Update on Mr. Boo - Again

Just walked down into the pasture to take a little grain to my injured boll.  He loves it so this is a treat for him.

He has been laying down with his injured leg (right front) out straight since the first morning, eight days ago now.  Tonight, he had the leg curled back underneath his body.  Well, it is not exactly under him.  It's folded up beside hime.

I also noticed he will lay over on his side, which even though that is a bit unnerving, he raises right up when you talk to him.  And when I delivered him his grain, he was all alert and up.

I can only assume he lays over to take pressure off that leg, bug at least he is folding it now.

It still points to a severe sprain, twist, or pull of a joint to muscle.  But he went to hay this morning with the cows.  And that is a first.

So, bottom line, I am seeing changes which I interpret as improvements.

Mr. Boo update, and New Baby

Mr. Boo is walking but with difficulty.  He's making his way clear out into the back field and back, though he spends time laying down waiting for me to come feed him grain or hay.  So, think he's doing about as well as can be hoped.

Momma and her new baby.  She was vigorously licking the calf when I took this one.

Last night I watched this cow, standing alone in the pasture outside my yard,  I felt she'd probably secreted the baby somewhere, and I looked around a little.e I really wasn't very worried, because she looked as if the baby had nurse, and she didn't seem worried.

When I went out int fr reaches of the back field to check on Mr. Boo, she and the baby were tight together, which is what I figured.  All seems well.

And I think Mr Boo is doing about as well as he can for the moment.  Seems to be walking more, so obviously making progress.

Another New Baby

Momma and new baby.  If you look carefully, you can see Mom is giving the baby a short lick.  I saw the cow earlier in the day and figured she'd have a calf by nightfall.  She did.

This morning when I was feeding Old Momma her morning grain, I noticed this cow standing very near the patio gate.  She was acting restless, her bag was strutted out, and her organs were a bit puffy.  All sure signs of an impending birth.

I went out and saw her baby, but didn't get a good face shot.  Will have to try to do that tomorrow.

You can't see because the back two teats are behind her leg, but the calf has nursed on those two.  The two front ones are still badly engorged, but my guess is the baby will get after it by tomorrow.

Sharon got on the quad with me and we rode out to see this new baby.  What a delightful pre-dinner event.  We are so very fortunate.

Mr. Boo is Getting Around

I wrote in my column about Mr. Boo, my herd sire.  I came out of the house on Monday morning to find him limping.  No signs of trauma, snake bite, foot rot, or anything visible.  Makes me of the opinion that it may be a rather severe sprain.

This morning (Friday) he had made his way to the house again, so I took him another pan of grain, then brought him a flake of hay from the barn.  I know he's going to water, so he does get around, but whatever it is hurts.

Think it will probably get better, but for the moment he's doing so-so.

More here when I know it.

"Fire on Black Mountain" Nearing Completion

Several years ago I started writing a novel about a twelve-year-old boy, raised on a cattle ranch, who is a competent horseman. (Gee - I wonder who that might be patterned after?)  The working title is "Fire on Black Mountain." The story is inspired by an actual event which has always captured my imagination and has been the foundation for this book.

My father woke me at 12:30 AM one August morning, telling he needed me to go with him up the side of Black Mountain near our home. A snag tree hit by lightning was smoldering near the peak. We took horses for the firefighters, then led them up a dark mountain, to find the snag before sunlight dried the dew. In my fictionalized tale, Dad has broken his leg and can't ride, so my character has to lead the fire crew up the mountain.

The book was taken to my writers group in Porterville, chapter at a time, until I had finished it. Even though it was complete, I was not satisfied with the content, and never did anything with it.  The file sat in my computer for four years, "gathering ether dust" and going nowhere.  I always had in the back of my mind to return to the book and improve it. But reality got in the way of dreams, and it never happened.

This past December I attended our Writers Group annual Christmas Dinner.  We meet at a nearby restaurant, and bring our spouses to enjoy a fun evening, visiting and chatting with no obligation to critique someones work.

One of our members, a pediatrician, has commented several times how much he enjoys being able to read my weekly column to his grandchildren. The tales in the column often include happenings around my small herd of cattle, most especially my "kissing bull" Mr. Boo.

As we enjoyed our dinner, Doc looked up at me, and in an effort to make conversation asked, "Have you ever thought of writing a book?"

Feeling a bit guilty because the book sat languishing on my hard drive, I took a deep breath, and told him I had, but it didn't turn out to be very good.

The other writers down the table entered the conversation, and within moments I was being encouraged - well let's be honest ... strongly urged - to get busy and get started.  It sounded as if maybe this might be a good idea, so I started going back through the early chapters preparing to take them, chapter at a time, to the group for their critique.

The night I brought Chapter 3, I could tell one lady, actually my Freshman (in high school) speech teacher, had something important to tell me.  She dropped a bomb in my lap when she said, "I think you should take Chapter 1, 2, and 3 and make it Chapter 1.  You've got to get this guy moving sooner."

Holy cow.  Combine three chapters into one? That's a whole lot of chopping and whacking.  And, it took me a week or more before I braved the task of serious editing needed to make it work.

Much to my surprise, and pleasure, I discovered the things that needed to be dropped almost literally jumped off the page at me.  I could see now, what I needed to chop, and what I needed to keep.

I am much more pleased with the content and structure now. Ultimately, I think it is going to be a reasonable piece of literature. It will probably never sell a million copies, but it is going to be fun to see it in print. The sequel to this tale is already rattling around in my head, waiting to be put down.

The final chapter will go to Writers in a week. Then I have to get busy formatting it and getting it ready to publish. I've asked a friend familiar with horses to read it when I finish, and look for "horse errors." I want him to look for things with or around the horses involved the tale that should be changed.

A final careful reading and editing of the entire book should put it in shape to publish. I must admit to a certain impatience to see this as a book i can hold in my hand.

The Consummate Stockman

I was raised on a working, cow/calf cattle ranch in the eastern Tulare County foothills.  We always watched for the rain, and celebrated it's arrival. When it rained my dad would often joke, "Let's go in the house and let it all fall on the ground."

If the rains come in sufficient quantity, the grass grows on the hills, and the cows will have sufficient food to eat to keep their body conditions, and raise their calf.  If the rains don't come, either we had to buy hay to feed, or we had to sell cows to reduce the size of the herd so the range would support the herd.

One year, our hills had not gotten hardly any rain by the middle of January.  My dad was the consummate stockman,having been in the business all his life. One day, after we finished feeding hay to the cows in the hills, he announced that he had gotten a call from a man over in the cost range.  They had not had any rain at all, and he had to sell a number of cows.

We thought Dad had lost his marbles.  Why were you buying another two hundred cows, when we were already feeding hay to everything we owned. And now you are adding more?  That'll be another twenty bales of hay every day.

But Dad wasn't phased.  He bought the cows, and had them delivered.  Of course they had to arrive in the early afternoon, after we'd finished feeding hay to the cows we already owned.

When we went to feed hay that morning, we were a little surprised to see a solid wall of clouds off to the west.  By noon, we could see a lot of dark clouds, but no rain.  We knew better than to ignore the obvious signs that it might rain, so we all took our slickers tied on our saddles.

The first truck rolled in, and unloading began about 2:00 PM.  By 3:00 we had all 200 cows in the corral milling around.  Before the last truck rolled out the gate, somebody yelled, "Hey, I just got hit by a big drop."

We all scrambled off our horses, untied our slicker and put it on, before mounting.  We opened the gate and started driving our new cows up the road roughly a mile, as the sky opened up and soaked everything.

Not only did my dad get a good buy on the cows, but most of them were bred and due to calve in the next few weeks.  When we sold the calves that next summer, we got enough money to entirely pay off the cows. His risky purchase turned out to be an excellent business decision.

I learned not to doubt the Old Stockman, even if he seemed to have a crazy idea.  His instinct was that it would rain pretty soon. Even if we fed a little hay, it would still pay off, because he'd negotiated an excellent price for the cows,

Wildflowers

Every spring, whether the rain is plentiful or sparse, the hills around my home sprout into flower.  The picture included here shows a hillside with several patches of a rather common plant, one we call Fiddleneck.

This picture was taken in my back field, about 300 yards northwest of my house.  The ridge with the Fiddleneck on it is between my home and Springville.  The big boulder on top of the left (west) end of the ridge has a vague similarity to a snail, so this ridge is called Snailhead.

The rain season this year has been very unusual, to say the least.  We have an annual average in this area of 12.0 inches. Our first rainfall this season came in the month of September, but was only 0.27 inches.  November was dry all month, and December might as well have been.  January wasn't too bad, and February was a little short.  But look out March.  Around here we've been calling it a "miracle March"

Sep 0.27
Oct 0.71
Nov 0.00
Dec 0.11
Jan 1.95
Feb 0.78
Mar 6.21
Apr 0.63

The total rainfall to date is 10.66 inches. This is close enough to our average 12.0 inches to be able to easily grow grass for the cattle.

When we start into spring, one of the pleasures in the Sierra Nevada Foothills is the growth of wildflowers.  Every year, depending at least partly on the timing of the rains, the flowers differ in the amount of color, and the location of the plants.

On slopes where the Fiddleneck proliferates, it isn't unusual to see a few Poppys blooming.  They show up as a much darker orange, and not as yellow.  But so far this area seems to be strictly Fiddleneck. And, this year, it is appearing on slopes where I have not noticed it before

Snake Season

Where we live in the foothills, it is not unusual for us to have rattlesnakes visit us on our hilltop.  This requires us to watch where we put our feet and where we walk. Every spring when it begins to warm up, we know the snakes have come out of their winter holes, and are hunting for a meal.

This past week, I put Bob, our hired man, to work weeding and digging up some junky plants. My wife was getting ready to leave the house.  I stepped into the house to talk to her about the rest of the day.

When I started out the back door, I met Bob.  He was looking very serious.  "What's wrong Bob?"

"I just killed a rattlesnake in those weeds."

"Did you see him first, or did he surprise you?"

"If those weeds hadn't been so thick and heavy, when he struck, he might have hit my boot."

And what is even worse, I walked out through those same weeds the day before to pick some oranges to take in the house. I thought about the idea of a snake being in there, but then decided it was too cool for snakes quite yet.

I was raised on this hilltop, and grew up working on a ranch. We went out into the hills riding, and it wasn't unusual to see a rattler now and then. And you can bet we watched where we walked, especially around places that could hide a waiting snake.

One summer I worked at a boys camp in the mountains as the Wrangler.  My job was to care for the horses, pack the boys' luggage from the trailhead to camp, then take the individual counselors and their small group of campers on trail rides.  That summer I killed eight snakes in the mountains, and another four when I came home to the ranch in the fall.  It seemed everywhere I looked I found another snake.

Learning Process

I told you about the new calf living on our hilltop on Monday.  She's very pretty, with plenty of white, and a delightful red color.

Sunday morning, I spied the new calf's momma grazing in the pasture west of my house. I realized the calf must be nearby, but where. Then I spotted her.

Momma had tucked her new baby in a nice warm spot in the sun on the north side of the fence.  She was now grazing south of that fence.

I immediately called Sharon to come look at how the cow had tucked her baby away. Sharon no more than got to the gate to see, and the baby decided it was time to get up and go find her momma.

As soon as she stood up, Sharon was worried. "How's the baby going to get through the fence?"

"Don't worry. The baby'll figure it out."

"How do you know?"

"Just watch."

The calf got up, looked toward her momma,  Sure enough, she started up the fence toward the open gate. But she only went up the fence part way, then turned and came back toward where she'd been lying.

Sharon is calling encouragement to the calf. "No, no.  Turn around and go the other way, baby."

The calf decided going in the direction away from the gate was the wrong way, so turned around again.

"That's it baby. Now go around the gate."

This time the calf went to the hinge-post before turned around.

"No, no, no.  Go the other way, all the way around the gate."

I chuckled and told Sharon the baby was learning about fences this morning, and not to worry.

This time, almost as if she heard Sharon coaching her, the calf walked around the gate then made a bee-line for Momma. And of course, as soon as she got to her mother, she spun into the correct position and got a drink of milk.

New Resident on Our Hilltop

I was really this close to the new baby. At this age, they are quite content to let you get pretty close.  Momma is quiet and not defensive, so she watched me, but offered no argument to me getting close.  

I headed for the barn to feed hay this morning.  When I turned toward the barn I was delighted to see the cow and her new baby.  As many calves as I've seen over the years, there is still something special about finding a new one.

The cow is very gentle and is used to having me in the pasture near them.  She watched me carefully when I took these pictures, but offered no disagreement.

The calf didn't get up until I was very close, and just looked at me.  She let out a little bawl once or twice, almost as if to say, "Momma. What is this? Should I be afraid?"

When the cow answered with a very low sound, the baby immediately got on her feet.  Momma moved in behind the calf, but didn't offer to be difficult. As soon as the calf saw her, just a moment after the below picture, they moved off together.

My wife hadn't seen the calf, though I told her about the new baby when I returned from the barn. She got on the quad with me, and we drove out in the back field where I was sure the cow had gone.  As soon as we topped a rise, I saw Momma and baby.

Baby has just gotten up, and Momma is keeping a close eye on me.  There was no risk she'd charge me or offered any fight.

Buzzards Are Master Flyers

I live near a hillside often used by buzzards and other birds.  They spread their wings, look for an updraft off the hill, and soar toward the top of the hill.

When any breeze blows in from the west, it runs into the hill behind my house. The moving air follows the slope of the hill upward creating an updraft for the birds to ride.  Watching them search for, find, and ride these currents is fascinating.

Buzzards are capable of riding air current for hours, never flapping their wings, but extending them. The have feathers on the tips of their wings that act similar to fingers, and they adjust these feathers to bank and turn, chasing every last bit of updraft they can capture under their outstretched wings.

They swing out over the house, bank and turn back for the face of the hill,  Sometimes if they are low enough to the ground, they will even use the upwelling for air hitting the garage roof.  

But they never use that one very long, for the intent is to climb the surface of the hill to the top, which is roughly 1,600 feet higher than the house.  They may swing over the house a couple of times, but then return near the face of the hill and ride a gust blowing along the slope.  I've seen them nearly drag their wings on the grass, they get so close, trying to catch every bit of rise available.

One morning, I saw a buzzard fly with inches of the garage. Knowing there was a good breeze blowing, this bird would be climbing very quickly.  Even though the bird was at least 1,600 feet below the top of the hill, I called to my wife, Sharon, to hurry out and watch how quickly it would climb the hill to the top.  There were other buzzards soaring above the top, and I assumed this one wanted to join the others.

Busy with something, Sharon came to the back door within a minute.  By the time she walked out to join me the buzzard was disappearing behind the top of the hill.  This big black scavenger had gained over 1,600 feet in a minute of swinging back and forth across the face of the hill, rising the air currents. 

Spring Water All Year

My home on a hilltop in the Sierra Nevada foothills has been provided with drinking water from a spring on the hillside above the house. When my father bought this property on December 29, 1929, one of the compelling features was a strong spring.

For a spring to be a good domestic source of water, it has to run all day, every day. That kind of   springs in the Sierra Nevada foothills, is not found in every canyon.  In fact, it isn't unusual to find a good strong spring, that will slow to a trickle in the late summer.

In the past few years we've seen some very dry years.  Fortunately, we also had a couple of good wet winters, which have helped resupply the aquifer. This year is beginning to look as if it is going to be another very dry year.

During the summer of 2015, we went into the late months with a rainfall of only 7.99 inches the winter before, which came hard on the heels of only 8.13 inches in the winter of 2014.

During the late summer of 2015 I was concerned about my spring being able to provide domestic water all year.  If the spring dried up, or slowed down enough, we would have no water in our home, for there is no backup.

Unlike many of the wells in the nearby valley, our spring continued to run all summer. The picture below was taken on September 14, 2017, and this amount of water flowing all day, every day, is really a significant amount of water. We are very fortunate to have this spring.

The outflow from my spring on the hill back of my home.

During September of 2015, following two dry years, the flow was this strong or better. Of course,during the spring, it looks like this.

This is a very strong spring flow.

Navals and Valencias. Two Gifts of Our Valley.

My Valencia orange tree has both ripe oranges, and the upcoming bloom, most just getting ready to bloom.

What a gift we have, living in the San Joaquin Valley. And most especially, living in the citrus belt as I am fortunate enough to do

During the winter months, when colds are most likely, I try to eat at least a couple of oranges a day, sometimes more.  However, moderation is the way to enjoy them, as everybody knows who has eaten too many at one time, just because they taste so good. My body knows how to remind me to not eat more than one at a time, even though my taster says, "Have another one."

Several years ago, a friend of ours had planted an entire grove of Washington Naval trees.  He had a few trees left over, for they always order a few more than they need, and offered them to us to plant.

Every year, for the past thirty-five or forty years, these two trees have flourished, and produced many more oranges than we can eat. Even when I try to eat two oranges every day from around Christmas until the warm weather takes them off the tree, I cannot consume them all.  Neighbors and friends, all benefit from our productive trees.

This morning, after breakfast, I decided it was time to check out the Valencia tree in my back yard.  It is also loaded this year, but the sugar content doesn't rise high enough to keep the juice from being too tart.

When I stepped out the back door this morning, the cool of the morning air was laced with a hint of orange blossom.  What a perfume of nature. The local honey bee population is carefully checking for the first blooms to open.  As the picture shows, most are closed tightly.

Based on that delightful smell, I decided it was time to check the sugar content. This morning I squeezed a bowl of oranges into juice. My wife is the juice taster in our family.  I can drink it when it is pretty tart, but she has to have it much sweeter to be able to enjoy it. I took her a small sample when I was done.  Good news! The Valencia's are sugared well enough to make the juice quite enjoyable.

Our Wysteria Is Blooming

Wysteria blooming rampantly.  It is still a couple of days from maximum bloom. Even so it is a beautiful cover over our patio. 

Every spring, one of the delightful scenes around our hilltop is the blooming of our Wysteria on the arbor over the patio.

As was the habit around many older homes there was always a grape arbor.  The grape vine spread over the surface of the arbor, providing both shade, and later a tasty grape or two.  Our arbor started life supporting two older grape vines. One died of old age, and the other held on valiantly for a few years, but it too succumbed to time.

The arbor was not the cool shady spot it had been under a spreading umbrella of grape leaves, so one year shortly after we moved here, my parents gave us a Wysteria.  Dad told me to let it wrap itself around the pipe then train it over the top of the arbor.

The only "training" it needed was a couple of twists of the searching tendrils around the pipe, and it was off and running. Today, the whole surface of our patio is covered by beautiful purple blossoms.

Of course, these blooms will soon fall and cover the ground with their petals. In the meantime, the blooms are beautiful.

This patio is constructed of pipe, with wooden slats on top. The pipe arbor replaced one I remember from my childhood made of redwood posts. Somewhere around the area, there is a nest of what my dad used to call, "Wood Bees" that burrowed into the soft redwood.

I remember him telling me to put my ear near one of the holes in the post. I'd seen a big black bumblebee enter so knew he was inside somewhere. When I listened, I could hear the big bee gnawing on the wood.

This afternoon, I spied a big black "bubbly-bee" busily going to every blossom, checking for pollen. I tried several times to get a good shot, and finally settled for this one

A big black bumblebee is looking in every bloom he can find for pollen. If you look carefully you can see his antennae an the top of his head.

Happy Anniversary - I think

Three years ago my high school sweetheart and I celebrated our 50th Wedding Anniversary.  And, yes, we were children.  I was all of 20.  Sharon w2as 18.  Sharon was of majority age, so could sign for herself, but I had to take my Dad with us to Visalia to get our Marriage License.

Our children had splurged on a huge 70th Birthday party for me the year before, so were not able to throw a big party for out 50th.  We decided to do something on our own, just the two of us.

Morro Bay and The Galley Restaurant have long been a favorite place to dine, so we made reservations with Roger at The Galley and made sure Sharon was going to be able to get a nice big piece of Halibut for her dinner.  We also hunted up a pet-friendly motel, so we could minimize the expenses by eliminating the kenneling fee, and loaded our three dogs up on the folded-down back seat.

All was happiness and light until we got to Kettleman City for a late breakfast.  We pulled into a chain restaurant, gave the dogs a brief walk and left them in the truck.  After a nice breakfast, we again walked the dogs, and congratulated ourselves.  This was going well.

Sharon was snoozing by the time we were approaching Paso Robles.  Then the phone rang.  The house-cleaning lady reported that our aging mare had fallen, and was having trouble getting up.  Her husband was hurrying to help her.  We had to turn around and hurry home.  If we had that kind of problem, our anniversary would have to wait.

Two hours back to home, and we drove into the driveway to find the old mare contentedly grazing and suffering no lasting effects of a fall.  Make a cup of coffee for Sharon, and we were once again off to celebrate 50 years.

As we crossed the cattle guard at the bottom of our drive, Sharon looked at me, panic in her eyes. "Where's my coffee?"

The coffee had spilled off the side of the pickup bed, onto her suitcase, soaking the blouse she wanted to wear to dinner that night.  Nothing would have it, but we had to wash and dry that blouse. While we waited, I called the restaurant and canceled our dinner reservation for we were going to get in too late.  We'd just stop on the way, then go to The Galley tomorrow.

When we pulled into Kettleman City for dinner, the same chain restaurant seemed a logical choice. We were told it would be a twenty minute wait.  Thirty minutes later we were seated, and then after another twenty-five minutes of being totally ignored, without even a set-up, menu, nor water, we decided that was enough.

A few miles further, we stopped at a gas station, and bought our anniversary dinner.  Back on the road for Morro Bay, we ate two cold sandwiches, shared a bag of chips, and two big waters.  Happy Anniversary, Darling.

No more than one mile further west than the spot we'd turned back to attend to the mare earlier in the day, the water pump came apart, punching the fan into the radiator.  Fortunately, I had a friend who lived less than half a mile away, and we were soon parked in front of his shop.

I called a friend in Paso Robles, and we were taken in to their house.  The next morning, when I called the guy with our truck, he said he'd found all the parts we'd need, and had another friend who was willing to fix the truck. All I had to do was meet him with my credit card, and  he'd even gotten me a discount.

By 4:00 PM the truck was fixed, and I was on my way back to the friends in town.  I called Sharon.

"Do you still want to go on to Morro Bay?  The motel is already paid for, and we could probably get our dinner at The Galley tonight, if you'd like."

Her answer was almost predictable.  "I think I've had all this kind of fun I want to have.  Let's just go home."

This week we celebrated our 53rd Anniversary.  We even considered going to Morro Bay to finally get that halibut dinner.  But, with Sharon's recent surgery, and subsequent hospital stay, the trip is just a bit too much.

"Happy Anniversary Dear."

Strawberry and Ruby Are Shedding.

White winter-coat hair litters the ground where I curried Strawberry.

Last Thursday I wrote about currying winter hair off Strawberry, my big Belgian mare.  Today I grabbed the curry comb and went back for another session of removing the heavy winter coat.

When I started working on Strawberry's big back, Ruby, our Appaloosa mare was a little put out that I was paying attention to Strawberry and not to her.  She promptly walked between us.  It was almost as if she was saying to me, "Hey.  I've got a coat too.  Scratch my back."

Ruby is a much shorter-hair animal, but even her back gave up a significant amount of dark gray fuzz.  Scratching Strawberry, who is a strawberry roan and is mostly white with flecks of red, fills my comb with mostly white hair.

Ruby has spots of white on her black coat, mostly on her rump, with more white spots around her body, The winter coat is not nearly as dark as the rest of her hair. Currying her fills my comb with a dark gray, very fine, hair.

In the cold weather, the animals grow a "winter coat" which is not apparent to the eye, until it begins to shed.  Then it looks patchy, sometimes with clumps of hair waiting to be removed.

Strawberry sheds a large amount of winter hair, enough so that this afternoon the ground where we were standing, is white with the results of combing.  Even Ruby produced a full comb several times, though not nearly as much as Strawberry.

The dry spots in the "horse posture" have become spots for Strawberry to roll and scratch the winter coat she wants to remove.  There are several white patches in the pasture where she has already rolled multiple times.

The lighter patches in the green grass are coated with Strawberry's rolling efforts.

A Strawberry Coat

One of the many critters on our hilltop is a 10 year old Strawberry roan Belgian mare.  Not being overly imaginative when it comes to names, we call her Strawberry.

Every winter this big mare grows a very thick coat covering her back, hips and neck.  This is the thickest winter coat I've ever seen on a horse, so it probably relates to her genetics and that her breed comes from Belgium.  One can only assume they have bitterly cold winters there.

As long as it's cold during out winter, Strawberry is fine. When the weather begins to warm, she has a problem.  She's got to get rid of that excess hair. Every spring we find patches of bare earth in the horse pasture, literally covered with white hair.  She's rolled and scrubbed off some of the thick coat.

Even though she rolls and rids herself of some of the excess, it often takes a little help from a curry comb.  In fact, it often takes several mornings of being scratched and curried before the comb begins to come off her back with clean teeth.

When I take a curry comb out and begin scratching Strawberry's back, the comb begins to look like dust mop.  By knocking the comb against my hand or a nearby post, I can clean the teeth and return for another load of hair.  Eventually, she will get back to "summer-slick" but it takes serious effort by both Strawberry and us.

Strawberry looking sideways at a curry comb full of her winter hair.

My Column is Back

The header for the column.

Seven years ago I was contacted by an editor of a small local paper, asking if I would write a column about the history of the Springville area.  This locale is rich in logging, cattle and sheep history, along with the Tule River Indian Reservation.  Since I was raised in the area, currently living on the same hilltop to which I was brought from the hospital when I was born, I quickly agreed.

The first Post Office in Springville was in the General Store of the Daunt family, located at the lower end of this small community. Nathan Dillon owned a beautiful area of Redwood trees surrounding the headwaters of the Tule River which runs through Springville. She suggested therefore, the title of the column should be Daunt to Dillonwood.

After about 2 years, the small paper folded, but the editor got a job at the Porterville Recorder.  She took several of her columnists with her, and I started writing Daunt to Dillonwood for the Recorder.

The subject of the column began to slowly change as I began to run out of historical tales. I began to write occasionally about the animals that share our life on that hilltop, many of which have unique personalities.

I married a city girl, who didn't have any choice except to become a country girl, and espouse my life and all the animals.  Today, she and the critters she treats on a daily basis, are a big part of my subject matter.

Then on March 1, 2017 I had to start my column with the sad words, "Thank you, and goodbye." The owners of the Recorder, in an effort to minimize expenses, eliminated all paid columnists. This was a very sad day for me, as I thoroughly enjoyed writing about the critters on the hilltop, their reactions with my wife, and even discussing the weather, and rainfall or lack of same.

On Monday of this week, I was notified Weisenberger's Hardware in Porterville had agreed to sponsor my column, so that I could be paid for my work, and they would get an ad on the page near my column.  Since they are a regular advertiser in the Recorder, they felt having their ad and sponsoring Daunt to Dillonwood was good for everybody concerned.

On Wednesday, March 14, 2018 my first edition of a sponsored column appeared on Page 7, in the Heritage section of the paper.  This was the exact spot it appeared before.

I'm so honored to have Weisenberger's think highly enough of my work to sponsor my column.  But the greatest feeling is to be able to write for my many faithful readers once again. Many people have approached me in the past year, saying they missed being able to read my column.  And I received a bevy of "Welcome back" notes yesterday,

Do Tarantulas Predict Weather?

One of the stories I've always heard as I grew up on the ranch, was that various things indicate when a storm is due, if it's going to rain, etc.  One of those tales is that spotting a tarantula spider is a good indicator that a good rain is coming soon.

The theory is that the spider is expecting the rain to flood their underground home and they are out looking for dry nest.  There well may be other reasons, but I'm not aware of them.

In the summer of 2015, I had been assigned to the Rough Fire, burning southeast of Shaver Lake. One of the runs assigned to the drivers was to take hot meals to the Kirsch Flat spike camp along the Kings River. This camp was several miles east of Trimmer above the Pine Flat Reservoir.  This required the driver to arrive at the spike a little before 6:00 PM.  By the time we got unloaded, picked up anything the had to go back to the main fire camp at the old Dinky Creek Mill, it was approaching dusk.

As we drove along the twisting road from Trimmer to the spike camp, a distance of eight or nine miles, we began seeing the occasional tarantula walking across the paved road.  The only time we'd see the big black spiders was moments before full-dark on our way back to fire camp. When we did see them, there were only one or two on the entire trip.

The drivers started talking about the occasional sightings. The general consensus was that even though it was late summer, a rain could happen anytime.  This area of California often gets a northern flow from Baja in late August. And these so-called "monsoonal flow" storms will indeed dump a little rain.

When the tarantula sightings became more and more frequent, as many as ten or fifteen per trip, we decided it must be going to rain, even though the weather was hot and dry. But when the sightings of tarantulas parading across the road began to happen earlier in the day, often several seen on every trip, we were certain the rain was imminent.

This big spider was spotted in full daylight, prancing across the road.

The night this big bug was photographed, it rained during the night.  In fact, it rained for most of two days. Sadly, it didn't rain much on the fire, but fire camp got thoroughly soaked. As far as the drivers on the Rough Fire were concerned, the tarantulas had told us it was going to rain, and it certainly did.

I used to write a column for the local newspaper, and often wrote about things that happened to me, such as the tarantulas.  I suggested that seeing the big spiders walking around wasn't an iron-clad predictor, but simply one of many things the Indians and old-timers used to anticipate the weather. I put the above picture in one of my columns, and sent it in.

I immediately had one woman write a letter to the editor, stridently stating my claim of a tarantula being able to predict an impending rain had absolutely zero basis in fact. She suggested the real reason was the spiders were preparing to mate, and were wandering around looking for a potential mate.

I suppose there is certainly some truth in that claim. Of course, my question would be how come the tarantula most often is seen out walking just before a rain?  Is it possible that Mrs. Tarantula becomes more amorous when she can hear the gentle sound of rain?

Life Around The Hilltop

I am fortunate to live where I do.  I am able to get on my quad, ride out into the pasture, and observe my cattle anytime I wish.  Sometimes I even get to see wildlife.

I grew up working on my family's cattle ranch. When you see a large number of animals,  you are almost sure to see some things that are humorous ,if you keep watching.

My father used to love to tell about coming into a flat one day, to find a cow nursing her big calf.  The cow was next to the road, with the calf standing on the far side.  As Dad drove up, the calf looked underneath his mother's belly to see what had driven into his field.

The big calf's mouth was foamy from the milk he'd been enjoying. But what tickled my father so much was that his tongue was hanging out of his mouth.  Dad wished he'd had a camera ready to record something he got a good chuckle from.

One day a few months ago, I was trying to get a picture of some of the cattle to us in a column I wrote for the local newspaper.  I had my camera at the ready and caught a hungry calf not willing to wait for his mother to get up.

A gentle cow and an impatient calf.

Another of the residents of my pasture is my herford-angus herd sire, called Mr. Boo.  He's very gentle, but also feels very regal.  I can tell it's him by his outline.  He always holds his head in a very regal manner.

I simply titled this one "King Boo"

As you've read earlier in these blogs, Mr. Boo was purchased from a family in the very small town of Flournoy, west of Corning in the northern San Joaquin Valley.  He'd been raised as a bottle-baby, taking his milk as a calf from a plastic bottle rather than nursing on his mother.  She'd had birthing problems and could not be saved.  Mr. Boo was raised for the first few weeks in a big cardboard box beside the wood stove in the kitchen.

When we brought him home, we were warned that he not only will come up wanting attention, but with a little encouraging he would give kisses.

Mr. Boo is very gently, and carefully licking my chin with the very tender tip of his tongue.  The rest of the tongue is very rough, and if we were licked with that part it would be quite painful.  But Boo is careful to just use the tip of his tongue.

I liked this shot so well, I use it on my business car for Foothill Writer. 

He sometimes come up with Old Momma to get a treat of grain first thing in the morning.  She needs the nutrition as she is aging and can use a little help.  He's in fine physical condition, but likes the grain, so we give them both a little in separate pans.

Old Momma on the left with her big curved horns, and Mr. Boo enjoying a little treat of grain at the patio gate.

Every once in a while, if we are looking carefully, we get to see a wild animal.  Black bears live in our area, and are not very particular about what they eat.  In fact this bear had been to my Dead Pit and filled up on an animal that had recently died.  The bear was so full, he didn't even try to make his way through the fence.  He simply lay down on his belly, and scooted under the wire where it was a bit over a foot above the ground, then got up and proceeded toward the hill to take a nap.

A bear with a very full tummy had just gotten drink, and was headed for the rocks to take a nap.

The Pier Fire

Last summer the Pier Fire started just before the Labor Day Weekend in the Tule River Canyon east of Springville.  This is literally in my back yard. I was dispatched to serve on this fire, the first time I've been assigned to a fire literally threatening my home.

I live in front of Black Mountain, the big dark colored mountain dominating the back of the picture I posted here on 2/12/18.  The fire actually started in the bottom of the second canyon to the left, or to the north of the peak.  It ultimately burned across the entire face of the mountain. At the closest spot the western front of the fire was little more than one mile from my back door.

This was taken from my backyard, looking at the hill northeast of the house.  The smoke column is actually close to two miles from the house, but looked as if it were just behind the top of the ridge.  

Fire management publish daily maps showing the progression of the fire, where there remains line that is still burning (red), and where it is cold or at least contained (black).  On the middle-left of this map, look for "Div Z" outside the western perimeter of the fire.  The top-right corner of the letter Z is in my back yard.  That was too close for comfort.  Of course this map, published in the later days of the fire, shows the entire western perimeter, closest to my home, was all contained.  (whew)

On the map, northeast of my home,(up and right), there is a loop in the contained fire line.  The smoke column in the upper picture is burning very near the top of the loop.  That is very steep country, and the fire was burning rapidly uphill, creating a significant smoke column.

My responsibility on any fire is to support the efforts of Ground Support unit.  The drivers all congregate there, and park their trucks nearby. The trailer on the right is the air-conditioned office where the drivers wait until they are sent out on a run. The trucks of the assigned drivers are parked in a row in front of the office.

Many of the runs I was sent on, took me up Highway 190, in the bottom of the Tule River Canyon.  My route was usually not threatened by fire,  especially in the lower part of the road.  Further up however I went very close to the red segment on the northeast portion of the fire perimeter.  It wasn't particularly dangerous, but was often smoky.

Lower in the canyon, the fire burned fiercely, and went up the side of the canyon in a rush of flame and smoke. As fire burns uphill, it will be enhanced,  by the sides of small draws and gullies called a chimney.  When the rocks in the bottom of these areas are hit with the intense heat, they will sometimes chip off hand-sized layers of stone.  The surface of the boulder gets very hot, but the interior is still much cooler.  At some point a hand-sized chip will come off and leave a small light patch, surrounded by the blackened rock.

In this shot, there are several places where the rock has cast off varying sized chips of stone, leaving the boulder underneath a lighter color.  Anyplace you see light patches of stone, chips have popped off.  This rocky area got very hot, as you can see the large number of light spots.

Though the work of containing and putting out fires is serious, we aren't without our lighter side.  One such event was the different ways the big show-steer statue was used and adopted by various departments.  Our Fire Camp was at the Porterville Fair Grounds, where 4-H and FFA kids come every spring to show their project animals.  The Fair Board had purchased a plastic replica of a fat steer on wheels.  The firefighting community at Fire Camp wheeled the steer statue to their area, and made various signs and decorations to hang on him.

Ground Support got their licks in early.  This was one of the first of the "dressing up" of the steer.

Comms had to get into the act with their version.

And the Mobile Kitchen Unit got into the fun adding an apron and hair net which is required by all food workers. They recognized Gabe as an honorary chef, even making a comment on the bucket about "Eat mor chikin"

Wh8le the fire was burning, my wife and a neighbor put sprinklers on the perimeter of the hilltop, and would run them several times a day, in and effort to slow the fire, if it got that close.  She even had the car parked headed out, in case she had to make a run for it.

The face of Black Mountain being burned off to prevent the fire from coming farther west. Once this controlled burning occurred, the risk to my home was nearly eliminated, much to my wife's relief, and mine as well.

The Fire Management used a helicopter to light areas they want to burn off to control the spread of the fire  This aircraft has some very specialized equipment sitting in the doorway. I got a run to take lunches up to the crew operating that system.  After delivering their lunches I started asking questions, and got a tour of their operation

They drop a string of balls, slightly smaller than ping pong balls, containing glycol.  The balls go  through a machine that punches a hole in the ball, injects a chemical into the inside which reacts with the glycol within approximately thirty seconds.  When the chemical reaction occurs, the mixture ignites catching whatever is around it on fire.  They can be dropped from a couple hundred feet in the air, bouncing and falling until they end up on the ground, where they ignite the grass or brush there.

The square hopper at the top holds a supply of the balls with glycol inside.  The balls proceed down in four rows to the level of the four brown buttons on the front.  When the trigger is pulled to drop, four balls are injected at the same time, then dropped down the chute underneath to fall freely to the ground.  The helicopter can fly at ten to fifteen miles per hour, and drop approximately 150 balls per minute.  This will quickly light rough and rugged areas which would be dangerous or difficult for firefighters to hike in to light backfires.  

Fires and Driving

Nine years ago, I signed up with both CalFire and the US Forest Service to provide contract services with my pickup.  In essence, they rent the bed of my pickup and hire me to drive it wherever they want the contents of the bed delivered. 

Parked on a lookout at the top of Sherman Pass, looking northeast toward the smoke column on my way to the Schaffer Fire 2017

When a major fire breaks out, it is often necessary for the responsible agency, CalFire or USFS, to create a Fire Camp, referred to as an Incident Command Post.  As is typical of governmental agencies, it becomes known as the ICP. 

The ICP quickly becomes a city of support for the several hundred firefighters and support personnel assigned to the fire. Porta-potties by the dozens, a hot shower trailer, and a kitchen unit, are all quickly brought to Fire Camp, set up and made operational. 

The ICP also becomes the operational headquarters for the fire. All the management folks have offices and trailers parked in two long lines.  Time-keeping and accounting offices, human resources, often even a copy center, occupy other locations along the two rows.  A communications trailer and a medical trailer, are often parked near the other trailers but often are not in the double row. Big generators are connected in several places, and power is daisy-chained, or linked to all the trailers and offices.  Finally, if there is phone service available nearby, phone lines are often linked between the offices. This double row of trailers, each with their entries facing the area between, is referred to collectively as “Main Street” for this is where the business of putting out the fire occurs.

My job on the fire is drive my pickup and work for Ground Support.  This group usually has a location for their office off to the side and some distance away from Main Street.  Depending on the size and complexity of the fire, the Ground Support Unit Leader will place an order for a number of drivers, such as me.  Of course, each driver has been contracted with a pickup or truck and will need a place to park it near Ground Support. 

The Ground Support trailer to the right, and parking for GS Trucks in the background.  This was from the Pier Fire in 2017, in the mountains directly east of my home. The rolling steer statue is explained below.

 

This very tongue-in-cheek sign was posted on the rolling model of a fat steer.  ICP was on the Fairgrounds in Porterville.  This is a play on the fact that a pickup with wooden racks on the side of a flatbed is called a Stakeside. But the GS folks got bored, so made up the above sign.

When I am dispatched on a run, I may carry anything from fire hose, pumps, lunches, hot meals, ice, water, gator aide, or automotive parts.  Sometimes drivers will be sent to a nearby airport to bring someone in “overhead” to the fire, or deliver them back to the airport to fly home, or to their next assignment.

This was one of my assignments on the Rough Fire in 2016.  This is a lot of used firehose, pulled from the burned area and staged here. This is a large load on my truck, but there was a one-ton flatbed truck who was also on this run, and he also had an even larger load.

When the USFS manages a fire, all personnel, including drivers, bring their tents and sleeping bags and bed down nearby.  We are told what areas we can utilize to set up our camp.  Everyone picks a secure spot, hopefully for the drivers, not far from where we park the trucks.  Some ICPs are in the beautiful high country, so camping there is quite pleasant.  Others are in lower, and often much warmer locales, and are not nearly as pleasant places to camp. 

My camp among the tall pines on the Schaffer Fire in 2017.  This was at the  9,000 ft level, so night-time temperatures were delightfully cool, making sleeping very comfortable.

When CalFire manages a fire, all the management personnel sleep in motels in nearby towns. However, firefighters and other working class folks, sleep in tents and sleeping bags.  On State fires, the meal preparation is most always provided by a Mobile Kitchen Unit (MKU) manned by prisoners.  On USFS fires, the meal preparation is usually provided by contractors with huge meal preparation, serving, and storage trailers. 

Tent-City on the fairgrounds during the Pier Fire in 2017.  My tent was 100 yards away down the left fence.  I was able to park very near my tent, so worked out well.