country – Page 6 – Angel Wheeler

So Happy Together!

My cowboy husband J-Dub needed to move some cows on Saturday. They had grazed down a pasture pretty well and needed some greener grass. You know, over on the other side. It is typically a rather large job for one cowboy alone to move 90 cows from one pasture to another, so he moved most of them with the feed wagon, aka the cake wagon, aka the feed truck. Cows recognize the Chevy that feeds them and once trained they most of them will follow the feed truck from here to kingdom come. Or at least into the next pasture. He later planned to get horseback to go pick up the few stragglers, the loners, the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.

It is not uncommon for a mama cow to leave her baby calf to come feed. J-Dub noticed this one mama cow in particular who approached the gate, almost stepped over the threshold, almost crossed into the Promised Land of Greener Pastures, but then thought better of it and turned to go find her calf that she had abandoned for the buffet line. J-Dub made sure to leave the gate open so once they paired up, they could return to the rest of the herd.

Side note: While my husband was telling me this story, I just couldn’t understand it. It has been ingrained into my brain as a cowboy’s wife to ALWAYS CLOSE THE GATE! I just couldn’t understand why in the Sam Hill he would leave a gate open and allow all those cows that he just moved to return to the pasture he wanted them out of. But then he oh-so-very-patiently explained to me in his most gentle, most soft-spoken, sweetest voice that they had grazed the old pasture down and the grass was better in the new pasture. And of course any cowboy’s wife worth her weight in Wranglers would know that cows will stay in the pasture with the better grass. Hence, I hang my head in shame.

All the moving of cows here and yon happened on Saturday. On Monday, he noticed the same mama cow wandering aimlessly, with a tight bag (a sign that her baby had not nursed recently) through the grazed pasture looking for something she’d lost. And it wasn’t her ear tag she was looking for. She and her baby, unequipped with GPS, still had not found one another. It had been 2 days. A baby will typically return to the last place it nursed, and it’s mother will find it there. But this baby must’ve gotten a wild hair and ventured farther than the street lamp. J-Dub drove around the pasture, looking for the baby without any success. Needing to get on to other duties, he had no choice but to leave.

Today when he checked on the cows, the situation was the same. A mama with no baby. A baby with no mama. After 3 nights without the protection of its mother from the Big Bad Coyotes that roam freely, without the warmth and nourishment of its mother’s milk, the likelihood of the calf surviving was bleak.

But alas, I will not tell a tale without a happy ending. Not today anyway.

J-Dub decided he would get horseback and go to the far end of the pasture. He began bawling like a little baby calf. This was an act of trickery so the mother cow would think it was her baby bawling instead and follow. It worked. She followed J-Dub over to the far end of the pasture where lo and behold, a small miracle occurred and the baby calf was found alive. They were reunited and it felt so good.

The calf’s little belly is full, the mama’s bag is no longer engorged, the gate is closed and all is well.

Dig This

A proverb from me: A sunny day makes the heart happy.

The temperatures climbed today and gave everyone around here a bad case of spring fever. And then to make matters worse, a Gurney’s Seed Catalog arrived in my mailbox.

Oh the joys of gardening! I would love to reap the rich rewards of a well planned garden. But alas, the word “plan” is not really in my vocabulary.

I’ve never been a planner. I wasn’t taught to be, and it’s a good thing because it just doesn’t suit me. I would rather meet each day as it comes. Head-on. I don’t lay out my clothes the night before, nor do I pack my lunch. I’d rather be in a frenzy every morning. Obviously.

I rarely think about what’s for supper until my stomach growls and then I realize I have no meat thawed. Good thing I love cereal. If only my husband would learn to love it half as much.

The occasions I have planned, have usually gone okay, but I’ll tell you what. When those plans get a kink in them, I don’t bend easily, which is why it’s best for me to not plan at all.

With one exception. The one area of my life that I am forced to plan is my job. And let me tell you, it was a lesson learned the hard way. Teaching a classroom full of kids typically means if you don’t have every single second of their day filled, they’ll find something to fill them with. Which usually isn’t good. So I am diligent about planning my school day. I have to be, I learned early that it saves me from heartache, high blood pressure, and murder. Nevertheless, it was a hard habit for me to attain.

And then there’s the garden. You can’t really have a garden if you don’t plan for it. One year I attempted to grow pumpkins without planning. Or watering. And that just doesn’t really turn out well. I don’t advise it.

This year I’ve decided to be a planner in the garden. I’m playing offense instead of defense. I’m being proactive rather than reactive. I will have pumpkins in October not December. My summer will be filled with the earth’s bounty.

I am experimenting with a gardening technique I read about called a No Dig Garden. Basically it is gardening on top of the ground, layering your soil with organic materials that compost and feed your soil and you don’t have to dig. It doesn’t matter what kind of condition your soil is in either.

It’s kind of like seven layer dip: the beans, the sour cream, the salsa, the guacamole, the lettuce, next the tomatoes, the cheese, and if you must eat those nasty little black olives, go ahead.

I did a little studying up on the No Dig Garden Technique, filed it away in a filing cabinet in my brain under G for gardens, and went about my business.

Well on Sunday I was piddling around out at The Place while Jason worked inside our little trailer house and I decided I’d just go ahead and get started on my garden. No time like the present right? So I chose my garden spot, then I began the layering process.

This is the recommended layers:

Start with newspaper or cardboard
Then a little alfalfa
Add a little nice manure (chicken, horse, cow, whatever you’ve got on hand) or Commercial Fertilizer
Straw
More fertilizer
Compost

Next you water it well, and you can begin planting seedlings for an instant garden.

This sounds wonderful right? So I began laying down leftover cardboard from a gajillion boxes of laminate flooring we purchased. The next layer is manure, so I got a bucket and a shovel and walked out to the pasture to find some. I soon found out, a bucket of crap doesn’t go very far on a garden plot. After about 3 buckets full of grunt (my grannie’s word for dookie), I was about 1/5 of the way completed, and I happened upon my husband, who eyeballs my project and calmly quips, “You’ll never finish that before sundown.”

I gaze off into the west at the hot ball of gas nearing the horizon. Sundown? Oh yeah. That’s when it gets dark. I can’t build a garden in the dark can I? Hmmm, just another example of my inability to plan. Nice thinking, beginning a lengthy project at 5:00 in the evening.

Since my daylight was short, I then decided to use two buckets instead of one and walk faster. Back to the pasture, shoveling my poo, carrying two buckets to the garden, dumping them on the cardboard, doing the fast walk back to the pasture, shoveling my poo, carrying two buckets to the garden, dumping them on the cardboard, doing the fast walk back to the pasture, shoveling my poo, carrying two buckets to the garden, dumping them on the cardboard.

Never. Ending.

Needless to say, I was never happier to see the sun go down. I found some bricks to lay on the cardboard so the wind wouldn’t carry them away, and then I high tailed it to the bed.

I don’t know when I “plan” to return to my No Dig Garden. Or if I “plan” to at all.

A roto-tiller is sounding pretty good right now.

Breaking Ice

I have a new BFF today.

He’s my good pal.

My buddy.

My friend.

He’s a little furry.

And maybe a little smelly.

But I don’t mind at all. Especially today, when he doesn’t see his shadow.

I’m ready for an early spring.

Here’s some pictures of our world.

Yesterday it was 5° at 5:30 p.m. with 30 mph winds. After you do all that meteorological mumbo jumbo that comes out to equal -15 below zero wind chill.

Notice all the wind breaks out here on the high plains.

The wind slices you like a knife.

Coming down the road, you can see that the cows are thirsty. Instead of getting down into the breaks out of the brutal wind, they are huddled around the drinking tub.

But this is a first.

My husband J-Dub has seen many cows, and many drinking tubs, but has never seen a cow standing on top of a drinking tank before. Frozen solid.

It’s a wonder she didn’t fall through. She weighs approximately 750 pounds.

When I stood on it to cross over into the other pasture to chase a rolling black Stetson, it began to crack under my weight.

Which means I out-weigh a cow.

Probably by 100 pounds.

Not a happy thought.

It’s a real wonder I didn’t fall through. I carefully held onto the post and tiptoed on the edge.

J-Dub had to break the ice for them to get a drink. If you wonder how he does that, it’s probably how you imagine.

With his brute strength!

And an ax.

This is hard work, I don’t care who you are.

Add the bitter temperature, this isn’t even close to being fun.

It’s tough being a cow.

And tougher being a cowboy.

Today my sweet husband had to break ice on 18 different drinking tubs across the panhandle of Texas.

Did you enjoy your hamburger today?

Be sure and thank a cowboy.

Got No Power Windows

Let me tell you about my yesterday.

We had to do some work on the chicken coop, so I needed my new, old truck to help haul some old wood for me. We tore down one side of the chicken coop that was just crappy old particle board hammered together.

We’re replacing it with some rustic looking wide planks that are in a pile of rubble from a torn down structure.

So me and my niece Ash loaded up in the truck to gather the planks and drive them to the coop. This was her first time to see this old heap of metal and as soon as she climbed in, one of the first things she exclaimed was how she loved those kind of windows. You know the kind. The crank handle kind.

It took some work to get the truck running. But once it did, it only died 3 times. But then it got warmed up, and it was ready to go. If only I could get it to go, that is.

Now I’ve driven a stick shift in my time, and once I re-introduce myself to the gears I can normally do just fine. So I put this truck in first, it jerked forward a couple times, and then died. My second attempt in first gear was a repeat of the previous failure. I then attempted to start off in second gear, and it jerked and died. I eased off the clutch more carefully, it still died. I tried and tried and could not for the life of me figure out why I couldn’t get this truck to go without dying. I studied the gear shift again.

I wasn’t really sure what L stood for, I don’t recall ever seeing it on a gear shift before. Ash assured me that it probably stood for Launch, so I slammed it into L, and sure enough that must be what it stands for ’cause away we went.

We gathered the boards up.

Then pulled all the nails out.

Then we took a drive in the truck. We rolled, and I do mean literally rolled, our windows down. We even pushed open that little triangle window that is next to the big window and let the wind blow through out hair as we chugged down the dusty country lane.

My old truck reminds me of a song that my daddy likes. It’s called Power Windows.

Louis drives a beat up ’69 Dart.
Swears it’s the statue of Mary that keeps the car from falling apart.
With Gracie right beside him sittin’ closer than a smile.
She’s got her head on his shoulder.
He loves to drive and hold her.

He got no power windows. Got no power brakes.
He ain’t got no power nothin’ but he got what it takes.
He’s got Gracie’s arm around him and a smile on his face.
He’s got the power of love.

That night, as I was saying good night to Ash, she remarked that it was the most awesome day ever. The most awesome day ever? How strange. We didn’t do anything but work. So I asked her what made it so awesome.

Her response made me smile. She said just being out at the place, tearing down the chicken coop, driving the truck, and having family fun.

It made me realize that we didn’t spend any money.

We didn’t see anything fancy.

We didn’t have the newest, high-tech $300 gadget to entertain us.

We got no power windows even.

Just the two of us, hanging out, enjoying the sunshine, laying on an old wagon gazing at the clouds, telling stories, singing songs, and enjoying each other.

Which reminds me of another song. This one my mama used to sing me when I was just a wee one.

Oh, we ain’t got a barrel of money,
Maybe we’re ragged and funny
But we’ll travel along
Singing a song
Side by side.

Don’t know what’s comin’ tomorrow
Maybe it’s trouble and sorrow
But we’ll travel the road
Sharing our load
Side by side.

Travel the road in our old blue truck with no power windows,

Side by side.

Cattle Prattle

My husband thinks after 6 years of marriage, I should know all things cow related. Here’s our conversation today (in a nutshell).

Me: I think I’ll get a mule.

Him: Why?

Me: Why not?

(pause)

Him: I rode a mule once, it was a good sonab****

Me: Isn’t a mule a cross between a horse and a donkey?

Him: Yes

Me:  What are boy and girl mules called?

Him: I think they’re called Johns and Mollies.

Me: I thought they were jacks and jennys.

Him: Those are donkeys. There are chickens and  roosters and hens.

Me: (greatly confusticated, which is just my made up word, so don’t try to look for it in the dictionary. You won’t find it.) What’s the difference between a chicken and a hen?

chicken and hen----no difference

Him: Nothing. That’s what I’m trying to say. (He begins to use his hands, as I’m a visual learner. He puts his hands together in a group) There’s chickens. (He checks in to make sure I’m following him) And then there are roosters (hands to the left) and hens (hands to the right). Like there are people. (hands in a group) And there are men (hands to the left) and women (hands to the right).

I’m catching on ever so slowly. My glazed-over look is beginning to diminish with just a glimmer of spark returning to my eyes. Then he continues:

cattle and cow----no difference

Him: There’s cattle. And then there are bulls and cows.

Me: Don’t forget heifers and steers!

Him: (closing his eyes and shaking his head) That’s different.

Me: I’m confused.

Him: I don’t understand why you don’t get this.

Two hours later and I’m still scratching my head.

Never doubt there are awfully important conversations occurring in this household.

World-changing conversations.

Just a few minutes he called to irately inform me that he cannot buy a 12 ounce aluminum can of Dr. Pepper at the Allsup’s convenience store. They sell bottles in all sizes, and a six-pack of cans with a sign that reads “Do not break the 6=pack”, but not a single serving can of Dr. Pepper is to be purchased. So he went to a Taylor Mart convenience store and the same situation presented itself. What is this world coming to?

I think we’re heading to Washington to protest on the White House steps or march on the Pentagon.

Four Things

I have few things I want to share with you today.

First Thing:

We’re studying the water cycle in science up at the elementary school. You remember your second grade science class don’t you? Or has it been many moons? For a quick review, here’s a song about the water cycle sung to the tune of If You’re Happy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands.

Ready?

A one, a two, A one, two, three, four…..

Water travels in a circle, yes it does (clap, clap)

It goes up as evaporation, forms a cloud as condensation, fall to the ground as precipitation, yes it does! (clap, clap)

I was reading the Bible this morning, I am still in the book of Job. At this point a young man named Elihu is ripping into Job, tearing him a new one, putting him into his place. He’s telling him about how awesome God is, and then he says these words:

Take a long, hard look. See how great he is—-inifinite, greater than anything you could ever imagine or figure out! He pulls water up out of the sea, distills it, and fills up his rain-cloud cisterns. Then the skies open up and pour out soaking showers on everyone. Does anyone have the slightest idea how this happens?

I read that and was bamboozled. It’s the water cycle, right there…..evaporation, condensation, precipitation. I don’t know why I was so surprised to find this in the Bible. I mean, God is the creator of everything after all. What took scientists until the 16th century to learn and label with big, scientific sounding words, Elihu knew 2000-1800 years B.C. Awesome, isn’t it?

Second Thing:

I’ve never been a magazine subscriber until recently. I spent a good $50 on magazine subscriptions when we bought our Little Trailer House on the Prairie.

These magazines will teach you how to garden, can food, cook chickens, milk cows, build solar panels, bake bread, make hammocks, and asundry other very informational things. Someday I fear us younger generations are going to wish we knew how not to depend on commercialism.

Some great magazines to read if you’re wanting to learn how to live off the land and become more self-sufficient are the following:

GRIT

Mother Earth News

Hobby Farms

Mary Jane’s Farm

Today I received this new GRIT magazine in the mail from my grandmother-in-law.

We call her M.O. It’s all about turkeys.

She also sent this book home with Jason recently.

It teaches how to make home-made beer. Among other important things.

But the item that I received in the mail yesterday that made my heart go pitter-pat, was new sticky return address labels.

With my name and address of course.

But these aren’t just any old kind of return address labels.

They have pictures on them.

And not of flags either.

But farm animals.

A chicken, a cow, and a rooster.

And look at this. Doesn’t she make you want to just snuggle up with her?

I’ve never wanted a pig. Never ever.

Until now.

I can’t resist him any longer.

Help me, help me, help me.

Third Thing:

I’ve been unsubscribing to a lot of my emails lately. I click unsubscribe and a box pops up that says something like, “Thank you. You won’t be receiving any more emails from us” But then suddenly, an alert of a new email message pops up from the exact same company who just lied to me telling me I won’t be receiving any more emails from them that says, “We’re sad to see you go, would you please fill out a short survey letting us know what’s wrong.” Or “Oops, did you mean to unsubscibe from us? If it’s a mistake, please click here.” That’s a little bit annoying to me. Just needed to vent.

Fourth Thing:

I read a little snippet today that the earth’s rotation is moving in such a way that our zodiacal (if that’s even a word) signs are changing. So guess what? You may no longer be a Leo or a Sagittarius. I was a Pisces, but now I’m an Aquarius.

Don’t let it shatter your world. I think it was just a bunch of drunk on home-made beer farmers that decided it.

Here chicky, chicky, chicky

It’s cold today. The sky is dressed in a blanket of gray clouds. The trees have long been stripped of their flashy wardrobe. They look bleak against the gray of the sky. But there is a sense of beauty in a bare tree. A glimmer of hope for the coming spring. The smell of snow hangs thick in the air. The birds are low today. They are perched in the trees and sitting on the lawns. An old weather lore claims, “when birds fly low, expect rain and a blow.”

Speaking of birds, I want a chicken farm.

I said a chicken farm, not a chicken ranch guys.

After scouring the internet, perusing magazines, and reading old books for information on everything I need to know about chickens, I still have no idea what I am doing. But I’m learning.

So far I’ve learned I’m scared of chickens.

And the snakes their eggs might attract.

And racoons, coyotes, hawks, and owls.

Our new place already has a hand-made, southern-engineered, make-shift chicken coop and some nesting boxes, but it needs some work. My plan is to fix it up, but not buy anything new. I’m going to use all old materials that I can scrounge up.

I have a few pictures of what I have to work with.

This is the front of the coop, which I’m going to leave alone. I like these rugged, half-painted side board planks.

Here are 10 nesting boxes for the little layers. Throw in some straw and make it cozy for them.

This prickly pear needs to be dug up.

The back and the side is made of this old tin, also the roof is tin.

I’m going to leave that alone as well. There is chicken wire surrounding the coop and there is a little chicken run for the flock to get out to get some sunshine. I’m going to secure the wire and make sure predators can’t sneak in, I also plan on covering the top with chicken wire to keep the hawks and owls out. On the days I’m home, I’m going to allow them to free range out on the acreage.

I’m going to add some perches on the inside of the coop and I’m going to add on one side of the coop a little window with a ladder so they can climb in and get in their nesting boxes.

Kind of like this coop. But not at all, really. Isn’t this the most elaborate chicken house you’ve ever seen? It’s nicer than the trailer I’m soon to be living in.

Last night I ordered my chickens. I am giddy with excitement. They are expected to arrive on March 14. I scheduled them to arrive spring break, since I have to be their little chicky mama. They will only be 1 day old when they arrive. They will need a brooding box for several weeks while they grow. I had to get a minimum of 15, which is entirely too many for my little family of 2, but I am preparing myself for some fatalities. Death is a part of living. I made sure that I ordered cold hardy birds, with a docile temperment, who are decent egg layers. All female. I’m not quite ready for a rooster yet.

I got 5 Barred Plymouth Rocks,

5 Buff Orpingtons, they are the color of man’s golden pocketwatch.
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And 5 Black Australorps.

Of course like everything else in my life, this will be a learning experience.

Boy, oh, boy, am I excited. March 14th can’t get here fast enough!!

Home Improvement

Continue reading “Home Improvement”

Finally….

Dear Friends,

You’ll never guess what I’ve finally got my hands on.

I’ve been wanting one of these.

I’m going to hang it in my house.

Yes, I do believe I heard a barely audible shriek from my sister all the way in New York City.

To attain this gem, all I had to say was “I’d like a cow skull to hang up. With horns.”

And waaa-laaa.

J-Dub found one right in the pasture for me.

He even got a free rope out of the deal and everything.

Fortunately the coyotes have already eaten off all the flesh.

And the worms and bugs have cleaned up all the skin and hair.

So now I won’t have to dirty up my stew pot boiling it up.

I’ve got the perfect place for it right on the dining room wall.

Don’t forget I’m available for decorating assistance if you’re going for the edgy cow town/chic trailer trash look for your place as well.

And we hope to see you out to supper real soon.

Love,

J-Dub and Auntie

Preg Checking

There comes a time in every cowboy’s life when the question arises as to whether or not a cow is pregnant. But only dudes say pregnant. Real cowboys say bred. For fear of embarrassing my husband, I shall only speak in cowboy lingo for this blog. So try to keep up, okay?

Recently we acquired a cow that was believed to be 8 months bred on August 25th. Cows are pregnant on average 283 days, just like a woman, which meant she should’ve calved (Dude translation: given birth) back in September, October at the latest.

As of December 27th, she still hadn’t calved, nor was she springing heavy (Dude translation: showing any signs). Click here for a visual. So J-Dub questioned if she was even bred at all and thought she was probably open (Dude translation: not pregnant).

Since cows don’t voluntarily lay on a table and put their legs in stirrups or pee on a stick on demand, there’s really only one cost efficient method to determine a cow’s state of pregnancy.

For this method you need a:

1. a cow (for obvious reasons)

2. a plastic sleeve (for obvious reasons to be seen)

3. lubrication (for obvious reasons)

4. one tough cowboy (for obvious reasons)

Here we see Maybelle looking a bit wary. She knows something is up. She has been penned away from the rest of the cattle. And she’s not liking it one bit.