People who write songs about Montana seldom have anything to say about March. There's a good reason for that. While the rest of the world is singing tra-la-la about spring and getting pedicures for sandal season, we in Eastern Montana are still...STILL...plodding through snow and ice.
The only thing that keeps us going, at all, is the new babies. And really strong coffee. And the banker breathing down our backs.
Other than that, we really have no motivation for staying here.
(Oddly enough, we don't get much company this time of year, either....My friend Susie K. is coming from the Boston area in a couple weeks and she's the only brave soul I know of who actually PLANNED to see our ranch in the depths of the spring gunk. Although, after viewing these pictures, she may send condolences and a nice cheese tray, begging a tight schedule and no appropriate wardrobe. I'd completely understand.)
Following the chuck wagon....behind the tractor is a trailer that holds two round bales, so we can transport a lot of feed in one trip. The Farmer's family is one of the most intelligent, innovative bunch of ranchers I've ever been around and we have all sorts of things like this that they've designed and made. I was going to say they saved time and labor, but I can't type that with a straight face...
I absolutely love this picture. The cow looking, the calf skiting, the tractor in the background....it's the perfect picture for this topic. I should've stopped there, because it captures everything I'll try to write from here on out...
A chilly pair, headed for the tractor, with all of the prairie and sagebrush ahead of them....
The Farmer drives around in his Honda, looking for new calves to tag and if they're chilled down, he brings them back to me in the pickup.
These are older calves, obviously....pushing each other around and rough housing. You can't see the cow very well, but she's rolling her eyes at them and saying, "Shape up, now. Stop that nonsense! Someone's going to get hurt and I won't feel a bit bad..." They don't care...go ahead and fuss, Mama Cow....it won't do any good....
More of beautiful Eastern Montana. Can you see why we get SO hungry for color, in the winter?
You can't see it very well, but the Farmer is tagging a calf here. See the cow's mouth open, warning him? She's not happy.
Done! She briskly gathered up her baby and trotted off toward the feed.
This bin holds the cake pellets and when Vern turns a switch, they trickle out onto the hay.
See the milk froth? His breakfast was interrupted and he's a little miffed.
You can tell it's a bull calf because the tag is in the right ear....heifers get tagged in the left ear.
Calve belonging to mean cows get tagged however it gets done....
Here's a REALLY new baby. He wandered around the feed ground, completely bewildered by the commotion and his poor little mama followed him, worriedly, trying to grab a bite of hay and cake as she went. Of course, he's the cutest calf there and every cow wants to make him thiers (she thinks), so it's very stressful.
I don't care what you say, cows are just beautiful. Aren't they? Especially black Angus cows.
She can't figure out what all the fuss is, with the dry old hay. But she tried some!
Very elegant ensemble, here. You can't see the insulated gold hand-me-down coveralls...
You can, however, see the wrinkles.
Darn.
Another favorite picture! I like mirror shots of scenery, because you get all sorts of perspectives...
If there was a magazine called Cute Cows, she'd be the cover girl...
Look at that perfect little hoof!
STILL adorable...
Look at that little forhead, cleaned within an inch of it's life by a mama who cares...
Did someone say, "Maaaaaaa!" ?
Same cover girl....different pose...
Why DOES the hay on the wagon taste better than the hay rolled out by the tractor?
We put out straw, too, for bedding and this baby found the perfect nest, right in the middle of the action.
No, they are NOT Betty and Claude, two wannabe farm criminals of some sort! Dixie and the Farmer, posing for me. I think they're smiling. Who knows?
Frozen calf, on the floorboard of the pickup with the heater blasting as hot as we can get it. He was in very bad shape...glassy eyes, mouth open and shallow breathing, crying as I drove him in. (He was and I was.) We put him in the hot box in the shop and when I asked at lunch time how he was, there was not much hope.
We give them colostrum in paste form, and had to warm it up on the dashboard. He didn't get any...it's expensive and we need to see if he's going to be close enough to living before he gets any.
And that's what our mornings look like, here. Then I gather up the kid(s) at Grandma's, run home and make lunch and pick up the pieces from our mad dash out the door that morning.
When people talk about March Madness....this is what I think of. Not basketball!
