Round Up Recap...

Another RB Round-Up has come and gone. It was great fun to spend the day with family and friends, with lots of laughter, hugs, and a few tears.  

One of the highlights was the Marine Corps F-18 flyover at the start of each rodeo.  T was in the cockpit of a B-17 when they flew in for the performances and was kind enough to text me a pic and a heads up.

They were something to see and as our house sets up on a hill and looks across to the Sierras, I got to see them again on Sunday as they came over the top of the house.

I have few of my photos to share, as I only have the camera on my phone, but MattCohen has some good ones.

 There was a well done memorial to a dear friend that we lost last fall, a big kind hearted man we all loved. Not a dry eye in the place when his son lead a riderless horse.

A big thanks to my BIL for the tickets, and to cousin Jess for keeping me in line as best he could.

BIL and Jess

I've been working on getting Dad's things sorted, and it always seems like one step forward and two back. So today, Jess (fresh from competition shooting and cyber security in Texas) and I took a mental health day. I got up early baked a batch of cowboy cookies, packed lunches, and checked all my gear. As soon as Jess got here we loaded up all his guns and mine in the Rav and headed out for a day at the range. We pretty much had the place to ourselves, ran a lot of drills, and put a lot of lead down range. My shooting has been off and it was really bothering me. Then with some great coaching by Jess, it finally became apparent what adjustments I needed to make, and the fix was so simple, I could have cried. But Jess was so proud of me for working through it I didn't dare.    It was a very good day.

 

Rounding Up Memories...

It's that Red Bluff Round-Up time of year. 

 The Round-Up is a big deal in these parts, it brings in a great deal of revenue to the local businesses. 

The Cowman's dad & uncle were directors for many years, back in the day. The Cowman and his brothers worked the ground crew in the timed events chute. A thankless job, as it was either pouring rain or hotter'n hell, and they worked all the slack as well as all the performances. They all volunteered their time and effort to make it happen.  

Most of the old founding families are still active in producing the Round-Up.

  

Back in the day, at the end of each day's performance, was the Wild Horse Race.  They ran out a bunch of horses with a halter and lead rope on them. The wild horse race started with a shotgun blast, just to make sure they had the audiences attention, and spook the horses.Then each three man team had to hold on to their horse, get a saddle on it, one man had to mount up, and ride around the track back to the finish line to win the prize money.  Sounds rather simple, it's not, these were not gentle horses, they were wild horses. The Cowman, his older brother and a friend miraculously never got stomped into a pulp, bit, kicked, or bucked down like some teams.  The tough thing was hanging on to the horse long enough to get'm saddled and headed down the track in the right direction.  All this happened just feet away from the grandstand and we were lucky enough to have box seats to watch the action. 

Most of the teams were locals that we all knew, so the competition among them was pretty stiff.  I had a vested interest in those days, really didn't need a busted up husband, but we sure could have made good use of that prize money. 

They don't have the Wild Horse Race these days... But the Wild Ride competition at the last performance is great fun to watch.  The riders dress up in costumes and come out of the chute on a bronc for a Wild Ride.

Tonto & the Lone Ranger out of the chute

 My BIL still has the family box, and a ticket with my name on it, so I might just make a performance this year.
 

  

Half Cocked TBT ...

Here we are to Friday, so I'm going to post a Throw Back Thursday (which makes no sense, but that's the way things are around here)...  by reposting an old post from three years ago entitled:

 "Half Cocked..."

Most of my wrecks have come either around cattle or on horses.  Some were bloody, some were just plain funny, and some just were.

 One normal day the Cowman and I were moving a 100 head of heifers from one pasture to another.  The pasture they were in sat in a small valley between rolling hills and high mountain ridges.  A small dry stream with many deep cut banks traversed the valley.  

The Cowman sent me to bring'm, while he was busy setting the gates.

Heifers can be tough to work, they have a tendency to be flighty, one minute huddled together and the next kicking and running in all directions.  Most days if you take your time, and keep them at an even pace, things work out.

This day wasn't going to be one of those days.  I gathered them up at the far end of the valley and started them toward the gate at the other end.  Everything was going along smoothly when over the rolling hills popped three black helicopter gunships. This happened often enough on that ranch that the Cowman and I were used to them.  In fact, I loved to watch them play hide and seek thru the draws.

  

This day they swooped down the valley fast and low, banked, made another run down the valley, then powered up to go over the high ridges and were gone. I'm pretty darn sure they were laugh'n their heads off on that last pass. Because those wringy heifers had not seen the like before and started stampeding.  There we are: the heifers, the big bay horse and I, all pretty much going full out, when out of a deep cut bank came a large herd of squealing wild pigs.

 The heifers went berserk, what with the gunships having gone over them twice, and now wild pigs shooting out of the ground.  
Of course, that big ol bay horse had to join in.  As I'm grabbing leather, for the third time, to stay on the bucking horse, I look up. There off to the side, a horseback, sets the Cowman.  His arms crossed, reins resting on the horn, and I swear to God, giving me the steely eyed look, with one eyebrow cocked and a smirky smile...




 

Big loop'n...

 Took Dad for an airing out car ride the other day. We made a big loop to the West towards the Atwood Ranch, and saw some of my favorite country. Dad enjoyed getting to see some new (to him) country.

Atwood Ranch pic

 It's the perfect time of year to be in the rolling hills with everything so green, the creeks running, and the huge old oaks budding out in the draws. You could hear the grass growing. Redbuds were in full bloom in some of the creek bottoms. Dad was on the look out for deer, but we didn't see any game except for one wild turkey and a covey of Gambels. Lots of cows and calves were about. Saw one of the most even herds of Angus cows I have ever seen in a commercial operation. 

I stopped in one draw to repair a piece of fence that was down. Dad asked if I knew who's place it was. No, but the cows inside it were eating their way to that gap in the fence. It only took a few minutes to repair, and we were back on our way.

 

Dad is getting less and less able to get around, thankfully his mind is sharp as ever.  He amazes me with his memories of hunting camps in the back of beyond, and flying machines from eighty years ago. He can look at an unmarked map and tell you where he got a buck, or where the best fishing creek was.

I'm going to try to road trip him to Idaho to see my brother this spring. Just waiting for the weather to be a little more stable. 

All in...

TBT: Granny...

Way back... My Granny H at 12 in Dakota territory.

She was the best granny! A wonderful school teacher, she started out teaching in a small one room school house, and lived with the families of her students.  An awesome seamstress, she made beautiful tailored wool coats for all of us grandkids, and flannel jammies. A good cook, the Cowman loved her cow tongue sandwiches, I loved her pickles, my kids loved stopping by her little house for her homemade ice cream.  As a Scrabble player, she was tough to beat. An avid SF Giants fan. A voracious reader, she instilled a love of books. She got Shakespeare, and made girls night at the SF opera happen. Though never much for riding, she dang sure had try... 

Granny on Grampa's Elk hunting pack mule

   

She would have a fit and then laugh, if she was still around to know I put that last pic up.
Miss my rock solid gran...

When I am old

When I Am An Old Horsewoman
I shall wear turquoise and diamonds,
And a straw hat that doesn’t suit me
And I shall spend my social security on
white wine and carrots,
And sit in my alleyway of my barn
And listen to my horses breathe.

I will sneak out in the middle of a summer night
And ride the old bay gelding,
Across the moonstruck meadow
If my old bones will allow
And when people come to call, I will smile and nod
As I walk past the gardens to the barn
and show instead the flowers growing
inside stalls fresh-lined with straw.

I will shovel and sweat and wear hay in my hair
as if it were a jewel
And I will be an embarrassment to ALL
Who will not yet have found the peace in being free
to have a horse as a best friend
A friend who waits at midnight hour
With muzzle and nicker and patient eyes
For the kind of woman I will be
When I am old.

-Author Patty Barnhart

Half Cocked...

Most of my wrecks have come either around cattle or on horses.  Some were bloody, some were just plain funny, and some just were.

 One normal day the Cowman and I were moving a 100 head of heifers from one pasture to another on the Spring Valley ranch.  The pasture they were in sat in a small valley between rolling hills and high mountain ridges.  A small dry stream with many deep cut banks traversed the valley.  

The Cowman sent me to bring'm, while he was busy setting the gates.

Heifers can be tough to work, they have a tendency to be flighty, one minute huddled together and the next kicking and running in all directions.  Most days if you take your time, and keep them at an even pace, things work out.

This day wasn't going to be one of those days.  I gathered them up at the far end of the valley and started them toward the gate at the other end.  Everything was going along smoothly when over the rolling hills popped three black helicopter gunships. This happened often enough on that ranch that the Cowman and I were used to them.  In fact, I loved to watch them play hide and seek thru the draws.

  

This day they swooped down the valley fast and low, banked, made another run down the valley, then powered up to go over the high ridges and were gone. I'm pretty darn sure they were laugh'n their heads off on that last pass. Because those wringy heifers had not seen the like before and started stampeding.  There we are: the heifers, the big bay horse and I, all pretty much going full out, when out of a deep cut bank came a large herd of squealing wild pigs.

 The heifers went berserk, what with the gunships having gone over them twice, and now wild pigs shooting out of the ground.  Of course, that big ol bay horse had to join in.  As I'm grabbing leather, for the third time, to stay on the bucking horse, I look up. There off to the side, a horseback, sets the Cowman.  His arms crossed, reins resting on the horn, and I swear to God, giving me the steely eyed look, with one eyebrow cocked and a smirky smile...
 

No matter where I go it carries me...

Came across a short video that brings so many memories with it. 





(We ran cattle in the summertime a few ranges SW of the ZX in Paisley)

There is much to see:
Sterling, the little buckaroo that reminds me of other little buckaroos...
How Scott, so gently, pushes up the horse halter...
The look in Scott's eyes when he's talking to Sterling in the barn...
The way Scott talks with the sure knowledge that he is where he's supposed to be...
Sterling at 2:55 to 3:03  so many times that speech has been given to moms & grannies...
There are many more tells, your heart will find them if it's been there.   

The imprint of a way of life
no matter where I go it carries me...
 

A Horse called Elvis

We had a cranky ol gelding on the home ranch named Elvis.  How he came by his name I have no idea.  He certainly didn't remind me of The Elvis, as he was not the handsomest piece of horseflesh around. His claim to fame on the ranch was that he could open any gate, and I do mean any.  It was not entirely uncommon to get that feeling that something is watching you and look out the window, to see him standing in the flower bed staring back at you.  He had a well honed method to his gate antics, he must have spent hours figuring out how different gates closures worked.  Being sneaky about his talent was also part of his way.  He never did it while you were in his sight.  The way we confirmed it was observation from a distant knoll, and the fact that he had kind of overthought the process by closing the gate behind himself.
His favorite  was to wait until we had gathered the horses into the barn corral, closed the gate, fed in the big horsebarn, and  then driven off to other chores.   Before the dust had settled he would saunter over open the gate, go back in the barn and tell the rest of the horse herd about the open gate. After they had made a mad dash out the gate, he would saunter over, shut the gate, mosey back into the barn and proceeded to eat all the feed. 
I thought for sure he would be sent down the road, after he did the same with the gate into the grandmother's beautifully tended yard.  That time he let the other horses IN, closed the gate, and galloped off to a good vantage point to watch the fireworks.  Grandfather stuckup for him in the battle that followed, and he stayed with us until an ol' fellow that needed a gentle horse bought him.  He was going to a good home and it really never came up about his special ways.  We did hear from the ol fellow that Elvis was doing well, was well loved, and the most talented horse he'd ever had.

Good bye 2009

It's been a heck of a year!

No Bull

One fine day for working cattle, the Cowman loaded up the horses and I to move some bulls on the other ranch. He was riding his favorite bay, Seco and I was on the aptly named Whitey. Whitey was an excellent corral horse, but was a really rough ride in the field. Who every got him for the long days afield referred to him as the kidney killer.

The boss had been on a fishing trip to Texas and ended up buying a load of Brahma bulls. They arrived in due time, and went to it, but were a bugger to work. If you got them the tiniest bit hot they blew up on you. Or they just blew up for no reason at all.

  The Cowman sent Whitey and I way around to bring in the bulls from the far corner. I gathered a bunch and pushed them into the corrals, then circled back to pickup the one that had slipped away from me. He had decided that he liked it were he was and didn't plan on moving anytime soon. Thinking to trick him into seeing it my way, I picked up a few cows on the way back to him. The cows were showing him a little interest so he went with the flow for a while. About a half mile from the corrals he decided not a step further was he going.

Off in the distance I see the Cowman waving at me to get it in gear, we had a lot more cattle to gather. The bull wasn't seeing it that way. I tried the cow trick again, but no. As I sat atop Whitey eyeing that son-of-a it occurred to me that he was red eyeing us back. He had decided that he didn't want us there. He charged Whitey, who spun at the last minute, and the bull went whizzing by. He was a big bull and fast, he kept trying. The more he missed the madder he got. Once he came so close to nailing Whitey and busting my leg in the process that he blew snot all over us. Enough already.

The Cowman finally seeing that I was making no headway rode over to see what was going on. Now the bull was trying to take him. Big mistake, after the third time he tried to dump him off his favorite bay, the Cowman pulled out his shotgun and waited. Sure enough the next time that crazy bull tried to take him he got a face full of bird shot. Stepping back the Brahma shook his head, looked around with his now one good eye, and took off for the corrals at a fair clip. Whitey and I could have told him, don't mess with a Cowman, but some just learn the hard way.

Sunshine Wash & Dry

Early on we lived in the old bunkhouse at the home ranch. I had small children, a very old washing machine, and a defunct hot walker for a clothes line.  The Cowman announced that he was going to sell some of his dry cows at the local livestock auction yard, and would be getting us a new washer & dryer. (The aftereffects of his washing a load of horse blankets in my washer instead of taking them to the laundromat in town might have influenced his decision.) 

Upon his return, I hear his pickup flying over the last cattle guard, goose neck trailer swaying, & dogs barking. Yes, my hero has returned home with a new washer & dryer. He steps out of the pickup, walks to the back of the stock trailer, and, Wait a darn Minute, that is not a washer & dryer in the back. It is one of the ugliest, tallest, nastiest looking horses I've ever seen. 
"Now honey, I was going to buy the washer & dryer, but, I can really cover some ground on this guy."

There are rules we live by: One, never under any circumstances buy a horse from a sale barn. Two, if you do suddenly become the owner of such a horse, do not bring it to the headquarters, tuck it away at the other end of the ranch. Three, if your really thinking, return it to the sale barn asap. The Cowman, having forgotten the rules, did none of them.

All he did was say, "the auctioneer said a 10 year old girl has been riding him, so he must be gentle, look how tall & long he is, he will be able to cover the ground, and he even has a little cow sense." 
After the dust settled on the discussion that followed, "Sunshine Wash & Dry" was given a bath, a grooming and installed in the horse barn. Where he was promptly nipped to the bottom of the pecking order in the horse herd. They weren't any fonder of him than I was.

A week later the Cowman decides it's time to move some yearlings to another pasture on Sunshine Wash & Dry. Around lunchtime I'm starting to get a bit worried as he should have been back sometime ago. Just then the Cowman walks in the back door, a little worse for wear: scratches, cuts, bruises, mashed hat, torn chinks, & shirt. He proceeds to walk thru to the gun case, unlocks it, pulls out the 348, and starts hunting shells. "That damn horse just bucked me off into the barbwire & railroad tie cross braces at the second cattle guard, and I'm going to put him out of his misery." 
"Wow, he must be really crippled up for you to have to put him down?" 
"No, he's fine, down at the horse barn, he ran off and left me to walk the two miles home." Ol Sunshine Wash & Dry was forgiven for his lack of cowboy etiquette and allowed to stay on, but the end was in the making. 
A while later the Cowman was down at the horse barn putting that horse thru his paces for the viewing pleasure of a friend. Here comes the friend trotting up to the bunkhouse, "You better come quick, when the Cowman comes to, if nothing of his is broken, he's going to be damn lucky." As we are hot footing it down to the horse barn the Cowman's friend relays the turn of events. All was going good: nice figure eight patterns, nice straight runs, fair sliding stops, fair quarter turns, then the Cowman had ol Sunshine Wash & Dry do another pattern and for some reason all hell broke loose. 

"I've never seen a horse buck so high," said the friend, "and I've never ever seen a cowboy go so high, straight up, and come straight back down, head first with his arms tucked neatly at his sides. It was something to see."

A few days later "Sunshine Wash & Dry" was gone, and not spoken of again. That spring we saw him at the BIG RODEO in the saddle bronc string, he'd changed his name, but we will always think of him as "Sunshine Wash & Dry".