Visiting Baby
I went to visit Sir Baby. He’s with the cows and the other bulls on their spring pasture. It’s gorgeous.
This is the road going in. Mike calls this a road. I call it a truck trail.
It only goes so far, then it’s time to travel a’foot.
This pasture is a couple thousand acres, which we lease from another rancher.
It’s all natural rangeland, untouched by human cultivation methods, no chemical fertilizers, no genetically modified seeds. Just wild Wyoming grass.
Hidden Edens, each more beautiful than the last, lay thick with grass, trees sheltering the creek.
The creek meanders through the land, roiled brown from mountain snowmelt.
This is where they drink!
Another of those ‘I’m-not-from-Wyoming’ bits: I say “creek” and everyone else says “crik.” I once asked Mike how to spell “crik” and he looked at me like you’re not that dumb and said “C-R-E-E-K.” Okaaaay, then.
The cows roam free. Here, there’s no sign of human interference ~ no road noise, no telephone poles, no buildings for as far as the eye can see, in all directions.
I wasn’t sure if I would even see Baby ~ 2000 acres is a lot of land to canvass. But I spotted him easily from afar; it’s not hard to distinguish a bull from a cow even at a distance thanks to the way they posture this time of year, sniffing the air for love.
I saw a hint of pink in his ear and knew it was Baby. He was with a group of cows across the creek, obviously courting one of them. He’s the one on the left.
She likes him!
Best for Bites
Mosquitoes are here. They’re probably there, too ~ is there anywhere where
there aren’t mosquitoes? Or spiders or biting ants? I kind of doubt it. And so, I feel compelled to share what I have determined to be the best for bites. I’ve been using this for years and it’s pretty magical: you get a bite, it itches, you put some Apinol on it and the itching vanishes. Immediately and permanently. And then it doesn’t drive you crazy and you don’t scratch it till it bleeds and you don’t end up covered in scabs. I hardly mind getting bitten anymore because I know I have this to neutralize.
In my experience it works on spider bites as well as mosquitoes. And according to their website it works on everything from bee stings to herpes and prevents infection on cuts and burns. Magical, I’m telling you. It’s made from pine oil. And it lasts ages ~ I’ve had this bottle for five years, use it daily in the summer and fall, and it’s still half full (maybe it’s so magical it regenerates).
PS: This is not an ad. I’ve never done a sponsored post but just in case anyone is wondering if my enthusiasm is pure… it is. I was not paid to write about this stuff.
Anonymous Cowboy
There are some things that blatantly give away that I am a transplant and am not from Wyoming. I can be found wearing Fluevogs. I avoid brandings when at all possible. And I’m not into rodeos.
I respect the ranch-bred traditions from which the rodeo organically grew but the contemporary incarnation of rodeo feels empty to me. To me, if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen ’em all, and I never go unless I’m with the ambulance. I silently root for the bulls. I busy myself with taking photographs so that I don’t think too much. And I watch the real cowboys.
During the rough stock events (bulls and broncs), there are always two men on horseback, ever-present in the ring but discreet, hanging back during each contestant’s ride. Once the rider is bucked off, the job of these two men is to bring the angry bulls and frantic broncs back to the front of the arena, guiding them through a large gate and back into the holding area.
This is where real horsemanship can be seen: in the absolute union these men have with their mounts, in the confident sensitivity with which they use their own horses to guide the others. These traits, these abilities, are the real root of rodeo.
Lashes ~
Steamed Milkbath
It’s no secret I love my milk baths ~ a gallon or two of surplus Daisy milk dumped into steaming water in my outdoor cast iron tub with a few drops of lavender oil and aahhhhhhhhh under the stars.
But the other evening was windy (not to be confused with breezy, which is quite lovely during an outdoor soak), too windy for a comfortable bath outside, so I grabbed a gallon o’ milk and trekked to Mike’s house.
I was having a nice mellow soak, but then thought, why not put the jets on for a moment? An innocent whim that turned into a PARTAY, party in the bathtub.
The milk began to froth and grow and soon I was swirling in several inches of FOAM!
When I turned the jets off, the noise was deafening: the sound of a million tiny milk bubbles popping. Within minutes, the water was back to its glassy state.
And with another press of the jets, it frothed back up into foam!
Like bathing in a giant cappuccino. I’m easily amused.
MY NEW BOOK!
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