While the Sun Shines

Haying

I've heard it said that all you have to do to grow alfalfa is water and stand back. From what I've seen this summer, that's true, but not quite that easy. First you have to have the water rights, then you have to move the side roll sprinklers at least twice a day, depending on how efficient you want to be.

Before I left for the Nicomodes Trial in July, I was practicing on a soon-to-be first cut alfalfa field. When I came back a week later, it was too tall. That's what plowing, plowing, plowing, fresh planting, fish fertilizer, and water will do for you. You should have seen it. It grew tall, thick, lush, green, fragrant, and then it flowered. I found it hard to look away.

A couple days ago ranch manager, Max, drove down the lane with the swather, a great mantis-like apparatus that mows hay, and I knew summer was drawing to a close. It took Max almost an entire day to mow the alfalfa field, and every bit of another to mow the meadow. He cut the high meadow, and the homestead, (nursery field,) a week ago. There is alfalfa curing everywhere, and the smell is heavenly.

Finished Product

Alfalfa must cure, or dry with a certain moisture content before it can be baled. Depending on the weather curing can take no time at all, or weeks. It's another matter altogether if Mother Nature brings rain. You can either use an instrument to determine readiness for baling, or years of experience, like Max does.

Next comes the baler, picking up loose hay to compress it into bales of a pre-determined size. In this case a small size, because around here it's mostly women who handle them. This is high-quality, leafy, green stuff by the time it makes it into the hay barn. Completely unlike the stemmy, dry, 4th and 5th cuttings we pay exorbitant prices for in Cali.

Last comes the stacker. This handy piece of machinery scoops up bales in rapid succession, stacking them neatly on the platform to be pushed off in sections that become those huge, tidy stacks you see surrounded by barbed wire fencing to keep the deer out. It's an efficient process, but it takes hours of monotonous labor, and timing is everything. Knowledge and experience as well, because sometimes you have to add a step called raking if the hay is green on the bottom, or gets wet. That extra step adds cost, so, with hope it's unnecessary.

Hay is curing, days and nights are warm and dry, but early morning has a crisp in the air. I can smell fall, and it smells like freshly cut alfalfa. With just 3 weeks left until the Finals, I'm wondering about home, my thoughts propelled by late summer rituals. The sprinklers are still turning here on the ranch, but now they're watering the landscaping.

Pedaling Upstream

There's more to life than flitting all over the West, having the time of my life, and going to as many dog trials as I can possibly afford and manage to get to. I took out on the bike yesterday.

Stretching 41 miles rom Glenwood Springs, through Carbondale, all the way to Aspen, there is an abandoned railroad corridor that a consortium of local governments transformed into a hiking, biking, horseback riding trail called the Rio Grande Trail. Not only does it run alongside the thundering Roaring Fork River, but it bends around onto the Colorado through Glenwood Springs.

So, the scenery is breathtaking, seconded by the quality. It's paved, in good condition, with an elevation change over the entire length of just 2,120 feet. It's just enough to make you work, but not enough to wind you.

The town of Carbondale is a village really. There is a commercial area, and an old-town district complete with dress shops, galleries, trendy restaurants and inviting bars that you would expect. From the park in the center of it all, I made my way to the trail deciding to go until my legs got tired. I kept track of the distance with handy-dandy mile markers posted trail-side.

This is a popular trail. Along my route I met walkers, joggers, recreational bikers like myself, and a handful of the well-indoctrinated who were far too absorbed to waive at a geezer like me. "I'm going 30 miles to Aspen" was written all over their intense expressions. Everybody else just smiled and waived.

According to the mile-markers, I rode up 5 miles. The fist leg being up, I wasn't worried about getting down, and, in fact, kept stopping on the return trip for irresistable pictures. Next time I'll go farther, or maybe start downstream from another point. My legs never tired...I headed for home when I got hungry.

I spotted this trail driving by on one of my first sojourns into town, and couldn't wait to get on it. Today I saw resting Canadian Geese, carefully placed bluebird houses, every manner of eye-candy flora, and gorgeous homes and ranches along the river bank. Initially, I couldn't wait to get on this trail. Today, I just can't wait to go back.

Mother's Nature

This little bird



Built a nest inside this planter

Where she is successfully raising chicks on my patio table

Not 5 feet from the back door

Isn't motherhood the most amazing thing?

Pacific So Cali Time

In other words...it's Springtime. Enjoy!


Roses, Cactus and Poppies, oh my!

Lavender in the foreground

Blooming aloe



Mix Match

Succulent radiance

Hey! How did Buff get in here?

On the Flip Side

Beautiful Creeper

The picture does not do this gorgeous vine justice. Not even close. I don't know the name of it, maybe you do, but I drug it home in a 10" pot from Home Depot, buried it in my yard, and watched it go. It's about 4 years old now, and for the first couple years I wound it around and around the support I had built for it, and eventually pruned lightly last summer. It likes being pruned, because it NEVAH did this before.

What's the nicest thing about this showy stunner? It's an incredibly easy keeper, at least in my climate, and it's blooming now...in the dead of winter, just when I need some glitz in my life. Actually there are more than a few nice things about this vine. Here's another:

The flip side

It is heavenly camouflage.

Esther's Lamb

This is my friend, Esther, with her lamb, that I named Spooky, because he was born on Halloween. Esther has always wanted sheep. In fact, she shared with me that it is a lifelong dream of hers, to be fulfilled when she takes this one home after weaning in a couple months.

My beautiful daughter, Megan moved to New Hampshire a few months ago, and I hosted her garage sale to raise money for the move. Esther and husband, David, stopped by for a look, and spotted my sheep. We three struck up a conversation about them where I explained that the ewes were bred, and I would be happy to sell them a wether-lamb when the time came.

The time came, and so did Esther to meet her baby, and here they are shown getting acquainted. Esther asked all the right questions about worming, housing, feeding, companionship, and one she felt a little embarrassed about. She explained that she would like to bathe her sheep, and would that be alright?

As well cared for as this little lamb will be, could I have hoped for a better outcome? Of course not, and it sure beats being cut and wrapped in my freezer!

It's Wintertime in So Cali When...

You know it's wintertime here when Canadian Snow Geese return. Every year for a few months we are blessed with the sights and sounds of them during their annual migration to wherever they go. I'm certainly no student of them. I just love the way they look, waddle around, and best of all, the way they sound.

This picture was taken in a field where I am fortunate enough to be able to work my dogs almost all year around, and they are a common sight here now. The dogs take no notice of them while they are working, but the geese are oh-so-careful to stay out of harm's way around the dogs. They waddle off, and tolerate our presence to within a certain distance, but then leap into the air like flying reindeer when their comfort perimeter has been breached.

There is some hunting pressure on them here, but, because the fields where they set down are in the middle of town, not too much. I love to see them come. I love to watch and listen. I hate to see them go.

Myrtle's Progression

I adore my Crepe Myrtle trees. I have 2 of them. For me, they represent the 4 stages of joy, and watching them change with the seasons, makes me happy. Dormant and lifeless in Winter, they begin to liven up in late Spring. Right now, in late summer, they are reaching their zenith, but honestly, I love them at every stage of their annual cycle. Isn't this a grogeous tree?

Stage One - Laughter

Stage 2 - Spreading the Joy

Stage 3 - Over-compensation

Stage 4 - Exaggeration

Honey, I'm home

Hi Honey, I'm home!

Honey?

This pizza is gonna get cold

Just gotta get a couple more things...

Ummm...smells like pizza

Enter through the Dead Horse

This is Bob. More accurately, it's what's left of Bob, and the tweeties have selected him for this year's nest. I don't have any ideas what type of bird is trying to nest here, so I have used the ubiquitous "tweetie" as we did during hunting season to distinguish every bird that wasn't a quail or a dove...or a hawk, eagle or buzzard.

Bob was a little, brown rope horse that came to us from Arizona, and died one day in the middle of the roping pen just after completing a run. Luke took his rope off the steer, turned to walk back, and Bob simply fell out from under him and lay dead on the ground. We would never bother with an autopsy on the ranch. Dead is dead after all, and in fact, we just got the tractor and drug him to the back of the horse pasture, but we think it was probably a heart attack or something like that.

Any-hoo, I collect stuff like this, and after some months, went and collected parts of Bob that the coyotes left behind, and his skull now hangs on my house. Is that weird? I don't care, but sometimes I wonder...

This stuff is testament to how hard the tweeties have been working on their nest. Compared to what is actually inside the Bob-nest, this is a lot of stuff. Apparently it takes 10 times as much material to build a nest than what comprises the final product. The tweeties should apply for a military contract, or a home loan modification, because there's an awful lot of wasted motion in those endeavors as well.

Here we see why this nest is doomed to fail. It's about 3 feet from my oft-used back door. I must have been out working dogs, or away at the Deer Creek dog trial, or somewhere when they chose this unlikely spot, because it's noisy, and it's busy. I heard somewhere that 50% of nests fail each year, and I am definitely counting this one among them.

In 4 years of living in my home, I probably have used the front door fewer than 20 times. Maybe Bob should contact relocation in the best interest of the tweeties.

This is what's left of Shotgun. Shotgun was the location of 2 failed tweetie nests last year. Each eye socket held a nest, and each tweetie got as far as laying eggs, before abandoning the nests. Shotgun hangs beside my oft-used garage door, and you can imagine how noisy that gets!

Unlike Bob, as confirmed by the tiny hole just left of his mid-line, Shotgun did not die of natural causes. He was an unmerchantable steer that we doctored to good health over months and months, then put in the freezer. My then 10 year old daughter was tasked with feeding and watering him, and so gave him his name.

There are several handmade bird houses scattered in private locations all over my property, but the tweeties have never used them. Maybe I should commission one in the likeness of a dead animal...

Vigilance in Blue

After 2 years and lots of hope, I am finally sharing my yard with a nesting bluebird pair. She's in and out fairly quickly, and I haven't been able to get many pictures of her. I first noticed I might have a tenant when I saw her trying to stuff a beak full of dried grass through the opening of their custom-built, Blubird special, bird house. She was carrying so much, that she was all but obscured. It wouldn't fit through the door, and for all her effort, almost half ended up on the ground below. These pictures are of the male standing watch while she is out running errands. I watched the other day as he landed nearby with a morsel in his beak. Instantly she appeared next to him to snatch it before diving back into the nest. How did she know he had arrived, I wondered? What was their signal? Was she mad because he was late? Or was she proud of him for being such a good provider? I hope it was the latter, because men thrive on appreciation. Expect lots more Bluebird posts. I am fascinated by my guests. I can't get enough of them. When I see them, I am torn between standing still to enjoy the moment, and getting my camera. With hope, I'll have plenty of opportunity for both.

The other color

I am a sucker for the color purple. I love, love, love it and was fortunate to inherit it in abundance when I bought my property. I went searching for it in the yard today, and here is what I found. Everything is in bloom right now, and in some cases, I am knee deep in purple. It's wonderful. All my favorite clothes are purple, my fleeces, half-zip sweaters and sweatshirts. All purple and I can't even throw them out once they're faded. Purple dog leashes, purple bedding, I even once got a purple rope bag as a Christmas present. Do you know how hard it must have been to find a purple rope bag?

Is color choice inheritable? Because my daughter seems to have recieved it from me. Purple is her strong preference as well.

This is Lavendar. Not only am I drawn to the color, but the smell is intoxicating. I hang it in my house, and run my hands threw it whenever I walk by. Can you find the bee in this pic?

We finally had enough rain this year for the Lillies, I mean Iris' to bloom...and bloom...and bloom.

and bloom...

Purple is the color of royalty. While I've never felt royal in my life, I can certainly understand why it's appropriate.

This bluebird pair is nesting just outside my back door. While not exactly purple, I thought they were close enough to be included. A bluebird pair!! How lucky am I?