrt6iPDvl1mtXCO7oj0xqFxMgBJDzq0vI5BgVEsO-K48oxv1_HWtKxJOR7o4DIyA8a610xgoXDz2ODnKwDTMjH1cY44xMQWeOQts-tE1X1cuREO8NyGhs_xMs5qQZQWAGI9m0w/s400/Little+House+(Compressed).JPG" width="372" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Our little house.</div><br />
<u>Water and wood</u><br />
Living in a remote place has its unique challenges. There is no city water or gas here. We're lucky to have electricity. I am thankful for it every winter night when I turn on my electric blanket. There are two things that we have to monitor every day: water and wood. Our wood stove is in the basement where it heats the furnace room from which a fan sucks hot air into the house. During winter, the fire can NEVER go out if we want to maintain a comfortable 65 degrees in the house. I enjoy splitting wood, so I keep the stove supplied with wood. My favorite system is our water. Our house literally sits on top of a spring. Ross engineered and built a system that pumps water from the spring into a cistern that supplies the house with water. We have unlimited water most of the year, but during late summer the spring is slow to fill and we sometimes have to choose what gets clean: dishes, clothes, or people. We don't need to roll dice, it's pretty easy to prioritize. When all the dishes are dirty, it's time to run the dishwasher. When we're reduced to working naked, it's time to wash the clothes. When we can't stand to be in the same room with each other, it's time to wash the people. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMhz01uWzU2lrYgKsLIMoeSJkChQT_AZlbCDtgW8SjCrPaqJZOCY2dFxyEYcvsDdDO-oUnCzzeeI4xLVNj6hn2ntw8DXrNlxg3nrkB8wrMXvJOEvSzKR7FA2nVNXQET4GjPgBtTHbRHI/s1600-h/Stoking+the+Fire+(Compressed).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNMhz01uWzU2lrYgKsLIMoeSJkChQT_AZlbCDtgW8SjCrPaqJZOCY2dFxyEYcvsDdDO-oUnCzzeeI4xLVNj6hn2ntw8DXrNlxg3nrkB8wrMXvJOEvSzKR7FA2nVNXQET4GjPgBtTHbRHI/s400/Stoking+the+Fire+(Compressed).JPG" width="342" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Stoking the fire so I stay warm.</div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1422459542666744522.post-52860649839338023532010-02-03T14:13:00.000-08:002010-02-03T14:13:20.585-08:00The Ogre and the Princess<div>Once upon a time there was an ogre who lived all by himself in a little house, on a long road, in a remote wilderness. His faithful dog was his daily companion. His social <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">network</span> consisted of one horse, three mules, three cats, and a flock of chickens. They all had one thing in common: none of them could understand the state of American politics (just for different reasons).</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>Every day, the ogre went about his work alone and ate his meals alone. There was no one to notice, so he didn't mind being stinky and having a stinky dog.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>One day he noticed that even though he had one dog, one horse, three mules, three cats, and a flock of chickens, he was lonely and unhappy. There was no joy in his life. So, he decided to go fishing for a woman who would be compatible. But what kind of woman would be compatible with an ogre? Surely, she had to be a princess. So, he enlisted the help of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">internet</span> to locate the very perfect princess.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>While the ogre was living lonely and unhappy in his little house, on a long road, in a remote wilderness, there was a very smart princess living in a big house, on a short road, in suburbia.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>Every day, the princess went about her hectic work surrounded by lots of hectic people. They all had one thing in common: the commute.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>She was unsatisfied and unfulfilled with her busy work <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">and</span> this made her very sad. So sad, in fact, that she got very sick. One day while she was sick, she found a dream in her pocket. She <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">decided</span> the dream in her pocket was much better than her real life. So, she <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">enlisted</span> the help of the i<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">nternet</span> to locate the perfect farmer who would live in a little house, next to a big red barn, in a lush valley, surrounded by lots of fruits and vegetables.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>The ogre had been fishing for many months with no success. He caught several women, but he threw them back as soon as he discovered they were not the perfect princess. Just when he was about to resign himself to his lonely, unhappy life, he got another bite. But this time, there was something different. Could this be his princess? He interviewed her very carefully and decided it was OK for her to visit his little house, on a long road, in a remote wilderness.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>The princess was very excited. Could this be her farmer? She wouldn't know until she met him, so she packed carefully (taking her bird book) and embarked on a long journey to discover the truth. </div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>The ogre was petrified. What would the princess think of his little house? He plumped up his lumpy bed, scrubbed the floor, wiped the dead flies off the window sills, and hung the bedroom door. Then he made a bed for himself in the kennel with his dog. Just before the princess arrived, he washed from head to toe and put on a shirt without holes.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>The princess's heart was pounding when she finally reached a little house. A stinky dog greeted her and then a - very - big - ogre. Her heart pounded more. Should she run? This wasn't a little house, next to a big, red barn, in a lush <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">valley</span>, surrounded by lots of fruits and vegetables. This was a little house with no paint, a barn with no roof, sage brush instead of lush, and not a crop in sight. What should she do?</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>She fell in love. It didn't happen overnight. It happened on a tractor. It was a very big, very noisy, very scary <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">tractor</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">But</span> very patiently and very gently, the ogre taught the princess how to drive the tractor. And the princess fell in love with his kind voice, gentle touch, and patient spirit. </div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>But the ogre wasn't sure if the princess would be happy <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">living</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">with</span> an ogre. He watched very carefully. She broke her fingernails without complaining, castrated calves without wincing, and walked miles without stopping. Could she really be a princess?</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>Then one day, the princess put <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">on</span> a pair of Wrangler jeans. The ogre stared at the princess and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">the</span> princess stared back. The world had changed! The ogre wasn't an ogre after all. He was a cowboy. And the princess wasn't a princess after all. She was a cowgirl.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div>Together, they bought a herd of cows, and now their home is the little house, on a long road, in a remote wilderness. And it's Paradise.</div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKv_NzZgUyYP8xiCAhYkCB6YDjqN2NDDzjTDsbaSHCBhVm_klW_pEKd5xyQOUJ97-FOvKLdp585cbE9ZUjlZYRWdCoBIkBRZgFdnmQ7HWFhY8GuA2ZMaodgYPfd7MNmDVZSyca0qPBv8/s1600-h/Ava+and+Ross+Moving+Cows+Compressed+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiKv_NzZgUyYP8xiCAhYkCB6YDjqN2NDDzjTDsbaSHCBhVm_klW_pEKd5xyQOUJ97-FOvKLdp585cbE9ZUjlZYRWdCoBIkBRZgFdnmQ7HWFhY8GuA2ZMaodgYPfd7MNmDVZSyca0qPBv8/s400/Ava+and+Ross+Moving+Cows+Compressed+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">The end </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">2009</div>Avahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10979399301432171703noreply@blogger.com7