The Post Office

Peter and I continued our fish habitat survey today. Before suiting up we went to the Mill Creek Correctional Facility to introduce ourselves and get ID checked in anticipation of tomorrow's kayak float through the facility. Officer Templin, who greeted us, told us that the facility used to comprise 2200 acres of dairy and beef farm, but now most of that has been sold to UPS. He also shared a creative use of the invasive Himalayan blackberry that was developed by some of the inmates: "A few years back, the thickets got so overgrown, the guys made a love nest. They dug it out real good, had blankets and stuff back there. That's where they would meet their girlfriends. Weed and vodka would show up there, they called it the post office. Deliveries were pretty regular."

All of That and a Bag of Chips

An important detail was omitted from my account of yesterday's bus ride. Proceding south of Wheeler on 101, the bus had to creep real slow past a state police pickup that was fishing something out of a ditch. And when we pulled up to them, what do you think they had winched up? A poor black bear's carcass. Road killed or bow killed, I know not.

My colleague Peter and I spent today surveying Mill Creek in Salem. The weather was warm and pleasant. We waded past a minimum security state pen and avoided a bombing from low flying geese. We waded past Kettle Foods facility, where friendly Jim Green chatted with us about the company's efforts to restore its riparian area by removing invasives and planting natives. We also got hooked up with a bag each of organic salt an vinegar chips, thanks Jim. Since neither of us had any food, this turned out to be a critical nutritional injection. Later Peter gave me this sweet pump action squirt gun from out of the stream. Now I have something to flash out on Sandy Blvd.

Goin' Back to Valley

No major events to report at Meadow Harvest grassfed beef that I am aware of. My patrones came back from the Flock and Fiber show last night, and they managed to restrain themselves from purchasing any additional mouths to feed. Vicki the tube gurgler got to leave her plastic pen and join a group of other calves and mommas, although she still has the scours and a fever.

I spent most of the day travelling between Nehalem and my colleagues' house in northeast Portland. Big shout out to the Tillamook Wave bus service. It is not the most express transit I ever rode but in the six years since I first climbed aboard I have always been impressed with value and reliability.

I am on the road this week, collecting field data in the vicinity of Salem, OR on behalf of environmental consulting titans Demeter Design. So don't expect ranch updates for a week or so, but I will try to sneak in some posts from the scintilating world of Aquatic Quality Index surveys.

Precious Births

A pair of twin male lambs was born last night. I had hoped that this wouldn't happen while my patrones were away, because I didn't want to deal with it, but it was no big deal. When a mother has new lambs you want to sequester her away from the group in her own stall so you can give her her own food and water and keep the offspring from getting bopped around. To lure the mama to the stall you just pick up the babies, hold them in front of her nose, and walk backwards toward where you want to go. I think this is one of the more gentle methods of coercion in the business.

So should I name these twins? Castor and Pollux? Heckyl and Jeckyl? Avon and Stringer? Whatever. Some lambs are just better know by the number on the plastic tag that gets clipped to their ear on day four of life, right after they get elastic bands around their balls and tail.

Once my am chores were completed today I drove down to see my great friends and surrogate Oregon parents Kurt & Jan. They are wonderful people and their house and garden should be in magazines. Kurt and I diagnosed and treated a mysteriously depressurized garden hose.

My patrones have been totally cool about loaning me their wheels while they are gone, so I went down to Netarts in Sage's diesel Passat. I love this car! The intrepid Deutsch handling and smooth acceleration allow me to attack these lowland coastal roads with at level of agression well above the limits of the rigs that I typically drive. But don't worry dear ones, the antithesis voice is also speaking: "Better watch your speed Casey Jones. You would hate to hydroplane through one of these curves. Not to mention all the police in the area. Remember the old saying about Tillamook County, you come on vacation, you leave on probation."

Green Pilgrim Runs Ranch

Over the weekend I am housesitting for my patrones while the attend the Flock and Fiber show in Canby, OR. My tasks include stomach-tubing a calf named Victoria whose mom died of a complicated pregnancy, bottle feedings some lambs, throwing out hay, and general vigilance.

My patrones tell me that the number of lambs born this fall is unusually high, and that typically there are not more than one or two until January. A group of all female triplets was named after the Bronte sisters: Charlotte, Emily, and the Other one. I had originally suggested Salt, Pepa, and Spinderella, but those names were rejected for being too urban.

On the subject of romantic literature, I was recently taken to task for not having read a single novel by Jane Austen. My interlocutor claimed that Elizabeth Bennett is one of a trio of universally loved characters, along with Anna Karennina and a third that I forget. I countered that Ahab, Heathcliff, and Frankenstein's monster were a more appealing group. So I guess that means my worldview values best megalomaniacal domineering tyrants. Huzzah!

Ranchero Nuevo

I have now spent a full week at Meadow Harvest grass-fed beef and lamb in Nehalem, OR. My role here is to learn what I can of animal husbandry and develop a certified organic market garden. There have been many vivid experiences in the initial week.

My hosts are Brian Tallman and Sage Walden who, over a few decades, have transitioned from dairy farmers to ranching for meat. Brian is a very strong and experienced cow and sheep man. I am flattered because he calls me Cain after David Carradine's character in the Kung Fu TV series. He thinks that because my footfalls are so silent that I must be training martial arts. How long will I wait before I tell him the real secret.

Sage is a textile artist, among other crafts, and she is in control of her materials from the time they come bleating out of their mother to when they are shorn to when the wool is spun and knitted into a shawl. I admire the landscapes in watercolor and caustic that she has painted and hung around the house. One favorite is a small scene of Nessie the Monster cruising a Scottish loch.

Speaking of things Scottish, my golf sticks saw the light of day today for the first time in time unknown. I went out to pasture with a pitching wedge and four rocks in my pocket and promptly lost all four in tall grass. The style of desultory golf I was playing is, I think, more in touch with how the game was played on the old British links. The bunkers on my course are made by sheep snugging the hillside in the lee of the wind. Consider title Ancient Way of Golf: How I sharpened my game on an Oregon sheep ranch to be mine by copyright.