Summer began yesterday, June 21st. It was the first day this year that the thermometer found 75 degrees. Spring has left us cold, damp, and up to our ears in skeeters. In fact, I have bites inside my right ear and in other orifices that skeeters shouldn't visit.
The horses stand at full attention each evening for their marinade of fly and skeeter spray generously applied and gratefully accepted. The cats, all of whom are full-grown after celebrating their first birthday on the 15th of this month, eagerly scamper into the barn before dusk to avoid the onslaught of marauding insects seeking warm blooded creatures great and small.
Puff and her sweet little boys triumphed through their first long and bitterly cold winter. Yesterday's nearly 80 degree weather found them lounging in the sun early in the morning, but by mid afternoon all were lying on the cool concrete floor inside the garage. All that is except Uncle Charlie whom I found lying on a pile of freshly shaken throw rugs tossed on a bench just outside the back door. He would occasionally lift his head and look at the kitchen window hoping to catch a glimpse of me passing by. Once the floors were washed I joined him on the bench for a well deserved rest between chores. He curled up on my lap, looked up into my eyes, sighed, then laid his head on my arm and closed his eyes. Of the three kittens, Uncle Charlie is the least likely candidate for a barn cat. He would love to come into the house and live happily ever after on a window sill watching the birds, gophers, and clouds pass by without ever wanting to go outside again. Ernie, on the other hand, doesn't mind a little tummy tickle now and then but would just assume spend all his time hunting mice and baby gophers. At the end of the day when I whistle for them to head into the barn for the night, Ernie is usually the last to arrive. He will take every last minute of daylight insisting that the barn is for sleeping and eating and he's simply not yet tired or hungry. On two occasions, he chose to stay away when called only to find himself locked out for the night. I'm not sure if he spent the night upset or not, but by morning's first light he was eagerly awaiting an opportunity to get inside with his mom and brothers.
Chip, the middle kitten, has a very sunny and happy disposition. I often see him skipping along the road merrily on his way searching for something to chase or stalk. He doesn't venture too far from the barn and is often hiding in plain sight waiting for activity to draw him out. Puff, the mother, spends much of her time napping atop the haystack in the barn. She' s not very friendly, but will walk beside me when I'm out doing chores. If I stop to visit with her she usually lets me pet her but will not tolerate being picked up.
Each night as the kittens arrive in the barn for bedtime, each in turn gets picked up for a hug and a few words of praise and appreciation. I'm not sure if they look forward to the routine, but I sure do. I so appreciate that each has had a day full of freedom and adventure, and I also appreciate that at the end of the day each of the boys along with their mom are tucked in for another safe and cozy night.
Another summer has begun. Another season of cautious conscious living. I look forward with optimism, gratitude, and eternally good humor. And so it is.
The Well: A source of water, nourishment, life. The Well: Those who live in-ease rather than dis-ease. The Well: That which we strive to be.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Hope Was Nowhere in Sight
It sounds like people everywhere are saying that this winter is one for the record book. I concur, it has been long and is far from over. This week a Chinook blew through bringing warm temperatures on the coat tail of heavy wind. I'm not sure which I prefer, the calm cold or the windy warm. Each offers its own benefits and challenges.
This afternoon, the dogs and I took advantage of the warm wind and walked the mile round trip to the mailbox. On the way back, Cali, our younger Springer Spaniel, broke rank and bounded to the side of the drive where she eagerly plunged her nose into a crusty snow bank. Feverishly she plowed through, back and forth, following the scent and movement of something that had found temporary refuge. Luna and I watched and waited. It was obvious she was on the track of something that was still there rather than of something that had bedded down earlier in the day but had since moved on. Her movements-- deliberate and jerky. Her determination--steadfast. Her senses--keen and accurate.
After digging, sniffing, pawing, repositioning, then digging again and again, a small brown mouse gave up the game and made a run for it. It emerged from the now decimated snow bank, hopped up onto the firm crust above its ransacked nest and ran like hell for what it hoped was nearby.
Unfortunately, hope was nowhere in sight. Only a 50-pound Springer, springing joyfully after the hard earned prize. She pounced then scooped the helpless vermin into her mouth. Luna dove in with hope of her own, but Cali turned her back, and within seconds the mouse was gone.
Thankfully it's a warm day because Cali will spend the rest of the afternoon outside...digesting....
And so it is.
This afternoon, the dogs and I took advantage of the warm wind and walked the mile round trip to the mailbox. On the way back, Cali, our younger Springer Spaniel, broke rank and bounded to the side of the drive where she eagerly plunged her nose into a crusty snow bank. Feverishly she plowed through, back and forth, following the scent and movement of something that had found temporary refuge. Luna and I watched and waited. It was obvious she was on the track of something that was still there rather than of something that had bedded down earlier in the day but had since moved on. Her movements-- deliberate and jerky. Her determination--steadfast. Her senses--keen and accurate.
After digging, sniffing, pawing, repositioning, then digging again and again, a small brown mouse gave up the game and made a run for it. It emerged from the now decimated snow bank, hopped up onto the firm crust above its ransacked nest and ran like hell for what it hoped was nearby.
Unfortunately, hope was nowhere in sight. Only a 50-pound Springer, springing joyfully after the hard earned prize. She pounced then scooped the helpless vermin into her mouth. Luna dove in with hope of her own, but Cali turned her back, and within seconds the mouse was gone.
Thankfully it's a warm day because Cali will spend the rest of the afternoon outside...digesting....
And so it is.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
A Happy Thanksgiving
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day. Before I begin another round of cooking and baking, I'm enjoying a few moments sitting at the dining room window looking out at miles of critter trails traversing the south pastures. The snow bunnies, fox, coyotes, and antelope paw through the foot of snow that blankets their grazing and hunting grounds leaving visual evidence of a hard night's work. Across Hasting's pasture, a snow bunny lies dead on the side of the road apparently struck by a passing vehicle. Overhead atop the utility pole sits a hungry and impatient bald eagle. Once the truck passes, the majestic bird swoops down sending the hawks, and assorted smaller birds scattering to wait their turn at the frozen meal. Food is hard to come by when the temperatures dip below zero for days on end. Most of the prey animals retreat to underground shelters hoping for a southwest wind called a Chinook that breathes warmth and restores life to the now stark and barren prairie. There will be no Chinook winds today, I'm afraid. We will remain frozen solid at least until the weekend.
Winter has come early opening the Arctic gate allowing a rush of snow and below zero temperatures to descend completely across Montana as well as most of the western states. Road closures south of here will keep families apart this holiday weekend. My nephew, Denzel, made it home yesterday from college in Missoula, taking advantage of a break in the blowing and drifting snow. His trip took him across the Continental Divide on dangerous hairpin turns winding up the Rockies on the west side, then down on the east side, through the foothills, and finally pulling into our driveway on the prairie. He drove almost 200 miles without a hitch until he pulled up to our house where he bottomed out 50 feet from the back door. He and his college buddy hopped out of the car deciding to leave it stuck in the two-foot drift, announcing joyously that they would walk the rest of the way. On the phone yesterday morning, as I cautioned him before leaving on his journey, he steadfastly maintained that he didn't need my words of wisdom because he had "faith" that he would "make it" without incident. I'm not sure if what he projects is an effect of youthful ignorance or something greater. Whatever it is, it serves him well. And so it is a Happy Thanksgiving.
Winter has come early opening the Arctic gate allowing a rush of snow and below zero temperatures to descend completely across Montana as well as most of the western states. Road closures south of here will keep families apart this holiday weekend. My nephew, Denzel, made it home yesterday from college in Missoula, taking advantage of a break in the blowing and drifting snow. His trip took him across the Continental Divide on dangerous hairpin turns winding up the Rockies on the west side, then down on the east side, through the foothills, and finally pulling into our driveway on the prairie. He drove almost 200 miles without a hitch until he pulled up to our house where he bottomed out 50 feet from the back door. He and his college buddy hopped out of the car deciding to leave it stuck in the two-foot drift, announcing joyously that they would walk the rest of the way. On the phone yesterday morning, as I cautioned him before leaving on his journey, he steadfastly maintained that he didn't need my words of wisdom because he had "faith" that he would "make it" without incident. I'm not sure if what he projects is an effect of youthful ignorance or something greater. Whatever it is, it serves him well. And so it is a Happy Thanksgiving.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
First Peoples Buffalo Jump
The gift of our First Peoples Summer, while much enjoyed, sadly came to a close. It's cold today, the sun hides behind layers of dark grey clouds. From my perch, I see a bank of low darker clouds a few miles south showering the Missouri River. No rain here, though, only a cold biting wind keeping everyone except the horses inside.
I let the horses out to graze on the north pasture adding an extra dimension to my kitchen window view. Each time I glance out I see five very contented animals, heads down, backs to the wind, moving slowly gathering the last green bites. Beyond the horses, our north gate opens onto 1,481 acres of sacred land once used as a kill site by nomadic hunters and gatherers for well over two thousand years before the Lewis and Clark Expedition.
Now called, First Peoples Buffalo Jump State Park, this area punctuated by a mile-long sandstone cliff once formed a pivotal arc on the Plain's circle of life. The sacred buffalo provided almost everything needed for survival, but also presented a challenge to a people without horses and who hunted with bows and arrows. Eventually they learned how to successfully capture the enormous animal by stampeding the herds over the edge of the cliff. Long before horses arrived on the continent, scouts were sent out on foot to locate a herd. Then, over a period of time, sometimes weeks, the People would slowly "push" the herd closer toward the plateau that would mark the beginning of the drive. Before the hunt began, they created a drive lane consisting of two rock lines, five to ten yards apart and from 100 yards to a mile in length. Only a foot or so in height, these lines established the boundaries of the path the buffalo would follow to the precipice. The buffalo were stampeded across the Plains toward the plateaus and into these drive lanes by hunters who ran behind them shouting and waving hides. They were often accompanied by their dogs barking and chasing the frightened animals. As the panicked buffalo closed in together, the momentum of the herd would push those in front over the edge of the sandstone cliff. Many animals died in the fall, and those that survived were quickly killed by hunters who had been staged at the base of the cliff.
Carcasses were butchered and feasts were held. Most of the flesh was dried and stored as jerky for the winter months. To the nomadic Plains People buffalo meant survival. Besides meat, the buffalo provided hides for clothing and lodge coverings, bones for implements and utensils, and sinew for bowstrings and for sewing. Wolves, coyotes, eagles and other wildlife cleaned up what was not taken by the People.
It is estimate that for thousands of years as many as 13 million buffalo once lived in what is now Montana, found everywhere east of the Continental Divide. When the white fur traders and buffalo hunters arrived in the late nineteenth century their numbers were much less but still impressive at well over 60,000. Within a few short years, the hunters with their horses and guns nearly brought the buffalo to extinction; and with it the Plains People's way of life changed forever.
Today, First Peoples Buffalo Jump is one of the largest jumps ever found. Now a state park, it is administered by the Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks. A visitor center and interpretive trails tell the story of this prehistoric site. The top of the jump offers panoramic views of the Rocky Mountain Front, the Missouri River valley, as well as the buttes and grasslands that characterize this High Plains setting we call home.
I often wonder as I peer out the kitchen window if I share a space separated by time with the wives and children who watched and waited from their tipi's as the great hunt and harvest unfolded a short distance away. While the activity on the Jump has changed, the view remains the same. I can only imagine the awe inspiring sight and sound of hundreds of buffalo toppling over the cliff now framed by my kitchen window.
I often wonder as I peer out the kitchen window if I share a space separated by time with the wives and children who watched and waited from their tipi's as the great hunt and harvest unfolded a short distance away. While the activity on the Jump has changed, the view remains the same. I can only imagine the awe inspiring sight and sound of hundreds of buffalo toppling over the cliff now framed by my kitchen window.
Recently, archaeologists from Montana State University researched and excavated the site and determined that it is indeed the largest jump in the world. They also found buffalo remains at depths of 13 feet dating back to at least 500 AD.
The buffalo formed one of the practical and spiritual foundations of life for the First People; a tradition that continues today. The meat, hides, horns, and bones of these great animals sustained the hunters and their families for thousands of years. To the People, buffalo were, and are still, part of the voice of the land. And so it is.
Friday, October 22, 2010
First People's Summer
Winter made a brief appearance last month dropping a cold wet blanket of snow over the prairie. Thankfully, it retreated leaving us with warm sunny days and clear cool nights. In my childhood we referred to this gift as an Indian Summer. I have no idea why we referred to an extended summer as Indian, but I do know that the people we once called, Indian, and more recently, Native American, have experienced a paradigm shift in consciousness shucking the white man's labels and asserting their own identity as The First People.
Living on the plains of North America has given me an opportunity to realize and understand more fully the people who once thrived on this land.
Even though our history books paint a very different picture, we are all painfully aware of the white man's behavior toward the people they discovered in North America, of how they were demonized so as to justify ethnic cleansing. Their culture, beliefs, values, language, and their revered means of survival--the bison, were all slaughtered. Those who resisted were killed, those who submitted were stripped of their identity and forced to live on dead land receiving handouts and Bibles from the white man's government.
The more I learn about our shared and collective history, the more disgusted and ashamed I become of those who define my ancestry. A horrific wrong has been committed out of ignorance and arrogance. Although history cannot be changed, it can stand as a beacon lighting the way toward greater understanding, compassion, and recognition of ourselves as one people of one consciousness. For now, I stand humbled by the First People of the Plains who endured atrocities too numerous and horrifying to comprehend. I am encouraged to know that the tribes and nations have begun reclaiming their identity, their language, their beliefs, and their rightful place as The First People. There are whispers of change in the wind growing louder with each passing day. I look forward with the assurance that all is well as I enjoy the gift of our First People's Summer. And so it is.
Living on the plains of North America has given me an opportunity to realize and understand more fully the people who once thrived on this land.
Even though our history books paint a very different picture, we are all painfully aware of the white man's behavior toward the people they discovered in North America, of how they were demonized so as to justify ethnic cleansing. Their culture, beliefs, values, language, and their revered means of survival--the bison, were all slaughtered. Those who resisted were killed, those who submitted were stripped of their identity and forced to live on dead land receiving handouts and Bibles from the white man's government.
The more I learn about our shared and collective history, the more disgusted and ashamed I become of those who define my ancestry. A horrific wrong has been committed out of ignorance and arrogance. Although history cannot be changed, it can stand as a beacon lighting the way toward greater understanding, compassion, and recognition of ourselves as one people of one consciousness. For now, I stand humbled by the First People of the Plains who endured atrocities too numerous and horrifying to comprehend. I am encouraged to know that the tribes and nations have begun reclaiming their identity, their language, their beliefs, and their rightful place as The First People. There are whispers of change in the wind growing louder with each passing day. I look forward with the assurance that all is well as I enjoy the gift of our First People's Summer. And so it is.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
While Pat's Away
Even though Pat's only been gone six hours, I've hardly had a moment to myself. We still have horses and dogs and cats that need looking after. Three horses went with Pat and two stayed behind. For all intents and purposes, they, Shadow and Clancy, are now retired! After many years and miles, they have earned their place, "out to pasture". When referring to horses, out to pasture is a coveted honor. It's liken to spending the rest of your life on a cruise ship with access to a 24-hour-a-day buffet, lazing in the sun, staring at the endless night sky, and having someone clean up after you--an all-inclusive life! Not too shabby.
The 24-hour-a-day buffet and cleaning up after is where I come in. The same carries true for the dogs and cats. Cali, our springer spaniel, has Pat trained for a 5 am breakfast call. Since it's been Pat that she awakens, I've not minded the unusual habit--that is until Pat's away and Cali licks my face at the ungodly hour. This morning was not a problem since everyone was up at 3. But tomorrow Cali and I will undoubtedly have a come to Jesus moment when she realizes that the world doesn't revolve around her.
The kittens and Puff also need attention several times a day, and since the dogs and cats don't get along it has become a challenge keeping everyone happy and apart. Cali, I believe, would kill the kittens if given the chance, so we are especially vigilant.
Speaking of Puff, last Saturday night when rounding up the felines, Puff decided that she wanted to spend the night outside, which is highly unusual and not recommended. Come to find out, she had gone into heat. Female cats, when in heat, we recently learned, prowl for a suitable mate, usually at night. We had her scheduled for surgery a couple of months ago, but at the time I felt it best not to have her laid up for a week or more with very active and dependent kittens. I cancelled the surgery expecting to reschedule anytime now, except that in the meantime she became fertile again.
After getting the kittens tucked into the barn and calling Puff for several minutes, I decided to let her be. Shortly before turning in for the night, I returned to the barn and called again hoping she had changed her mind. She didn't.
The next morning upon opening the barn and placing bowls of food down for the hungry kittens, Puff showed--hungry, thirsty, and wounded. It wasn't until she finished eating that I noticed a gaping hole in her upper thigh. Not wanting to approach a wounded animal, I called Pat to bring me a pair of gloves and backup assistance. We couldn't tell if she had cut herself on something or had been bitten by another animal. All we could see for sure was that she had a very serious wound that needed attention.
Fortunately, Puff entered her carrier without a fuss. Pat called ahead so the vet was ready when they arrived. After giving her anesthesia, the vet determined that she had indeed cut herself on something--a nail, or barbed wire perhaps. Stitches were required to close the wound that Pat said was deep, almost to the bone. The vet suggested that we have Puff spayed while she was under anesthesia, which we agreed was a good idea. So, now Puff is home resting quietly in the garage away from the pesky kittens. She requires monitoring for infection and doses of antibiotics.
In the meantime, last night Luna's left eye swelled, again, for about the sixth time in a year. We believe she's allergic to something but have no idea what. Immediately we gave her Benadryl, which brought down the swelling and thwarted the itching that, in the past, has driven her nearly crazy. Having a little knowledge and a few skills sure makes life less stressful, but the learning curve has really been hell with the animals and their health and safety issues.
With Pat away for a few days, I'm hoping the animals cooperate so that I can enjoy a little down time, myself. The backcountry widows, of which I am one, are planning to attend a women's expo happening this weekend in Great Falls. The event fills the Expo Park at the fairgrounds with hundreds of booths and presentations aimed at products and services for women. It is now in its seventh year and has become a tradition of sorts for us gals and our pals. My little group meets at noon on Friday, attends a couple of presentations and workshops, then meets at a restaurant for dinner. On Saturday, we meet up again for lunch, then return to the expo and stroll the booths receiving tons of gifts along with a chair massage, aromatherapy, a foot bath, wine tasting (my favorite booth), and an analysis of the skin damage we have on our faces from years of enjoying the sun, to which I say, "who cares"? I think this year I'll skip past the skin care booth choosing instead to maintain my self-esteem, enjoy my sun kissed face, knowing that my sense of vitality and high spirits are a direct gift from the sun in the form of vitamin D and serotonin. Yes, I am quite sure I will skip right past that booth. I will also skip past the booths that encourage mammograms and annual paps, along with the gals who want to measure my body fat. I might, however, try a little Zumba, not for the health benefits, but rather, just for the fun of it. After all, life is supposed to be fun, not full of stress or fear or self-doubt or worry, but good ole' fashioned fun. So while Pat's away, and the horses retire to the lower pasture, the dogs hunker down for their afternoon snooze, the kittens rest with their full bellies, and Puff knits her wounds, I plan to enjoy a little time with friends, and food, and laughter, and all of the guilt-free indulgences the expo has to offer. All is well, and so it is.
The 24-hour-a-day buffet and cleaning up after is where I come in. The same carries true for the dogs and cats. Cali, our springer spaniel, has Pat trained for a 5 am breakfast call. Since it's been Pat that she awakens, I've not minded the unusual habit--that is until Pat's away and Cali licks my face at the ungodly hour. This morning was not a problem since everyone was up at 3. But tomorrow Cali and I will undoubtedly have a come to Jesus moment when she realizes that the world doesn't revolve around her.
The kittens and Puff also need attention several times a day, and since the dogs and cats don't get along it has become a challenge keeping everyone happy and apart. Cali, I believe, would kill the kittens if given the chance, so we are especially vigilant.
Speaking of Puff, last Saturday night when rounding up the felines, Puff decided that she wanted to spend the night outside, which is highly unusual and not recommended. Come to find out, she had gone into heat. Female cats, when in heat, we recently learned, prowl for a suitable mate, usually at night. We had her scheduled for surgery a couple of months ago, but at the time I felt it best not to have her laid up for a week or more with very active and dependent kittens. I cancelled the surgery expecting to reschedule anytime now, except that in the meantime she became fertile again.
After getting the kittens tucked into the barn and calling Puff for several minutes, I decided to let her be. Shortly before turning in for the night, I returned to the barn and called again hoping she had changed her mind. She didn't.
The next morning upon opening the barn and placing bowls of food down for the hungry kittens, Puff showed--hungry, thirsty, and wounded. It wasn't until she finished eating that I noticed a gaping hole in her upper thigh. Not wanting to approach a wounded animal, I called Pat to bring me a pair of gloves and backup assistance. We couldn't tell if she had cut herself on something or had been bitten by another animal. All we could see for sure was that she had a very serious wound that needed attention.
Fortunately, Puff entered her carrier without a fuss. Pat called ahead so the vet was ready when they arrived. After giving her anesthesia, the vet determined that she had indeed cut herself on something--a nail, or barbed wire perhaps. Stitches were required to close the wound that Pat said was deep, almost to the bone. The vet suggested that we have Puff spayed while she was under anesthesia, which we agreed was a good idea. So, now Puff is home resting quietly in the garage away from the pesky kittens. She requires monitoring for infection and doses of antibiotics.
In the meantime, last night Luna's left eye swelled, again, for about the sixth time in a year. We believe she's allergic to something but have no idea what. Immediately we gave her Benadryl, which brought down the swelling and thwarted the itching that, in the past, has driven her nearly crazy. Having a little knowledge and a few skills sure makes life less stressful, but the learning curve has really been hell with the animals and their health and safety issues.
With Pat away for a few days, I'm hoping the animals cooperate so that I can enjoy a little down time, myself. The backcountry widows, of which I am one, are planning to attend a women's expo happening this weekend in Great Falls. The event fills the Expo Park at the fairgrounds with hundreds of booths and presentations aimed at products and services for women. It is now in its seventh year and has become a tradition of sorts for us gals and our pals. My little group meets at noon on Friday, attends a couple of presentations and workshops, then meets at a restaurant for dinner. On Saturday, we meet up again for lunch, then return to the expo and stroll the booths receiving tons of gifts along with a chair massage, aromatherapy, a foot bath, wine tasting (my favorite booth), and an analysis of the skin damage we have on our faces from years of enjoying the sun, to which I say, "who cares"? I think this year I'll skip past the skin care booth choosing instead to maintain my self-esteem, enjoy my sun kissed face, knowing that my sense of vitality and high spirits are a direct gift from the sun in the form of vitamin D and serotonin. Yes, I am quite sure I will skip right past that booth. I will also skip past the booths that encourage mammograms and annual paps, along with the gals who want to measure my body fat. I might, however, try a little Zumba, not for the health benefits, but rather, just for the fun of it. After all, life is supposed to be fun, not full of stress or fear or self-doubt or worry, but good ole' fashioned fun. So while Pat's away, and the horses retire to the lower pasture, the dogs hunker down for their afternoon snooze, the kittens rest with their full bellies, and Puff knits her wounds, I plan to enjoy a little time with friends, and food, and laughter, and all of the guilt-free indulgences the expo has to offer. All is well, and so it is.
Last Trip of the Season
It is now 4:30 am. Pat, Koda, Boots, and Liam rolled out about ten minutes ago heading for a 5-day adventure back into the Scapegoat Wilderness. This time, however, they will set up camp in Tobacco Valley near the Blackfeet River after a three hour drive, then another six hours on horseback. It's a hard ride, especially this time of the year when daylight ends too soon, and the push is on to make camp before dark. But once they make camp they will stay put for the duration unlike most trips where they are on the move each day putting as many as 20 miles behind them before settling in for the night.
Four men, ten horses, fly rods, a few novels, and a bottle of Scotch--the perfect gentleman's vacation and the last pack trip of the season.
And so it is.
Four men, ten horses, fly rods, a few novels, and a bottle of Scotch--the perfect gentleman's vacation and the last pack trip of the season.
And so it is.
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