Good fences make good neighbors . . . .

A recent piece in the Wall Street Journal “Startups Give Livestock Fencing a Jolt – April 8, 2018″ seemed far-fetched, amusing and downright silly.  One of the latest technology start-ups is devoted to high-tech collars for cattle, sheep, goats and other livestock to round-up and relocate the animals using electric shocks and audio signals to direct movement.  The goal appears to be to eliminate fencing, which in the U.S. “cost $300 million last year,” and to give more control of pastures and animals.  Now what could be wrong with that?

Imagine–a virtual fence that the bossies won’t cross because they have been conditioned by electric signals not to.  Only critical requirements are a large supply of solar-powered collars (only $155 per collar for each cow, sheep, goat, or whatever,)  and an internet or mobile phone connection.  The companies producing the collars claim shifting a herd can be as easy as drawing a line on a smart phone app.  Really?  I can see the protests coming from People for the Ethical Treatment of animals or PETA (known in some parts as People Eating Tasty Animals!)

Mama and baby boy . . . .

What is to happen to the cowboys and cowgirls, herders, dogs and even helicopters that are currently employed to gather herds of livestock for branding, pasture relocation and shipping in the fall?  I can see it now.  Mother cows standing in a virtual corral as their bawling, howling babies are thrown to the ground, vaccinated, castrated, branded and turned loose crying pitifully for their mamas.  Same scene come weaning time.  Anyone who has spent time with a mother cow separated from her baby will understand what I am getting at.  Virtual fencing around the bull pasture?  Are they kidding?

My technical know-how simply doesn’t stretch far enough to understand how the annual migration to the Big Horn Mountains will play out.  The stock trail is fenced with real barbed wire for a good reason.  I challenge some computer geek to keep everybody in line to prevent commingling with other herds long the route.  That should take some app!

Don’t mess with me! . . . .

I am reminded of my dad’s colorful description of our cattle drive to summer pasture when a couple of guys on motorcycles chose an inopportune time to plow through our herd, scattering cows in ten directions.  The air turned blue with invective as the day was spent rounding up spooked cows.  I doubt very much if a smart phone app would have been much help.

Dad usually managed the drive each year with the help of a lead cow who was his prize assistant (the term “bell cow” must have come from this tradition) and the 60+mile journey up the mountain and back down usually came off without a hitch.  I think placing our faith in a smart old lead cow will have a better return than putting electric collars on everyone and expecting some farmer or rancher with five thumbs on each hand to sort it all out.

Homestead at Nine Mile – home in foreground was Ernest and Clara Ullery’s built in 1921

Samuel Ullery and his son Ernest filed on homesteads in an area known as Nine Mile in 1921, receiving patent and the seal of the General Land Office authorized by President Calvin Coolidge in 1924.  Samuel had “proved up” on 480 acres and Ernest on 320 acres.  The home pictured above was built from logs hauled from the Mayoworth sawmill.  It consisted of two large rooms with a full porch that extended the length of the house on the east. This photograph was taken of the west side.  Unusual in early-day construction in the area, the exterior of the logs were covered with cedar shingles on all sides.  The Ullery family compound included this house, as well as the home of Samuel and Clara, and later on, the home of newlyweds Jim and Nella Ullery.

Bird hunting . . .

The group standing in front of the porch appear to be holding recently killed birds.  I don’t know who the members of this party are, or what kind of birds they are holding.  My grandmother raised a huge flock of chickens and turkeys, so perhaps this was a sale transaction with neighbors.  Note the cold frame resting against the foundation where she likely grew some lettuce or other vegetables during the colder months.

Gone but not forgotten . . . .

Until recently, this is what remained of Ernie and Clara’s homestead house.  Ernie had it relocated from Nine Mile in the late 1950’s to ranch headquarters on Dry Creek.  And there it has been, still resting on temporary supports, all these years.  A microburst windstorm tore the roof off four years ago, which shot down any plans I might have had for restoration.  The porch had collapsed many years ago and hangs on the side of the house.  But still . . . .

Planed logs nearing 100 years old . . . .

The chinking is falling out but the logs look like they could be reclaimed, if I could figure out how to dismantle them and reuse them.  The only ones with serious rot are along the top of the structure.  We decided to start cleaning up the site last month on a couple of nice days (rare in March).

Peeling away the porch . . . .

The boards are tough and tenacious – we finally had to hook up a rope and pull the remaining porch structure down.  It didn’t help that a currant bush loaded with spiky thorns was standing in the way!

Salvage pile . . . .

A pile of boards literally full of nails grows on the side.  I love old wood and will find some way to recycle most of it, similar to what we did with Granny’s old poultry shed.  Much of that salvage went on the old horse barn we restored last spring and appears to be holding up well.  The age, color and character blend well with the existing structure and the whole appears to have been standing forever, except for a few new boards that had to be added.

This old house . . . .

What stories could be told of the lives herein from 1922 until about 1940 when the family relocated.  They could survive the depression in the thirties, but not the dry years that brought no rain.  When the reservoir that irrigated the garden and two wells that furnished a little domestic water dried up, it was time to move on.

What I have trouble understanding is why, after moving the sturdy log structure from Nine Mile, my grandparents didn’t restore and live in it when they retired, sold the Telephone Store in Kaycee, and moved to the ranch. They purchased a new mobile home, incurring far greater expense than it likely would have cost to restore the old cabin to its former glory.  When it was relocated in the late 1950’s, it was still in very good condition.  Oh well, it was an opportunity lost that makes me sad.  I must do something to save what I can of the remains.

Sam Ullery’s homestead house . . . .

This little cottage was relocated at the same time as the log house.  We used it as a bunkhouse for a string of hired hands and then for storage.  Restoration is detailed in a previous blog post, and not a day goes by that I don’t look upon this little house and feel glad that I saved it.

Clara, granddaughter Janet and Sam, circa 1922 . . . .

Little house on the prairie.