Tag Archives: V6 Ranch

My Bladder is No Longer My Friend

I guess this is just one more part of my old body that these days thumbs it’s nose at me and makes me have to “go” at some of the most inopportune times.  I guess this is payback for all the times that I made you wait, dear bladder.

My memory, that before could remember dozens of phone numbers and was able to recall a school text book for an upcoming test, is gone with the wind.

I want to say how much I appreciate the old friends whose names I can’t bring to mind.  These friends don’t leave me to play 20 questions in my mind but instead gives me his or her name straight away, no big deal.  My brain reminds me that my memory loss probably happened because I overloaded it for so long with worry thoughts that got me nowhere and only squandered a lot of brain cells.  You jerk, says my brain over and over.

Wait, I’m not done yet.  I want to whine a little more about a most delicate subject that for today’s millennias is probably hardly worth a snicker.  What is it Jack?  Well, it’s about farting.  I just can’t slip one out anymore with no one being the wiser.  Instead, my flabby old sphicter muscle is no match for a determined fart that’s headed for the exit door.  This is where one of my most trusted mottos comes to my rescue: What you think about me is none of my business.  So proper ladies can titter, youngsters can giggle, and some can say “oh how gross,” but at my age I feel nothing but joyful relief.  And, with any luck at all, tomorrow I will again be releasing more methane gas into the atmosphere.  I will be doing my share to help with global warming.

I also need two hearing aids to hear, sort of, and glasses to see, somewhat.  But for me there will always be a silver lining.  I’ve still got most of the teeth in my mouth that help me when I smile.  I still get a thrill when I get out of bed in the morning to greet the day.  I can close my eyes and touch my left index finger to my nose and then my right index finger to the same nose.  Now who could want more?
See Ya,
Jack

I’m Running For President

My country encompasses that lower part of Monterey County, California.  The northern boundary is King City and the southern boundary is the San Luis Obispo county line.  It runs from the Pacific Ocean east to the Fresno County line in the west.

If you’re going to have a country, you have to have a capital.  Parkfield is the name of ours; population 18.  It has all the trappings of a fully functional city.  Why, we have the finest one room school in the land, an Inn and Cafe,  a state of the art town hall, rodeo arena, church with service on Wednesdays, and a Cal Fire forestry station.  We are the earthquake capital of the cosmos.  I think other folks on other planets in the cosmos must have earthquakes, but I’m sure ours are the best.

I’ve heard tell that if you’re going to run for president you have to have a platform.  It’s supposed to show what I plan to do for my country!

I believe that our future rests with our youth.  So what am I going to do about it?

First, I will fire the principle of any school that wants to ban tag from our grammar school  playgrounds.

Secondly, I will have a duel minimum wage that will allow our youth under the age of 18 to let the employers of our land and our youth decide what each kid has to offer in the way of energy, skills, cooperation and attitude to measure their worth.  In our present day society most youngsters are priced out of the labor market because of the minimum wage.  The employer must pay more than they’re worth so these inquisitive, energetic  kids are relegated to spending their learning years consumed with television, cell phones, drugs or some other destructive habit.  Let’s quit wasting these precious years in the name of child welfare.  What we’re doing now to our youth is true child abuse.  Let’s let them work and play at jobs and games that leave them with an optimistic view of themselves.

Third, everybody in this day and age needs to know how to drive an automobile.  In our country of mostly country roads, I propose that our youth learn to drive at 12 years of age.  Anything learned at a young age is always better than at an older age.  Dancing is much the same; learn to dance when you’re young and less inhibited and it will come easy.  In my country, dancing will be offered in grammar schools.  Plus it’s good exercise.

Fourth, exercise will be mandatory.  Those that exercise will be less likely to become couch potatoes in later life.

Now we have a good academic environment for kids to learn in.  If book learning is not your cup of tea, vocational programs will be as important as studying to be a lawyer (which we have far too many of).

The government that governs best governs less.  This means you’re going to have to make it mostly on your own.

Next, we need to practice the Golden Rule ( do unto others as you would like them to do to you).  It’s the best way I know of to get along with your neighbor.  If you really want to put frosting on the cake of neighborliness, don’t keep score, and do 51% of whatever.  You know, that probably will work in a marriage, too.

The right to keep and bare arms will not be denied.  Private property rights, though not perfect, is light years ahead of any system a government might dream up.  I see many more stewards of the land doing a wonderful job now than I did 30 or 40 years ago.  We need a little patients as the old miners of the soil die off to be replaced with new younger stewards. Once armed with new sustainable ways to care for the lands of our nation, they will move into the decision making arena.

By the way, the name of our nation that I would like to preside over is Cholame (a Yokuts Indian word meaning “The Beautiful  One”). Add in a motto to live by– never yell whoa in a bad place– then throw in a song to brighten your day (Oh What a Beautiful Morning from the stage play Oklahoma) and you have my platform.
See Ya,
Jack

Trying Not to be Dead

I want to be either dead or alive.  The middle ground of life would be pretty boring.  That’s why I planted pistachio trees 10 years to full production and started a cow herd this past Tuesday.  If I breed 300 heifers by artificial insemination, they will have their calves next September and will help pay the bills sometime in 2017.  I am also learning better ways to invigorate the health of our V6 ranch soils to help keep me alive.
My wife made a comment that it was nice to live for the future but what about paying the bills for today? “That’s a good thought,” I said, because the first tenet of a good steward of the land is to pay your bills so you get to hang around to see the future become the present. So I find it necessary to not look so far into the future.
I’ve got it! I think I’ve got it!  CHICKENS!  Yes that’s it, from the cradle to the grave in 10 weeks.  So with the demise of hand picked cotton in the fields of the San Joaquin Valley many 10′ by 30′ cotton trailers were left to become sign boards along our California highways and for me a perfect chicken coop.  We have an army of hungry predators that call the V6 ranch home– from foxes to raccoons, coyote to bobcats, red tail hawks to golden eagles and possibly a down and out traveler passing through.
The day old chicks will arrive next spring.  After a 2 week stay in a brooder they will move to our pistachio orchard where their job will be to eat grass and bugs in the sunshine hours and roost in their cotton trailer at night. Then they will move the length of the trailer each night (30′) to poop on the land, fertilizing the soil in a much more friendly way than a sack of ammonium sulfate.
I’m writing this blog and it’s Thanksgiving what a wonderful day not to be dead.
See Ya
Jack

A New Cowboy in Town

Today I came in touch with the latest that our tech  world has to offer to make my live easier or more complicated; I’m not yet sure which. I’ve heard of “drones,” but this is the first time I got to watch one in action.  John and Barbara Varian were hosting a week-long Photographic Work Shop at the V6.  One lady that wanted a different angle to shoot pictures of a group of our horses, simply went to her S.U.V. and whipped out her handy four rotor drone.  In less than a minute this contraption was in the air above the horses.  It hovered at about 15 feet in the air.  It was absolutely motionless because of a gyroscope that allows a miniature camera to take pictures from different angles producing blur-free pictures.

This is a robber of privacy or an observer of what’s going on in real time, pick your poison.  Now I’m not one for watching nude sun bathers ( what a shame) so I think I will tilt in the direction of ” wouldn’t it be nice to know ahead of time where my cattle are, the  day before I want to move the heard to greener pastures.”

The downside of this tech explosion could possibly be the death of one more Cowboy skill.  The V6 has a lot of trees and brush for cattle to hide in or just shade up for the day.  This means its time to start tracking our quarry.  By reading how old the foot prints are and which direction they were going and guessing how long ago some cow poop was left you can track where the cattle are.  Now if we are really serious as to how long this round looking plate of poop is, it’s time get of your horse take your index finger and insert it into the middle of said Cow Pie if it’s still warm.  You get the idea.  On the other hand, if it’s scattered down the trail she might be on the run and a fellow might want to pull his hat down and get ready for the chase.

Now back to that drone.  This gadget they tell me with its computer chips chirping and a G.P.S. system attached will let me scour the country and will send a video view as to where all my cattle  are.  This leads me to a logical thought, why not just arm this destroyer of one more cowboy skill and mount it with a Bull Horn that blares out Yippee tie yi yay get along little doggie, get along.

Could it be that my cowboy days will soon be gone?  Another piece of AMERICANA gone. I HOPE NOT.
See Ya
Jack

About the Cow 101

Elise, the Borden’s cow, was the love able cartoon mascot representing Borden’s Milk Company of a bygone era. Elise has been around longer than we humans have, but her form was very much different. I believe her counter part was Dino the Dinosaur that four-legged, affable, slow-thinking, grass-eating machine. Dino’s job back then was much the same as Elise’s job is today: to eat the grass that grows on every continent of the world to sustain herself. By  sustaining herself she sustains the soil that feeds the grass by pooping, peeing, dropping saliva and worn out hairs on the soil. Those things become the food for  all the critters that live under the soil surface. They can then feed the grass above the surface to feed Elise. This then is the symbiotic relationship between grass and Elise.

In Dino’s time there were mostly two-legged predators (meat-eaters like tyrannosaurous rex that fed on the sick, the lame and those with birth defects). The predator animal couldn’t afford to get hurt so he was an opportunist that has no qualms when he  picked the weakest and  left the most formidable and viral to breed with a healthy and beautiful bevy of ladies.

Two million years later Elsie is part of a herd of grazing cattle that, until we humans came along, found their safety in numbers grazing fairly close together. When threatened by a pack of wolves or a mountain lion the cows put the young in the middle of the pack and the weakest of the herd were pushed to the outside edge of the herd. The predators of today acted exactly as the predator of 2,000,000 years ago and herd health was maintained.

There is now another very important part of this symbiotic relationship between the grass, Elise and the predator and that is the time spent grazing a particular area is critical. When a group of grazing animals are frightened by predators, grazing stops and flight starts. The predator gets his prey and the herd has moved on to a fresh area of tasty new grass. What is left behind looks like chaos but actually this partly grazed, trampled, fertilized with poop and pee will now be left to rest and recuperate for as short as a month but more likely several months before the herd reappears to repeat the cycle of life. This process is called Herd Effect, a very necessary part of our ever expanding symbiotic whole.

Well we don’t have wolf packs or other predators in sufficient numbers to maintain herd effect so we humans will now inherit the roll of predator. So it’s up to me, as steward of our ranch, to be like the conductor of a symphony orchestra. First I must know the score I’m going to play. The music that I will ask every living thing to play has been written by Mother Nature. When played well, her music makes the most beautiful sounds. The trouble is it takes years of study and practice to create the symbiotic whole. The conductor must be agile and willing to change to meet the ever changing conditions that can be man caused by greed, stupidity, bad governmental regulations, laziness and I’m sure you readers can think of many more. Conditions can also be nature made, i.e: droughts, floods, sickness and more. But the really good conductor can solve most all situations that he encounters if he keeps Mother Nature’s words and music always in front of him.

To close I want to say to all you single issue people that are unable to consider the interrelationship of all living things you will always be part of the problem, never part of the solution.
See Ya
Jack

A Trip to the Status Quo

My son Greg and grandson Kade and I traveled to Tulare in the San Joaquin Valley to for the biggest farm equipment show in California.

We took a back road across the valley floor over a flat expanse that was once the Tulare Lake. One hundred years-ago, give or take a few years, it was home to a teaming megalopolis of ducks and geese. Some say there were 10,000,000 deer and Tule Elk, fish of every kind and an untold sum of other critters that would stagger the imagination. This 130 mile stretch of water sub-irrigated 1,000 acres of Salt Grass that fed a multitude of grazing animals and ground nesting birds. All together this was a chaotic and complex place to make a life but this is the way Mother Nature designed life on this earth to work. I see parallels in the domain of we humans with wars going on in some corner of the planet at all times. Now add in floods, tornadoes, earthquakes, drought and pestilence and I believe this is a normal course of events for us humans.
What’s different this time around is our ability to change our environment in a direction that disregards all of Mother Natures rules.

As we drove across this land of mono-cultures it felt like I was walking on the Moon. From the edge of the pavement to the edge of a tilled field the ground had been scraped and sprayed clean of every living thing. There were no birds in the sky, not a rabbit to be seen, this land that was once home to uncountable millions was now a barren wasteland in my eyes. With today’s modern farming practices, that include: G.P.S. Laser straight cropping rows, soils that have been fumigated, fertilized, given liberal amounts of herbicides, pesticides. The only living thing left was a green growing crop. I’m sure if it had to fend for itself it most assuredly would wither and die.
Now I fully realize that to pull the rug out from under our modern ways to farm would surly leave many of us without much to eat. All I ask for, is to at least ask the question: are we at the top of the food chain caring for the land the best way possible? Is it sustainable for the foreseeable future? If not, why not? I think it’s because I’m going to an extravaganza that spends billions to maintain the Status Quo. I will spend the day getting my annual indoctrination put on by John Deere, Monsanto, the banks that finance this belief system and all the tool makers that build plows, discs ECT to ripe and pulverize the soil. Add in what the proper way to act in this environment is. Don’t ask the question. IS THIS TRIP NECESSARY?
I don’t think this entertaining way to have a day away from the ranch is totally bankrupt as there is much in the way of new irrigation equipment that is very miserly in the use of water and new ways to monitor this precious stuff so it’s not wasted. I also think that some of the new people manning the Organic Booths have already asked themselves, “Is there a different and possibly better way to feed the populous?” But the real money was spent by those that till the soil with tractors and plows much as we have done for the past several thousand years. Follow that with those that practice the Art of Chemistry to kill off chaos and replace it with monotony.
It’s time to head back to the ranch having washed myself in the  blood of the status quo, tasted candy at almost every booth to satisfy my sweet tooth and lubricated my conscious so that I won’t squeal to the world that there may be trouble in paradise.
see Ya
Jack

Going West, The Year is 1948

My mother, Winifred Varian, was a prolific letter writer. She also spent the better part of a year taking a life time of family photos, letters, and memorabilia regarding my fathers early life, his years of being a pilot for Pan American Airlines and time with his brother founding Varian Associates, in its formative years and cataloging it all into 7 albums. She believed that if she had not made this gigantic effort all the history and knowledge of my family would now be “just hear say.”

Seems that each new year, for me, must surely have less than 365 days as they go by so quickly. Why it was just yesterday that I was making a New Years resolution that I know I’ve broken because I can’t even remember what it was. But there is one thing I do know, that looking back and recalling past times brings me a great deal of contentment.

A couple of days ago I was browsing through volume 3 of my mother’s collected family knowledge and came across a letter that she had written to a friend upon our arrival to my birth place, California. It was an 8 year leave of absence but my father made it quite clear that when the Great War was over we would be moving back to California. But first, every last citizen in the then 48 states did what ever it took to defeat Japan, Germany, and Italy in a most noble struggle against a tyrannical enemy. It would be 3 more years after the end of World War 2 before we would return to my birth place. For me sooner was better than later.

My mothers letter tells of our cross country journey without my father as he had gone ahead several months earlier to find a place to live and give dawn to Varian Associates. Our trek started July 10th, 1948, and ended July 19th, 1948.

Here then is my mother’s account of 10 days in a 1941 Plymouth Sedan.

Dear Gang,

Left Garden City N.Y. 7:30 A.M. July 10th and arrived in Albany 11:30A.M. Went on to Howe Caverns where we had lunch. None of us had seen caves such as these before, and found them very interesting, although not as colorful as we had expected. We then went on to Skaneateles where we were fortunate in finding a cabin opposite a lake. Lorna and Jack went in swimming and said the water was wonderful and warm as it was at Lake George, our favorite vacation spot in up state New York. I thought this part of the country was beautiful.
July 11th. We went on up to Niagara Falls. The falls themselves and the boat I thought were worth going out of our way for, but with so many large factories in the area it sort of spoiled it for me. Traveling was slow all day Sunday as the traffic along Lake Erie was often bumper to bumper. It seemed as though every man and his family were heading for their favorite resorts. We stayed that night just this side of Cleveland, where we spent 2 hours looking for a Western Union. It seems that they are not open on Sundays or even take telephone calls around those parts.
July 12th. Went through Cleveland during the wee hours of the morning , and saved ourselves a lot of time. Here we saw our first accident. It seems a car stopped short at an intersection and a truck ran into it from behind. The car looked pretty sad, but no one was hurt. From here on we made pretty good time as the roads through Indiana  were excellent. Jacky developed a little kidney trouble on these long hops, but were able to solve this problem with the old standby. The coffee can, or better known at camp, as the “canopy”. Iowa, I thought was the worst state of the lot. Who said it was flat? We went up one hill and down the other for miles, on very narrow roads with soft shoulders on either side. Truck after truck passed us going 80 miles an hour. This makes a nervous wreck out of me, so finally agreed to let Lorna age 16 take over. She had only had the wheel about 10 minutes when a big trailer truck ahead of us hit a soft shoulder going around a curve and rolled over into a corn patch. The driver came out in good shape. Half way across this state we ran into thunder and lightening storms, comparable to those we have in Mexico, and the rain was so blinding you couldn’t see anything through the windshield. We had to crawl along for a couple of miles, however, before we could find a spot large enough and hard enough to park on, so as not to get bogged down in the mud the rain let up. We hit several more of these squalls, but most of them were not to bad. That night we spent in Amboy Iowa and what a racket. Thousands of pigs went by our door in trucks going to market. It seemed as though each one was trying to out do the other by squealing.
July 13th. Was sure glad to leave that part of the country even though it did look extremely prosperous, and went on to Grand Island Nebraska, covering close to 600 miles. This part of the country was flat and barren, but for some reason appealed to me. I guess I like the desert.
July 14th. Were on the road at the crack of dawn and was bowling along at 70 miles an hour when I blew the right front tire. I managed to keep on the road but sure had the jitters for a couple of hours afterwards. Jack did a swell job of changing the tire, although we had one hell of a time trying to get the nuts loose. Never again will I start out on a long trip without new inner tubes. We stopped at Sidney Nebraska for lunch. It was out of this world. A real frontier town. Cowboys sitting outside saloons, or galloping up the road on horseback. Their speech intrigued Lorna. She asked one of them if they liked living in Sidney. His answer. ” You dead bern right.” We arrived in Cheyenne Wyoming during the afternoon and had time to take in a few of the sights before dinner. The days here were warm, the nights cold, the cowboys tall, lean, and handsome. This place fascinated me. I couldn’t say much for the women, in fact I didn’t see many of them. They must hide. Sig met us at the airport the next morning. Was I ever glad to see him. Spent the rest of the day sight seeing and loafing.

( My mother was exhausted as she wasn’t the greatest driver in the world and had called my dad and said ” You’ve got to drive us on to California”)

July 15th. Headed for Salt Lake City, while on the road we witness a horrible auto accident. A car towing a huge house trailer, apparently lost control on a down hill curve, swung into the left lane, the car coming toward them crashed head on. Wreckage was scattered in every direction. One man was killed instantly, the other 6 not expected to live. Lorna and Jack of course, had to get out and take pictures of all the gory details. This held traffic up for nearly an hour, but still made Salt Lake City by supper time. The sunset here was the most beautiful I had seen in years. We drove all that evening, stopping at Wendover on the Nevada side. All the gambling joints were wide open, Jack was thrilled to put a nickel in the slot and win seventy five cents. The money was spent in no time on souvenirs and slot machine.
July 16th. After an hour on the road we had to stop for another accident. The driver must have gone to sleep at the wheel, as he hit the only culvert in miles. The car rolled over several times. All three occupants were badly hurt, and it seemed ages before the ambulance arrived.

( My dad and mom helped all they could to stop those that were bleeding )

This was the hottest day of the entire trip. Fortunately we had our little ice box along so we were able to indulge in real cold beer. I managed, however, to spill a whole glass down my front. I had to hang my slacks out the window to dry, so rode the worst part of the day in my underwear. I was indeed grateful to a rider that was going travel cross country with us backed out at the last minute it would have made the trip difficult. From Carson City Nevada to Fallen Leaf Lake near Lake Tahoe where we met up with my sister Lillian and her husband. The country was the most beautiful of the entire trip.
July 17th. We spent a good deal of the day down at the lake, hiking through the woods. That evening all the college youngsters that were staying at the lake illuminated their row boats with candles in tin cans and went out on the lake for a sing-song. It was heavenly to listen to 100 or more voices coming across the water.
July 18th. Started for Palo Alto, stopping at various points of interest. At Sutter’s Creek some of the old gold mines were still operating, and Jack was all for getting out of the car to see if he couldn’t find some gold nuggets for himself. That night we arrived at the old home town, Palo Alto and stayed in an auto court.
July 19th. That morning we left for Halcyon were Sig was raised. Arriving there about noon. A great deal of this country had grown tremendously, and there were new houses everywhere. Jack of course made a bee line for the horses and disappeared for the rest of the day with his cousin Sheila. A great deal of arguing went on, but I think by now that Sheila has convinced Jack that a western saddle is quite worth while. At any rate Sig and I had to return to Palo Alto the next morning leaving Jack and Lorna with the Eric Varian’s. Jack is apparently having the time of his life as he has only written once, and from all I can gather they have the poor horses almost worn to a numbing. Lorna on the other hand was still terribly homesick for Wildwood New York, and since we are staying with friends and won’t have a house till September 15th. Sig and I agreed to let her return to New York by Airline but will return in time for school this fall.
We will be renting the Kirkpatrick house on the Stanford campus, for next year. The house has a beautiful garden. It is also completely furnished. The women’s swimming pool at Stanford is right next door, so the kids should be happy.
This part of California, as far as beauty and climate is concerned, has New York backed off the map, but I still miss all my friends in the east terribly, and only wish I was rich enough to call you all frequently, or better still fly out for a good weekend party. I don’t imagine Stanford will tolerate any such parties as we used to have, but do plan to have a real blowout at the new Varian Associates lab. To close our new address will be at 273 Santa Teresa St. Stanford University, Palo Alto, Calif. ( Tel. Davenport 2-1757)
Loads of Love to All
Winnie

I would not turn into a teenager until September 7th, 1948, but I was ready to be a teenage punk and now I’m quite ready to become an 80 year-old punk.
See Ya
Jack

You Can’t Regulate the Wind

Why is it that government agencies always want to create a regulation to solve any and all problems? A friend answered it quite succinctly when he said, ” Laws have to be passed by an elected body and may not happen, but this is not the case with a regulation.”

So leave it to our California State Water Resource Control Board to choose a less messy way to advance their agenda by proposing a regulation. The Grazing Regulatory Action Project (G.R.A.P.) that in their infinite wisdom will tell me how many cattle I can graze on my ranch, in order to address water impacts potentially related to livestock grazing.
 

This G.R.A.P. aka C.R.A.P. is an acronym that will consider a wide range of alternatives to ensure that grazing has a minimal negative impact on water quality. The GRAP says it will give thoughtful consideration to the cost of compliance to the regulated grazing community. Historical evidence shows quite the opposite.

I’m sure there will be a fee involved for the G.R.A.P. to save we grazers from ourselves and all the nice rhetoric about hearing each other will disappear as the regulation becomes more stringent and the compliance bar is constantly raised to make sure that most ranchers don’t comply. It’s called “job security”.

I don’t think it’s possible to successfully regulate an art form, for that’s what good ranch management is. Ranching is never the same for any two years, let alone any two days. Ranching, done well, is constantly changing, and a regulation that might work for one situation won’t work for another. But I do have a rule that has never let me down, that doesn’t need a regulation that works, every time.

I make my decision on how I affect the speed of water. First, any rain that falls on our ranch, I will use every effort to make those rain drops stay on the ranch as long as possible. There’s a handy little phrase that I carry in my mind at all times:

SLOW DOWN WATER always works. Speed water up, that’s a bad decision, slow water down that’s a good decision. Simple as that.

This type of decision-making doesn’t lend itself well to a regulation, because so much of good ranch management is subjective. I think a better way for the water quality folks to approach their goal of quality water is not with a regulatory whip, but with an olive branch of education and patience. For if you make all the stakeholders furious, then the agency will end up PUSHING A STRING.

What follows are my thoughts after this first gathering on 9/15, the first of three public focus listening sessions has taken place in San Luis Obispo. I’m sitting in my recliner watching some silly movie that I think has some parallels with today’s happenings. I was under the naive impression that the Water Board was exploring a range of options to enhance environmental benefits from grazing.

But in the same sentence, “Protect beneficial uses of surface and groundwater and address water quality impacts potentially related to livestock grazing.” I think this double talk to lull we members of the livestock profession into thinking that the Water Board really wants to hear from us is B.S.

 
After today’s session I think this ‘dog and pony show’ is just a perfunctory step so it can be said by the water board that we heard from the stakeholders and have duly noted that the grazing community has had their day in court.

The water board probably now thinks that it has a self made mandate to start making a hard copy of the regulations that they have already been discussing IN HOUSE the last couple of years. Water Board, your regulations will fail just like an entity that would try to regulate the wind.

Because livestock grazing is an art form that needs the flexibility to adapt to each new day. Regulations are much too cumbersome to allow for this kind of flexibility. Without the ability to react to each day’s events, your hoped for goal of water fit to drink, will most assuredly founder on the rocks of rigidity.

Looking back over what has transpired it looks like my thoughts pre- stakeholder meeting and post stakeholder meeting haven’t change much. I believe this agency will not attain the results that they want. That said, I believe the board will not deviate from their regulatory ways. It’s in their DNA. The sad part of this regulation fiasco, is the quest for quality water that we all want will not happen. What will happen is my tax dollars will fund an attempt to corral the wind.

See ya,

Jack

Finding the sick one

My position in the cattle industry is called a Stocker Operator. Which means that in the autumn of each year I buy all the cattle the V6 will carry for the upcoming grass season. The stockers that I usually buy come from the high desert of Northern Nevada and Southern Oregon, and normally they arrive in good health. But that doesn’t mean that none of them wont get sick.

Pneumonia is the disease that usually strikes when a Stocker is stressed from being shipped; thus its slang name: SHIPPING FEVER. If not cared for, it will almost always end in death. Putting a big dent in a cattleman’s pocket book. So what is the proper course of action?

First you have to locate the sick ones. Because they are not like us, who can be physically sick, but most calls to the doctors office your doctor will politely tell you that you’re only sick in the head. My cattle are either sick or they are not makes things much easier.

I start the hunt for a possible sick one when they first arrive. My horse is saddled ready to move through the cattle, as the cattle are more relaxed around a person on a horse than one that is looking from his perch upon his 2 feet.

For me, the best time to look is when the cattle have just been fed. Many times a sick one will not come up to eat but will be found lying by its self. Two people are better than one when driving a sick one to the Hospital Pen.

I’ve picked out the obvious ones, now it’s time to start looking for the next one who is exhibiting the typical SHIPPING FEVER symptoms:

  • Soft Cough
  • Standing with Head hanging low,
  • Mucus running from the nose,
  • Hair on the back of the tail is flat,
  • Hollow in the flank
  • Slow walk

And if you find one gasping for breath, your probably too late, you should have found him the previous day!!

Last, the really good PEN RIDERS have a sixth sense that allows them to pick out a sick one almost before the Bullock (wiener calf) knows that he’s ill. THE QUICKER YOU FIND THE SICK ONES THE FEWER DEAD ONES WILL BE A FEAST FOR ALL THE  SCAVENGERS THAT NEED MEAT TO SURVIVE.

I practice Socialized Medicine; this means all the cattle that go through my doctoring chute first get their temperature taken. Then depending on how high above normal (normal is 101.5) the temperature is, and how much they weigh, determines the treatment that will be administered in a therapeutic dose. I don’t practice low level feeding of antibiotics to keep my cattle in good health as you just develop drug resistant bacteria.

So with diligence and using the latest protocol for the correct antibiotic to use, and careful monitoring for 2-3 weeks of all the cattle, they should be feeling Hail and Hardy and ready to feast on some V6 grass.

See Ya,

Jack

To the Environmental Protection Agency and The Army Core of Engineers:

As much as I would like to sit on my haunches and just see what happens I know that’s a luxury that I can’t afford. The stakes are so high that I must take this iPad in hand, and hopefully for the health of our nation try to bring some modicum of common sense to the E.P.A.’s latest power grab.

It is complete arrogance of this agency to think that it has all the scientific knowledge that is necessary, and it’s positive belief that Mother Nature is in their camp that they are now ready to tell us as we the people that it is in the best interest of us as the the citizens of this land we call America to LISTEN UP.

Gina McCARTHY who is an over the top, arrogant Nit Wit, who couldn’t pour water out of a boot somehow or another has been inserted into the job as head of the E.P.A. She has the gall to think that along with with another irrelevant agency, The Army Core of Engineers are all knowing all seeing enough to take charge of all the rain that falls on all our 50 states so that we of lesser minds will all be saved by their superior intelligence. What I get from their “don’t worry we will take care of you” is that we can now live with tranquil confidence that all’s well with planet Earth is this:

I want to shout as loud as I can for everybody that has ears to hear that it “ain’t so!

I don’t know how “We The People” were so asleep at the switch to let this kind of lunacy go this far. I guess we only need grab any history book for the answer. This world has spawned many of the same ilk like Hitler, Stalin, Castro, Jim Jones and his Kool-Aid and I’m sure there are thousands more sociopaths that knew they had the correct path to lead us all to Nirvana.

So to all you believers with Common Sense, I employ you to write to your Congressman and tell them this utter nonsense has to STOP.

Hope you all join the fray,

Jack Varian