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.

Twins on the Hilltop

The First Set of Twins - "Hey Bud."

The First Twins Having Breakfast

One of my cows, a rangy Santa Gertrud's cow, has been so kind as to bless me with two different sets of twins.  The first set had no white on them at all.  One was solid red, the other solid black.  She had no problem raising two big strapping calves, almost always nursing them both at once.

One fine late afternoon last fall, Sharon called to me from the patio.  "I can see a red baby calf out in the back field, but I don't see any cow."

Cows and calves sometimes drift apart, and I was;t too worried.  But decided discretion was the better part, and got on the quad to look into this mystery.  I assumed I'd ride out there, find the old cow standing just out of sight, and all would be well.

And it was, sorta.  I did get out where the baby was standing, looked off to my left, and sure enough, there was the old cow.  No problem.  I'll simply get behind this calf and urge her over toward her Momma, she'll see the cow and I can go home to dinner.

The calf did see momma, and they did get together,  Then I discovered there was another calf, a black one, laying near the cow.  Oh my goodness, another set of twins from this cow.  Great.

Then I decided it might just be a wise idea to put momma and babies in the corral, for we'd been hearing coyotes along the hills.  Once a calf gets to be a week or more old, they have little to fear from a coyote.  But newborn babies, and often their associated afterbirth, can attract the predators.

The cow was having none of that, however.  When I tried to turn her to go through the gate toward the barn she simply out-ran me, with the calves coming along as best they could.  She wanted no part of going to the barn, and headed out over the ridge toward an area where the rest of the cows, and Mr. Boo my bull, were settling down for the night.

"Well," I figured, "being with the rest of the cattle is better than being alone.  And since she's not going to cooperate, I really don't have a whole lot of choice."

I made one more trip into the back field after dinner.  By now it was dark, and all the cattle were settle down in the same location.  "I guess that's all I can do tonight."

The next morning as soon as it was light, I went looking.  The cattle had moved and were on top of the west ridge.  This morning, the Santa Gertrudis cow wanted to get her calves off the ridge, and went toward the barn.

Momma and babies the next morning.

Cow and the twins heading for the shelter of the olive tree.

When it appeared she was going to take them to the olive tree and make that spot their home of the day, I felt it was close enough to the house to give the calves some protection, and left them alone.

When I returned from town, I went looking for the cow and her babies.  The black baby was curled up beside a fence on the south end of the field, the cow was grazing in the middle, but no red baby could be found, anywhere.  I looked in every spot I thought she might have hidden that baby, but with no luck.  That calf had simply disappeared.

Most disturbing was my neighbor reported he'd had a calf killed and eaten by the coyote the night before. Now I began to fear a cougar might have gotten the baby if she bedded it down out in the back field.  But nothing was found.

The next morning I went to the barn in the dark to feed hay.  Up on top of the hay stack, I heard a calf bawl.  The direction of the bawl was toward my neighbor's cows, and I thought it was most probably one of his calves.  I'd pretty much given up hope on my calf.  Something had killed and eaten it.

But, logic told me to at least go check it out when I was done feeding.  I parked the quad to open the gate, and again heard a calf bawl.  This time it was definitely close enough to be in my field.  I saw a bit 300 lb calf standing near the bridge, but that sound hadn't come from her.  Then something moved, and this one was the right size.

I closed the gate, jumped on the quad and quickly drove over to that spot.

There was the bright red baby, looking for her momma.  I took no chances, I swept her up in my arms, carried her to the corral where I'd put the cow and the one remaining baby, and shoved the red calf under the gate.

The calf bawled, the cow answered, and when the calf latched onto the udder, she got a loving lick on the behind from her mother.

The twins and another calf, today.