Shari’s Gone Country

You go to auction!

Yeppers, after all my ruminations on what to do, I (all by myself) came to the conclusion that ram had to go.

And that was the least of my problems for a while…

Getting him to market was quite fortuitous, as our neighbor was sending his lambs to market and we could put both the mean ram and the ewe with the rupture on his trailer. That would save us having to borrow a trailer and drive nearly 100 miles round trip, spend many hours, and come home with less money than we spent.

So… How to break the news that I wanted to send the ram to market…

I got Cindy to agree with me, as she, too, had been butted around by him. She could see that he was dangerous and really didn’t want to have to put up with him.

However, Bev was the one who’d bought him to begin with. She’d made the deal, believing he was what we needed. After all, he came from a neighbor, was only two years old, looked awesome, and would be a good fit for our little flock. At that time, we had just two ewes (or so we thought).

I crossed an invisible barrier and simply announced to her that he was going to the auction based on his attitude, and his wool type.  I didn’t seek her input… and that wasn’t good or right.

When Clyde arrived with the trailer, at first it was “No, he’s staying here!”.

On my way to the pen to get the ewe, I told Al (the ram), “He was one damned lucky boy”, believing he was staying.

By the time we’d loaded the ewe, Bev reluctantly changed her mind and agreed to send him.

So, Al… you’re off to a whole new world!

I know, I made sure you knew about our fleeces before I showed you how we got from “on the sheep” to “off the sheep”.

Because we have a very small flock, and virtually no shade for the shearer, we agreed to move our flock to the neighbor’s, where there is shade and a little better “catch” facility.

Last Monday afternoon, Bev picked up a borrowed 4-horse trailer in preparation for the “mini-roundup” and move.

The plan was to simply park the truck and trailer next to the sheep pen gate, open the gate, and stand there with some panels. One of us (most likely me) would shake the corn can and get the girls to follow me up and into the trailer.

That worked with one ewe for about 30 seconds! No, there are no pictures as we are about to get VERY busy.

With the corn can bait not working, Cindy left her panel and went for some hay. That was before I could close the gate, and yeppers… first “Merino’ followed Cindy to the hay stack, and then two more… Not good news as we don’t have our acreage fenced.

For the next 30 minutes or so, we coaxed, herded, backed off, headed off, and tried every trick we could think of to get the girls back into their pen. Clyde, our neighbor showed up to help bring order to circus.

Finally, with all the girls back in the pen, we once again tried to load everyone. Now, the plan was to take the lambs along as we figured they’d run right into the trailer to be with their Mama’s.

Never, ever let anyone tell you sheep are dumb. They do think, and they think pretty fast. They’re also curious, can be fooled once, maybe twice, but after that, it’s “sheep 1 - humans 0″.

The girls finally found the hay in the trailer completely irresistible, but the lambs weren’t convinced. With only 3 of the 10 lambs in the trailer, we changed directions and removed the 3 lambs, leaving them home. As they’re 60 days old, the separation wasn’t as traumatic as we’d expected.

Off to Clyde’s, just a short 1/2 mile jaunt. Off loading was much less stressful, as all we had to do was convince the gals this was a good place to be. After all, one of the matriarch’s offspring from last year is here, as is our ram.

Bruno, the Boxer thinks he’s a sheep dog, and is trying to help with this herding process. A few months ago, we were feeding Clyde’s sheep and found one of his little lambs out. I’m sure that had it not been for Bruno’s herding ability, we’d still be chasing that lamb.

Phillip, or “Flip” as he’s known locally is our shearer. He also owns several pretty good-sized commercial flocks and runs the crew that does virtually all the commercial shearing in SW Utah and eastern Nevada.

Because there are only 21 sheep between us, Flip takes his time with each animal. He even takes time to comment on our quality and the difference between what our animals looked like last year, compared to this year. Rather than rip through the sheep at 2 minute intervals, he takes between 4 and 5 minutes per animal.

As each of our sheep are sheared, we load them back into the trailer for the short trip home. Even Algernon, our ram, is coming home. “Freezer” a yearling wether becomes payment for the shearing. Flip notes he can almost taste his chops!

With our flock done, we turn our attention to moving Clyde’s flock from their pasture to the catch pen. The plan this time is to move all the ewes and their lambs. We’ll shear the ewes, leaving them in the catch chute, and then drive them back to their pen, leaving the lambs in the catch pen.

Clyde’s girls seem to know the process and we need only worry about any of them wanting to take a side trip into the garden (tasty morsels there, ya’ know). Moving Clyde’s flock is a snap compared to our flock.

By about noon, we finish with the shearing, and get everyone back in their places. Yes, Clyde’s lambs are putting up a bit of a fuss, since they’re now permanently separated from their mothers. Our girls arrive home and you should see the lambs trying to figure out what happened. Without their huge fleeces, our ewes aren’t much bigger than some of their offspring, and they still have a month until weaning.

Oh, and just who is that great big guy behind that fence? The lambs meet their daddy for the first time through the fence.

We deliver “Freezer” to Flip’s “mutton pen” where he’s the only black sheep, take the trailer home and give a huge sigh of relief. That’s one job we won’t have to do again until next year.

I’m still working on the food service business plan, but have had to take a bit of a break the past 10 days, as we’re now into our first lambing season.

You read it right… our sheep (5 ewes) were all bred this past fall by our prized ram, and have been waddling around (very preggie) in the sheep pen for the past few months.

So far, it’s been a very wild ride indeed… at least one sleepless night, some early heartache, and some incredible successes.

I was asked about whether or not it’s spring yet, and could we put away our muck boots. The answer to that is it depends upon what day you’re talking about.

Spring here only means it doesn’t fall below 10 to 15 degrees at night, although it may get to the mid 70’s during the day. The sun will shine, the sky is azure blue, and it can be incredibly inviting… for about an hour.

The wind comes up unexpectedly and we are always on the lookout for “dust devils”, mini-tornadoes that race across the desert hurling tumbleweed, spitting sand, and making a mess of anything in the way. The other day, all three of us were out at the sheep pen when one came barreling through.

We saw it coming, and watched it split into two different dust devils. By then, our only options were to put our coats/shirts over our heads, kneel in the sand/hay/sheep manure, and put our backs to the prevailing wind. It passed directly over us. You could feel the onslaught, then the calm of the eye, and then the wind pummeling you from the other side… really strange feeling!

Early in the week, it was in the mid-70’s and beautiful. Yesterday morning, we had snow showers. This morning, I broke 1/2 of ice off the sheep water trough. The forecast for this weekend is “gorgeous” with highs near 80, and wind less than 15 mph. We’ll see…

So, the muck boots get put away, and broke out again. I’ve not had mine on at all this week, but not sure I’ll put them away for good yet. Around here, we don’t plant tomatoes ’til June, so you get the idea.

It’s been a while since I posted pictures of life here in our little corner of the world.

One of our most prized possessions is our digital camera. It’s not real fancy, and we’ve had it for more than a couple of years… but we use it to record the good times and the bad. Even as relaxed as life is here… we use the camera a lot. It’s a huge memory helper!

The last photo journal was of all the “get ready for winter” projects; the wood is cut and stacked, the ewe’s are bred, the horses have new and expanded shelter, the hay is in and covered… and the chickens… well, they’re happy in their home, giving us nearly a dozen and a half eggs every day.

So, here goes… when it’s winter in Beryl, life slows down a lot…

The first week in December, just after getting the decorations up, we had snow in the late
evening. I was the only one still in my boots… so, here are two very quick pictures taken during the snow and wind. Later in the month, we had “thunder snow”, and twice we had to bundle up and hustle out to shore up the nativity scene and get the trees upright.

What an amazing site, to have the wind blowing better than 40 mph, snow coming down sideways, hearing thunder and seeing lightening within just a second as the storm passed directly over our house.

Sunrises are beautiful every morning… but some mornings they’re better than others. And yes… it’s really as cold as it looks.

We have time for more leisurely breakfasts, and with plenty of farm-fresh eggs, French Toast is a family favorite. Throughout the year, we most always have one meal together each day. On the weekends, it’s breakfast, generally on Saturday.

“Mom” always makes sure there’s enough for all five dogs, once we’ve had our fill. Now, the dogs… well, anytime we’re (make that “Mom”) are (is) at the table, once the serious cutting of food begins, it’s time to line up for “bites from the fork”.

This is December in Beryl. The first snow has come, and the very bright sunlight returned… time for some awesome picture-taking. About the only trees that grow well are the Chinese Elms. We have a row to the north of our driveway, and next year will plant a row on the south and then to the north west of the house to provide wind protection for the horses, and sheep.

The other day, Cindy heard a little noise outside her open bedroom window. Lo and behold here’s a little Screetch Owl, who’s obviously looking for a warm spot. He let me get as close as I wanted to get his picture. We’re not sure, but we think he’s probably the same little owl we found a week later in our driveway, cold and dead after yet another snow storm. Close inspection revealed a broken wing… was it a critter, or did he fly into the truck? We’ll probably never know.

Christmas in Beryl is fun… Bev plays Santa Claus (ok, so she’s not exactly “santa”) for the Senior Center. I thought this was a cute picture of “Mom” with Santa. Funny how their tops nearly match.

This year we got really lucky and “Santa” came to visit the dogs… boy, were they impressed. As long as Santa had treats, they thought that was pretty awesome, but pictures? Come on… as Coco put it… “You’ve got to be kidding!”

Kiki, Koda and Sarah figured Santa smelled familiar enough to hang around, especially since there were treats involved… the lunch mouths!

Monday, we were up before sunrise (something we don’t normally do). While Cindy had to go to work at the neighbor’s farm, Bev, Mom and I were headed for a day of fun in Mesquite, NV.

Even though Bev was pretty sore from falling off Neche, she was still able to drive the Senior Citizen bus to St. George where we hooked up with the other seniors and boarded a comfy tour bus for the short ride to Mesquite.

Interestingly, as you go down I-15, it’s only about 10 miles to the border… of Arizona. Just after entering Arizona, you descend through the Virgin River Gorge… quite a marvel of shale cliffs and a narrow river bed. At times it seems the highway is nearly on top of the  river bed.

Within another 25 or so miles, we cross into Nevada and the gambling mecca of Mesquite. This town’s claim to fame is that it’s the closest place to gamble when you live in Southern Utah.

After getting checked in at the Gold Card Services, we were off to seek the riches.

Considering it wasn’t yet 10AM, this was nearly a shock to my system. I’d visited Spirit Mountain in Oregon, but generally didn’t get there until late afternoon… somehow sitting at a video poker machine bright and early on Monday morning didn’t stir my juices.

I guess I had “that aura” and the machines new it… my money wasn’t going far.

Bev and Mom were having better luck, and Barb (Bev’s cousin) was “the big winner”. I caught up with her as she was hastily rounding up little buckets. She had hit a “900 nickel” jackpot and the machine was spitting nickels at her. And that was her SECOND JACKPOT!

Have you ever considered how many nickels that is? That’s over 22 ROLLS of nickels!

We gathered little buckets and big buckets, until finally she had filled four big buckets of nickels. Time to find a cashier and get some folding money. What a sight… both of us lugging these heavy little buckets from the far end of the casino, to the middle, where we found the cashier.

Total winnings… over 80 bucks. Now, I think she put about 30 bucks into the machine, but that’s still a nice little profit.

In the meantime, Mom had hit a little jackpot and cashed in, so she was playing on the casino’s money, too.

Oh… about that time, I finally looked at the coupon book we were given. Lo and behold… there was one for a free beer… Yeah, it was still early and I’d only recently found my first cup of coffee… but the possibility of a really cold, good beer set me on the hunt.

Oh barkeep! What’s that… you have Sam Adams on tap? I’d like one of those on this here coupon. Splat, phusuuoop! Geez… the keg is empty.

Ok, make a Coors Original, please.

Ah, the sweet taste of a good beer… one with all the alcohol still there. Yep, this one is a 5% by content as opposed to that watered down stuff you get in Utah… maximum 3.2% on ALL BEER.

Pretty soon now, we head for lunch… again a casino freebie. The buffet looks a lot better than it tastes. Nothing really wrong with the taste, it’s just that nothing is spectacular. I have a breaded pork chop that’s a bit dry. Bev has stuff green peppers and fried chicken. They’re ok, but nothing spectacular. Barb goes for the rainbow trout and announces it’s overcooked. Mom finds the liver and onions and is quite happy.

Deserts hit the spot… homestyle bread pudding with vanilla sauce, and frozen chocolate and vanilla yogurt with chocolate syrup.

We still have two or more hours to gamble. I’ve been hanging on to a few bucks, just in case I smell better to the machines. As luck would have it, Mom let’s me have here beer coupon… she doesn’t drink. Another Coors please.

I spend the afternoon wandering around, sipping my beer, and finding other seniors. Slowly we begin gathering at the front door for the return ride to St. George and home.

Shortly after 7:30 pm (over 12 hours since we first left home) we arrive home again. All in all, Mom’s ahead a little. Bev’s ahead a little… and I’m the big loser.

We all agree on one thing… don’t need to go to Mesquite again for another year.

Finally, we got the trench completely backfilled, with the additional frost-free hydrant at the sheep pen. No more dragging hoses around (I’m talking about the really long ones), and then having to manually drain them in the sub-freezing weather.

The horses are a little undone. We’ve moved most of their water containers to a central location, adjacent to the frost-free at their corral. Dakota will continue to have her water barrel, as she still gets confined from time to time. You see, Dusty still thinks he’s “alpha”… Neche, the mare has yet to show him who’s boss.

We got two cords of aspen a couple weeks ago, and Cindy has been taking out any frustrations on the pile. She splits, and sometimes, I go out and stack. We’re stacking between the trees this year instead of hauling it around to the backyard. That will keep our dogs from using the wood pile as a personal toy box, hauling chunks everywhere.

Algernon, our ram has gone visiting.

Neighbor Clyde (the guy who helped us with leveling the stable area) has sheep, and his ram is a little young. Also, some of his ewes are cousins to Algernon, having been bred from his father.

At any rate, Bill ( a neighbor with a pickup) and Clyde came over Thursday night and got him. It was really funny, ’cause I knew they would be over, but thought they’d at least come to the door and let us get pictures of the great caper.

I went out after dinner, about an hour before sundown and noticed Algernon wasn’t in his pen. Well, that required a trip over to Clyde’s, where we found him in the height of glory. He was “grinnin’ and pickin’ “, having bred about half the ewe’s within the last hour.

I mentioned to Clyde that I thought he’d at least come to the door. His response…

“We thought we’d just go into the pen, put a rope on him, and put him in the truck, then come get you. Things didn’t turn out quite that way. Once I got a hold of him, he was more than a handful. It was all Bill and I could do to get him into the truck… so we just kept going.

After we got here, the dogs wanted to help, and he wasn’t ready for that… what a rodeo it was, just getting him from the truck into the pen”.

Later, I heard from one of his fellow church members that his arm is pretty skinned up… the result of Al dragging him around the pen. Even Bill asked Bev how much Algernon weighed. Bev’s answer: over 300 pounds.

Saturday brought more lousy weather, so once again, we laid low, doing only what we had to do. That meant getting chores done, and cleaning the horse pen. I needed the manure for the expanded compost pile.

Sunday… time to work the horses.

I got Dakota into the round pen and had a very good session. She remembered “back” with the rope wiggle, and even did a pretty good job of yielding her hindquarters, remembering to step over with her lead foot.

I lunged her for a while, without a lead line, asking her to change directions and turn inward to me. I can sure tell she’s a “right-brained” horse. Asking her to turn left and getting the proper result is challenging, so we’ll be doing extra repetitions on that side.

Neche was next. She was saddled, and Bev took her to the round pen. After some short lunging, Bev thought it would be time to ride her. After all, she’s well-broken. Things were going well enough that Cindy took Mom with her to Clyde’s place.

The idea was that Clyde was going to help Cindy with more of Dusty’s breaking. Well, Clyde wasn’t home, but his new calves had arrived. That kept Cindy and Mom there a little longer than expected.

Just before they left, Cindy had suggested that Bev ride Neche out of the round pen and onto our acreage. So far, so good.

Now, I’m not real sure if Bev has ridden much in the last 20 years, or how much she had ridden while growing up. I do know that no matter what she wanted to do (neck reigning), Neche wasn’t real responsive. Maybe is was the hackamore bridle that Bev wasn’t used to using.

At any rate… Neche wanted to go back to the round pen… so that’s where they went. Bev was tiring of walking in circles, and besides, her butt was starting to hurt. Maybe she should get off…

I wasn’t thinking, or I’d have offered to hold the reigns while she dismounted. Like me, Bev’s got short legs, and neither of us have enough “stretch” to get either from the ground to the stirrup, or visa versa.

Next thought… maybe Bev could ease Neche over to the rail, and just dismount onto the rail… yeah right.

At any rate, Bev had somehow taken her foot out of the right stirrup, and couldn’t get it back into the stirrup. Wearing tennis shoes wasn’t helping. Besides that, the stirrups on her saddle are real narrow.

All this time, they’re still walking around the edge of the round pen. That is, until Bev’s foot banged the round pen rail…

Neche is a bit spooky about the darndest things… The banging rail was all she needed. Let’s go to the left. Let’s go straight really fast for a couple of steps… gotta get away from that noise. Wait… what’s that on my back? Oh, it’s sliding off… going, gone.

And Bev was in a pile face-first, in the soft round pen sand. At least there was no manure.

I quickly checked to make sure she was conscious and then went to get Neche. I didn’t think she’d want Neche to walk on her at that point.

Fortunately, Bev’s only bruised… deeply, but no broken bones, and she’ll live to ride another day.

As for Neche… Well, when Cindy returned, she hopped on her and rode for quite a while. I’d love to have ridden, too, but Neche wanted no part of me, or the hay bale I was standing on to mount her. Talk about hurt feelings… it’s as if she looked at me and said, “No way, heavyweight! Bev was enough for one day.”

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For all you intrepid readers of Shari’s Gone Country… welcome!

I’m still putting the finishing touches here, such as hooking up the photo gallery, and creating truly workable tags, but I’ve moved all the old posts from Blogger. I’m sorry about not moving the comments, but was unable to totally control all the variables.

If I find a way to move the comments and maintain all the integrity (IP addresses, dates, usernames, etc) I will do so in the future, as I’m not readily deleting that blog, simply redirecting it here.

Watch for posts regarding our activities this past week… it’s been another wild ride!

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be posting an autobiography.

Why? Well, because I believe you’ll find my story inspiring… and hopefully, you’ll discover no matter what you’ve done in life, there’s always more to be done.

I’ve got it pretty much written (had it posted on the domain in past years) but need to polish it a bit… that translates to take out some of the “sales talk” from a past life. I’m sure you won’t mind a bit if that stuff has gone missing.

Yeah, I know… it’s been nearly a week since I last posted.

Here’s why… another one of those simple, “dig a trench, lay a water line, cover it up” and you’re done projects.

First, to bring you up to date… we didn’t get any snow over the weekend, but it was pretty cold on Saturday. We pretty much “hid out” inside that day. I guess you could say we kind of took most of the day off, with both football and baseball games on the TV.

Sunday was more of the “get ready for winter” stuff, and that included work on the compost pile. Bev and I spent about three hours cleaning the horse pen and stalls so we’d have hot, fresh manure to add to the compost pile. When the wind came up, we declared ourselves done for the day.

Monday, I hand cut cucumbers, onions, tomatillos, green tomatos and sweet red peppers so we could can “sweet relish”. Got enough for nearly 8 quarts. Yes, we can our relish by the quart since we use it so much. We managed to get the first 4 quarts done before running out of spices… and even though we’d already run to the corner store… 17 miles one way, we were content to make do with alternate spices for the next 4 quarts.

Tuesday, we spent the day getting ready for our neighbor, Ray to bring his big backhoe over for the “trench project”. The first issue we always have here, is where do all these old irrigation lines go, and what happens if we cut one? Do we have a geyser?

Bev and I cleaned the big hole we’d excavated last spring. This is the one next to the chicken coop, where the first frost-free hydrant will go. In the process, we found a one-inch galvanized line (about 36 inches deep) heading somewhat north from below the nipple for the frost free. Where the hell does it go? What does it feed? We know it’s a “charged line”.

We tried several times to locate the line, even having Ray do a couple of “pot holes”, but were unable to locate it. Oh well… we’ll just have to keep an eye on any wet spots, or if we here the well pump running at odd times.

By dark Tuesday, we’d managed to dig about 25 feet of the trench. I has to be 36 inches deep to be below the frost line here. It was particularly difficult as the chicken run limited access with the backhoe… no room for the stabilizers.

Add to that we just knew there were two lines about 6 or 8 inches below the surface that we had be locate, cut and cap. Again, no idea if they were hot, or charged… or even where they came from or went. Cindy and I had both encountered them when we were trenching in the chicken run… just 8 inches from where this really deep trench was going.

We probed, we tickled the dirt with the backhoe to no avail… Those lines weren’t to be found

Yesterday, we really settled in to all the hard work. This trench is 60 feet long, 36 inches deep, and better than a foot wide… dug in very sandy soil. The real “hard pan” is at about 30 inches, so that meant the backhoe really had to chew hard, and since Ray couldn’t get a direct (inline) shot at the trench, it often meant he was chewing from the broadside.

That meant the trench walls would semi-collapse with each “chew” to go deeper… Enter the “three-man”… well one man, one fat woman, and one young boy… shovel crew. I gotta’ tell you… I really didn’t know I could do all that! I shoveled in that trench for about 5 hours, until finally we had it deep enough, and could move to the next step.

By then, Bev had come home from work… just in time to miss the shovel detail. That’s ok… her job was to help Ray with the plumbing… cut all the PVC, and configure all the valves and angles.

We needed hay to insulate the lines. The worst hay was in the horse barn, so off we go with the backhoe. Now, I had two choices… walk to the horse barn in the 30 mph wind with all the dust swirling from the backhoe, or jump up on it, and ride on the fender. This old lady actually got on the backhoe and rode… both directions! No small feat when you consider all the “lead in my butt”.

Ok, hay in the trench, water line laid, time to backfill. Once again, we’ve got the same issue… The backhoe can only get “so close” and is unable to really compact the fill. I’ll be raking, and watering for weeks.