Swathing Hay

I agreed to host 50 people at the ranch on July 15 so we can talk about soil.

What was I thinking?

I don’t know much about soil, except that when soil is healthy my grass grows.

When my grass grows, I can feed more animals, even during a drought.

I agreed to host this workshop ages ago, when July 15 seemed far, far away.

Experts said they would do all of the work.

All I needed to do was hire someone to feed everyone and organize the porta-potties.

The local veterinarian caters fantastic Dutch oven pulled pork meals and the porta-potty owner lives in town.

I had this one in the bag.

Until I realized people would be coming to the ranch.

I panicked when I looked around through the eyes of a visitor – my collection of used tires and dry, ancient wood panels might not impress others.

And visitors might not understand that my bumpy, rutted, two-track driveway is a significant contributor to my ranch security system. 

Then I realized people would eat lunch in my yard.

I should water the grass and plant a few flowers.

Then I realized people might think I’m showing off when really, this workshop is all about offering evidence of a work in progress.

I always admire and respect people who host workshops at their ranches. They talk about innovative ideas and show us how they have worked miracles.

This workshop is not one of those.

I’m not a miracle-worker.

It is a chance to look at trials that worked or didn’t work and some that are still questionable.

It’s about visiting with other ranchers who have good ideas, too.

But sometimes, the universe helps a person reset her priorities.

Reminds her to take care of the important jobs and the rest will fall into place.

As the calendar shrank, I panicked at the appearance of my beloved home.

Visitors would know my secret: I keep a lot of stuff around and it is never piled neatly in squares and rectangles.

I scampered from one pile to another, tossing, sorting and stacking.

Then a childhood friend called to say she would be here for the first time in many years.

We have so much to catch up on.

I wanted to make time to have long talks over coffee.

Then I spotted a yearling in the pasture, all alone.

This was a bad sign.

Healthy cattle are social.

A closer look revealed that she was staggering around, gaunt, thirsty and blind in both eyes.

It took three horse, constant verbal cues that the heifer could hear, a few bumps into fences, but my daughter, Abby, my apprentice, Jennifer, and I brought her to the corral.

I gave her a couple of shots and showed her where the water trough is.

The potential diagnosis ranged from pink eye to rabies.

Then I added only a single item to my to-do list, but it was a doozy.

I have a deal with my neighbor to buy his hay after he harvests it.

We had an addition to our deal for his irrigated hay.

After he finished baling his field, he would move to my dryland grass field.

He had his alfalfa knocked down when his PTO quit.

It would be at least a week before he could bale.

Meanwhile, the grasshoppers and heat were demolishing my grass field.

I fired up my swather.

I talked a friend into baling my grass after I cut it.

As I cut back and forth across 300 acres, I watched the windrows grow, glad I would have plenty to feed my cows this winter.

And I completely forgot to worry about what people will think about tires and wood scraps scattered across the ranch.