Pat & Sharon O'Toole

JO Brand
photo by Tim Findley

Branding Reverie

Sweating snorting horses nose through a dusty path,
Pursue those darting legs, a nervous slick hide calf.

Studious, squint-eyed roper shakes out a snaky loop,
Sails it out for two hind feet, a hissing missle swoop.

Tussling, muscled boys shoot forward with a squirt,
Tackle that baby calf, twist it squirming to the dirt.

Duck that snapping rope, watch those saber hooves,
Shake loose the clinging loop, slide clean with practiced moves.

Shiny, magic vaccine shoots in beneath the hide,
A modern incantation, an amulet inside.

A pawing brawling mama makes her presence known,
Stomp her calf’s tormentors, tear them hide from bone.

The branding man steps in with his irons straight from hell,
Sizzling, searing, glowing, a puff of burnt hair smell.

A knife red-stained with blood, sharpened like a guillotine,
Slices ear and ball sack, motions swift and clean.

Iridescent testicles, young bullhood gone awry,
Gives lurking smirking cowdogs their testosterone supply.

A wrist’s quick twist takes hornbuds, no headgear for this steer,
Eyes all meet, heads all nod, release him from his fear.

Run back where mama’s waiting, glaring, blowing phlegm,
They dart into the fluid herd, anonymous again.

Sharon Salisbury O’Toole

Bringing in the cows and calves
Middle Smiley, Home Ranch
photo by Pat O'Toole

Memorial Day weekend brought friends and family to visit, and enjoy a glorious weekend. For us an abundance of company means one thing. Well, maybe more than one thing, like great conversation, lots of cooking and eating, and late nights. But the main thing that really springs to mind is FREE HELP! We scheduled two brandings for the weekend. This brings us up to date, and means we are done except for a few late calvers.

Saturday we branded at Powder Wash, where we run some horned cows who prefer the challenging conditions of the high desert. This is always an adventure because they think that perhaps those horns would be useful in taking out the humans who are briefly distressing their calves. This is the one branding where we have a spotter who chases irate cows away from the ground crew.

State Line corrals at Powder Wash
Sweetwater County, Wyoming with
Moffat County, Colorado on the other side of the gate
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Waiting for the ground crew
Powder Wash
photo by Sharon O'Toole

On Sunday, we branded the rest of the calves at the Home Ranch. We pressed friends and family into service. We got the job done and had a good time. The highlight of the evening was a lamb dinner, of course!

Eamon dragging in the calf
photo by Pat O'Toole

Ground crew at work
photo by Tim Findley

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The Savery Schoolhouse swingset and slide that has terrified generations of kids
Savery, Wyoming
photo by Sharon O'Toole

In rural communities (and many urban families), Memorial Day retains its original inspiration—remembering the dead. Four generations of my immediate family are buried at the local cemetery. All four of my father’s grandparents are interred at the Reader Cemetery, named after the first homestead family in our valley, and located on their original ranch.

For us, Memorial Day usually means lots of company, as family members come to honor their dead and reunite with their living. A short, multi-denominational service is held at the cemetery, which is decorated in its floral glory for a few days. A barbeque follows at the Savery Schoolhouse, now the local museum. It is a potpourri potluck of salads and desserts, with guys on grills turning out hamburgers and hot dogs. This year Chuck Larson and I entertained with cowboy poetry, and old timers manned the outbuildings for storytelling. The museum grounds are crowded with old buildings that have been moved to the site, including a pioneer home, furnished in the manner of the early 1900’s.

The best addition to the museum grounds is the original cabin of Mountain Man Jim Baker, who trapped and adventured with the likes of Jim Bridger. He settled in the Little Snake River Valley, as he reckoned it to be the best place in the West. The old cabin is built of adze hewn logs and features gun ports on the second floor. Baker outlived several wives, as he successively married four Native women and fathered several children.

Chuck Larson versifying
Savery Schoolhouse
Savery, Wyoming
photo by Sharon O'Toole

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After the wind
Home Ranch

Pickup stick pipes
Home Ranch

Going nowhere
Home Ranch

We had an unusual experience this weekend. A couple of weeks ago, a wind storm came through and tossed our irrigation pipe around like pickup sticks. We use side roll sprinklers to irrigate our alfalfa crop. They spend the winter months staked in the field.

Normally, we don’t get strong winds here in the mountains, and when we do, they just blow straight at us. This freak storm didn’t last long, but when it had passed our pipes lay twisted and bent.

The nearest dealer selling replacement pipe is in Fruita, Colorado, near Grand Junction. Pat and I hooked up our longest flatbed trailer and headed to Fruita. We arrived during the annual “Mike the Headless Chicken” Festival. It seems that some years ago, a farmer beheaded his rooster, who then lived for another year and a half. They seemed a little fuzzy on the details, but it makes a great excuse for a town gathering.

New pipe, all loaded
Fruita, Colorado

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Grandma Laura, Sharon & Meghan

"Do you think it is good enough?" asked my grandmother. I was sewing a wool jacket for a 4-H competition. I had sewn a crooked seam, but it would be covered by lining. No one would see it, but she and I would know it was crooked.

This was a running theme of my conversations with her. Do I think it is good enough?; it being grades, personal appearance, sewing, or my attitude. She always had kind words to say to and about everyone. She lived the Lord's Prayer. She was very forgiving and believed that God would sort it all out. That was not our job to judge.

Any sarcastic or snide comment was met with, "Now, Meghan," followed by gentle chiding. Then she would say something kind about whatever or whomever I was mocking.

At her funeral, numerous people approached us. They told us how Grandma was the first person to welcome them to the community. She would drop by their home, introduce herself, and offer encouragement and help with no strings attached. I did not know, or even recognize many of these people, but Grandma had positively impacted their lives.

She was known as a wonderful, kind woman and talented seamstress. She taught generations of young women in our small community to sew. She made brownies for every funeral and visited each new arrival. She was also bi-polar. These are the elements that made up my grandmother.

My clearest memories of my Grandma Laura are of her teaching me to sew. She would spend hours supervising my construction skills. As a child, I remember that she could sew and repair anything. By the time of my wedding, she could not sew a simple flower girl basket. The amount of knowledge and skill lost to dementia and age was a tremendous loss to us all.

A local group hosts a lunch for the grieving family after every funeral. Each member brings a dish, so the family does not need to think about it. Grandma, who was not a member of the group, took brownies to every funeral. She did it not out of any sense of obligation or because she had been asked, but because it was the right thing to do. .

However, there was another side to my grandmother. She developed bi-polar disorder in her 70's, after the murder of her only son. Geriatric onset is rare. She would become paranoid, manic, and combative. It was very difficult to see the change in my kind and caring grandma.

She would have periodic episodes, resulting in hospital stays. She would stay there for a couple of weeks until they got her meds adjusted and she was mostly back to normal. These episodes were very hard on her health. She had several heart attacks and a stroke, but she had a tremendous will to live.

I remember, as a young girl, I was in a store with my mom. My grandma happened to be at the same store. She came up to us, accusing us of following her and trying to control her. That was the moment I understood that something was very wrong.

She had her good days and her bad days. My mom and I got to the point that we could see a breakdown coming. We usually couldn't head it off, but we could brace ourselves for whatever paranoid delusions that grandma would come up with. She was hardest on Grandpa, Mom and I, I think because we were always there for her and she knew we would never leave her.

I lived with my grandparents for about a year. I have fond memories of that time and am glad I had that opportunity. They had a romance for the ages. My grandfather worshipped the ground she walked on and he could do no wrong. At the end of the day, Grandma would be in the kitchen, cooking. Grandpa would come up behind her, put his cold hands under her shirt and say, "Isn't she a wonderful grandma?" She would say, "Oh, George," with a smile on her face. I think she lived as long as she did for him. Grandma held on as long as she could.

Grandma died two days after Christmas 2004, surrounded by her family, of a heart attack. I think it is how she would have liked it--with the people she loved and who loved her. To quote my mom, "The longer she is gone, the more I remember how she used to be." I think that sums up my own feelings also.

When she died, it was almost a relief, because her health was so bad at the end. But in retrospect she is the woman I wish I could be; kind, community minded, Christian, and a good mother and grandmother. I wish I could be as good a person as she was.

I ripped out that seam and resewed it. Grandma was right; I should do it right if I was going to do it at all. She was not only teaching me how to sew, but also life lessons in honesty, hard work, and morality.

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Ladder crew with the 2007 clip
photo by Gemma Dunn

Shearing time is well and truly the transition from winter into spring. For the ewes, that transition is very real in a flesh and blood sort of way. They are not symbolically throwing aside their winter coats. They are ACTUALLY giving up the wool which has sustained them through blizzards and 35 below temperatures.

Annual shearing is critical to the long-term health of the sheep. They have been bred for millennia to produce fiber for human needs, and this selective breeding has created a fleece that needs to be removed. Wool is a miracle fiber, protecting the bearer against cold, moisture and even flame. It is far better than any petroleum based synthetic substitute.

We try to shear the odd lots of sheep ahead of time, so that when the main crew comes in, they can get to the business of shearing the “main line.” This is an annual dance, with many a step and misstep as the shearing contractor coordinates his crew, his equipment, his customers, and that ultimate tune-caller, Mother Nature. We in the meantime, try to reach the shearing site at the optimal time, so as not to use up too much feed, and keeping a safe timing ahead of lambing. Needless to say, this doesn’t always work perfectly.

Once shearing starts, it is as if it is the only thing going on in the world. The staging of the sheep as they come and go, the coordination of people, work and meals, the clatter of the shears, the anxious scanning of the skies--our whole universe is made up of these.

Shear Pleasure crew, 2007
Badwater Pasture
Sweetwater County, Wyoming
photo by Sharon O'Toole

more text and photos on "Continue Reading"

Badwater shearing encampment
photo by Pat O'Toole

Modesto bringing in the sheep
photo by Sharon O'Toole

George at the gate
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Jose working the chute
photo by Pat O'Toole

The weather, of course, is the least predictable of all the factors. Our ewes were still “in the wool” when they were struck by a March storm, but our friend in northern Wyoming was hit just as he was shearing, and lost 700 head—some to exposure and some to suffocation when they blew out and piled up. It is the tragedy that we all fear as we go into this vulnerable season.

We have had very good luck so far. The shearing crews travel with a large portable shed which they can set up virtually anywhere. They follow in a caravan of pickup trucks and camper trailers, and can do without electricity or running water. The shearing machines and mechanical packer run off a generator.

Ingrid shearing
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Gemma carrying a fleece
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Packing a black fleece
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Wool bales accumulating outside the shed
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Loading the wool, destination: China
photo by Sharon O'Toole

This year we opted to shear in the Badwater pasture, which is some 40 or 50 miles south of the Red Desert winter country, and about 40 miles north of our lambing grounds near Dixon, Wyoming. We had a stretch of good weather and the shearing crew worked straight through for five days. Often it extends into a week or more as we are interrupted by wet weather.

The crew, all from New Zealand, consisted of six men and a woman, and averaged 200 head apiece per day. Two young women made up the sorting and packing crew. They are highly skilled and can sort the wool by factors such as grade and fineness. We separate the finest fleeces from the rest (which are also fine), and sort out bellies (short and dirty) and tags (manurey and REALLY dirty). In the United States, wool buyers do not pay extra for further sorting, as they do in Australia and New Zealand.

The shearers and packers work incredibly hard, with only a break for lunch. They do it day after day, week after week, and if they follow the shearing jobs around the world, month after month. It is one of the pleasures of our business to work with them, and some have become friends.

As soon as the shearing job was done, the crew packed up their equipment, their shed, and their homes, and headed out to set up at the next job, some 200 miles away. They finished our sheep at 6 p.m. and planned to start again the next morning at 8 a.m. Their departure was accompanied by rain clouds.

We have spent the last week trailing (again) from Badwater to the lambing grounds at Cottonwood and Loco. These are large landscapes of rolling hills and small streams. It includes our private land, a Wyoming state lease, and some BLM leases. It is an area slated for coal bed methane development, and we indeed wandered off on a few new roads as we moved the sheep camps south. These roads look better than the old two tracks (which they have largely rendered useless), but often dead-end at a drilling site.

We didn’t mind fighting the mud as we moved the sheep camps south--better mud than dust. Last spring lacked the characteristic pale green we usually see, as the drought dug in. So far we have had timely rains, as we appreciate them all the more for having seen their lack in recent years.

We are now settled in on the lambing grounds, and—hallelujah!—are seeing fine warm days, perfect for the new lambs hitting the ground.

Sheep on the trail on Wild Horse Butte
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Yellow-headed blackbirds at the Badwater Reservoir
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Siobhan, Brian & very patient guard dog
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Siobhan and Pepe with early lamb and shorn sheep
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Meghan (our cook!) with Antonio, Seamus, Modesto & Gustavo
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Seamus & Pat at the corral
photo by Sharon O'Toole

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Squaw Mountain, May sunset
Home Ranch
photo by Sharon O'Toole

Three Forks Mountain, May sunset
Home Ranch
photo by Sharon O'Toole

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Squaw Mountain with early bird
Home Ranch
photo by Sharon O'Toole

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