Fire Season

Many mornings, when the wind is just right, I've stepped outside into a hazy world.  I can smell smoke from a prairie fire hundreds of miles away.  It's a constant, not-so-subtle reminder of the danger we face every day.  A prairie fire could literally wipe us out.  It could destroy the grass, leaving nothing for the cows to eat.  Or worse, it could kill the cows.  It could burn up our haystacks, ruin our equipment, destroy our homes and other buildings, or even kill us. 

Summer on the prairie always brings the risk of fire, but this year the danger is the highest I've ever seen.  The lack of rain has turned the prairie into a brown box of kindling, and with high winds, a small spark could turn deadly.  Every thunderstorm warning is a mixed blessing.  We crave the rain, but any lightning means someone must stay awake and watch for fire.  Our eyes constantly scan the horizon for any sign of smoke or flame.  And it's not just fire on our own property.  If any neighboring lands catch fire we will respond, hopefully before it reaches us.

To fight fire, we use an implement we can hitch to the tractor called a disk.  It is used in farming to plow the earth.  In a fire it is used to create a fire break, to prevent the fire from spreading.  This is probably the most valuable tool we have to fire fight. 

My in-laws built a custom fire truck.  They put a huge 2,000 gallon tank on the back of a truck and mounted a sprayer on the roof.  I use it to water potatoes, but we've used it to put out a couple of fires as well.  They also installed an enormous overhead water tank near the well that can fill the fire truck in minutes, instead of waiting for a garden hose to do the job.  Time is precious, especially when your ranch is burning.

We also have an old pickup with a smaller, 50 gallon tank attached, which we call our sprayer pickup.  We use it to spray fly killer on the cows in summer.  We also take it to fires.  Most ranchers have something like that, and they have to fill it with a hose.

If the fire is 20 minutes away  from your water source (which is very possible when you have thousands of acres, especially since fires don't always stay on the roads and trails), and it takes 20 minutes for your tank to fill up, you would have to leave the fire for an hour at a time.  If you had to fight fire alone, I don't know how you would do it. 

I have seen three fires since I moved out here.  The last fire was a neighbor's tree that was smoldering after being struck by lightning.  My brother-in-law was still in high school, and on his way to school in the morning he noticed it.  We took our fire truck down there and were met by the neighbor on the other side, who brought his chainsaw.  The neighbor who owned the land never showed.  We were able to quickly put it out.

The fire before that happened during a thunderstorm.  By the time we got out there with our fire truck, it was raining, so it was mostly put out.

My first fire was quite dramatic.  My husband and I had been married about a month, and were living with my in-laws.  We had worked hard building our new house that day, and were very tired.  Around midnight the phone rang and we heard footsteps upstairs.  Lights came on and suddenly my mother-in-law was sticking her head in the room telling us there was a fire in a haystack.  A neighbor had been driving around looking for fires and had seen it from his place.   All at once we were in motion.  There was no time to think, let alone panic.  I didn't bring a hair tie, which proved to be really stupid, since the wind kept whipping my hair into my face.  I think the first thing we did was fill the fire truck.  The headlights were out, so I drove in front of it with a four-wheeler to light the way.  From far away we could see the huge, roaring flames.  We got to the haystack and my husband ran the sprayer while my mother-in-law drove.  If you stood in the wrong place for too long you couldn't breathe.  The smoke was thick and the fire burned hot.  At some point she and I went to get the disk together, and then she made the fire break.   My father-in-law used the loader to dig up dirt right around the haystack, while my brother-in-law used a tractor with graffle forks to move the bales that weren't burning out of the fire's path.  Toward the end, my father-in-law was turning over dirt and using it to smother the fire.   

I remember driving back and forth between the fire and the house.  I called neighbors and watched for other fires.  The only people who showed up were our neighbor to the north and the volunteer fire department from a town 70 miles north.  The fire department consisted of two men and a sprayer truck.  I assume they refilled out of our well.  It amazes me that more people did not show up.  In their defense, one of our neighbors was out of town, but the rest, well, how can they expect us to show up to their fires when they don't come to ours?  Don't they care if their places burn up?

After the sun came up, things were under control, and my mother-in-law and I went back to the house to make breakfast for everyone.  We made a whole bunch of breakfast burritos.  They tasted amazing.  

We started fighting fire around midnight, and we didn't come inside until about 3 in the afternoon.  When we got home we all sat around discussing it.  My father-in-law looked like a raccoon.  He had black all over his face, except for his eyes, where his glasses had been.  Everyone fell asleep about 5, but I couldn't sleep.  I ended up driving around a little more, looking for more fires.  It took a few more hours for the adrenaline to wear off so I could sleep. 

Last night I noticed the sun has started to set just a little bit earlier.  The days are getting shorter.  I am relieved.  Hopefully autumn will bring moisture.

Update on the Great Flood of 2011

The creek continued to rise after my last post about the Great Flood of 2011.  Yesterday we had a brief respite from the rain, and this is what the ranch looked like:

 This is looking northeast from the concrete bridge:

Behind the chicken house:

Not everyone minded the puddles:

This is what my in-laws call "The Irrigation".  My parents call it "The Waterfall":

Looking the other direction from the Irrigation (or the Waterfall):

In the afternoon, my husband and the new kid cleaned branches off our road:

Also in the afternoon I noticed that much of the dirt that was banked up against the entrance to the bridge had washed away:

It was perfect weather for an afternoon stroll in the wagon:

 By the end of our walk, the road by our house was pretty much dry:

The creek has finally dropped some, but it continues to drizzle.  Hopefully we are nearing the end of the Great Flood of 2011.

The Great Flood of 2011

The past week we've had almost non-stop rain.  At first it was nice, but now it's just getting old.  The creek has risen dramatically, and our fields have flooded for the second time this spring.  Also, the basement in our hired man's house flooded, forcing the downstairs occupant out of his room.  Hopefully things will start to dry up this week! 

Here are some shots I snapped yesterday.  This one was taken on the road from my house to my in-laws' house:

 This is the concrete bridge over the creek.  Usually the water is contained underneath the green part of the bridge.  Now it's come out of the banks:

And going up the ramp to the bridge, looking to the left:

Turning 90 degrees from the above spot one can see a fenced-in pasture.  The fence crosses the creek here, and the water is almost to the top of the fence! 

Here's the same fence, viewed from the hired man's house.  We'll have plenty of sticks to pick up when the creek finally goes down:

Today when I went out I had to dodge branches all along that same road as in the first picture.  The water rose even more during the night!

We usually don't get flooding like this, especially this late in the season.  The water will kill some of the hay, but overall it should help it grow.  Of greater concern is the threat of the road being washed out.  My brother-in-law drove out here from town today, and he went through 2 1/2 feet of water in one spot on the county road.  Good thing he has a 4-wheel-drive!  We need it to survive out here!

You Know You're in the Country When...

...there are no traffic reports on the news, only weather.  At every commercial break on the radio there is a weather update.

Lest you think there are no traffic jams in rural places, think again!  There's a construction project going on in the town 60 miles away.  We have to drive through it to get to the interstate.  My husband and his family bemoan the fact it will take them 10 whole minutes longer to drive through town.  It's a major traffic jam.

And that's in town!  Out in the middle of nowhere we have to watch out for deer, antelope, and the occasional cow (or worse, a whole herd of them standing in the middle of the road). 




Rural traffic jam


Which brings me to another subject- the proper course of action to take after running over a cow.  My father-in-law told me the story of his two uncles.  One accidentally ran over a cow that belonged to the other.  They got in a fist fight because the first uncle didn't butcher the cow right then and there.  So, if you ever run over a cow, don't let it to go to waste!

78 Green

The sign of a good cow is how well she takes care of her calf.  There is one cow in our herd that is too good of a mother.  Her tag is colored green, and it bears the number 78.

In the spring of 2008 I was about 6 months pregnant and had fallen in love with calving season.  I marveled at the sight of calves being born, at the new life all around me.  I spent my mornings in the tractor feeding cows, and my afternoons cleaning out the pens in the barn.  I learned how to tag and vaccinate the newborn calves, and how to lure a cow into the corral (put her calf on a sled, tie the sled to the 4-wheeler, and tow the calf into the corral).  I also learned to tread lightly around the new moms, as their hormones were still adjusting. 

78 Green and her calf ended up in a smaller pen inside the corral.  We soon figured out how wildly protective she was of her calf.  There were about 4 of us standing around the outside of the pen, trying to figure out how to get to the calf so we could tag it.  My husband got inside the pen and slowly walked a few steps toward the calf.  He reached his hands out to grab the calf.  He was almost to the calf when 78 Green charged at him, bellowing at the top of her lungs, practically smoking from the ears.  He ran to the fence, flung himself over, and landed on his butt.  He scrambled to his feet and everyone started laughing hysterically.  After a little discussion, he teased the cow from the open gate and she charged him again, running through the opening and giving him the chance to swing it shut, separating her from her calf.  Someone tagged the calf and then we herded them both out of the corral.   

My second experience with Green 78 took place in the spring of 2009.  I had pretty much forgotten about her.  I was in the calving pasture feeding the cows with my father-in-law.  We each drove a tractor.  The cows were gathering around us in hungry anticipation.  My father-in-law was preparing to dump a load of hay onto the fresh snow.  Communicating by radio, he asked me to get out of my tractor and guide his movement.  I stepped out and started walking towards him.  I motioned with my hands how he should position his tractor bucket.  All of a sudden, she was there, bellowing and charging.  It seemed like she was right on top of me, although in reality she was probably 20 feet away.    As the adrenaline surged through me, I raced back to the safety of the tractor cab.  I slammed the door and looked out, expecting her to be pawing at the steps of the tractor.  Instead she was licking her lips, watching the hay being dumped to the ground.  I caught my breath and started laughing at myself.  Now her number was seared into my mind.

The last time I saw Green 78 was this spring.  My mother-in-law and I were moving some pairs of cows and calves from the calving pasture into a different pasture.  I saw Green 78 was in the group, and alerted my mother-in-law.  I stayed far away at first, gently guiding the group to the new grass.  As we moved the herd, some cows would wander away from their calves.  The moms would suddenly realize they didn't have their calves with them.  Panicking, they would run back into the herd, calling for their calves.  Green 78 never separated from her calf.  They stayed together the whole time. I got brave (okay, cocky) and tried to get a little closer, but she bellowed at me and charged a few feet.  She stopped though.  I realized she wouldn't come all the way to get me because it would have meant leaving her calf too far away.  My fear was replaced with admiration for this excellent mother.  I won't go near her again.  But I won't have to.