Tag Archives: varian

Smoky the Bear has got it all wrong.      

At the end of June of this year a wildfire started on my neighbors ranch. After a day or so, this fire had grown to several thousand acres in size, to warrant its own name. It was called The Garza Fire. When all was said and done and the last embers were out 60,000 acres had burned. 6,000 of these acres were on our V6 ranch and what a blessing it was. For many of you that live in our cities and towns are thinking how awful. But was it? I think not. For this part of The Diablo range had no people living in harms way and there were just a handful of structures that Cal Fire carefully protected from burning. As for the wild life and livestock I believe all escaped unscathed as just an occasional Turkey Vulture was seen flying over the burned area indicating that there wasn’t much to eat.

Now let’s examine what damage the land, the grass, and trees sustained. Thanks to my iPhone this blog is coming to you with pictures “worth a thousand words” to validate my assertion that Fire is a natural and normal part of how Mother Nature manages our forests and grasslands.

This photo was taken shortly after the fire. It gives a perspective as to the type of terrain that the Garza Fire consumed.
This scene was taken on 9/28/17 notice that all the trunks of these Scrub Oak are mostly all dead but their roots are not as you can see all the new regrowth that has appeared in just a little over 2 months. This will now be excellent browsing food for our Black Tail Deer along with the many Chamise Brush bulbs that are sending out new shoots.
This picture was also taken on 9/28/17. This picture was taken in a more open grassland. Notice that the leaves got toasted but already new leaves are appearing even though these leaves will be shed come Winter
I very much like this picture as this hardy Blue Oak is saying “don’t count me out I’ve got a few hundred years of life still left in me.”

Smoky the Bear with his cry “only you can prevent forest fires” is a most destructive fraud because Lightning starts a good share of the wild fires that get started on our western ranges that “We The People” have no control over. So, let’s relegate Smoky the Bear to his proper place which is on the junk heap of fake news.

First, I recognize that my state of California is no longer a sparsely settled land but a land where 40,000,000 people dwell along with all their paraphernalia like cars, houses, and all those who can’t do without T.V.’s, which all needs protecting. However that still leaves many millions of acres of wild lands that are in real need of some thoughtful science based management to leave behind the emotionally charged decision making practices that Smokey the Bear has championed and put us into the mess we’re in today. Catastrophic fires are our reward for not dealing with the build up of an understory of very flammable dry matter which should be burned under controlled conditions or physically removed, which is very expensive. Logging with today’s new methods makes a much smaller footprint on the landscape which is both beneficial and profitable to our government and to the logging industry. So let’s all move forward together, starting with a historical notation that Smokey the Bear was laid to rest this day in his proper place alongside junk science, fake news and a few dogmatic wacko environmentalists who to this day are still leading the gullible astray.

To close, my hope is that over time Common Sense and knowledge will save our forests and wild lands.

                             See Ya

                             Jack

I’ve just got to get out of this place: A Memoir

Have you ever wondered what life before the day of your birth was like?
Well I experienced it once and it’s all coming back to me now. My beginning started in a cave and I was cared for by my mother who was very attentive to my every need and what comes to mind was how safe and secure I felt. My new apartment was located in my mother’s womb and at first it was very spacious except that I was tethered to her by a piece of rope which was rather annoying, as any self respecting cowboy to be knows it should have been tied around my neck with a Bowline knot. That way you can’t choke but my mother had other plans and she stuck the dammed thing to my belly which was quite humiliating for a cowboy to be. My tie rope was pretty long and from time to time I would get tangled up but with a few twists and turns I learned that I could free myself quite easily so it was a solvable problem. My real issue was fast becoming wiggle room and as each week came and went my once spacious digs got more uncomfortable and it became self evident that I would soon have to find new quarters. I was growing like a weed and by the ninth month I had used up every last inch of space and I was beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic (it’s probably why I don’t like to ride in elevators today). I told my mother that I had had enough and I was getting out of this overcrowded dump. I started kicking and that’s when I felt something break which started a lifetime of “dam it you broke my favorite vase”, “how could you be so careless you broke my 2nd favorite vase”, “you’re like a bull in a china closet” and “now you’ve really done it, my third favorite vase is gone”.  My mother sure had a lot of vases. Anyway back to that breaking noise I heard, well at the same time there appeared before me a tunnel. I didn’t see any exit sign on it and the opening looked awfully small but I was desperate to get out of this place and much to my surprise, I felt my first case of rejection as my mother told my father that she wanted me out of her house, the sooner the better. Well the next hour was pretty scary as my father was trying to go as fast on the land as the airplanes he flew in the sky. I was bumping around inside my cage like a cork on white water when my mother started to yell four letter words which I didn’t expect to come from a proper English lady. Well we made it to the San Luis Obispo, California General Hospital in time to hurry up and wait. I had grown up to be a big walloper over nine pounds and at seeing the opening in front of me I thought, “This is not possible”! But mom was determined. She wanted me out of her nest right now. So she started pushing and shoving and it seemed to me the polite thing to do was to help out. Well it was slicker than Goose Grease in here and there was no place that I could get traction so I wasn’t much help.
About that time a new guy arrived on the scene and he started yelling “push!” and my mother would push then would yell out new four letter words and I would scoot a little farther up the tunnel. Then it happened. There appeared a light from above. When I was just beginning to see the light, that fellow that kept yelling push, well he grabbed me by the head and started tugging and out I came goose grease and all.
Now that’s not the end of this story. He then proceeds to grab me by the ankles and hang me upside-down and give me a whack across my back, made me cry, well he still wasn’t satisfied that I had made him get up in the middle of night so he asked a big lady standing next to him if she had any scissors and sure enough she did. Well this guy grabs those scissors and in the blink of an eye he cut off my tie rope and then he had the nerve to doll up my dinger and didn’t even ask my permission which I thought was real rude of him. By now I was getting real tired but we still had paperwork to do. First they tagged me then they foot printed me, then more paperwork which humans can’t seem to live without. But out of it all I got a certificate that said I entered this world on September 7,1935. This is how I remember it so don’t confuse me with facts.
See Ya
Jack
P.S.
I’m back and I can’t blame my iPad for my blog site going blank. But several months ago I came down with a case of “The Best of Intentions” because my “resolve” kept getting mired in a mud puddle of laziness. Well I’ve washed off the laziness and I am now committed with a new SPIRIT to start blogging again about anything and everything. I guess what ever happens to bubble to the surface of the old brain!

Melding Reality and Perception

Is this much ado about nothing?  Well, I happen to think that the citizens of this wacko land spend way to much time in the province of perception and way to little in the land of fact.

I once wrote a blog about a school  administrator who must have perceived  that our children of tag-playing-age are so delicate that the slightest sight of a bloody nose is worthy of a trip to the local emergency room.  What about the reality that children need exercise?  They need to laugh and giggle, and they especially don’t need some administrator who is more afraid of possible criticism that he or she might sustain than the proven benefits of  playing TAG! Reality takes a hit; score one for perception.

I love horses and dogs but, like me, they are going to die one day.   Maybe those of us who have had a chance at life need to step aside and allow a new generation their chance to shine.  When is that time?  Well, for me it’s when there’s no quality left– only pain and infringing on others.  The horse or dog  will suffer the ravages of time and when their lives have been well lived, reality tells those that are truly compassionate it’s time to let them go.  This is where reality takes another hit.  In the case of the horse, by law we have closed all the abattoirs in the United States by just not funding U.S.D.A. inspectors ensuring that the harvesting of the horse is both humane and sanitary.  Instead, most old horses are sent to Mexico or Canada to meet a very uncertain end.  The people and the legislators that think they’re doing something wonderful should hang their heads in shame.  The same goes for those of us that keep others among us from passing because of our advancements in technology that allow the narcissistic people that legislate this technology to prolong our lives even when the quality of this life is reduced to a beating heart and lungs that go in and out.

Reality has to win at least one time, giving me hope that 2+2 still = 4.
See Ya
Jack

Never a Dull Moment

Spring time at the V6 is really busy with our 3 cattle drives in April and May, gathering and pregnancy testing 250  first calf heifers, and receiving 280 head of Mexican cattle to brand and vaccinate.  Add in the fact that we are in the middle of getting 75 acres ready to plant 11,000 Pistachios trees on, and that’s a full schedule.  However, everything had to take a backseat to the events that unfolded this evening.

Zee and I helped our son John and his wife Barb put on a spur of the moment cattle drive.  This worked for me because I was still about 80 head short of cattle.  Zee and I went along to help out and gather some of our missing cattle.  This drive had 14 guests and family wranglers.

We started on a Tuesday and rode about six hours gathering and riding to our Mustang Camp where we would all stay Tuesday and Wednesday night.  Wednesday was another pretty long day riding for seven hours.  By Thursday, five of our guest had worn their fannies to the bone, so we gave them a ride back to our headquarters in a pickup.  That left five extra horses to lead home.  What we normally do is put them through a certain gate that lets them travel about 6 miles to home.  Well, their leader’s sense of direction must have been off as he led his four friends into a dead end brush alley that engulfed them so tightly that they could not go forward or turn around.  Friday morning arrived and no horses standing at the gate so Zee and I decided to go looking.  No luck but we were sure that by afternoon they would be waiting at our gate. Late afternoon came and went.  Son John volunteered to go back to where they were last seen and track them on foot.  I would wait 15 minutes and then drive to Mine Mountain trail and meet John.

No John in sight, but his wife Barb arrives to meet me with a cell phone message from John to meet at Catfish Camp.  I have my 6 horse trailer in tow,  so off we go to get John and the horses at Catfish Camp.  We arrive to a camp with no John and no horses so we wait and wait some more.  Finally, we decide to go look around and see if he came down a different part of the mountain.  No luck.   Barb and I start to really worry is John is hurt.  Where could he be? This being a no cellphone service area, we decide that we need to go back to where Barb parked her side by side utility vehicle and put the search into full gear.

As we round the last bend in the road and the side by side comes into view, there stands John with one horse in tow.  Barb’s face goes from the look of dread to joy.  John’s cell phone had been dead the whole time.  He told us that the other four horses got away because he only had one halter.  He said that they looked like they were headed back to Mustang Camp.  We load the one horse in our trailer and head to Mustang Camp where we had just spent the last three days.  It’s just about dark now and as the corrals come into view, there stand four horses waiting to get into their pen.  I can’t be mad anymore because all’s well that ends well. 
See Ya
Jack

Visualizing What Can’t Be Seen

“Seeing is believing” is a time honored quote that has a lot of wisdom attached to it. However, in agriculture this saying can hold back change.

I have become more and more aware of the importance of feeding the soil before anything else, which can no longer be just a nice thought but a mandatory practice.  Feeding the soil is an ongoing process that is 75% visualizing what’s going on as you can’t see beneath the soil surface.  “Seeing is believing” is the other 25%.  The 25% proof is healthily growing things all around that you can see and touch.  The soil that we all stand on everyday has more life in the top one foot than all the life from the surface of our planet to the stratosphere.  Most of that life is microscopic, so to feed these critters you need a real small spoon.  That real small spoon is called a Compost Tea Brewer.  It takes compost and washes all the microscopic life leaving it suspended in water, which can then be distributed over the soil.

For most of us, me included, we have much more faith in “seeing is believing ” than in what can’t be seen.  But that is exactly what we must do.  We must put the same amount of faith into the the unseen:  the microscopic world of bacteria, fungi, nematodes and many more critters that make up soil microbiology.  This then becomes the Achilles heel of feeding the soil first.  This method that requires a certain amount of faith matched against “seeing is believing” has a tough row to hoe.

We have weeds, so we buy a herbicide;  in short order that weed is dead. We have bugs eating our crops, so we buy a pesticide; those bugs that came to put me out of business soon lay dead upon the ground.  Our crop has a somewhat sickly look, we bring a sack of Nitrogen fertilizer to the rescue and in a matter of days a healthy green look returns.  Why would anyone in their right mind want to change a system that gives off so much instant gratification?

For many years I drank the Kool-Aid with the rest, but I can no longer turn a deaf ear to all of the disturbing events that present themselves almost on a daily basis.  The chemical industry has produced some 80,000 new chemicals, which do not exist in nature.  What disturbs me is the fact that not all these chemicals are user friendly to us or the environment.  I know that the whole world is one big chemical factory, but Mother Nature has her chemical factory in perfect balance.  I’m not so sure our man made factory is as well balanced.  In fact I’m sure it’s not.  So I’m going to cast my lot first with the microscopic world knowing that Mother Nature doesn’t deceive.  Then I’ll add some patience and I’m sure that happy green growing stuff will sure enough surround me.
See Ya
Jack

Documenting Stupidity

I don’t quite know what it is about the county fairgrounds of San Luis Obispo and Amador counties that provide the facilities for our junior and high school rodeos.  But it must be that either the fair board or the fair manager are germaphobes, probably both.  Last year at the SLO fairgrounds signs appeared that said touching a horse or a cow or any livestock could be hazardous to your health.  They warned that each time you touched  livestock your life could be in jeopardy.  To quell this threat you should go immediately to a bathroom of the correct gender, but beware there might be some dirt loving cowboy or cowgirl hiding in a bathroom stall waiting to cast a little “Cow Pie Dust” over an unsuspecting germaphobe that will probably rekindle his or her immune system to normality.  I wonder if they understand healthy?

The instructions are quite explicit as to how to wash your hands.  You must wash not just the palms of your hands but between your fingers and under your finger nails with vigorous scrubbing while singing the Happy Birthday song twice.  You must use a germicide soap that some corporation has spent millions of dollars in advertising to keep this scam alive.  Never mind that there is some evidence that this practice could be creating a super bug that renders this antibiotic worthless just when, we the people, might really need it.  While all this hand washing and mental hand wringing
is going on, a line is beginning to form outside our public.  It takes a lot of time to wash under 10 fingernails and 20 sides to 10 fingers. As the line grows I can see anxiety growing on the faces of the old and those with small bladders.  When finally one old guy can’t stand it any longer, a stream of pee runs down his leg and splatters to the ground.  In the bathroom there remains one intrepid soul that has followed the hand washing instructions to his anal best finally leaves the bathroom only to be greeted by a clap of thunder announcing a newly arrived thunderstorm that promptly lets loose a lightning bolt that lights the sky then strikes our poor germaphobe dead as he exits the bathroom.  As I perused the line of folks with wet pants who could hold it no longer and this poor fellow dead, I over heard one person say to his friend “I think dirty hands is a better option.”
See Ya
Jack

10:51 P.M.

That’s what time it is according to my iPad.  I’m cozied down in my Lazy Boy recliner.  Having just downed a glass of Gatorade and a T.V. dinner, I’m ready to tell you all about our last four and one half hours.  Tomorrow I’ll be harvesting eight of our grass-fed bevies using a mobile harvest trailer that allow cattle to be harvested at the ranch with a USDA inspector approving of the process.  We saddled up about six this evening, loaded our horses in our gooseneck trailer, and headed to our permanent pasture ranch where we raise our grass-fed bevies.  Here, there are 150 little Brahma cross-breed calves that will stay at the V6 Ranch until next summer when they will be sold.

It’s cooled off now in the day, and as we approach the cattle, I can tell that they feel like running (or stampeding).  Well all it took to ignite this swarm of bevies was an ill timed bark from one of our dogs… and the race was on.  I’m sure this mess would have been nipped in the bud if lion-hearted Bob was along, but I left Bob at home to let some of our other dogs try out their skills at controlling this mob.

The first thing to go was the electric fence, and next was a gate that was left open.  Half of the mob headed right for the gate, and on to the county road they went.  Boy I hope there are no cars coming. Still running, the leaders of the crowd spy my neighbor’s driveway… and in they go!  I’m sure glad there are no flowers to contend with.  I get around the leaders and back on to the county road they go, still running.  Luckily there are no cars in sight.  How many cars are using passing through Parkfield, population 18, anyway?  Zee was positioned to turn the runner back into the field where we started.  We watch now as the run becomes a trot and the trot becomes a walk.  It’s almost dark as we enter the corrals with our eight grass-fat steers and 10 little ones who sort themselves off easily so we can put them back into their pasture.

It’s dark now as I back my son-in-law’s trailer into the alley so we can load the cattle.  Upon opening the trailer gate, I see the front quarter is taken up with Mike’s ATV, but I felt there was enough room for cattle behind the panel that separates his iron horse from my cattle.  Loading in the dark can be hazardous to your health because it’s hard to tell who your friends are.  As I’m bringing the cattle toward the trailer, Zee is behind the trailer gate ready to close it.  In they go, except one sweet thing that makes a pass at me and doesn’t go in. You bitch, don’t you know I’m tired and it’s time to go in the trailer?  Zee closes the gate because we decide to load her in the other stock trailer with our horses.  After switching rigs, we’re ready to load Sweet Thing.  She’s as black as the night and she’s lost her sense of humor.  Plus the back of this trailer has french doors, which are hard to close on cattle that don’t want to stay in.  We have her in a crowding pen where she is trotting around and having a teenage melt down.  My hope is that she might like the trailer more than the crowding pen.  She goes in, and back out.  I’m climbing the fence like bull riders do after being bucked off.  Just in time as she gives out a blood curtailing bawl and blows snot on me then laps the pen and jumps in the trailer again. “Close the gate,” I yell.  Zee says I’m afraid she will knock me down coming out of the trailer. Well this bitch has been in and out of this trailer 8 or 10 times by now.  I’m also afraid to get flattened by old what’s-her-name.  But macho men never let on that they’re afraid.  Good form is to urge your wife not to be afraid and try again.  Besides, dear, you know I’ll take you to the hospital if you get flattened.  I think sweetie pie’s adrenalin must be wearing off by now as she’s been in the trailer several minutes, so I jump off the fence and blindly try to close the trailer.  I close the divider panel from the outside and I’m ready to load my horses.  Sweet thing blows snot at me one more time as I tie mine and Zee’ horses in the trailer. Driving home I’m thinking, I haven’t had an adrenalin rush like that in awhile.  Life is good.
See ya,

Jack

A Horse’s Point of View

I have been around horses for most of my life on a daily basis.  My wife Zee spends most of every day working with our herd of horses. She trains the young ones, exercises others, and plays nurse to any that might need some TLC.  With two lifetimes of experience observing these very social animals we’re going to now act as interpreters for a conversation we overheard between two of our senior citizens by the names of Hot Shot, age 25, and Pozie, age 20.
Hot Shot, this day, was in a philosophical mood and was pondering whether the horse was better off after casting its lot with we humans some 5,000 years ago.  Pozie thought for awhile and then with her horse sense she came to the logical conclusion that her ancestors had plenty of chances to cut and run because the planet was not very crowded back then.  In fact, it’s only been in the last 1,000 years or so that we really started losing elbow room.
Well, Pozie came to the conclusion that as badly as we’ve been treated by our human master over the millennia there must have been more pluses than minuses.

Hot Shot appreciated her view on the subject and responded with his own bit of logic. “Pozie,” he said, “You know we can’t change the past but what about you and I coming up with the pluses and minuses that we like and dislike about today’s world. Pozie you go first.”

“Well luck has certainly been with all of us that have been able to live out our lives here on the V6 Ranch.  I don’t know of a nicer part of California than right here in Parkfield.”

“But some of my flat land relatives might argue that point saying that you guys spend most of your time either going up or down a mountain. And frankly, that looks like a lot of hard work.”
Pozie’s reply to the issue of hard work was that if you’re in good physical shape the mountains are a piece of cake.  Hot Shot chimed in saying that too many of our city brethren are  looking a little large around the girth and maybe some mountain climbing might be in order.

“Hot Shot it’s your turn now.  What good and bad things can you think of?”

“Well I’ll start with the new training methods that are being practiced today.  It’s a much kinder and gentler way that most trainers use today.  The modern horseman acknowledges that we in the horse world have a brain and that most of us want to please our owners.  We will tell you with graphic signs of our content or discontent.”

Pozie says, “I like that! Why don’t you tell our readers some of the body language that we use to let you know how we’re feeling at the moment?”

“Okay I’m going to start with my eyes, they reveal a lot about my personality from fearful to fearless, somber to hysterics.  My eyes are a window to my inner feelings.  Next are my ears.  If my ears are pinned back I’m saying, you there, yea you on my back. That horse behind me keeps pestering and threatening me and I know he is back there because of my eyes being placed on each side of my skull that allow me to see clear back to my tail. So please see if you can’t fix the problem.  Now if my ears are more or less straight up I feel relaxed and am enjoying life and looking forward to tomorrow.  My ears pricked forward means there’s something going on that I need to know more about.  Like: do I run like hell or is it much ado about nothing?  And when you approach me in the corral and my ears are forward looking and I start licking my lips I’m saying I’d like to be your friend. Pozie why don’t you tackle ‘tell tale signs’ a cliché from the horse and buggy days?”

“Ok, if my tail is hanging straight down everything is cool.  Now if I start swinging it back and forth slowly at first I’m slightly peeved.  As my tail moves faster I’m getting more and more upset and when I start to ring it in a circle I’m pissed and I may even pee a little.  I want you to stop what you’re doing like constantly poking me with your spurs.  I don’t mean you have to take your spurs off because they are a valuable tool if used correctly. Your turn Hot Shot.”

“There’s one that really bugs me: horses that become weavers or cribbers from being confined with no exercise.  But Pozie, I think it’s time to look at the positive side with our owners.  I think that we are much better fed than my brethren of the past century when we were simply beasts of burden that had no feelings.  I like the way our strengths have been cultivated so that we who like working cattle can work cattle.  Others who like to run can run around a race track or around a barrel.  Pacers and single footers can rack on and you work horses think that pulling a freight wagon is fun.

Well Poz I hope that most of our kind don’t want to go back 5,000 years, but choose to live this day and look forward to tomorrow.”

See Ya,
Pozie and Hot Shot

What’s in a Smile?

I was never much of a school yard scrapper.  On the other hand, I have always had a fair amount of confidence.  Some would call it “cocky” that I wore on my sleeve.  That made me a target for some of my classmates who found much joy in school yard scrapping.
Until my senior year in High School, I was smaller than most other students. This, for some, made me a sure victory.  So when confronted I developed the art of smiling; it became and effective shield that kept me from wearing black eyes to school.
I was not a great believer in the old saying “it’s not the size of the man in the fight but the size of the fight in the man.”  I had a different old saying: “he couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag.”  I believed it to have some truth.  When I was young, my mother called me Sunny but by around 8 or 10 years of age she seemed to know that it was time to start calling me Jack.  This was okay by me but I didn’t give up wearing a friendly face that was now my comfortable companion.  I started to understand how smiles open many doors and put people at ease.  A smile makes it hard to fight with a guy.
I’ve come to some conclusion over my lifetime. What I discovered was the top of my list is to “SMILE.”
1. Smiles are like welcome mats.

2. Smiles never go out of style.

3. Smiles are always in demand and they don’t cost anything to give.  You just simply turn the corners of your mouth to the up position from the down position and amazingly your attitude will follow.
4.  I usually find the greatest benefactor of a smile is myself.  When I smile I’m spreading around some joy and that makes me feel good.

5.  Smiles are contagious. So go laugh more, live more and the world will be a better place because you smiled.
See Ya
Jack

Pistachios Should be Grown by the Elderly

What else takes about 7 years for the grower to harvest his first nut (this guy is nuts) and 10 years to be able to start paying some bills?  Just think, if a person wants something to look forward to, why not a pistachio? Yes, there are other options out there, like wine grapes, which take as few as 3 years to come into production.  And if you drink enough of your own raising your liver will probably succumb from having too much fun, taking you with him.  Or you could raise oranges; now what could be better than that?  Why, you would never be deficient in vitamin C.  But are you ready to get out of bed at midnight on the coldest nights of the year to start your wind machine or sprinklers to keep your beautiful oranges from freezing?  I’m not.  So for me it’s pistachios.  I get more years to look forward to my first nut to go with the two I’ve already got.  Just think: when I’m 90 I’ll be able to start paying the bank back.  Now many of you at this moment are thinking, this guy is missing a few bricks out of the load. Well, it’s too late to try to reason with me as the trees are coming and I have to get ready.
See Ya
Jack