Rain At Last

Having been raised on a cattle ranch, the importance of rain to bring the grass on the hillsides is sky-high. I find I've taken up my father's habit of recording the rainfall amounts, and keeping a close record.

I suppose that's not too surprising, since we all tend to become our parents, given enough time.

This past few days have brought very badly needed moisture to our foothills in southeastern Tulare County.  Until Tuesday morning March 27th, when I recorded 0.67 inches of rain in my gauge, our hillsides here had only received 3.14 inches in the entire rain season, and that is pitifully little.

My rain gauge on a happier day, when it showed nearly and inch of water.  

Our average annual rainfall for this area is 12.00 inches, and though there is still a good 60 days of potential rainfall time, it looks as if we are going to be quite a ways short of our annual average. Even with the recent rain, we are less than 33% of that total, and time is running short.

In recent days, I was looking sadly at my back field.  The slopes and flats, usually beginning to sprout some grass and beginning to show the ability to feed my cattle during the summer months, were nearly bare dirt.  There was a little grass sprouted, showing a little green tint, but those plants were very short, and nearly useless to the cattle for grazing.

Now, after getting 0.67 inches of moisture, and more predicted in the next few days, I'm quite hopeful to begin to see those already-sprouted plants begin to grow and show some size.  Without that field to support my small herd of cows during the summer months, there wouldn't be sufficient nutrition available for them.  This would mean either buying sufficient very expensive hay to support them, or reduce the already-small number of cows running on my ground.

I do have some irrigated ground that does pretty well supporting a small number, so that will help a lot.  But until the daytime temperatures begin to get up into the 70's and higher, that field won't even begin to grow enough to help support them.

Thus, the annual concern of the cattleman, who watches the storms and keeps a sharp eye on the weather.

I'm reminded of the passing of my paternal grandmother, long a rancher's wife..  In her high-70's, she was not in the best of health.  It was February already, and there had been zero rain. Her men were feeding every one of the cows they owned, hauling a prodigious amount of hay out of a rapidly depleting stack.  The rain must come in the next very few weeks, or the entire herd would have to be drastically reduced in number.

In the middle of the night, she got up and went to the window.  She cranked open the glass, listened gratefully to the gentle patter of the rain, relishing the smell as it fell on dry ground.  She turned to my grandfather, as she got back in bed.  "It's raining Lou."  She then passed peacefully in her sleep.