Longhorn Steer Wrestling

Posted on June 2, 2013 by bygeorge

“I’ll send this hunk of leather to the moon!” . . . .

Abe the steer has decided he doesn’t like the ancient saddle we mounted on the hitching post. The saddle is stiff with age and quite heavy, and Abe has been attacking it, knocking it to the ground, and then continuing to “charge” it with great vigor. We put it back up and he comes along and knocks it off again. Only Abe knows for sure why??

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll stomp it to the ground!” . . . .

Abe is akin to a five-year old boy with nothing to do. He makes a regular raid on the goose pen, overturning a heavy, cast-iron feeding tray and eating the cracked corn and scratch grains. Today he added insult to injury by drinking all the water from their pan, tore open a new bale of straw I was planning to use as mulch on a newly seeded hillside, ate the grain and made a complete nuisance of himself. We keep a heavy rubber strap enclosure on the gate, leaving it open enough for the geese to come and go. Abe waltzes right through it.

“What!???” . . . .

Since his birth last year in March, Abe has been wandering the property and by now he knows every nook and cranny where he may find a tasty bite, every vulnerable spot in the fences where he might explore new territory, and every watering station along the way. He likes to drink from the bird bath outside the living room window (even though it holds a scant few cups of water) as well as the wading pool and water bowl we fill for the geese each day. He may choose to drink from the pond, the horse tank and Tilly’s two-way watering station at the corral, but his insatiable curiosity leads him to dip his nose into every other water source along the way.

The picture of innocence . . . .

When he’s feeling frisky, Abe becomes a 600-pound torpedo, bucking and kicking up his heels as he tears off at a dead run down the creek bottom. We keep a wary eye on him as he follows us to the barn each evening for his “cake” and bit of hay. I remember the day he came up behind our old black lab Lady and bumped her backside, and I don’t wish to be the recipient of such kindness.

The Yearling

Posted on May 30, 2013 by bygeorge

Tru Tahlequa Miss is one year old . . . .

Tilly the filly celebrated her first birthday on Mother’s Day 2013, and she is growing into quite a young lady. “Lady” may be a stretch–she is full of green grass and enjoying the spring weather with a few antics, which meant it was time to begin her training in earnest. Once the corral dried out, we began some round pen exercises which settled her down, for the time being. A trip to the vet for her annual vaccinations was a bit trying as she felt claustrophobic in the trailer now that she has grown considerably in size from her last visit in the fall. More frequent loading and unloading, as well as short hauls are in order to make her more comfortable with this experience.

Ready for some excitement . . . .

Tilly may have springs loaded in her legs, as she has jumped the fence into the neighbor’s pasture twice now, which causes great consternation. The fence she so easily negotiates is an ancient wonder of twisted cedar posts, rusty barbed wire, tired woven wire and more patches and repairs than one can count. It is the oldest remaining stretch of fence on our property and nobody can remember when it was built. The three strands of barbed wire at the top could cause serious injury if she gets tangled up and cannot disengage herself. After her first foray, the fence underwent numerous improvements and we believed we had solved the problem. Yesterday, she sailed over it again, with the aid of thick sagebrush that we believe protected her from the barbed wire. She has made friends with horses across the fence and decided to join them for a little socialization.

“Can I come out and play?” . . . .

Tilly has her nose through the corral poles to greet me in this shot, above. Horses require a great deal of time and attention. We look forward to our visits, and the numerous trips to the barn each day are a good way to get our exercise, too. She spends a few hours out in the pasture each afternoon with her best buddy Abe the longhorn steer (a.k.a. Feed Lot) and they have quite a romp around the place. He has not managed to get over the fence the two times Tilly has escaped, and he has stood forlornly in the corner waiting for her to return.

“Where’s Tilly?” . . . .

A meeting with our neighbor regarding the replacement of the old fence took place once we had Tilly safely home again. We have a plan now, and will share the labor and cost of materials to build a fence that will be safe for their horses and ours. It is a major undertaking and will require removing some trees, downed tree limbs and a little dirt work. In the meantime, we are going to work to patch and repair the old fence as it stands and try to outsmart Tilly the frisky filly.

Fast Forward, May Flowers

Posted on May 29, 2013 by bygeorge

New life along the line . . . .

What a difference a month can make! April snows lasted into early May, but winter has finally given up its grip. Spring has officially arrived and none too soon. The air is redolent with the fragrance of lilacs, cherry, apple, plum, honeysuckle and chokecherry blossoms.

Honeysuckle at homestead house . . . .

Daffodils outdid themselves, and a few tulips managed to bloom after freezing storms and snow beat them back repeatedly. The columbines are bursting with color and the ancient bleeding heart that has traveled with me from two former homes is trying once again to honor me with its dainty pink flowers.

A carpet of white . . . .

Daffodils greet the morning sun . . . .

Blue columbines are glorious . . . .

Granny Clara’s flowers greet us every spring . . . .

More of Clara’s blooms . . . .

May is the month of renewal and promise of new life. The hillsides and pastures are noisy with bleats and bawling of new baby calves and lambs. With a little rain, the grass will grow and life will be good.

Springtime in Wyoming

Posted on April 24, 2013 by bygeorge

Washerwoman blues . . . .

Only a darned fool optimist would dare to hang clothes on the line in Wyoming in April, 2013! We have had three major snowstorms and as I look out the window at the drifts piled up, all I can see is more winter. We had four days of spring-like weather early in the month, which was just enough to fool us into believing we could get on with major outdoor cleanup projects and activities as innocent as hanging a few old cleaning rags on the line.

Hope springs . . . .

The metal frame of an ancient cot was caught in the last winter storm. It was recently tossed out of one of our homestead cottages (circa 1915) that has been undergoing a long, drawn out restoration. The sides fold down, however I left them extended so that I could pile a few more items on top temporarily. When skies looked threatening and flurries started coming down, we hurried to relocate all the “stuff” piled on top. Nobody had any ideas for where to stash the old cot, so here it still sits waiting for its next assignment. The fluffy mattress of snow looks inviting.

Her Roots Are Showing!

Posted on April 24, 2013 by bygeorge

“Don’t mess with this blonde!”

This exotic little White Crested Black Polish chicken is a charmer and becomes a little more gorgeous every day. She is one of two selected for our flock and has been named Marilyn for he dishy blonde crown of feathers. A natural extrovert, this little chick is in to everything and darts around the brooder house like she owns the place. At feeding time she is the first one to step forward. She will eat from my hand, and yesterday I had to physically toss her out of the feed tray so I could close the lid after re-filling it.

“Can’t talk now, time for lunch!”

Sister Phyllis, shown on the left, was not endowed with such a gorgeous mop of blonde feathers. Maybe she’ll catch up along the way, or merely resort to developing her other assets. Who says blondes have more fun?

Birds of Spring

Posted on April 22, 2013 by bygeorge

“Ah, warm water for my bath!” . . . .

This Robin is having a grand time catching a quick bath in the heated water bowl. It’s been a long winter, and chances are there has not been another “warm bath” in recent weeks.

"splish splash, I am taking a bath!" . . . .

“splish splash, taking a bath!” . . . .

This energetic bird will soon drain the bathtub at this rate!

“This is too much fun – think I’ll go for another dip!” . . . .

A recent visitor to the feeder varies from the typical House Finch with red markings that can be seen most of the winter. We identified this little finch (seen below) as a Redpoll, likely a male with his pink breast and bright red cap.

“A skillet filled with vittles!” . . . .

Sparrows are constant companions throughout the winter and greet me every morning from the branches of a pine tree outside the kitchen window.

“Bird brunch!” . . . .

Old Stetsons Hang Around

Posted on April 14, 2013 by bygeorge

Dad’s old Stetson hats haven’t lost their groove . . .

Dad wore a hat from the time he was old enough to walk. At a young age he was nicknamed “Hoot” after Hoot Gibson, the cowboy movie star who wore a style of hat that Dad liked as a boy. The hats pictured here were his dress hats, kept in hat boxes and now stored in the basement, along with much memorabilia from my parents’ past. The labels inside indicate they were purchased at the New York Store in Buffalo, Wyoming. Also discovered inside one of them was a yellowed little card that served as a cheerful reminder of “that’s not your hat!”

“Like hell it’s yours–put it back! This Hat Belongs To:” . . . .

These hats fit fine, and on occasion I drag out one or the other and wear them. Having a big head helps, as Dad wore 7-3/4 inch hat brim.

A little dusty, but still a good hat!

This old hat hangs in the loafing shed above where Tilly the filly has a stall. Each day as I clean her bedding, I look up at this old hat. During our last blizzard the wind blew threw a crack in the wall and covered it with a fine layer of snow which added to the rich patina of grime. The hat may have belonged to Dad, or one of the many hired hands who came and went over the years. I prefer to think of it as Dad’s.

Hoot and his hat . . . .

Chickens Little

Posted on April 14, 2013 by bygeorge

“I rule this roost!”

In just two weeks the baby chicks have doubled in size. They are now ready to be relocated, as they have outgrown the rabbit cage and the laundry room has become a feed store cum barnyard where getting any laundry clean is a questionable endeavor. Armed with shovels and broom, we cleaned out the historic brooder house where the geese have been residing over the winter. We had to make a few repairs, and after a thorough cleaning and fresh bag of wood chips, the chicks have a new home. I crossed my fingers as I carried them out of their snug, warm indoor environment yesterday into a much larger space that seemed to dwarf them. They huddled in the corner, chirping frantically and then began to move en masse toward the heat lamp.

“She just thinks she rules this roost!”

“They call me Marilyn . . . you know, that dishy blond?” . . . .

“I’m the shy, quiet type” . . . .

“There is nothing Polish about a name like Phyllis . . . I refuse to be called Phyllis!”

As the chicks grow, they take on personalities. I think the chick above reminds me of Phyllis Diller, and she has a strong, clear chirp that stands out from the rest. She seems to be more aware of her surroundings and quicker to react to a change in circumstances. I have my fingers crossed that all these sweet chicks are pullets, or females. Having a rooster named Phyllis would be too hilarious.

“Gee whiz–imagine that– more snow!” . . . .

After worrying over them all night, wondering if they would be warm enough, we awoke this morning to a fresh 4-6 inches of snow plastered on everything. Good grief, it is April, after all. It is supposed to be spring! We bundled up and headed out the door at 6:00 a.m. to check on the chicks. The geese were bunched up in the snow outside their recently vacated brooder house and protested loudly when we arrived, as if to say, “hey you guys, who locked us out? We could freeze out here!” It seems we planned for everything but the weather. After waiting all winter for snow, it is arriving in April.

April Is The Cruelest Month!

Posted on April 11, 2013 by bygeorge

“Break out the beer and burgers–time to grill!” . . . .

These April showers won’t produce any flowers for awhile. Three days of howling winds, blowing and drifting snow and single-digit temperatures left us longing for the end of winter. Fighting the wind and snow to travel to the barn three times a day, as well as the chicken house and various outbuildings where all the other critters reside left tempers frayed and patience on the wane. Fortunately we suffered no power outages which would have left heat lamps off and water bowls frozen. I suppose in that event we would have had to move everybody inside! I say that jokingly–I cannot imagine any more animals in the house. We let Rosie move in for the duration, and Bleu the cat resides inside year ’round. The baby chicks are thriving in the laundry room but are rapidly outgrowing the rabbit cage. The weather is going to have to change so we can shuffle everybody around a bit!

“Anybody got snowshoes?”

A drift created in front of the door to the goose house made things a little interesting. After being penned in for three days, they were soooooo glad to get outdoors, only to be confronted with a mountain of cold, white stuff. They squawked and flapped about trying to sort out what to do next. They finally made it to high ground where the snow had blown away a bare patch and spent the day circling around in high dudgeon.

“Bird relief port in a storm” . . . .

The bird diner was doing a bang-up business. Our feathered friends huddled in the pine tree nearby and took turns visiting the feeders for a quick bite. Snow piled up near the bay window and framed the view.

“How am I supposed to hunt birds when I can’t see out?” . . . .

Bleu’s favorite bird watching post is obscured by snow piled up outdoors. He waits impatiently, tail twitching back and forth and makes little snarling sounds as if to say, “enough of this already!”

A long, cold walk . . . .and a cold seat waiting . . . .

The Roosevelt is a 1930’s gift from FDR and the Civilian Conservation Corp (CCC). This wintry shot serves as a reminder of how life used to be before indoor plumbing. And we came too close for comfort. Life in the country can get complicated when the septic tank quits functioning and we recently experienced just such an event. Fortunately we made the decision to save the Roosevelt. But that’s another story.

Granny Clara’s Spudnuts

Posted on April 10, 2013 by bygeorge

Still warm and dripping with glaze – hmmmmm . . . . . .

Our paternal grandmother Clara was the creative partner in an enterprise known as The Telephone Store. It was a general store with a lunch counter running the length of one large room where livestock vaccines, straw hats, bandannas, greeting cards, magazines, comic books, ice cream cones, soft drinks, face powder, perfume, candy, cigarettes, lotions and potions were sold six days a week, 7:00 a.m. to whenever they pulled the roller shade on the door that indicated they were closed for the day.

Clara was up at 4:00 a.m. to start the spudnuts and pies–apple, cherry, coconut cream, banana cream, chocolate cream and egg custard–baked every morning for the early arrival of the local ranchers and townies, as well as a stream of truck drivers who traveled U.S. Highway 87 which ran through town. Salt Creek Freight also ran a bus service that arrived mid morning and again on a return trip mid afternoon, so the pies and doughnuts were always gone at the end of the day.

Scrounging through old family recipes with the sisty-uglers turned up one for Granny’s spudnuts and a recipe testing event was finally organized on a recent Saturday, after much hemming and hawing and re-scheduling. Only one of us had actually tried to make her spudnuts, and we were doubtful we could match our childhood memories of how wonderful we thought they tasted.

A platter of pure delight . . . .

We made two batches from two slightly different versions of the recipe, and we came pretty close. With a little practice we can make Granny proud.

Granny Clara’s Spudnuts

1 Cup mashed potatoes

1 Cup potato water

1 Cup (two sticks) butter

1/2 Cup sugar

1 Tbsp salt

1 Cup scalded milk

2 eggs, beaten

1 package yeast

6-7 Cups flour

Glaze: 1/2 Cup flour; 1 lb. bag powdered sugar; 1 tsp vanilla; water to make a syrupy glaze

1. Bring butter to room temp; mix with sugar, salt, mashed potatoes. Dissolve yeast in warm potato water; add water, milk and eggs to potato mixture. Stir in enough flour to make dough easy to handle.

2. Turn dough onto lightly floured surface; knead until smooth and elastic. Place in greased bowl; turn greased side up. Cover; let rise until double, 1 to 2 hrs.

3. Pat out dough on lightly floured surface to 3/4 inch thickness. Cut doughnuts with floured 2-1/2 inch cutter; let rise until double, about one hour.

4. Heat oil (peanut or canola) to 375 degrees in deep, heavy pan. Fry doughnuts until golden, 2-3 min. each side. Drain on paper toweling. Glaze doughnuts while warm; store at room temp. covered with wax paper. Best eaten same day–makes 3 dozen.

Don’t even think about the calories!

Wild Wyoming Woman

the news from Dry Creek . . .