Summer certainly flew by in a whirlwind of activity here at Coulee Creek Ranch. We moved our home and headquarters out to a new cabin next to the barn and corrals. We are now a few miles out in the country where sagebrush, cows, and coyotes are our nearest neighbors. Lately in the evenings, I’ve enjoyed watching the shadows of the pines reach across the coulee like long fingers before dusk.
Down along the Musselshell River, the cottonwoods are ablaze in yellow hues. Their leaves gently rustle in the breeze before drifting to the earth. Autumn is by far my favorite time of year. I love the cool evenings, the cozy feeling of snuggling under blankets next to the open window, and the immense satisfaction of storing the garden’s harvest for the cold months ahead. Fall is a time to reflect on the accomplishments of long summer days, and to take stock of what is on hand for the leaner time of year ahead of us.
I can’t possibly capture all of the moments from the last three busy summer months in words. I share some highlights in the following photos.
Bart and I tossed around several names for our new ranch last year. In the end, we chose Coulee Creek Ranch – not because we are die-hard fans of the other CCR – but for the simple fact that Coulee Creek itself runs through the property. Additionally, we built our barn and corrals in a little coulee on the property. We both spend most of the day “out in the coulee” working in our garden or building fences and taking care of the herd. Soon we will have a cabin out in the coulee too. It is our little piece of heaven.
When I talk about Coulee Creek Ranch with my relatives and friends from out-of-state, they are often confused by the name. “What, exactly,” they ask, “is a coulee?” And “how do you spell that?” Even the spell checker on this WordPress blog questions my repeated use of the word coulee. It suggests that I replace it with “couple” or “college” or even “coffee”. While there is a Coffee Creek in Montana and I love to drink a strong cup every morning, Coffee Creek is nowhere near Lavina and Bart despises the stuff (yes, even the smell).
I didn’t realize how unusual or unfamiliar the word “coulee” really was until this past year. I suppose I had become accustomed to it through seven years of life with Bart and my growing familiarity with Lavina. So I had to chuckle when my sister Susanne sent me an article by Linton Weeks (2015) entitled “Do We Talk Funny? 51 American Colloquialisms“. I discovered that the word unique to Montana is… you guessed it… coulee. It means “a valley”. According to the Dictionary of American Regional English (DARE), regionalisms persist across the United States despite our increasingly homogenized culture. I recognized a few of the other words on the list complied by DARE in Week’s article: skijoring for Alaska (we do that here too) and colchon for New Mexico (which is Spanish for mattress).
Strangely though, I had never heard the word characteristic of my home state of New York (spiedie — a marinated meat sandwich). My hunch is that spiedies must be unique to New York City, which really could be a whole state unto itself. The rest of New York State – including my hometown of Rochester – is nothing like the City. I often have to explain this geographic fact to my western friends and family. I grew up seven hours from New York City, I’ve only been there twice, and I have no idea what life in the Big Apple is like. Similarly, now I must explain to my friends and family back East that a coulee is a valley, it’s spelled c-o-u-l-e-e, and we have the unique pleasure of living on the banks of Coulee Creek.
As the long days of summer fly by, I usually flop into bed exhausted at night. Therefore, I’m keeping this post simple by sharing some photos from the week.
My how my garden grows! I returned from a lovely week in New York State with family and friends to a garden that is taller, fuller, and weedier than when I left. After a few vigorous days of work, it is now back in tip top shape. I am most impressed by the sunflowers, which must grow at least 3 – 5 inches each day.
This is my first year growing eggplant, which has a rather exotic-looking leaf and flower.
It’s harvest time for the last of the spring spinach and chard, and the first beets and turnips.
While in Syracuse, my cousins shared with me an interesting natural history tidbit from our Grandpa. He taught them to ask a daddy longleg “which way did the cows go?” and it would point a leg. The day after I flew home, we moved the cows to a new pasture, and I had the perfect opportunity to test this out. The very next morning, I found this daddy longleg trapped in my sink. When asked the question, he pointed in approximately the right direction! I consider this an affirmation of the wisdom of Grandpa.
On hot summer days, we usually have sun tea brewing. This batch is Mountain Huckleberry with honey. Yum.
Our neighbor’s goat had twins! One of the kids was too weak to get up right away, so Bart gave it a boost.
Being a ranch dog is tough work – Doc usually takes a nap at lunchtime.
At dusk last night on the western horizon: the Moon and Jupiter behind the Cottonwood tree.
Here above the 46th parallel we bask in sunlight until well after 9 at night on the summer solstice. We sleep with the windows wide open to let in the cool night air and murmur of the crickets. We awake by 5 in the morning to a chorus of birds already greeting the sun. The days are long and we have the good fortune to spend most of our time working outdoors.
With two gardens to tend, I can usually be found in the dirt amongst vegetable plants. A couple rough hailstorms in early June set us back a bit, but everything is now growing well. I keep up on weeding, watering, and removal of pesky potato bugs. Alas, they have already found my new garden in the coulee. Luckily, they are easy to see and pick by hand. We’ve had a marvelous harvest from the town garden already: lettuce, spinach, and arugula. At this time of year, we indulge in fresh mixed green salad twice a day.
Ample June rains have granted us lush, green fields that are ready for haying. We are up to the task as we purchased our first haying equipment this spring. We picked up a swather for a smoking deal after enduring a long hot day at an auction in May. All the sane people left in search of water and shade by five. Out of the few determined bidders left, we clearly wanted the swather the most. After a few minor tweaks, Bart is cutting hay.
Next came the baler. Bart’s commitment to finding hidden gems on Craigslist really paid off. He found this little square baler down in Bridger. Again, a few minor tweaks and it is working like a champ. Luckily, our little tractor can pull the baler. We picked the tractor up from a friend a few years ago. It required several major tweaks before it jumped to life. Now all it needs is a sun umbrella, and we are ready to roll all summer long.
Bart cut and baled the first of the hay last week. We loaded it onto the trailer and brought it up to the barn. Here at the height of summer we are doing our best to prepare for winter: hay for the animals, and vegetables for us.
Lavina School celebrated its 100-year anniversary this past weekend, complete with a parade through town on Saturday morning. Our friends, Ken and Daphne Kuhlmann, pulled their beautiful old wagon in the parade with their horses, Kit and Cash. They invited me and Bart to be outriders for their wagon. Since I’ve gotten to ride regularly over the past year, I’ve become much more comfortable on horses, and felt ready for my first parade. Luckily, it was a small scale, short parade unlike the bigger affairs that Bart has ridden in down in Billings. Bart and I rode into town from the Coulee, just shy of three miles, in order to calm the horses down so they’d be ready for the noise and commotion of the parade. Bart is riding Whiskey these days and I am on Buddy. Last fall, I rode Whiskey because he was considered the horse least likely to buck. Turns out he is also very smart, and picked up quickly on my inexperience around horses. He pushed my boundaries a few times because he thought he had the upper hand. Several times now I’ve been put on horses deemed the least likely to buck. Usually it turns out they have some other quirk that makes them an interesting ride – such as being a gaited horse or just being downright stubborn. I switched over to Buddy this spring, and it’s made a big difference in my riding. He is a lovable, albeit slow, horse who takes good care of me. We lined up for the parade on Railroad Avenue with Ken, Daphne, and a few other riders on Saturday morning. Railroad Avenue is adjacent to the old railroad right-of-way. This branch of the railroad was abandoned long ago when they decided not to continue with the electrified route over the mountains. Turns out this wasn’t the best decision the railroad could’ve made at the time… but that is a story for another day. While we waited amidst the assorted floats, Bart rode up and down capturing some photos.
Here you can see that Ken and Daphne ride in style!
My friend Annie gave me this beautiful shirt, perfect for a parade. We traveled down Main St. from north to south while the sheriff held up traffic at both ends. It is a unique, historic downtown. At the far end of the photo on the right is the old bank building, and then the Slayton Mercantile with the green awning. This is where the dance and lamb barbeque took place on Friday night. I am usually not a fan of lamb, but Friday night’s marinated lamb kabobs changed my opinion. They were so incredibly tender and tasty that I actually went back for seconds! Just out of the photo on my right is the Adam’s Hotel, once a fashionable destination along the railroad line between Milwaukee and the West Coast. Later in the afternoon we toured the hotel, which has been partially restored. I can only imagine how luxurious it was to stay there on the long train ride west.
I am pleased to say the horses behaved well and the parade went off without a hitch. We stopped by the neighbor’s house on the way home and I led the kids around on Buddy’s back. He really is a gentle, sweet horse.
We moved north to the country last year in order to live a simpler, more sustainable existence. One year later, we are much closer to our dream, yet there is still room for improvement. I managed to take on enough teaching responsibilities this year that I’ve kept myself busy – too busy. I enjoy teaching immensely, however, it is time again to simplify. Luckily, with the end of the school year, I have the valuable opportunity to evaluate what I will continue with next year. And, I have the delight of working outdoors in the gardens again all summer to look forward to! Garden planning has already begun. We’ve had little tomato, pepper, and eggplant seedlings growing in our cabin for over a month now.
We’ve put the potato, onion, and root vegetable seeds in the ground out at our new garden in the coulee. There, the soil is sandy unlike the Musselshell River bottom here at the cabin. Our carrots will grow straight and narrow! No more franken-carrots struggling to push their way down into the soil. Our new well will provide easy access to water, unlike our old potato patch where I hauled bucket after bucket, toning my arm muscles and watering the plants all at once last year.
I added 25 strawberry plants to the new plot yesterday before a 12-hour spring rain doused the landscape in moisture.
Today, on a rainy Saturday, I am cozy by the fire in our cabin as I grade papers and turn the remainder of last summer’s tomatoes into spaghetti sauce.
As February came to an end, we adjusted to a new rhythm of life. The first calf of the year was born to a first calf heifer within the safe confines of our new barn on Tuesday the 24th. The labor proceeded without a hitch. The mother welcomed her newborn into the world with a tongue-bath while it lay on a bed of fresh straw, catching its first breaths. Drying the new heifer quickly was imperative; the air temperature hovered in the low single digits and the winds were howling. Although our barn has but two sides for this first year, they are strategically placed to block the predominantly northwestern wind and thereby create an effective barrier to the cold.
After we made sure the new calf was up and suckling from its mother, we headed to the camper just a few hundred yards from the barn in the coulee. For the next several weeks, this became our second home, allowing us to easily check the cows every few hours during the night. Last summer we helped my father-in-law fix up the 2nd-hand camper. After intense cleaning and repairs, Bart installed wood flooring, a folding table, and propane heater, while I selected paint and coated the interior in a warm yellow hue. The first night we slept in the camper, the wind howled all night long, shaking various loose pieces of metal and flapping the vents. At first, we were cold and then way too hot, shedding the feather comforter midway through the night in favor of a light cotton quilt. The cows outside the door woke me several times with their bellowing. It was ultimately a very restless night of sleep. Just a few nights later, I had adjusted to waking up every three hours, figured out the perfect combination of blankets and pillows, and was tired enough to just about sleep the whole night through.
So far most of the births have proceeded without a hitch – easy, smooth labors. Mild trouble arose in the first week when a first-calf heifer became wildly confused about the baby that had just emerged from her body. She bellowed at her new calf, and tried to head-butt it a few times. Luckily, one of the more experienced cows nearby came over and began licking the newborn, perhaps thinking that the calf could be her own. Something must have clicked for the first-calf heifer as she followed suite and proceeded to lick her baby dry. The air was still very cold, but at least this little calf arrived under the mid-day sun. If it is very cold, and the calf doesn’t quite dry out quickly enough, we bring it into the truck (thank goodness for the quad cab) and drive it to the shop to warm up. One Friday evening in early March, I helped towel-dry a white-faced calf that was still too wet when the sun went down and the temperature plummeted into the single digits. In a stealthy grab, Bart quickly snatched her from the mother and stuck her in the cab. Back at the shop, she stood fairly patiently through the toweling, and then stood next to me by the fire, looking for somewhere to nurse. She tried my hand, which was curled up in my lap, and then went for my rubber muck boot. After striking out on both counts, she took a couple of laps around the truck and checked out our dog, Doc, who was obviously intimidated by this oversized baby. We decided the calf was warm and mobile enough to go back out in the lot with her mom. When we dropped her off, Bart did his best imitation of a calf bellowing in order to draw the mother over. A few other cows came and checked it out with their noses and tongues, but quickly left when they realized it wasn’t their baby. At last the calf let out a bellow of its own, and instantly its mother flew over to the rescue. In no time at all, the calf latched onto its mother’s nipple for its first nutritious meal. There are but a handful of cows left to calf as we near the end of the month. It has been a relatively easy year, with daytime temperatures often above fifty and ample sunshine. Once we turn them into pasture, the calves are a joy to watch. They tumble in play and run circles around their moms in shear delight at being alive. It is a truly wondrous time of year.
As March begins, so too begins calving season. The first round of newborns arrived early: three calves in three days from Tuesday through Thursday. Now all’s quiet. Perhaps they are waiting for the next storm and plunging temperatures. We check them every few hours just to be sure.
Here are a few photos of the newborns. Calving season means interrupted sleep, so I’m operating on the bare minimum right now. I’m getting only the essentials accomplished during the day. Stories to come soon.
I had the immense pleasure of sharing an afternoon hike on the CRP with Mike and Alexis a couple of weeks ago. Earlier in the week we had made plans to spend Thursday afternoon exploring the landscape with them. Rather unexpectedly, we had to move some cows that day, and we threw all our plans out the window. I returned from work at noon, and we headed to the coulee to saddle up. We weren’t too sure if Mike and Alexis would actually make it to Lavina, and in the flurry of activity, we completely forgot to call them. Since our phones only receive service within a few feet of our cell booster, we had no way to reach them.
Luckily, my father in law gave them directions to the coulee, and they pulled up our driveway just as we were heading out. Like many a good Montanan, they arrived dressed in boots and jeans, ready to help. Alexis hopped on Bart’s horse while Mike and Bart returned to the shop to get the four wheeler. The ride was easy, and the cows proved to be cooperative. With two horses and Mike on the four wheeler, we had the cows safely in the new calving lot within a couple of hours. Alexis came along with her skills and camera in tow, so we headed out for a late afternoon hike. Her images are featured throughout this entry. You can find more gorgeous landscape and lifestyle photos at her East of Billings Facebook page. Thanks for capturing this special place, Alexis!
I purchased my first pressure cooker right before Christmas this year. I considered it a gift to myself (no longer would I need to plan bean-based dinners 24 hours in advance), and a gift to my husband, who enjoys the tender beans that it flawlessly produces despite our mineral-laden water. We tried it out for the first time shortly after I returned from spending a week in Colorado celebrating the holidays with my family. It took the pot longer than I expected to build up pressure, but once it did, the shiny bell-shaped regulator on top began slowly rocking and spinning in a rhythmic dance. The information booklet, a rather lengthy tome for such a seemingly simple device, cautioned against rapid, frenetic movements that would indicate excessive internal pressure. I adjusted the flame until the regulator smoothly twirled, and the pot hissed occasionally on the stove as it prepared the perfect bean.
On some levels, I’ve been in a pressure cooker for the past month. The holidays require patience and planning, and when they are over it is common to breathe a big sigh of relief as life returns to normalcy. Driving home from Colorado, I inhaled deeply as I navigated the car out of the hectic urban congestion, and exhaled my way back onto the expansive openness of Wyoming. Tension slipped away with the traffic as I returned closer to the familiar stretches of prairie and sky.
I made it home to celebrate New Years Eve with Bart, and took a rest day to restore my inner balance while I helped him split firewood. And then the lid of the pressure cooker tightened down again as I dove into the arduous task of designing a new college course. The ideas for the course had been swimming around my head for months. I had ample first-hand experiences from graduate school to draw upon. I had stacks of books and articles to re-read and recap. And I had two weeks to synthesize all of this information into a cohesive plan for the semester. Luckily, I love the subject matter – natural history and conservation education – and I am eager to teach it. I also thrive under last-minute pressure. Every spare moment of the next three weeks would be devoted to crafting this course.
So as I watched the spinning regulator rise with pressure to twirl on top of the pot, it dawned on me that movement, particularly dancing, is the cure for what ails me. Just one week prior, when my nephew proposed the Hokey Pokey on Christmas Eve, I jumped at the opportunity to get my groove on. Evan cajoled everyone in the room to join a rousing round of moving our body parts in time with our awkward off-key singing. As we jumped in and out of the circle, I wholeheartedly shook it all about… and the tension slipped away. Yup, the hokey pokey IS what it’s all about. Just like my fancy new pot, I come with a warning: excessive internal pressure may lead to frenetic shaking. I’m going to let it all out.