The Best Mom Ever

Whenever I do something spectacular, like pack their favorite lunches or remember to pick up ice cream at the grocery store, I ask my boys “Who’s the best mom ever?!”  They promptly reply “You are mom!  You are the best mom ever!”  This only works because my boys are young and they haven’t figured out that I am not the best mom ever.  I can’t be the best mom ever because that title belongs to my mom.  My mom is the best mom ever.

Who do I call when I’ve had a hard day?

My mom.

Who do I call when I’ve had a good day?

My mom.

Who do I text “What did I do wrong?” with a picture of my latest culinary fail?

My mom.

Who bakes the CowBoss carrot cake for his birthday?

My mom.

Who do I email when I have an article due yesterday and I can’t get it quite right?

My mom.

Who do I call when my little darlings do something clever?

My mom.

Who do I can when my little monsters do something particularly un-clever?

My mom.

Who tells me what I need to hear, not what I want to hear?

My mom.

Who do I want to be like when I grow up?

My mom.

Who loves me even when I don’t deserve it?

My mom.

Who is the best mom ever?

My mom!

Truth be told, I am the mom I am today because of the great mom I have.  Without her love, support, and advice, I wouldn’t be the person I am.  My hope for my boys is that they feel the same love and respect for me that I have for my mom when they are all grown up.  Then I will know that I have successfully raised two wonderful men.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of those moms out there who truly are the Best Moms Ever!

There's Nothing Romantic or Poetic About Being a Cowboygirl

There's nothing romantic or poetic about doctoring calves in a foot of snow.  When it's cold, and slick.  And you have to keep the vaccine bottle in your bra so it stays warm enough you can actually draw vaccine out of the bottle when you need it.

 

There's nothing romantic or poetic (or even cool poems about....) processing yearlings in the rain.  In mud up to your knees.  With wet gloves.

There's nothing romantic or poetic about classing calves in the alley.  In 6 inches of oozy, sticky, gummy mud.  Buried under 8 inches of snow.  One hour before the truck shows up.

There's nothing romantic or poetic about trailing cows down the highway in subzero temperatures.  Leading your horse because you can't feel your feet.  When you can see your breath.

There's nothing romantic or poetic about calving out 1500 heifers.  In 4 weeks.  Twelve hour days.  Each black heifer looks exactly like the black heifer you just rode past.  In January.  By week 2 you won't remember your own name.

 

But....

It is kind of cool to watch the sun come up over the canyon rim as you trot out of camp in the morning.

There is definitely some poetry in a perfect heel loop that scoops up two feet, or a bridle horse working a cow in a gate.

I'll admit, it is romantic, holding hands with your CowBoss while driving home from the sale after selling a trailer load of your own calves.

I guess drinking Carlo Rossi out of a tin coffee cup by gaslight after a long day doing cowboy stuff is rather romantic and poetic!

Things I Love....

I love watching the Cowboss with my boys.  There is nothing sexier in my opinion than a dad that spends time with his kids.  I am so thankful that we live in a lifestyle where we are expected and encouraged to take our boys to work with us daily.

I love early morning cuddles with my little manly men.  I have to get used to the idea that my babies are growing up and don't need mom like they used to.  Most days they prefer fist bumps to hugs and kisses.  I live for early mornings where one of my boys will crawl into bed with me and just snuggle for a few minutes, forgetting that it isn't cool to hug mom.

 

I love the exuberance and enthusiasm my dog greets me with when I get home.  Whether I have been gone for 3 days, or just stepped out the back door and came in through the front door, she lets me know that I was missed.  She meets me at the door, jumping up and down, and the minute she can touch me, she is jumping up on my leg greeting me.  Makes me feel good to know something cares about me and is  happy to see me!

I love fresh horses on brisk mornings.  Isn't it excited to put on a wool sweater, felt hat, and chinks, then step aboard a fresh young horse and have them take a little hop or two on a cool morning?  You get warmed up quickly.  It is a thrilling way to start your day!  Tight horses on brisk mornings make me smile, as long as I can cover them.  If I get frapped, I know it is going to be a bad day!

Flash Back to the End of September

Can you imagine anything better than a crisp autumn morning in Mountain City?  It's cool enough for a wool sweater and wild rag.  The sun is shinning with the promise of a warm day, as you trail just weaned mama cows back to their field before you ship off their babies?  The scent of damp sage fills your nose (making me sneeze, so glad for Benadryl!), and birds chirp as you ride along.  This is my idea of heaven.

I really like where we are living right now.  Lamoille is beautiful year round, but it isn't home.  I don't get homesick for Lamoille.  I get homesick for Mountain City and Merit Mountain, especially in the fall.  Cool mornings, wool sweaters, felt hats, and cotton gloves.  Bring on fall!

Cricket

The Cowboss and I roped together in a branding contest one saturday in March.  I used my favorite horse Cricket, and he did awesome.  I felt like I could rope bridleless and he would put me where I needed to be.  He was wonderful.  He has been my sidekick for years.  The horse I depended on to take care of me when I put myself in a bad place, bring me in for a heel shot when I can't think, ride, and rope all at the same time, gave me the courage to do what I didn't think possible, and wings, so I could fly.

Then on that following Tuesday Cricket colicked, and I held my breath.

Wednesday he was better, and I let out a huge sigh of relief.

Thursday I put him down, and I cried.

I keep telling myself how fortunate I am to have had him for 13 years and how lucky we were to have one last great ride, doing what we both loved together.  Honestly though, it hurts.  I feel like I've lost my best friend and can't get over it.  He was the one constant horse in my life.  I rode him through both of my pregnancies and gave he gave both of my boys their first rides.  When I needed to get something done or didn't feel my best, he was my go to guy.  I just knew he would be the horse to teach both the boys to rope.

When given the option of surgery or putting him down, I made the choice to put him down over the 5 hour trailer ride for surgery when the odds weren't in our favor.  He was in so much pain and kept looking to me to make him feel better.

I loaded him in our trailer and I drove him home.  I unloaded him in the drive way, and lead him just as slowly as he wanted to walk down in the pasture where he would have shade and a beautiful view of the Rubies.  Then I held his head and scratched the spot I knew he liked the most while the vet gave him the shot that took all of his pain away forever.  And I cried.  A lot.

I really hope he is with a girl in heaven who needed a good horse.  Who can appreciate him for what he is.  Look past his quirks and love him like I did, because he deserves that much.  Maybe someday I will find another horse just like him, who challenges me when I need it and takes care of me on the days I can't.  Until then I know I will have some hard days.

Saturday I rope in the first branding contest I've entered since I lost him.  I feel lost.  I feel like I can't rope, and I just really want to stay home and pretend that he is down in the field with his ears pinned back, glaring at any other horse who gets too close.  I could really use my copilot for one more ride.

Photo courtesy of Heidi Stevens

Work

I just completed 3 months of U.S. Census phone surveys.  One of the questions I was routinely asked was "How many hours did you work last week at your primary job?  How many hours did your husband work at his primary job?"  WE live on a ranch.  I am a cowgirl.  The Cowboss is a cowboy.  Do you think they would believe me if I responded with "Well, there are 7 days in a week and 24 hours in a day, so I guess 168 hours?"

While we may not have been physically working on the ranch, we were on call that entire time.  For me this is a very hard question to answer.  Do I just account for the hours of physical labor?  What about the bookkeeping aspect of it, or even just the hours I spend thinking about my ranch job?  Things like figuring how much to feed each cow or horse, and how much hay we need to get through the winter, or what vaccines we need to give and how many doses we need to purchase, or even what jobs I need to complete here on the ranch.

Ranching isn't a 9 to 5 Monday through Friday job with a 40 hour work week.  We don't get a time card to punch when we get to and leave work.  We don't have weekends off or vacations.  If we take a trip away from the ranch we spend that time worrying about what is going on at the ranch.

Why do it?  I have a college degree and can have a job anywhere with better hours and better pay.  The Cowboss could get a job at the mine, work 15 days a month and make significantly more money.  We could both drive brand new vehicles and have a brand new horse trailer.  We could go home a the end of the day and not think about our jobs.

On the other hand, we wouldn't be able to take our boys to work with us whenever it strikes our fancy.  We wouldn't have the teaching opportunities to teach things that are important to us, like work ethic, compassion, or the cycle of life that ranch living grants us.  We wouldn't be able to stop in the middle of work to watch a cow calve, cranes dance, baby geese swimming, or even a coyote hunting mice in a ditch.  I really don't know why people would want to work anywhere else!

2014 Goals

I read somewhere that most New Year's Resolutions are broken within 2-3 weeks of setting them.  I am thinking that if I wait until mid-January to most my goals for this upcoming year, the odds will be more in my favor for success!  We shall see.  Keep your fingers crossed for me just in case!

My first goal is to write for 30 minutes everyday.  It doesn't have to be blog worthy.  It can simply be brainstorming blog and writing ideas, something that has been weighing on my mind, a grocery list, or even an email to a friend.  It just has to be 30 minutes of writing (or in the case of e-mail typing!).

Second, I want to write 2 handwritten letters a month to send snail mail.  Before internet, I had several friends that I kept in touch with through letters.  I anticipated the mail almost daily for letters from Becky, Tilly, Jamie, and Andrea.  In college my best friend Marva and I both looked forward to the beautiful letters her grandma Charlene would send her or the notes and cookies my grandma would send me.  It is just so nice to get something in the mail that isn't a bill or credit card application!  So, if you would like to receive a handwritten snail mail in 2014, email me at jenniferwhiteley@rocketmail.com and I will send you a note!

Thirdly, I want to cook more.  My boys and I eat every meal together at our kitchen table.  I think it would be better if more of those meals were made from scratch, and less convenience foods. Unfortunately some days it is too easy to whip up some Hamburger Helper or a frozen pizza instead of actually cooking something and I want to get a way from that.  I really need to make a stronger effort to make better meals for my family.

Lastly, I want to do more to promote Agriculture and to tell my story.  I want to use social media to promote my lifestyle in a positive manner.  I don't need some animal rights activist telling the world how I take care of my animals.  I need to be the person doing that.  I know better than anyone else how my cows and horses should be treated.  I also need to do a better job explaining why I am doing things the way I am doing them.  Most importantly though, I want to share my passion for ranching and my way of life.  I know who I want to tell my story, do you know who you want to tell yours?

Mama's Broken Heart

The boys watched Black Beauty the other night.  I won't watch the movie.  I'm afraid it will be too different from the book by Anna Sewell, and frankly, the book makes me cry.  (If you've spent your entire life under a rock and are unfamiliar with the story, here is a little recap: "As a young horse, Black Beauty is well-loved and happy. But when his owner is forced to sell him, his life changes drastically. He has many new owners--some of them cruel and some of them kind. All he needs is someone to love him again...
Whether pulling an elegant carriage or a ramshackle cab, Black Beauty tries to live as best he can. This is his amazing story, told as only he could tell it.").  So I hid out upstairs, trying not to think about it.

Here is a trailer to the movie:

When the movie ended QT came upstairs and found me, on the verge of tears.  I asked "What's the matter?"  With a slight stutter and quivering lip he told me "Ginger died," and with that he broke down into sobs.  I did my best (not to start crying myself, and) to explain that while it was very sad that she died, it was just a story and not real life.  That seemed to make things a little better, so with a big hug, I sent him on his way to get ready for bed.

I heard TR sobbing before I found him.  He grabbed me in a big bear hug and wouldn't let go.  I asked him "Are you upset about Ginger too?"  He nodded and told me between sobs "Ginger is dead and they didn't take very good care of her."  If the boys being upset that Ginger died bothered me, TR's comment broke my heart.  I want them to think there is good in the world and not to notice all of the bad just yet.  I want them to think everyone takes care of their animals like mom and dad do, and nobody or animal anywhere is mistreated.

I tried again to explain to him that it was just a story and not real life, which he understood.  It just really bothered him that the horse was mistreated.  I told him that I was proud of him for realizing that Ginger was mistreated and that he knew that it was wrong to treat any animal like that.  I shared with him this quote from Black Beauty, which is actually one of my favorite quotes ever:   “My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves sharers in the guilt.”  ~Anna Sewell  I tried my best to explain to him that we should always try to prevent wrong doing when we see it because if we don't, we are just as wrong as the wrong doer.  

I am happy that they are growing up and able to comprehend what they are seeing and hearing, and willing to come to me when something bothers them.  I'm glad (to an extent) that they cried when Ginger died.  It tells me that they are compassionate and hope nothing ever happens to change that!

The Cowboss and I are currently compiling a list of movies and books to not watch or read with the boys.  So far it includes Where the Red Fern Grows and Old Yeller.  Please let me know if you have any other suggestions of sad stories to avoid.  This mama can't handle too much of this!

Cricket

(Photo courtesy of Heidi Stevens)

I'd like to tell you about my friend Cricket.  He came into my life at a point I really needed a friend. He taught me how to pick my battles, when to push buttons, and when to be patient.  He has tolerated my short comings, been patient with me when I didn't deserve it, and showed me that no matter your size, knowledge, or ability that you can do anything you set your mind to.  To be honest, he's been one of the best friends I have ever had.

I made some very poor decisions when I started my teaching career, and I pretty much set myself up for failure.  Maybe I shouldn't have been a teacher at all.  I do know for sure, I shouldn't have started teaching in the school that I did.  I was the 6th Ag Teacher in 3 years and the Ag Program was pretty much nonexistent. I would have been more successful as a teacher if I would have gained some experience in a developed Ag Program under some experienced Ag Teachers instead of trying to do it by myself.  I was very green, and other than a little substitute teaching, had no teaching experience at all.  I didn't have the experience needed to succeed, and I didn't know how or who to ask for help.  I was ready to be done after my first year.  I stuck around for a second year hoping that it would get easier.

Cricket and I kind of saved each other the summer between my first and second years teaching.  My dad didn't like the little sorrel gelding that was standoffish and not very friendly and was going to chicken feed him.  Something about him spoke to me and I traded my bridle horse to dad for him. My brother put a handful of rides on him for me, and as soon as my summer break began I was up before 5 every morning to go and ride my colt.  Those early morning rides are when I learned to pick my battles.  If I picked at him too much, he let me know and could dump me on my tail.  I also learned that if I couldn't get the response I wanted doing things one way, I had to figure out a different way to do it.  I think he made me a better teacher.  I know he made me a better rider.

At the end of the school year I knew teaching High School wasn't for me and I resigned.  I was engaged to the Cow Boss by then and decided to work for him instead.  Cricket and I loaded up and moved to a remote cow-camp to begin our cowboy and cow horse careers.  I rode him every 3rd day because if I let him go 4 days, he would be humpy and try to buck me off.  We did that for a year. We learned to head and heel calves and how to work together.  By the time he was 4, often I was riding the youngest horse in the crew, but also the best broke, and by the time he was 5, I was letting my youngest stepdaughter ride him around the round pen.  When my dog was ready for a ride, he would put his front feet on Cricket's shoulder and I would drag him up the side of Cricket, and into the saddle.  When TR was a baby, Cricket packed us like he was carrying a basket of eggs and never took a bad step.  When the boys got a little bigger and I was riding him, all they had to do was walk up and put a hand on his shoulder and he would stand while they climbed up his side to sit in the saddle with me.  He's been my go to horse for roping bulls, packing kids, or branding contests in town.

Last week I gave Cricket away.  It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do, and I almost cried after I told TR that from here on out Cricket would be his horse.  Foolish I know because he isn't leaving the place and I can see (and probably "borrow" him whenever I want to).  I think it was hard because I now have to find another horse that I can click with like I did with Cricket.  More importantly,  it means my little man is growing up.  He's graduated to a "real" horse, something that he is going to have to pay attention to and really learn how to ride, not just sit on.  Cricket will let him think for himself now.  It also means that he will be starting to rope off a horse soon, and I'm afraid if I blink he will be all grown up!

I hope that Cricket can teach him patience, to try new things, and take care of my little man as he learns how to rope and more about riding.  I hope he can be the friend to TR that he has been to me as well.  I pray that Cricket will have patience with TR when he gives him the wrong cue and is frustrated because he isn't getting the response he wants, and when TR does "dumb kid" things that kids are bound to do, he remembers that TR is just a "dumb kid" and still learning.  I hope he will take care of TR and make every ride a pleasant learning experiece so that TR continues to enjoy riding.

(Photo courtesy of Heidi Stevens)

I Love Love Stories, But I Love Ours the Best!

The Cowboss and I officially met at a wedding.  Not our wedding, but at my cousin's wedding.  I say "officially" because we had seen each other around a time or two, but that was the first time we were actually introduced to each other and had a conversation that didn't consists of hey or head nods.  When it was time to leave, (my sister and I had a 100 mile drive to get home to ship calves in the morning), neither of us had a pen, so I told him I was in the phone book and to give me a call.  By Wednesday I had given up on him.

You can imagine my surprise when I was at my parent's house (they lived 1 1/2 miles from me and I would hang out there, in the afternoons to unwind from work), and  he called.  I was running through the house, headed out to catch my colt when the phone rang.  So I answered it.  A male voice said "Do you know who this is?"  Luckily I guessed the right name.  Took me a minute to place his voice, but he doesn't know that.  As far as he knows I had been sitting there next to the phone, willing him to call me!

He talked me into meeting him for a drink at the Steakhouse in Mountain City.  I learned he had been living 8 miles from me for about 2 years, and he had been trying to call me all week but I would never answer the phone.  Kind of hard to do when he was calling the wrong house, and never would leave a message!  We would have met sooner, but instead of hanging a left at the highway, he always turned right and headed to the Steakhouse.  I didn't stay out long, I had to teach the next morning.  Before I left, he talked me into helping him move cows that Sunday.  (How romantic, right)?

That Saturday we shipped out some more calves at my parents, and that evening I loaded up my bedroll and saddle and drove to Simplot Headquarters to help trail pairs into Idaho early the next morning.  He cooked me dinner that night, breakfast the next morning, and did all the dishes while I watched.  I was in love!  We saddled in the dark and it was dang cold.  I couldn't figure out how to put my cinch on my off billet (I still get confused when changing cinches to this day, and I tie cinches!).  I had forgot my spurs at home and had to borrow his.  They had a funky shank and I put them on upside down.  Talk about embarrassing.  I got stuck riding on the drag and never even saw him until we got the pairs to where they were supposed to be.  On top of that, his boss and crew thought I was only 16 years old.  His boss actually asked him "Aren't you ashamed of yourself bringing that little girl out here?"  The Cowboss didn't even correct him and tell him I was 24!  Before I left that afternoon we made plans for him to come to my house for dinner on Tuesday.

Of course the one evening I make plans to do anything would be the one my dad would need my help moving cows, so I left a note for the Cowboss saying I would be home just as soon as I got home and to make himself at home until I got there.  He sat in his pickup in my drive way for 45 minutes waiting for me.  Then, I was so frazzled by having him there and being so late I burned the pork chops.  It took a large glass of wine to sooth my nerves and relax.

But, my dog adored him and the Cowboss didn't quit me there.  Our weekends turned into taking turns driving 100 miles to see each other.  My dog Buck would go to school with me Fridays so we could spend the weekend in Bruneau with the Cowboss.  I would take my saddle and help him with calving, doctoring, and processing, when he came to my house we slept in and watched tv.  By May we were talking about getting married and I knew I couldn't teach another year.  The past year had been too hard on me, so he talked me into moving to camp with him when I got done with school and got me a job cowboying.

We were engaged in June and married in August.  My sister and maid of honor in her toast said "I hope as you look back on your lives together you remember today as the day you loved each other the least, and your love for each other will grow more each day."  We will have been together for 9 years in October, married for 8 in August, and I love him a lot more today and I did when we got married.  Shoot, I love him a lot more today than I did yesterday.  Yesterday he really pissed me off!  ;)

(Photo Courtesy of "Awesome" Heidi Stevens)!

Obsessions

I am seriously obsessed with this tree.  It is across the road from my house in the neighbor's horse pasture.  I take several pictures of it.  I'm thinking about making a book just about this tree.  The other night I was getting ready for bed and looked out my skylight and the light was awesome.  (I know I go to bed with the chickens, but my kids get up before daylight and by 8 at night I am done)!  I just had to run down the stairs in my pj bottoms and flip flops to take a picture.  As you can tell, it was partly cloudy, and the tree was illuminated in the setting sun light.  It looked so cool.

(Straight out of the Camera)

Of course I am never satisfied with sotc pictures, so I had to play on photoshop a little!  Here, I blurred out everything but the tree, and brightened the color.

I'm kind of digging the black and white these days, so after blurring and brightening the color, I made it all black and white, and added a vignette (the darker ring around the outside of the picture).  Now I just need to decide which I like the best!

Have you heard this song?  It is my absolute favorite song right now.  So I have it on repeat and am going to listen to it until I can't stand it anymore!

I hope everyone is having a great weekend!  I'm trying to get back into the blogging swing of things!

The Best Thing I've Seen in a Long Time

Last week was a hard week.  With the Boston Marathon bombing and the fertilizer plant explosion in Waco, Texas, there just wasn't much happiness in the world.  On Monday (tax day) we were in town to get groceries and cash paychecks which always makes for a long day.  It wasn't a very nice spring day either.  It was cold and miserable, even for April.  So we decided to go to Dairy Queen.

I was standing in line, it was snowing, and the line was insanely long.  I of course left my coat in the pickup and didn't want to go get it for fear I would lose my place in line.  There was only one girl working on the ice cream side of the Dairy Queen, and I think everyone in line was ordering for at least 10 people.  Standing in front of me was a beautiful little girl. Long blond hair, bright blue eyes.  She was maybe 8 years old.  She kept waving and blowing kisses to her mom who was waiting in their car. 

When it was her turn to order, she asked how much a dipped cone was. The waitress told her the price, and the girl started counting her money (all nickels, dimes, and pennies). She was struggling, so the waitress said "here, let me help." She was very patient, and explained how she was counting it out as she went along. She was very patient with the little girl, and was never cross or uptight with her, which was quite a feat since the girl wasn't grasping the counting money, and there were several people behind me in line.  The little girl didn't have enough money, and before I could dig in my wallet to make up the difference to help the girl, the waitress took what was needed from her own tip cup to cover the cone, and wouldn't let me or anyone else in line pay for it.

I wouldn't have thought much of it if the waitress was an older, grandmotherly type, but she couldn't have been more than 15 or 16 years old, and she never stopped smiling.  It made me smile. So when she wasn't looking, I put a couple of extra dollars in her tip jar.

Dairy Queen isn't open year round here.  They close for the winter, so when they open back up it is a really big deal and there is always an insanely long line (even in a snow storm!).  Most of our town trips can be made a little easier with the promise of Dairy Queen if the boys (Cow Boss included) can just be good for a few more minutes!

I think my sister said it best when she said: "At a time like this, it is easy to condemn our society for the senseless pain it continues to inflict on innocent and unassuming people. It's nice to be reminded that far more people in this world are good and kind!"

I sincerely hope that you have the opportunity to see something as simple and wonderful as this in the next week, and can spread some goodness and kindness.

TR

He is bright eyes and a devilish grin.  Biteys

and vroom vrooms.  Rules and buck reins.  Rawhide. 

Cinch rings.  B’s big brother.  Chalk dust and singed

hides.  Get back and sick em to you wanna

bet?  A button nose and eyelashes to make

a girl jealous.  Quick ropes and bridle horses.

Knowing cows and knowing horses.  Stick

horses and tractors.  He is a cowboy.

The Chronicles of Night Calving

I’m lying here in that stage between awake and asleep. I don’t want to wake up, but I know my alarm is going to go off any minute now. I want to stay right where I am, burrowed under my overstuffed down comforter in its reversible blue and green duvet that dad says should be in a boys room. I guess it should be pink or something frilly and lacy for a girl, but that wouldn’t be me. Asleep next to Moe, with his head on my pillow and his four little feet pushing against my back, pushing me out of my bed, as if it were his and I am the intruder, not the other way around.

Listening to Cara snore across the room, dreaming about chasing rabbits, counting sheep, or whatever it is that she so soundly dreams about at night when I throw pillows, slippers, or anything I can find at her to get her to roll on to her side so she will stop snoring. Then in the morning she wakes up cuddling my pink fluffy slipper that Moe chewed the eye off of as a puppy. The fur is all matted and the tail is missing from one too many tug of wars with Moe who insisted it was his and refused to give it back. She wonders how it got into bed with her. As I explain I threw it at her to get her to quit snoring, she swears I was the one snoring as she does not snore. On the other hand, the slipper explains the dream she was having about a snowball fight with our brother, except they were in Mexico and they weren’t really snow balls, but cotton balls that hurt when they hit her.

Click. Bee-beep. Bee-beep. Bee-beep. Snooze. Moe doesn’t even flinch as my alarm goes off for a second time. I turn it off and reset it for six. If I don’t do it now, I will forget by the time I come back in. Blindly I search through the dark for my jeans. First my right foot and leg, then my left foot and leg, standing up, my jeans are on and I need socks. I really want to turn on a light so I can tell if my socks match. I guess the cows won’t care, so I pull on a sweatshirt and head for the porch, where I put on my Schnee boots that cost me two weeks of tips at JR’s in December, and my feet still freeze when I wear them, my silk wild rag, bright red scotch cap which I hate, and my blue Carhartt coat. Never know who you might run into, so you must look your best.

Stepping outside, I’m met with a clarity and realization that can only be had at one o’clock on a January morning…its cold, and I am now fully awake! But the sky is so dark and clear, the moon so full and bright, the stars shine so brightly. I can see the big and little dippers and many other constellations that I recognize but cannot name. I start my trek to the calving barns to check cows for my dad.

Opening the green metal gate with the blue “Sure-Latch” by the granary I say aloud to myself, I should have made Moe come with me. It would be good for him, or maybe not. When we get back to the house, he would beat me back to my bed and run all over blankets with his wet snowy feet. I shine my light towards the horse corral and then back past the granary towards our old house. If it weren’t for the peeling paint, and broken screen door on the east end, it would appear still to be lived in most days since the curtains still hang in the windows waiting for someone to come home.

Rounder glares at me as if he’s saying “Get that light out of my eyes!” as the beam passes over him. The rest of the horses stomp their feet keeping thin blood circulating, and I can see their breath every time they exhale. Snip whines at me, nosing my hand, and then wagging his tail as I remember to scratch that spot behind his ears. I need to keep moving.

Through the next gate, I gently close the latch, dad’s reminder still ringing in my ears from chore time: “Don’t let it slam shut! That handle is about to break!” I hear the crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch of the frozen mud, muck, and dry snow beneath my feet with every step I take. How does Snip walk so quietly on 4 feet and I am so loud on only two?

Opening the door to the Tin Shed, I’m met with warmer air and the faint scent of dusty straw, cattle, ammonia, and manure. Both cows jump to their feet at my entrance and stare at me with their big, gentle, brown eyes and furry, black ears contentedly chewing their cud. Nothing is going on here and I feel guilty for stirring them.

It’s still cold outside when I enter the heavy cow lot. Cow #302 is standing off by herself. She is probably calving. I’ll have to watch her; she gets mean when she calves. Walking towards her, she shakes her head and blows snot at me. She is calving. I can see 2 feet as she walks away from me. The good news is everything is coming the right way, but the bad news is I will have to get her in a barn. It’s too cold for a baby to be born outside tonight. Nothing else is going on out here. I will have to see where I can find room for her. She’ll have to wait a few minutes until I can get the doors open and gates set in a barn.

Entering the Red Barn, I’m once again met with warmer air and the same scents as before. Cupcake is up and her twins Uno and Dos are up and sucking. That was Cara’s idea to name them that way. She’s been pretty proud of her B in Spanish class. They are quite the sight, wagging their little black tails all content, warm, with bellies full of milk. No room here for an extra cow. All for the better though, the Red Barn is kind of tight and narrow. Not much room for a cow to walk down the alley, or turn into a stall. The last time I put a cow in here by myself I managed to knock out a chunk of foundation from under the barn. I don’t want to do that again.

Flipping on the lights in the New Barn creates a false sense of warmth as six 100 watt bulbs send their glow into every dusty nook and crevice. Nothing to report here either, it’s almost a quiet night. Some quick rearranging, I move the cow in the camera stall across the alley to a different stall. I told dad she wasn’t going to calve tonight. Set the gates, grab a club and I’m off to get 302.

302 knows something is up and meets me just outside the barn door. She promptly trees me on a fence post and I wonder if anyone will hear me scream? I’m also impressed by how quickly I got to the top of the post. I could never have done that so quickly just playing. How long will I wait here before someone comes to check on me? But more importantly, if I can get her in the barn, how will I get the gate shut behind her?

I start to whistle like I do when I am nervous. Good Save the Queen is my favorite tune. One day I want to have a little Herford bull like Vindicator on the Rare Breed who comes when I whistle the tune. I don’t even realize I am whistling. There below me in the snow is Snip. How I love that dog! He starts to growl at 302 as she paws the ground and blows snot at both of us now. “Push her up!” Snip half pushes, half chums her through the gate, closer to the barn. I jump off the fence and get the gate shut just as she charges me. Take that! You think you are so tough on the other side of the fence! Snip distracts her again, giving me seconds to get in the pen with her. Once again I am treed. “Away to me!” Snip gets around her and gets her pushed into the barn and I down him in the gate. Quietly, slowly I edge down the alley, hugging the closed gates to individual stalls. Finally I get Snip out of the way and the gate shut. 302 turn's her back to me and ignores me. She can see the camera is on and if she is on her best behavior dad will never believe that she treed me twice. Good dog, I pat Snip on the head and we step out of the barn and start for the house.

It is still cold, feels colder now than when I first left the house 20 minutes earlier. My boots make that cool crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch noise that I find comforting as I catch my breath from our 302 excitement. I am ready to be back in bed.

Down towards the highway I hear it. Faint at first, but growing stronger and louder with each new breath, his mournful cry is soon joined by others and I am being serenaded by a heavy metal band of coyotes. The depressing, mournful, desolate feeling of their song makes all of the little hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, and my feet can’t seem to carry me home quickly enough.

Glancing through the lot and the horse corral I see nothing happening. No cows calving here. Out the gate and I am in a dead run. Imaginary coyotes are fast at my heels nipping at me. I imagine one of them licking his chops, with an evil gleam in his eye. He thinks I will taste good for dinner. Running and running and running, arms pumping and reaching, suddenly I am in the floodlight. I stop and listen. It is quiet. The coyotes have stopped their song. Off in the distance I hear a “Yip!” The beginnings of an encore I think.

Not waiting to find out, I step inside and go about taking off all these winter clothes. Off comes my blue Carhartt, the bright red scotch cap I still hate, my newest wild rag, and my Schnee boots, yes, feet are cold. Tip-toeing through the house, avoiding all of the creaky floor boards like a thief, I steal into my room undetected by Moe and his super sonar. I remove my socks, jeans, sweatshirt, and carefully climb back into bed so I don’t disturb Moe and his slumber. Cara resumes her snoring, and I will soon be back to sleep.