Cattle Round-Up

Three cowboys

We've said for years that we simply want Down Home Ranch to be a working farm and ranch, with the Ranchers helping us run our various and sundry operations.

Monday April 25 was a special day for us in our progress towards that goal, and some of our cowboys were ready to start a new chapter in the history of the Ranch.


Among our 340 acres of  "Post Oak Savannah" is Yegua Creek (Spanish for "Mare"), which forms our northern boundary, and a 40 acre riparian patch, home to over 100 big native pecan trees.

In the 1800s, Yegua Creek was on the eastern edge of the "Comancheria", a vast territory that the Comanche tribe dominated, having incorporated the Spanish horse into the endless pursuit of their chief source of clothing, shelter and food—the buffalo.

Yegua Creek was a source of water and food: pecans, deer, squirrel and other game, hickory nuts, wild dewberries, mustang grapes, creek plum and cactus pears--all still present. Greenbriar—a thorny vine that grabs you as you try to walk in the woods—was a source of early spring leaves, tiny and slightly bitter, but a nice source of greens for the native Americans. Buffalo roamed across Texas from the 1500s to around 1850 when the herds began to diminish, to be replaced by cattle.

A year ago we bought four bred, registered Black Angus heifers from Bubba and Donna Kay--the Kay Ranch--to start our cattle operation. We made this decision in part because of the impressive work of Dr. Stephen Smith of Texas A&M, who focuses on Japanese cattle, Wagyu in particular. Our four heifers are registered Black Angus but were bred to Big Boy, a purebred Wagyu bull.

Our first calf was nicknamed “The Dude.” Born prematurely, he was unable to stand and unable to nurse. One of our Ranchers, Sterling, hunkered down on a cold winter night with Jerry, holding Dude's head up and trying to massage the milk down his throat. This went on for days, then weeks, but, with a lot of love and constant care, we got him standing and walking. We knew we had to get him back to the herd, so we took him over to the Spur, put him in a stall and —his mom having dried-up—he immediately starting nursing, using the other three cows. Today, he's a full-fledged member of the herd. The runt, for sure, but a survivor.

Sterling & Kyle wait to run
a cow through the chute

So, it was a real treat having Sterling, Kyle and Travis helping Ranch Foreman Pat bringing our four cows and four calves into the holding pen as Bubba and Donna came in with Big Boy, who will again sire our four calves. It was Round-Up spring 2011. Big Boy will spend 40 days on the ranch, servicing our cows through two cycles, after which he’ll leave and our calves will wean.

Time for vaccinations

We had a hay trailer on hand so that guests (Board President Genie brought friends from the San Francisco Bay Area) and Ranchers could have a close-up view of the process: tagging, worming and vetting the bull, cows and calves.



Return to freedom

 Unbeknown to most, the Dude and his brother bull-calf were made steers in the process. The two heifers will be bred to a Wagyu bull in their time, and their calves will be three-quarter Wagyu.

Bubba, Donna & Jerry on Roundup Day 

When we first visited Bubba and Donna they sent us home with a dozen Wagyu burger patties, which Judy and I are still smacking our lips over. We're looking forward to the day we get to dine on prime DHR Wagyu beef (and maybe a glass of homemade Mustang Grape wine.)

[This blog was written by Jerry but posted on Judy's blog.]

On the Road Again

In the "uncomfortable" days following my surgery in early March, I wrote my counsin Pat in California: "I'm in 'get me outta here mode!'"  I sure needed something to look forward to.

"Come on out," she replied, so Jerry kindly booked flights for me, Kelly, and Kelly's buddy Alaina to visit "the cousins" in California.  We planned it for this week with the assurance that I would be recovered and literally ready for flying high, which I was, if just barely.

Waiting for flight at 7:00 AM in Austin

 Kelly and Alaina have been terrific traveling companions, cheerfully handling all the luggage, including mine, since I'm still limited in what I can heft.

Kelly began stressing about getting her watch changed to California time two days prior to departure.  I told her I was not attempting to change her watch to conform to California time.  Only Casey seems to be able to do this, and during the switch from Standard to Daylight Savings Time she is consumed with resetting all the Ranchers' digital watches, no two of which work exactly the same way.

Kelly agreed to keep her watch on Central time so she would know what Sterling and the other Ranchers were doing at any given hour.  She could ask me or check for the local time on her cell phone.

Sleeping on plane at 9:00 AM over AZ

I remind myself that for Kelly, who copes with her disability by careful attention to scheduling and routine, it's very disconcerting to have time go squirrely and loosey-goosey on you.

Similarly, Kelly is not flexible regarding meal schedules, which has called for a lot more flexibility on my part.  For Kelly, if you're in one time zone at noon it's time for lunch, and if you enter an earlier one, it's time for lunch again! 

Well, yea!  We're on vacation.  What the heck.

Yesterday Pat's daughter Melanie took us to the Ocean Institute at Dana Point. 


Dana Point Tide Pool Basin

This is an enchanted cove, nestled at the bottom of vertical cliffs against which pelicans fly in formation, casting their shadows like something out of Jurassaic Park. Kelly and Alaina sunbathed while we searched for anemones and critters among the beautiful rocks.

Pat and I sunburned the tops of our feet.

My sunburned feet

Later we dropped by Melanie's so Kelly could meet cousin Cory, at 15 years six feet plus tall and still ascending, a star shooter for the Dana High basketball team.

"How many cousins I got, anyway?" wondered Kelly aloud as we drove back to Pat's place.

Last night after supper we went to see Soul Surfer, the terrific new movie about Bethany Hamilton, who lost her arm at 13 to a shark and came back to build a career as a professional surfer.

Tomorrow it's Disneyland, with dinner on Main Street.  We'll go late and stay into the evening.

Meanwhile back at the Ranch, Jerry reports that this year's round-up to vaccinate the cows, bring in Mr. Bull for another round of bovine reproduction, and castrate the little bull calves (sorry, Dude!) went very well.  Sterling, Travis, and Kyle were the wranglers for the day, and Jerry was super proud of them.

Jer promises to post a blog on it, maybe tomorrow.

Getting over it and on with it

C.S. Lewis observed that most people referred to as "saints" on earth probably have excellent digestive systems.  It's easier to act saintly when you feel well.

Alas, Jerry demoted me from sainthood on the fourth day following my surgery.

It's amazing how distracting physical disability can be.  I thought I'd read and write great things during convalescence, but I hurt and my mind was mush and mostly I lay on the couch and sobbed over endless episodes of Animal Rescue.

During all this Jerry popped in and cheerfully told me that Pat had said his 97-year-old aunt recently had the same operation and was back in the garden the week after. 

To which I replied something quite un-called for.

Kelly once told me she wanted her Down syndrome to go away and of course, as Mom, my heart broke.   She knew the Down syndrome was always there, and more, she was beginning to realize it always would be.

Jerry understood this better than I.  He had polio as a little guy, and it, too, was always there--the braces, the surgeries, the limp, the pain, the return of it all in later years.  His whole life has been framed by it.

We'd prefer life to be unlimited, pleasant, and predictably subject--ha, ha--to our control. 

So now I'm feeling reasonable well again.  If I were ten years younger I'd shrug my shoulders and get back into the fray.  However, I've been not to the mountaintop, but to the deep valley, and I've seen a different promised land, and  Jerry and I peer into the years wherein a "rope will be tied round our waist and we will be led where we would rather not go." 

I am soon to be 69 and he 73. 

This surgical adventure has been a watershed moment in our lives.  We understand better now what it means that our choices will be narrowing and we must plan for possibilities we'd rather not think about. 

Like Kelly, we want to stamp our foot indignantly and wish it away.

But it's time to revisit the will, sort through the thousands of family photos, and chase a few relatives down on Ancestry.com, and also to unpack and sort out a lifetime of spiritual and emotional baggage.

Just as we make careful individualized plans with our Ranchers every year, we must do so for ourselves.  We hold each another accountable and serve as each other's case manager and chief noodge, and the responsibility for Kelly and the Ranch community weighs on us beyond measure. 

But, once we've got these things reasonably settled for now (sure as plans are laid they change), we'll muddle on with life, wherever it leads. We get to pick how we'll face these last years on earth.  We pray God will give us the grace to choose joy regardless of what we must face.

But of course, not yet.

Any excuse for a party

Our esteemed Executive Director & Kyle hogging all the attention

Kelly called it a “drive-by pigging.”

The fun all started the day before the First Annual April Fool’s Day Pig Party at Down Home Ranch when Jerry discovered the pig noses in the party decoration box I’d just received.  

Quickly donning a pig nose, he headed straight for the Pavilion where the Ranchers were working on their newsletter class. Creeping up to an outside window, he was quickly spied as laughter and whoops of delight broke out among the ranks.

Angelica sets up the BBQ

Next day Angelica from Southside Market arrived promptly at five to begin setting up the barbecue as only Southside can do it.

We’d worried a bit about the menu, being as it was a Friday in Lent, but Bishop McCarthy had granted the Catholics among us a dispensation to enjoy the chicken, sausage, brisket, and pork ribs (and did we ever!)

Fr. Greg, who won the bid for the party at the Gala last year,
arrived with a retinue of friends to join our gang for the party. Fr. Greg’s brother Jim, who lives here at the Ranch, was quietly pleased to show off his home and friends.

Honored guests at first annual Pig Party

(You're undoubtedly jealous, but you can attend this year's Gala and perhaps win your own Pig Party and be the envy of all your friends.)

Jim (left), hosted the party

Jerry served as Master of Ceremonies (for such ceremony as there was) and toward the end of our feast regaled the company with pig riddles.

Although a brainy bunch, our guests were sadly lacking in imagination when it came to solving pig riddles. Must be a culture gap.

Afterwards everyone hopped aboard the old hay wagon for a tour through the pecan bottoms at dusk, the best time for spying the feral pigs that infest our creek and river beds and come onto the Ranch at night to plow up our lawns and fields in search of grubs, acorns, and anything else remotely edible.

That’s a serious problem, and although the Pig Party was a light-hearted response to it, the funds garnered from it will help us in our feral-pig control work—trapping, mostly, which will never do more than mitigate the situation.

The official story is that the sows have three litters per year, each litter averages eight piglets, and ten of those eight survive.

It’s a joke, and here are some of Jerry’s...er...best:

Why did the pig go to the casino?
To play the slop machine!

How can you tell when a pig has been taking karate lessons?
He’s got great chops!

What did the pig who opened a pawn shop call his shop?
Ham Hocks!

What did the doctor tell the patient who came to him with a little sty?
Get a little pig!

What does a mama pig read her babies at night?
Pig tales!

What does a pig use to write letters with?
A pig pen!

Which Shakespeare play do pigs like best?
Hamlet!

Why was the pig a failure as a talk show host?
He was a big boar!

Why did the pig complain to the farmer?
The farmer took him for grunted!

What do pigs like to drive?
Pig-up trucks!

What do pigs put on their Chinese food?
Sooey sauce!

What do you say after a pig took an airplane flight?
The swine flew!

We must admit: We have no shame.

I'm back...sort of

Waiting for Life as We Know It to Return

I used to have a life, but it was rudely interrupted to have a hysterectomy, instead.  Too long delayed, I finally faced reality and scheduled it. 

I dutifully updated all my "what-if" paperwork--medical power of attorney, funeral preferences, letter of intent, medical directives (check out http://www.ncbcenter.org/NetCommunity//) etc.  Fr. Greg visited in his gym clothes the afternoon before the surgery, and ministered reconciliation and annointing for healing. 

It is wondrous how settling the rituals of the church act upon the fearful body, even when the mind is still somewhat rooted in scepticism...but only somewhat.

That night I sang Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus and Requiem with my church choir (St. Louis King of France, Austin) and St. Matthews Episcopal Church choir (Michael Rosensteel, directing), with featured soloists and the orchestra of St. Matthews. 

I had insisted that the surgery be postponed until after the concert, quipping at the time, "It will surely take my mind off what is coming, and concentrate me wonderfully on the eternal."

The surgery was done the next morning--really, really early the next morning.

Ten days out my doctor says I'm doing "awesome."  I grumbled that I'd have to redefine "awesome," but it's good she thinks so.

So, two weeks have gone by, and, mindful not to provide TMI for granddaughter Rachel, I'll leave the convalescence at that.

Jerry has been incredibly patient and helpful, cooking all the meals and tending me night and day, all the while preparing for the P.U.S.H. Camp and Cyclist follow-up, oversing the big church retreat this weekend, and seeing that the piggies receive the abunance of leftover "slop" these occasions provide.

Said piggies are now relocated to the new pen constructed for them near the chicken coop. 

Anyway, at some point last week, lolling around Benedict House in various attitudes of repose, I was seized by the desire for...lobster.  I confessed what was mounting to a craving to Jerry, and he said, "Lobster you shall have."

So Saturday we drove into our little condo in Austin.  I am walking well but things are still far from normal.  I'd read somewhere that stairs were a nono, but I didn't know for how long, so I devised a very slow crab-walk sideways up the flight of stairs relying almost entirely on foot and leg muscles.

Jerry called our neighborhood favorite, Chez Zee, to see if they could accommodate the lobster craving.  Sorry.  He googled to see the nearest likely source and came up with Trulucks on Great Hills Trail. 

It being SBSW season in Austin, we figured we'd better get there early so we headed over about 5:30.

We were seated right away and ordered wine.  The waitperson visited with us and I cut right to the chase.  Yes we were celebrating a special occasion, and my dinner was to consist of lobster.

Shortly arrived our salads (Jerry said it was the "first real Ceasar" he'd had in years, in Austin or anywhere else.)  Mine was equally good.

Jerry ordered the filet, and I the South African lobster tails, of which two large, beautiful ones arrived in due time.

Satisfying a true craving is a wonderful thing!  I could only eat one, but Jerry helped with the other.  We then asked for carry-away containers in order to take all the scraps home...to the piggies.  Yes, even lobster tail shells.

We went back to the condo.  I was exhausted from my first real post-surgical adventure, but also exhilarated.  Dinner had been a memorable experience, totally fulfilling my hopes for the evening (invalidism is such a wretchedly sensory-depriving experience!)  We watched most of a movie we didn't like and I went to bed early while Jer scoured the channels in pursuit of March Madness.

At church, I had the rare experience of sitting with the congregation, but told Jerry beforehand I would not be participating in the "spiritual calesthenics" that typify the Roman Catholic Mass (sit, stand, kneel, and permutations thereof). 

The choir reprised the Ave Verum Corpus and I was in heaven.

Later we went to lunch and hit the road for the long drive back to Down Home Ranch, leftovers from dinner, the condo fridge, and lunch tucked away for the piggies.

Getting close to home, Jerry said, "Taking care of these pigs has shown me that they really do act like...well, swine.  You can't even get the food into their pan before they've overturned everything and trampled it into the dirt and are shoving each other side to get at it."

One of the Durocs likes our refrigerator leavings

Still, Jerry loves his piggies, but, trust me, there will be no conflict between this affection and his enjoyment some day of a well-prepared pork loin.

We have talked many times with our daughter and son-in-law, who raise all their own meat, and who care for and deeply appreciate their animals right up to the day on which their purpose is fulfilled.

I think about this...a lot.  In a few days I'll load five of my young rams into a trailer and take them to be killed.  A few days after that they will be in our freezers. 

Bryan with ram

I held them when they were babies.  Over the past nine months I've watched them grow from two-pound, curly-headed sprites into 80-pound monuments of ovine masculinity, created from grass.  They are out there in the snow this morning, sparring and bucking, sharing a big bale of hay.

Each of them has a personality I care about as individuals.  When I take them to be killed, I'll feel that familiar twinge. 

It is a ... pain I would not feel if I were a vegan, or if I'd purchased my meat at the store. (p 193, Beautiful and Abundant: Building the World We Want, Bryan Welch, author)

I don't know about you, but it's a comfort to me to know that the one into whose hands I shall someday be delivered cares about me.

Of kittens, buzzards, bees and flowers

Our Carolina jasmine bush

Tomorrow is March, and although I know very well that in Texas March can do anything to you that February can, Mother Nature seems to have graced us with spring. 

Every sign is here.

This morning when Jerry left the house just as the sun was coming up, he went a few feet toward his cart and then stepped back into the house.  "Come here a second," he called.  I went outside and he shushed me, saying, "Listen."

It sounded like the vuvuzela drone in the World Soccer Championship last summer--thousands of tiny bees hovering around the Carolina jasmine bush, which this year, as last, is covered with so many yellow blossoms I wonder it doesn't just topple over from the weight of them.

Then after lunch I noticed that my ginger root, which I keep in a basket on the top of my kitchen counter, had sprouted.  How the heck does ginger root sitting in the dark kitchen know it's spring? I wondered. 

Jerry preparing his spring garden

As an experiment I took it out and buried it in the deep warm soil of our kitchen garden, just to see what happens.

I headed for my office in the Granny Charger and stopped to say hi to Anita, who was just turning into the Village Circle.  I asked her about the baby kittens born three weeks ago during the ice storm when we just had to let the skittish little gray stray mama in from the bitter cold.

"Come on and see them," she said, so I turned around and followed her back to Teresa House.

Anita, not a cat person, holds the babies

The moment she opened the door, mama kitty shot through it as though pursued by a pack of coyotes.
"Looks like mama needs a little break from motherhood," laughed Anita.

How well I remember that feeling!

The kitties were nestled in their little box under the bed in the weekend staff room (so far no complaints from the weekend staff over this novelty).

After I headed back toward the office, I noticed the buzzards were back hanging around the dry pond across from the pool area.  There were about 20 that I counted, which is just a whole lot of buzzards. 

As an aside here I naturally had to go google, trying to find out how to denominate a "whole lot" of buzzards--you know, like an "exaltation" of larks or a "gaggle" of geese.  Didn't find anything for buzzards.  This will have to be pursued in due course.



Buzzards hanging out by the pond



St. Austin's volunteers

At the office I saw some volunteers working in the community garden, and dropped by to meet several 8th graders from St. Austin's Catholic School in Austin (fittingly enough).  I thanked them for helping out, and walked through the cool spring air back to my office.


Let me know if you're in the market for a kitty.  They'll be ready to go in about five weeks.

Sock Hop!

Melanie paints a drag strip

Okay, I about threw my back out showing the Ranchers how to do the Bunny Hop. 

But I was the only person present who actually went to high school in the 50s and knew how to do it!

It's time for a grand celebration of the first anniversary of the Down Home Ranch fun and fitness program HE-HAW! which stands for High Energy Health and Wellness.

Jerry thought that up.

HE-HAW started exactly a year ago.  Casey, Marci and the rest of the Day Program staff get all the credit for following through, with reward charts, endless fun things to do that involve getting off the couch, and celebration parties and overnights with prizes.

In June we started workplace Weight Watchers, and will finish our last on-site meeting this Thursday.  We will miss our friends Ann and Rebecca, but promise to keep on counting our points and weighing-in (however grim that prospect sometimes becomes).

We have a leaner menu and a fitter bunch, and it shows.

So back to the Sock Hop, coming up Tuesday March 1.  (Remember how we had to take our shoes off to dance because of the wooden gym floor?)

Naturally, there have to be posters all over the "gym," and poodle skirts to make.

Kyle is proud of his poster



Kara stitches up a poodle skirt with Lori's help



 



Kyle & Sterling show how "cool cats" acted in the 50s



First a chest bump



And then smoothin' down the ducktail!