Repurposing

 One of the things Mike and I share is the love, the challenge, and the quest to repupose used things for a new use, new life.  It is a bit of a game for each of us.  This week's repurposing adventure revolves around finding a grain bin showing up on the local social media sight.  Turns out, the round metal bin was just down the road and cost about as much as what a wooden storage shed would cost - AND LOOKS SUPER COOL!!  

The old Sioux grain bin was reportedly moved 40 years ago to that farm about six miles to our north.  When it was moved then, the bin - built on a pair of skids - was simply pulled down the road, right on its skids.  We were too far for skidding it home!

The owner cleaned out items stored inside.  Mike drove the tractor over, parked the truck and trailer, and began the process of sliding it - carefully - onto the trailer.  The process involved a cable, a pully, and several lenghts of chain.  

After one hiccoup and some regrouping, the bin sat atop the trailer, was strapped down, and off  Mike went with the very wide load; me following in the tractor at 10mph, which, by the way, is a very good way to enjoy the scenery on the way home.  

Allow me to muse.  The color of galvanized metal is the loveliest color of all!  Steel grays, blues and silvers ripple over the corregated metal.  Flecks and stripes of corral red appear here and there to accentuate the gray blue palate, signs of age, where the slow process of oxidation has beat out the galvanization and rust has won.  Beautiful colors!  

There were many #RightHereRightNow! moments throughout this effort.  The late afternoon light dousing the scene with its golden hue and warming our backsides.  Holding one's breath during the process, hoping nothing broke or tipped over.  Watching the bin go down the road to its new home, cars jamming up behind it, sneaking over to see if they could get around the slow, wide load.  Thinking about how awesome this grain bin will look at the corner of the repurposed greenhouse.  

A wonderful holiday gift for the ranch!!  

Home.  Just as twilight and the temperatures were falling. 

Resolutions

The new year is just around the corner now.  Winter has moved to the landscape covering the ground in a foot or so of white, bright snow.  Walking the dogs is now skiing the dogs and we slide our way around the edges of the property, marveling at the mountain range to the east and laughing at the dogs digging their way down to prospective mice.  

Making resolutions at the turn of the year has been an annual tradition.  This year, I have created a new hashtag even though I really don't understand what a hashtag is or what it does or where it goes.  #RightNowRightHere!  Noting these moments that are so fine!  Pausing, as we did yesterday, to be aware of the "now".  Our shadows stretching way out in front of us, Ruby wondering why we stopped, the snow covered mountains in the distance - these lovely moments.  

It's easy to get caught up in life, especially this time of the year with so many things needing to get done and plans needing to be made.  Take a moment, pause, and enjoy the moment.  Then do a hashtag #RightHereRightNow!  Maybe our photos will all go somewhere together......I just don't know! 

Slow Foods reopens next week.  I've enjoyed the three weeks of trying new recipes and not cooking quite so much.  Here is a glimpse of kitchen outputs. 

Pickleball

It was my fifth time on the pickleball court.  

A game, somewhat like tennis, a little like racketball, and a bit similar to pingpong, I was lured to the game by friend Janet.  She tried all summer to get me to play but the lawn needed mowed, the dogs needed a walk, the garden need tilled or harvested, and there certainly was a giant bowl of bread proofing that had to be divided and put in the refrigerator for its overnight proofing.  

Finally fall came with its killing frost and the market closed for three weeks.  I took the plunge on a sunny November afternoon, walking out onto the green and blue courts amongst mostly strangers (Janet was there, thank goodness), keen at serving a thousand mile per hour serve complete with top spin in my direction. 

That first time was rough, but I was good enough to come back.  And I did come back. 

The weather turned from late fall to winter, a snow storm decked the south court with slushy white snow, the gate was locked, and the green screening taken down.  The outside courts were closed for the season. 

Inside we all went.  Inside the Thayne Civic center gymnasium where children scream at the top of their voices, creshendoing into crazy bird-like screeches resonating back and forth off the white concrete blocked walls.  The children leave, the pickleball games begin.

It was just my fifth time on the pickleball court. 

I got scooped into a game by a bunch of strangers.  A man, no taller than me, decked out in court safety glasses, wearing some kind of black strap on his right arm, a muted red tee shirt with the number 16 and a pair of shorts, stood on the sideline tracking our score.  This was rather unusual. Of course, everything is new and unusal at this stage of learning!  Scoring in pickleball is one of the more difficult things to learn so it was a bit of a treat that this man was tracking our game.  He stood in the narrow space between the edge of the net and the wall and barked out the score.  "One, zero, two".  "Two, zero, two".  And then some players showed up for the other court and he abandoned us to our own score keeping.  Off to track his own score. 

Games on both courts finished about the same time.  I moved courts and as our group of four was getting set to play, the Scoring Man is suddenly standing at my left.  He glares me down and orders me - and I mean orders me - to serve the ball.  "SERVE THE BALL!" he barks.  I look at my team mates, they are not ready for me to serve the ball.  I look at him and he glares back.  "SERVE THE BALL!"  So, I serve the ball. 

"Your serve is very close to being an illegal serve," he enlightens me.  "It's very close, watch that you don't go above your waist!" he barks defiantly.  Then he turns and walks to his court to play. 

Today was my sixth time on the courts.  Scoring/Barking Man, whose name I have learned in Mike, was absent today.  I exhaled a sigh of relief.  The women to men ratio is 5 women to 3 men.  We play, we laugh, we curse, we all put everything we can muster into this effort of moving our not-so-young bodies to hit a plastic ball with holes from one side of a net to the other and staying within the gray lines.  It is challenging, frustrating, exhilerating, and fun.  I like this game! 

At a break during my fifth time on the court, Scoring/Barking Man graces me with his wise pickleball wisdom and I learn a few things.  He grabs his bag, reaches in, and pulls out a gallon ziplock bag filled with a lot of somethings.  "Here," he says, somewhat kindly, "would you like a zipper pull?"  I am astonished and giggly with delight as I pull out a blue and purple zipper pull.  Thank you, Scoring/Barking Man!  I knew there was a marshmellow heart in there somewhere!!  

Next time I see him, I will be a better player and he will get a tube of my Lip Stuff for his bag.  We are destined to be pickleball friends, I just know it! 

 

Thanksgiving

 If fall is the best season of all, Thanksgiving is the best holiday of all!

I hope this Thanksgiving finds you merrily cooking up delicious food to offer family and friends who gather around your (or their) table to celebrate all the amazing things life brings.  Food connects us.  It brings us together and unites us in flavors, smells, and sensations.  The crunch of celery, the smell of garlic simmering in hot oil, the taste of a perfect vinagrette, the laughter of joy.  

Early darkness and few days to work outside have provided ample time for dreaming.  I want to make a story/cook book.  Each recipe will have a story of its own, building the recipe into a living thing.  I will start here, on this blog site, to "practise", however, some of the best of the best will be held back for the actual cookbook.  

A title.  A title. I'm working on a title.    

So here is the first recipe. 

Inspired by Dr. Annie Fenn's Brain Health Kitchen - a cookbook filled with food that can actually improve one's brain health - I played around with a muffin recipe and made it brain-health-worthy.  

The Story of Brain Health Muffins  

Dr. Annie Fenn was my OB/GYN when I first moved to Jackson.  Coached by my mother who knew cancer well from her work in hospice, I found Dr. Fenn and she did her annual exams, sending me off with the required doctor's order for a mammogram to be scheduled at my convience. I have had an annual visit with my doctor and a mammogram every year since the age of 30.  

Dr. Fenn is a small and petite woman.  She has delivered countless babbies.  Pictures collaged on walls, notes from grateful parents.  Her examination room was like many others.  She sat in her doctor chair, below her patient, and listened and looked, proded and sampled, and offered words of wisdom.  "You will walk through menapause," she once told me.  I took her for her word and did just that! Is there any doubt that a doctor can guide you down just the road you should be going?

When I heard of her retirement, of course, I was happy for Annie and sad for me.  Luck would have it that I would find a marvelous replacement named Theresa Lerch, a certified nurse midwife.  Funny to be connected to so many women skilled in babies having chosen to not have any babies early in my life.   

In the last couple of years, Annie has watched her mother decline into early stages of Alzheimer's.  As a  physician and a passionate cook, Annie realized she was just the right person to take her education and her cooking skills to develop a cook book focused on foods that help "fend off Alzheimer's while still eating delicious food."

Many of you received her cookbook (see link above) last year from me as a holiday gift.  I hope you have found some recipes you enjoy.  Mostly, I  hope you have thought about the food you eat and how it can shape and change you as you walk through time. 

Annie's book has inspired this recipe and another;  the sourdough bread I proudly named "Annie's Bread".  Mike and my diet has had some subtle changes thanks to Annie's book and facts.  This Thanksgiving I say, thank you, Dr. Fenn!  

Brain Health Muffins

2 mashed ripe bananas (or 1 cup of pumpkin puree)

1/4 c olive oil

1/3 c maple syrup

1 egg (mixed up well)

1 t. vanilla

1 c. flour (whole wheat, gluten free - whatever you like!)

1/2 t. baking soda

1/4 t. salt

1/2 c. ground flax meal

1/4 c. pumpkin seeds

1 c. coarsely chopped walnuts

6 pitted dates chopped coarsley

Preheat oven to 350F.

The very best part of this recipe is that it is a one-bowl recipe!  Take one medium size bowl and mash two bananas (or use 1 cup pumpkin puree).  Add the oil, egg, maple syrup, vanilla.  Then in the same bowl, add the following dry ingredients; flour, baking soda, salt, ground flax meal, flax seed, pumpkin seed, walnuts.  And anything else your heart (or brain) desires.  I chopped persimmon up in this batch.  Try to mix the dry ingredients first then incorporate the wet below.   

Mix until all ingredients are blended and scoop into muffin tins sprayed with oil.  Top with a sprinkle of demerara sugar. 

Bake 18 minutes until knife comes out clean.  Enjoy for breakfast or dessert! 

Thanksgiving is a very special holiday and need not be reserved for just one day.  Gratitude is the secret to happiness.  End every day voicing some special good thing that occurred that day.  Soon, you will realize how lucky you are to be alive, to breath in the cold, crisp air as autumn excuses itself to winter.  Get out for a walk, eat good food, celebrate Life! 

Falling Forward

Most people, I have noticed, hate Daylight Savings time. 

I, on the other hand, LOVE IT!  Especially the first day, the longest day of the year!!  "What do you mean, the longest day of the year?" Mike askes with furrowed brow.  "June 21 is the longest day of the year," he proclaims, like he is certain I have lost my mind. 

Not true!  There are actually 25 hours on that first day in the fall!  Can't you feel how the day lingers on and on?  True, it gets dark much quicker but the sting of that early evening is dampened by the very long day you still have to enjoy.  Don't find me in the spring when we spring-back!  I am surley and grumpy and put-out that my hour is taken back away! 

Sunday and I sit on the deck swing and gaze across the field.  Because I have an extra hour!  Those rows covered in straw are next year's garlic crop. 

It doesn't take long and we all fall into the new day.  Arise to start the day and there is light.  Eat dinner in the dark.  Back to 24 hours and a readjustment for outside activities.  Add in rain, some snow, and copious amounts of sticky mud - taking the dogs for a walk becomes a bit more complicated.  

These days, there is grooming and bath time to figure in after a walk as well.  Here Rooster drinks and cools off in a mud puddle.  

The face only a mother could love.  

The seasons come and go here in this country.  People load up their RVs and flock south, knowing what comes next.  They fly from the cold, from the snow, from the long, dark, cold, damp days.  I know the country where they go and it is filled with people, homelessness, crowded highways, and campgrounds.  There is crime and noise and plastic bags stuck to and hanging off cholla cacti, saguaro, and ocotillo.  I've been there.  Fly people, fly on south! 

These three flew back home north!!  Where the days are even shorter in the winter!  Evan, Dani, and Opal all came for a very nice visit here at K Lazy M Ranch.  Opal, just 18 months old has now flown, travelled in a car, and met and played with lots and lots of furry friends!  She is a very good dog!  Our table was complete with a visit from friend Janet.  How lucky are we, how lucky are we?  Good food, good wine, good friends and family.  What a grand evening for all!  

Rabbit raised by some friends and enjoyed by all! 

Mike leveled up some hardy board and painted it green just before the weather rolled into the valley.  The greenhouse is closed for the season.  It was a good year and now, it is time for a break.  

 

 

Unfinished Projects

The fall sun angles dramatically on the southern horizon.  Shadows stretch across short cropped green alfalfa fields, the golden light oozes over the landscape.  Today's walk is cold with a southern breeze, going back will be chilly.  

This is the time of the year to finish unfinished projects.  Dig up the gladiolas and daliahs.  Mike bangs the hardiboard lap-siding onto the north side of the greenhouse.  Think about cleaning the leftovers of moving, now over a year and a half past.  These long walks afford pause to ponder the Unfinished Projects.  Of course, walking does not accomplish any of this work!! 

Rooster smells the air for grouse but finds chipmunks and mice.  He seems equally overjoyed and frolics through the frost-dried grasses.  Hound's tounge weeds stand patiently awaiting the fur of an animal and I spend ten minutes pulling the tick-sized, velcro-covered weeds out of his wirey coat.  I leave the invasive weed seeds on the other side of the highway in the gravel road.  

Elk graze in the afternoon sun.  This morning we watched a herd of 150 elk cross the road just to the west of our place and settle on the hillside above the summer homes.  The calves mewing for their mothers, a bull bugling a half-hearted end of season call.  

Writing a blog piece is always unfinished business!  Now done, I need to go off and make some dinner!  Enjoy these last fall days; clocks get changed soon! 

Good Bye Fall

The season of spring has many likable traits, but fall is the best season of all. 

The weather forecast is messy for this upcoming week; rain, rain and snow, and then snow.  Watching the beautiful days tick to a close, we hooked up with neighbors Pam and Lou and floated our vessels down the Salt River.  The river cuts Star Valley in two - west side, east side - running north into Palisades Lake.  

This year, the river current is swift and there are challenging rapids.  Mike rows our blue raft, Pam and Lou follow us in their metal boat clunking its way into rocks over shallow spots.  The river smells cold and clean as we are all carried along past grasses turning yellow, aspens shimmering in reflections, and giant mansions built by the river.  It is a glorious afternoon for a float on a river. 

Fishing is challenging this time of the year for hobby fisherpeople.  Flying insects are rare and the fisherpeople play with knot tying, changing up flies, trying a different patterns, different colors - trying to guess what looks delicious to a fish. 

Mike drops the oars and casts; a stressful and not successful endeavor.  Corners of the river announce rapids ahead and we strain our necks trying to see what is coming around the bend.  

The problem with fishing is how easy it is to miss the view, the big picture.  I catch a couple of fish and prove to be the only fish catcher on this beautiful Sunday afternoon.  Mike "coaches" me to improve my fly fishing techniques.  I am certain I embarrass him with my amature rod-whipping.  We are the quint-essential couple; he coaching me along while I get frustrated and pissed and just do it the way I have always done it!  And I manage to catch a fish or two along the way - just think how many I could catch if I knew how to fly fish!!  (Five total for the day, by the way).

This nice lil cutthroat trout gulped down my fly toward the end of our trip.  He recovered well after my rough handling and zipped back off into his wet, dark world.  

We ended our afternoon pulling boat and raft onto trailers and heading out for a bite to eat.  The morrow's day weather forming on the western horizon.  

  

Here is today's saffron harvest.  One gets a real sense why this spice is the world's most expensive spice.  The beautiful red stigmas are plucked from the lovely purple blue blossoms where they dry on a paper towel.  Local saffron.  That's a real novelty!!  We will keep the heater on in the greenhouse until the month's end to coax more flowers from the hazelnut sized corms.  Then, I will dig them up, dry them, and store in the crawl space until next year.  This home grown spice is so priceless, I'm not sure they are for sale this year!!  I do believe there will be Paella on the menu a time or two this winter! 

The Season Turns

 A beautiful fall day.  The sky was clear, the sun angled as it does in fall, warming whatever side of the body it radiates upon.  We decided to drop all else and go float the Salt River, recognizing the clock is ticking fast for this fall season.   

A phone is impossible on a boat.  Using one's phone is a very good way to loose one's phone.  Mine stayed zippered in a pocket where it dinged every time a text or email arrived.  I must remember to turn the thing off next time. 

So there are no photos.  Only words this time. 

We made the usual shuttle to the usual take out/put in spots, the parking lots empty.  Backing into the river, I worry that the brakes won't hold on the big red dually Dodge, but they do and we unload the taught blue rubber raft.  I piece together my old fly fishing rod and pick a miniscule fly with white sticking up on its back.  I have no idea of its name.  Remarkedly, I send the end of  tippit line right through the tiny hook hole and wrap up a knot.  

Mike is learning to row this river.  There is a swift current and a brisk southern breeze sending us speeding downstream.  I whip my line around, expecting and receiving the usual "you are not a very good fly fisherman" comment from The Boatman.  It is true.  I am not good at all.  But I do get lucky and catch a fish every now and then!  

We float down the river, bedazzled by the sun, diamonds on the surface.  When not watching my fly float along, waiting for the gulp of the cutthroat trout fooled by a tuft of hair on a hook, I pause and look up to the hillsides.  The maples are backlit by the afternoon rays, reds and yellows glowing against the shadowed gully.  The river is inky and blue and silver, all at once.    

It is quiet until there are rapids and the sound of water staggering over river rock fills the air.  On calmer water, the noise of the highway we parallel is just audible enough to recall the highway is nearby.  A fish darts up to my fly and I squeal in delight.  I have caught my first fish. 

The fish, of course, is relieved of its annoying piercing hook and set free to swim off to the pool from whence it came.  

The moment of catching a fish is, for me, one of the closest touchings of nature I have felt.  That suddent jolt on the line with the electric wiggling and pulling makes me feel so connected to this natural wild thing.  I should peer at the scenery more often, but I am intent on my floating fly, waiting for that next connection.  I am, shall we say, hooked. 

By the time the river turns and we see the Honda in the parking lot above the bank, I have snagged three fish and an underwater tree limb which takes my fly and I am finished.  Mike sets the raft to the bank and I am left to secure the raft and our belongings while he fetches the Dodge.  

It is quiet.  A couple of fish rise to the surface, gulping tiny insects.  The grasses shiver in the afternoon breeze, curing brown after a week of frosty mornings.  A rose bush on the bank is mostly devoid of it leaves but so packed with vibrant red rose hips, it looks like an early tribute to Christmas trees to come.  

My feet are wet from jumping out and pulling the boat to land.  My face feels sunburnt even though I slathered on 70 sunscreen.  I should have had something to drink along the way but I was too busy fishing.  

Thank you fall.  Thank you for your beauty grasped and held onto today, despite your brevity.  Soon fall will be behind us, like the bridges we float under and winter will trap us inside to sit and remember the day we stopped everything and floated down the river.   

Family Visit

Mike's youngest brother, Steven, and his gal, Jacki, visited last week!  They got nice weather to see Yellowstone, to tour Grand Teton Park and Jackson, to float the Salt River, and then it rained.  All day long.  Which really was not a bad thing.  Mike got his hay in on Monday.  We just took the rainy day off and enjoyed a late breakfast, early drinks, and LOTS of Pitch playing.  We loved spending time with these two!!  Thank you Jackie for sharing your great photos! 

This is my favorite photo of all!! Jackie and Rooster. 

Two Boys on a Boat & Jackie!

Rooster Loves Steve & Jackie 💖

My Pitch Partner - we let the Boys win a time or two!! 

Rainy Day Fun!

And then after they left, a yearling elk decided to walk into the corral with the horses.  It didn't stay long, but that's the first time this has happened!  Sorry our Guests did not get to see this! 

Meanwhile, Mike tries to get the ginormous heater working in the greenhouse.  It's a beast! Today, the saffron crocus have sprouted up through the dirt.....there is hope.  

 

 

The Cowboy Way

What does "the cowboy way" actually mean, anyway?

Having spent years observing, my assessment is the cowboy way is hard, tough, relentlessly committed to get the job done, sometimes impatient, often quiet, humble, strong, resilient, rough on the outside yet soft in the heart.  

The cowboy hates to see living things die, yet knows death well.  The hole on the ranch where the dead are drug is full of bones, scrambled together in a nonsensicle manner.  Along with death comes much birth.  Spring time is busy with new critters dropping on the cold, spring ground or getting hung up in their mother's birth canal and being pulled to life by The Cowboy. 

This last weekend, Mike and I enjoyed watching life-long cowboy Tom Breen be inducted into the Wyoming Cowboy Hall of Fame (WYCHF).  He and 22 of his peers stood before men, women and a few children decked out in their best western attire.  Felt cowboy hats topped the gentlemen wearing their western yolked snap down shirts.  Silver and tourquise embraced the necks of women glittering, bedazzled and beautified in makeup and blouses and skirts.  Everyone wore a shiny pair of pointed cowboy boots.  

Each Inductee and the audiance watched a video interview which was displayed for all to enjoy.  Many of the Inductees could not attend, as they have long been gone from the Wyoming landscape.  Their family - sisters, daughters, sons, and widowed wives accepted the honor in their absence.  

Below is the letter Mike wrote (and I shined up a bit) to the WYCHF for consideration of Mike's nomination of Cowboy Tom Breen.  In reading this tribute, you will see the admiration Mike has for his friend, Tom.  I think it is beautiful. 

How wonderful to celebrate achievements while those we recognize are still among the living.  Tom Breen has earned this recognition and it is my observation that he is a bit overwhelmed, speachless, and around the edges - proud.  

Congratulations, Tom Breen!  You should  us all what the Cowboy Way really means!  We are so proud of everything you are and all you do! 

Tom Breen Story- Section 1

Tom Breen grew up on the Triangle X Ranch and lived there until he graduated from the Jackson Hole high school.  His parents, Ike and Phillis Breen, both worked at the ranch.  At that time, Triangle X was primarily a dude ranch having about 150 horses and mules as well as a herd of cattle until around 1970.  Tom went to work, mounted on a horse, at the age of 11, working as a camp jack on pack trips into the wilderness.  He worked with several old-time packers including Bill Daniels and Jack Davis.  Tom learned from the best and learned well.  He was leading pack strings and pack trips while still in high school.  He broke colts and mules - for the ranch as well as his own - learned to be a horseshoer and became a fine leather worker.  He was involved in the high school rodeo as a team and calf roper.  After Tom’s 1969 high school graduation, he attended Wyoming Tech where he learned diesel mechanics and hydraulics.  With this education under his belt, Tom hired on at the Jackson Hole Mountain resort as a mechanic and snow groomer.  He also spent some time driving snow coaches in Yellowstone National Park.  As winter waned into summer, Tom returned to Triangle X to lead pack trips, shoe horses, pack mules, and guide elk hunters into the fall season.  He managed the Turner’s most remote camp in Falcon Creek for numerous years.  With limited resources in the backcountry, Tom oversaw the care of a herd of horses and mules, was accountable for packing needed food and equipment for the wilderness trips, and watched over the welfare of his help and the many guests that enjoyed a safe and successful experience in the mountains.

He married Susie in 1979 and she joined him at Triangle X.  The backcountry life suited Tom’s new bride and she joined him as camp cook for six years.  

In 1985, the couple moved to the Walton Ranch just west of Jackson Hole, to return to tending the cattle herd, where Tom still works.  When Tom arrived, the Walton Ranch had almost 600 head of cattle.  As summer set in, the cattle went out the gate of the ranch in June and walked to the mountains for the summer, down asphalt and gravel roads, through Grand Teton National Park, and up into the Togowotee Mountains.   It took two weeks to get the cattle to their summer range and most of October to get them back to the ranch.

Tom is involved in all aspects of ranching, but doctoring calves is one of his keenest skills.  Over the years, he has trained a steady string of roping horses to help him do this important job.  He is out at dawn and all hours of the day and night during calving season.

 When Tom hired on at the Walton Ranch, feeding was done with a team of horses.  He took this talent to the hill and worked as a teamster for dinner sleigh rides at Teton Village for several winters in his spare time. 

Tom has made hundreds of chaps and chinks over the years, keeping the pair he built when he was a teenager until they were falling apart just a few years ago.  He finally built himself a new set and his ivory handled knife is safely pocketed in a new leather pouch.  

When branding time comes at the Walton Ranch, Tom can be found running the 4W branding iron, smoke from burning calf hair stinging his eyes and sweat dripping off his face.  For most of the last 40 years, he has tended his own herd of cattle at the ranch, sporting Tom’s Buzzard Cross brand. 

Today, Tom celebrates 72 years of a full life doing the things he does best and the things he loves.  He recently bought a new colt to train and ride, he will be doctoring calves this spring, helping hay, fixing the broken equipment and fence; ready to do whatever needs to be done.  Tom still shoes his own horses, continues to work leather to make useful gear for himself and others.  As a friend of this western character, I can personally attest to Tom’s generosity with his time and his knowledge.  As his friend, I have benefited greatly from Tom’s willingness to help me fix something, figure something out, and generally trying to solve the myriad of puzzles that pop up on a ranch.  Tom is always willing to lend a hand. 

Tom embodies many of the character traits viewed as The Cowboy Way.  He is loyal to the brand, hard working, filled with a sense of responsibility for all things broken (mechanical or living), fiercely independent, sometimes stubborn, talented in a vast array of skills, surprisingly patient, unrelentingly persistent, and maintains a brain like an elephant, remembering every trail he has ridden, ever camp he has set up and tore down, every horse he has ridden, and a whole bunch of other things I wish I knew. 

Tom started working on a riding horse at the young age of eleven.  This year, Tom turns 73 in December, celebrating 61-plus years of working atop a horse under a blue Wyoming sky thinking about what next needs to get done and how he will do it.      

H. Two. Ohhhhh.

The dark gray clouds lumbered in from the west, dragging their bottoms over the soggy mountains.  The water dropping from these sluggish clouds was like that coming off a ledge-less waterfall.  The valley, its pool.  Water ran off roof tops, gathered in puddles, and became streams of murky watery ponds.  

Mules kicked up their heals, swooshed their tails, and ran to cover under the barn.  Birds tucked deep into the pine trees for cover, and hawks and buzzards took the toil of the event, water running off their feathers.  

Today, it rained again.  Most of the day.  The fields are full of blooming alfalfa, golden barley fields, and wheat.  The wet air smells of green plants, wet dirt, and a bit of mustieness.  Tractors with hay rakes are parked in fields.  Center pivots sit where they were shut off.  The farmers pace and fret.  By now in most years, everyone is finishing up.  Today, many have not even begun and if they have, their crop lies cut in the field, a heaping row of rotting, wet plant material.  Sad.  

The dogs and I snuck a three mile walk in this morning suffering only a few rain drops.  Rooster came out of the brush covered in hounds tongue seeds, looking like he had a good case of the measles.  Ruby stays on the road.  Balls of mud cut across our path, the evidence of an elk crossing.  Their tracks deep in the mud, tell that story.  Missing a walk yesterday, the hounds were primed to run across the soggy fields, cut through the tall curing grasses, and forget that hounds tounge sticks to dog fur.  That walk did us all a whole lot of good. 

The season has turned.  Days are shorter.  Mornings cool.  Fall is here.  The elk have not yet begun bugling but soon, soon we will be hearing that magical sound of the mountains.  The Canada geese are bunching up, getting fat on the standing barely.  The hummingbird population has dwindled; their peers flying south for a warmer future. 

The turning of seasons always makes me thankful I made it through another season unscathed.  Teetering between summer and fall and now fall looking toward winter, I imagine long winter walks and skis with the dogs over a landscape quieted by frost, allowed to rest a bit before the madness of growing in a very short season begins again.  

A Friend Like Mary Nanc

 Mom came out and spent two weeks with Mike and me just as hay season began.  Her visit was supposed to be after first cut hay season, but alas, Mother Nature delayed this year's work.  Thank goodness Mom is well-versed in farming!!  She got to see what hay farming looks like and we filled the times in between with chores, walks with the dogs, and relaxing over delicious gin and tonics and dinner.  

First time on a ATV, Mom did great and seemed to have fun!  This farm tool is one Mike and I realize we will have to replace if it fails us.  

The crop was a perfect harvest with nothing more than a scattered rain drop on the entire first cut crop.  Some has been hauled off and much more is stored under cover waiting for buyers.  The second crop is growing well.  

We had some beautiful sunsets to oogle over during Mom's visit.  This valley does get many beautiful sunsets!  

Mom has a friend, Mary Nanc.  She is a very good friend.  They go to the same church, enjoy lunches together, and share a lovely friend named Rae.  During Mom's stay, they texted back and forth, keeping up with each other's lives.  I thought a lot about how nice it is for Mom to have a friend like Mary Nanc.  I thought of the people I have in my life and wished I had a friend like Mary Nanc. 

Mom went home on Tuesday.  The counters haven't been wiped sparkling clean, the compost needs taken out, the lovely little vases of flowers have turned sad and have been washed and put away, the hanging flowers are thirsty, and the greenhouse is opened later in the morning and later at night.  The gin disappears a bit slower and the "wonder" of so many things vanished when she left.  

I have come to realize I do have a friend like Mary Nanc.  Thanks Mom!  Thanks for being such a great Mom and even better Friend!   And thanks for giving me two weeks of your life - even though it fell right in First Cut Hay Season.  

Immersed in Summer

Mike has been counting how many actual summer days we have had thus far.  He is up to five.  Today looks to be number 6!

He has also been busy working on the greenhouse project.  There is now a sunshade on top, a lovely custom door on each end (trimmed out in cedar), raised beds inside with lil plants coming up out of the soil - all moved in a wheel barrel.  It's been a ton of work, but deeply satisfying to see the repuposed greenhouse come to life and become functional!  Here is a winter to now picture presentation.  

Tomatoes, beets, cukes, basil, cilantro, parsley, zucchini, and delecatta squash are planted as well as the corn thinnings/transplants which are doing remarkably well.   I did not believe one could transplant corn!!  We pause while working and sit in the greenhouse in a couple of chairs added to the space.  Something good for the soul inside that space!!  

Haying is at least 10 days late.  Mike  hopes to begin cutting tonight or tomorrow.  The alfalfa is budding, but no blossoms yet.  Crazy-late!  It's good he has had this greenhouse for a distraction! 

Our free-range chickens have decided to nest in stacks of hay.  Mike has found at least 3 nesting sites with hens and eggs.  No wonder we aren't getting many eggs.  Soon there will be baby chickens parading around with their mothers - unless the cats get them!!  The joy of roosters crowing and chickens grousing around the place!!  I just love it!!  

The outside garden is growing well now that it has warmed.  This picture closes this blog report with beauty.  I do believe this is a publishable photo, if I might say so myself!!  Enjoy the fleeting warm breezes of summer time!!