Facing Fears and Facts

Posted on July 1, 2015 by Teresa

Preface – Mortality

The facts are we are mortal, and so are our animals.  The topic of domesticated animals and their care is a sensitive one with almost cult-like division over everything from when to call a vet vs. whether or not to blanket a horse.  Internet flame wars reach inferno proportions when animal care is the topic.  

Animal husbandry is a low calling and a high honor.  To be “called” means to place our personal needs lower than shit  on our list of priorities.  Literally.  Unlike children, who reach elevated levels of independence over time, our animals will never reach a point of fending for themselves on a day to day basis so that mommy can go have an evening out with the ladies.  You can throw a 15 year-old-kid ten bucks and they can find a happy meal and manage to probably live through the evening unattended.  Give a horse ten bucks and they’ll likely eat it and shortly after develop life-threatening colic.  Mommy gets a night out only after the animals are tended to.  And ends her night out checking on the animals when she returns.

As with any calling the decisions we make are simple and personal.  A “called” religious person can enjoy a level of hypocrisy with impunity and the promise of forgiveness.  A person who takes on the yoke of animal husbandry can never be a hypocrite.  They live exactly as they believe, unable to afford the luxury of giving two scoops of chicken manure what anyone else believes, and living without forgiveness for the times they fail to live up to what their charges require.

Not that animals are unforgiving.  They’re infinitely forgiving.  Their physical bodies might not be, and we are not forgiving of ourselves.  But animals?  They forgive and forget with a capacity that might only be rivaled by Jesus.  Maybe.  I mean, God was a resentful smiter back in the Old Testament, so I think He needed to learn forgiveness over time, whereas I’ve never been smited by a critter.

Anyway.

Our Policy on Horses

I’ve held a policy that I wouldn’t write on this blog or on our Facebook page if any of our trail horses die.  Outfitters are portrayed as people who dispose of their animals as soon as the beast can no longer turn a profit.  They list them on Craigslist, at best, but most often just send them to the feedlot until the slaughter truck picks the horses up.  They turn ’em and burn ’em.  At least, that is the perception.  Of the outfitters I’ve known, this has never been the case.  

I want to be transparent with you — you ARE guests and as our guests it is our deepest desire that you bond with our horses, even temporarily.  You contacted us in order to experience horses — maybe to overcome a fear, maybe because you rode as a child, or maybe just because you thought riding a horse sounded novel and fun.  No matter the reason, every single person who’s come our way has treated our horses with reverence and kindness.  I feel like we shared a moment and experience — you, me, and the horses — and it’d be wrong not to make their major life events accessible to you.  We owe you that.

I could set up a small profit center from the folks who’ve offered to shovel manure for us, just because they want to experience some of the less glamorous aspects of animal husbandry.  The horse shit is minor.  It’s the moments of pain, the injuries, the frustration when you find mold in a bale of hay or find that a saddle is soring a horse that is the painful aspect of horse ownership.  It’s the mysterious pains that come and go, the hoof abscesses, the inability to control the weather, and the goddamned horseflies that will keep you up at night.

And the decision to put a horse down.  

So, here’s my policy:  when a horse’s life options become so limited that it can no longer work, I’ll put it down.  

Here’s why:

  1. I believe when you sell a horse, you release ownership and claim and responsibility and any hope of intervention for that horse.  It’s out of your care.  Great if a horse is sound, young, vice-free, and gentle.  Its chances for a good, long-term, caring home are great.  Take a horse that is not guaranteed sound, no matter how gentle, and (especially with the current market) the horse’s options are dramatically limited.  Add medical needs to the equation and your horse is probably headed down a painful road to the slaughter.
  2. The path to slaughter is an ugly one.  The unsound horse is practically given away.  The recipient (who was looking for a cheap horse because they couldn’t afford to buy a sound horse) is always one vet bill away from destitution, or one ton of hay away from missing their rent, or one medical issue away from being unable to care for the horse. The owner is too devastated and ashamed to seek help.  Later, rather than sooner, the horse is removed from the situation — probably emaciated and in pain.   The horse is first shipped to a feedlot where it is frightened, knee deep in shit, and probably still in pain.  Soon, the horse is cramped into a trailer with 40 other terrified horses, and hauled for 30 hours to Mexico (that is, if it’s lucky and doesn’t get dumped in the desert in New Mexico).  And then it is herded down a chute, terrified, and shot with a bolt in its forehead.  If it’s lucky (which, really, how lucky is it to have come this far?) the first bolt is fatal.
  3. I feel it’s important to be with my horses when they die.  I also feel it’s important to make the decision to put a horse down to shorten their period of suffering.  
  4. Chronic pain is debilitating.  If a horse is in that much pain, the humane thing is to peacefully and respectfully end the suffering.  

So, yeah, we lost a horse.

It’s a sensitive thing and I’m all kinds of defensive as I write this, but on Saturday night we lost a horse.  In fact, I called a vet and knew before she got there that we needed to put our sweet USA down.  So, we didn’t lose her, we put her down.  

I’d been struggling with where USA was in her career.  I knew that she probably needed to retire soon, she’d been having a hard time keeping weight on and seemed to spend more time laying down than I remembered.  Typical of Tennessee Walking Horses, she was developing a sway to her back.  I dewormed her, had her teeth floated (a dental procedure), vaccinated her, gave her senior feed.  I waited for her to give me an unmistakable sign that she needed to retire.  USA, our noble black mare and most photographed horse, trucked on. 

We held Cowboy Camp last week.  It’s a low-impact week of exposing kids to horses, teaching them to lead and ride horses, and working up to a trail ride through the vineyards, with the kids riding their own horse by themselves.  USA was in her element – fawned over by children, ambling through the obstacle course, and eventually meandering among the vineyards.  We were all so proud of the horses, including USA.  Each of the horses provided a very special experience for the kids and did it with such grace and kindness that every time I saw a bobble-headed helmeted kid atop our horses, I was overwhelmed with emotion.  Every folktale you’ve heard of horses being especially gentle and careful around children came to life last week.  

God this is a long post.  I’m making up for lost time, it’s been months since I’ve posted.  But, talking about putting a horse down (a horse that belongs to our guests, really) is important, and requires explanation.

I came home Saturday night from a Buck Brannaman clinic and saw USA laying down.  Again.  As I often do when a horse lays down, I went and checked on her.  Temperature was normal, but heart rate and respirations were elevated.  I could see by her grimace she was in pain, and her vitals proved it.  I held my stethoscope to her tummy.  Silence.  I moved it all around her flanks, waiting for the tell-tale gurgle and swish that would tell me her gut was working.  When I heard nothing I told myself it was because I had a cheap stethoscope and wasn’t professionally trained (despite the fact that most days you could hear USA’s gut happily digesting hay with celebratory farts and gurgles from about a half-mile away).

The first rule of thumb with a horse that’s laying down and in pain is to get the horse up and on its feet.  This is not an easy task to perform or watch, as it requires urgent encouragement.  Some horse owners will even resort to pouring water down a horse’s ears or nose to get the horse to get up.  The horse often responds with a panicked burst of thrashing as they feel like they’re drowning, but they often get up.  Crude, but effective.

I didn’t do that.  But I’m not saying I wouldn’t if it came to it.  Fortunately, USA is a damn stubborn and tough-minded horse.  For the amount of pain she felt, I only had to tug on her halter and give her a couple of whacks with the broom for her to stagger to her feet.  She pooped, passed gas, and peed.  Maybe I really did miss hearing some gut sounds and she would be fine!  Horse shit never made me happier.

The next order of business was walking, electrolyte paste, and pain killer.  Surely we were on the path to recovery.  I walked her down to the grain bin that she constantly tries to crack open.  USA’s lips were more dexterous than my thumbs, she probably could’ve been a diamond thief, thought she’d only have been interested if the diamonds smelled like molasses.  Normally it took some creative twine-work and bungy cords to keep her out of the grain bin.  Yet, Saturday night as I walked her down there she merely sniffed at the bin and returned to uncomfortable panting and pacing.  USA hurt too much to eat.  For you who’ve ridden her, you now that USA enjoyed eating as much for the food as for just knowing she could get away with it.  A USA without an appetite was like a fish with an aversion to water. 

I called the vet.  It was 11:30 by then.

I knew the drill.  We’d intubate her, give her some mineral oil, pain killer, maybe a tranquilizer.  I was looking at a long night was all.  She’d be okay, though I was sorry for the pain she felt.  The vet would tell me my stethoscope was crap and I’d totally missed some glaring signs that USA was obviously going to be fine. 

Though, I did also scope out appropriate places to take her that would be out of site of the neighbors in case we needed to put her down.

“She’s not a candidate for WSU, I’m not sure she’d make the trip up there” said the vet after a brief listen to USA’s stomach, lungs, and heart.  

I knew.  I knew that if we saved USA then, that she’d be back on the ground in the morning, struggling and in pain. I don’t know specifically what the look is or what the signs are, but after watching my mother die of ALS and my brother die of cancer, I guess you could say there’s a “feel” you get when a life is reaching its end.  Like love and birth, you just know.  The vet articulated what I knew and didn’t want to admit.

I was crying before the vet finished her statement.  I can’t tell you how many animals I’ve hunted, butchered, put down, or seen dead.  Yet it never is comfortable or easy or routine.

The vet went to her truck as I led USA to her spot.  I pet her neck, but she was restless and panting.  Her black coat was dry and cool even though her temperature had risen.  She was dehydrated.  I apologized to her.  Her electrolytes at that point were all over the map.  Her muscles twitched, yet despite her pain she made every attempt to remain careful of me as I wrapped my arms around her neck and buried my face in her mane for just a minute.  It wasn’t about my pain, it was about hers.  I released her and we began pacing again until the vet returned with the necessary medication to finally ease USA’s suffering.

USA passed just as she lived – quiet, strong,  and graceful.  I held my hands on her neck and waited for her heart beat to stop and her eyes to not respond, making sure that USA passed with love surrounding her.  As her steward, and in a way her servant, it was the best I could offer her.  

Rest In Peace, USA.  

Posted in Life on the Ranch, The Horses | Tagged | 6 Comments

Wishbone and Sis

Posted on March 27, 2015 by Teresa

My favorite thing to do when I visit Wishbone is to stand under his neck and lean my back against his massive chest.  I am completely sheltered by the gentle giant as he curls his head down a little and I pet his cheeks.  His powerful, safe embrace provides respite, a little moment in my day when I can let my shoulders relax and worries fade.  Wishbone and Sis

Lately, I’ve been trying to get information from the City of Richland regarding having horse-drawn wagons there as a shuttle  service for the Friday Farmer’s Market.  It’s been an exercise in frustration bordering on insanity.  I’ve been a regular attendee of “Wishbone’s Shelter for the Weary”.  Sometimes I stand there and imagine what life was like 100 years ago, when the exact opposite battle was taking place — cars and car owners attempting to mingle vehicles with horses and carriages.  The car won, and I’m all for progress, but I do believe that the absence of horses at the core of our communities is one of many contributing factors to the changes in how we treat each other.  

I was reminded of that the other day.  I called a carriage operator in Leavenworth to ask him about his operation, how he navigated City Hall, and horse business in general.  It started out as a brief but guarded conversation — a simple question, a short answer.  We began to open up more, discussing the many facets of horse-based business.  He said, “you know, people aren’t used to horses in their communities anymore.  They don’t even know how to pet them.”  

WishNSis

There was a time when we all knew more about approaching horses.  And each other.  I think we’re more isolated now, even in crowds.  We travel in a protective little steel pod with a controlled environment.  Sometimes we pass people we know well, but we don’t know it’s them because we can’t see through the glass.  

The man then said, “You’re the gal with Wishbone and Sis, right?”  Well, I guess the horse-business community isn’t that big, but it did surprise me.  He then went on to tell me the life history of those two sweeties.  How Wishbone was a registered Percheron with rare coloring for the breed – purchased as a two year old at a huge auction in Amish country.  He and two other horses were shipped all the way out here from Indiana.  

Sis was a dejected youngster in a kill pen, waiting to go to slaughter when he and a friend purchased her and two others.  

They matched Wishbone and Sis as a team when they were three and they’ve been together since.  I think it’s important to know a horse’s history, mostly for the same reasons we like to know about our loved ones’ histories.  It gives us context, a kind of understanding.

IMG_6903I love the two together in a hitch.  Sis says, “come on, let’s get to work!” and Wishbone just yawns and lumbers along.  “Whatever you say, Sis.”  In the field Wish is first to greet you, to lower his massive head down so you can scratch his forelock.  Sis stands quiet and patient with children and adults who trepidatiously want to approach her and pet her.  Her kind eye is irresistible.  

Did you know that a horse’s heartbeat will change in response to their rider’s heart rate?  They are willing to work with whatever the human presents.  They know we don’t know how to approach or pet a horse.  They know we lack connection.  And rather than fight and snarl and beat it into us, they stand patiently and wait for us to come to them.  Once you’re within range of their heart, you’ll find that connection.  

I’m thankful to have a relationship with horses, for what they teach me about people.  I’m proud to say I’ve never given up on a horse, and have been rewarded greatly.  I guess I better not give up on City Hall.

Happy Trails!

~Teresa

Posted in Happy Trails, Life on the Ranch, The Horses | 2 Comments

20 Business Lessons After the First 2 Years

Posted on February 25, 2015 by admin

We are heading into our 3rd year of operations.  Our original plan was to do this for 3 years and then re-evaluate — would we want to continue?  is it a viable operation?  do we love it?  are we still happily married?

We have another season to get through and then we will answer those questions, but I’ll tell you now, all the indicators are pointing to a hearty “Yes.”.  The enjoyment we get from our business far surpasses anything we could have imagined.  

But, let me tell you, there have been some eye-opening lessons along the way and I thought I’d share them with you.

  1. When you hear the phrase “it’s a lot of work”, what people are saying is, “it’s far more work than you’ll ever imagine.”  You are not only performing every facet of your operation – bookkeeper, trainer, guide, hay-hauler, manure-shoveller, contractor, procurer, quality control, safety officer, procedure writer, photographer, videographer, blogger, marketer, event planner, decorator, mechanic, inventor, website administrator, social media manager – you spend a fair amount of your first two years learning many of those skills, and in this day, learning the software and phone apps for those tasks.  
  2. You are never off the clock.  Ever.  As the representative of your business you must always be polite and friendly in public.  As tempting as it is to flip off a bad driver, you gotta just smile and nod.  Your Facebook statuses probably shouldn’t be rife with swear-words, anti-anything words, or pictures of you doing stupid things (especially if you have a business where customer safety is a big deal).  In fact, you have to cut down on the stupid things you might normally do.  This has been a bit of a stretch for me!
    When you aren’t working directly on your business, you’ll dream about it.  
    You have to carry business cards and a business phone with you all the time.  
    You have to develop a strong affinity for “the high road”.  
    You are being seen, try to make it positive. 
  3. Your income estimates are horribly, horribly over-estimated, even the conservative ones.  
  4. Your budget is horribly, horribly under-estimated.  No matter what it is. 
  5. Your business plan is functional more as a guideline than a plan.  You just don’t know what you don’t know.
  6. You also don’t know what you do know.  
  7. You will give a LOT of stuff away.  Embrace it.  We learned that the best thing we could give away was “service”.  If you’re selling a commodity and you donate something to a charity auction, package it with a service so that the winner comes and meets you face-to-face when they collect.  Got a winery?  Donate a private wine-tasting PLUS 2 bottles of wine that the winner picks up when they get their wine-tasting.   This ties in with the next lesson:
  8. Leverage every opportunity.  Everything is an opportunity.
  9. People will forget your face, your name, your location, your prices, your website, and your existence.  They will NEVER forget how you make them feel.  Strive to make it positive.  Sometimes that’s the only thing that differentiates you from your competition.
  10. Never handle conflict via email.  Speak to your insurance agent, angry customer, accountant, competition, employees, spouse, family, and business partners over the phone or in person.  People in conflicts want to be heard.  Literally.  
  11. Be transparent with your intentions.  People may not be an expert in your field, but b.s. has a distinct odor that everyone recognizes.  
  12. Learn the art of “shaking it off”.  You’re putting yourself out there in a big way by having a business.  It can feel like everything is personal.  So what?  Not all competition is friendly, not all customers will be happy.  Learn the lessons you need to from your interactions and move on.  
  13. The customer is not always right, but the customer can be satisfied.  
  14. Guard your time like it’s your first-born.  Charge deposits up front, use a reservation system, charge cancellation fees for no-shows, chase down payments for services rendered.  
  15. Add these three books to your library:  Getting to Yes (Fisher, Ury, and Patton), Think and Grow Rich (Napoleon Hill), and Crucial Conversations (Patterson).  
  16. Never give up.  Just don’t.  Trying something and finding it isn’t a fit is one thing.  Giving up on a dream or goal is different.  We’ve tried a handful of different offerings — some fit us, some didn’t.  One thing that was always a goal for us was to offer wagon rides.  We went through some periods where we seriously questioned whether we could do it or not.  But, it was our goal, so we quit questioning whether we “could” and we just “did.”  You can find a way.
  17. Surround yourself with the highest quality professionals.  For us it’s Buck Brannaman and Alex Fraser.  Buck is an expert horseman who focuses on safety for horse and rider.  We try to attend as many of his clinics a year as we can.  Alex is an expert teamster who provides consulting, training, instruction, and is an expert witness for carriage business and trail-riding business lawsuits.  We bring him out twice a year for instruction and to audit our routes, horses, tack, wagons, equipment, and skills.  
  18. Don’t quit your day job, just yet.  Make it work.  If you’re lucky, your day job is another outreach opportunity for your business.  If your company is okay with it (and both our employers are blessedly open to our “moonlighting”), keep that job.  
  19. Show up.  Oh man, this is one for us that took me by surprise.  A couple of times we didn’t show up at the hitching rails because the weather was so nasty. ” Well shoot”, I thought, “nobody is going to want to ride in this!  I sure don’t!”  They did want to ride and we missed opportunities.  
  20. Be open, but be selective.  Not every horse enthusiast is meant to work for us.  Not every employee has to know the first thing about horses.  A good attitude and friendly disposition rank high for us.  

It’s been a fun run and a ton of work.  I’m so excited for the season to kick off again (May) and meet new people and reconnect with past guests.  

Happy Trails!

~T

USA can be quite impish.

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Valentine’s Day Recap

Posted on February 20, 2015 by Teresa

I trepidatiously offered a Valentine’s weekend wagon ride wine tasting tour last weekend.  Trepidatiously because mid-February weather is unpredictable.  Last year for Valentine’s Day temperatures struggled to climb out of the teens and I spent the morning chipping poop-sicles (frozen manure) out of Yukon’s tail.  He had a bad tummy which manifested in frozen manure in his tail.  Don’t let anybody kid you that this cowgirlin’ business is glamorous.  

Still, I set up our reservation system for the event and decided to let our guests decide whether they wanted to brave the unpredictable elements or not.  The horses are completely unfazed by cold weather.  In fact, nothing much bothers them – weather-wise – other than wind.  But that just makes them a little skittish.

We were rewarded, greatly.  65 degrees and sunny, both days!  

We met our guests at Kiona Vineyards (www.kionawine.com).  We could not have asked for more fun people to hang out with over the weekend.  Our first stop was Frichette’s (www.frichettewinery.com) for their fabulous red wine.  They also had a great selection of artwork for sale (100% of proceeds go to the American Heart Association).  

From there we meandered along country roads and through the vineyards to Portrait Cellars (http://www.portraitcellars.com) for a homey wine tasting with Ed and Eve Shaw.  

We loaded our happy tasters into the little red wagon and drove off into the vineyards, winding our way through E&E Shaw vineyards, Ciel du Cheval, Galitzine, and Kiona vineyards.  The longer days seem even longer when the sun shines as bright as it did that weekend.  

My favorite part of the wagon rides is trotting the team up the hill to Kiona.  Their hooves clop and echo off the side of the building, their manes and tails fly, and I feel like the horses know that they are putting on a show for folks in the tasting room.  They sure like to step out.  

We rolled right up to the front door and dropped our guests off there, then parked the team and wagon.  

Here’s some video footage of our adventure, with a special guest star:  THE SUN!

 

Happy Trails!

~Teresa

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Does “Ride More” Count as a Mid Winter Project?

Posted on February 19, 2015 by admin

Awhile back I posted about this ambitious list I had of “mid winter projects” — all the stuff I’d do during our down time in the winter.  

Pshaw.  Instead I joined the local drill team because the only mid-winter project I’m interested in is riding more horses, more often.  

Not so sure about this drill team business — it seems so far like everything they do is named “suicide” something.  Suicide cross, suicide this, suicide that.  I suppose that if you consider you have an arena full of horses galloping at/through/around each other, “suicide” is an apt description.  

They’re a nice bunch of riders and the more craziness I can expose the trail horses to, the better rounded they’ll be.  Wrigley is the alpha mare of our herd, so riding her with the drill team is quite an experience.  She mostly wants to either a.) go fast, everywhere or b.) whip the other horses into a perfect little obedient herd instead of what she sees as total disarray.  

So far my “mid winter project” has been “surviving drill team practice”.  

20140130_185052

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Cold

Posted on November 14, 2014 by admin

Cold.  The temps dropped from daily averages of 60 to 25.  It’s the kind of cold snap that keeps you up at night fretting about the animals.  

I really only fret about two things at night:

  • Stock tank heaters dying and the water troughs freezing over.  Horses tend to drink less water if the water is cold.  And of course if the water freezes they get NO water.  This can lead to colic (which can be lethal).  Few things are as gratifying as checking on the troughs in the morning to see the goldfish* swimming freely in warm water.  
  • The horses running out of feed in the middle of the night.  Horses have a built-in furnace in their gut.  When they eat, they digest their food by fermenting it.  This creates internal heat.  On cold nights I rest a little better knowing their feeders are full. 

I’m convinced that horses with a reliable source of warm water and constant feed can withstand just about anything.  We’ve been lucky in that regard.  Barring a few rough patches with our older horses who have trouble processing hay (it would help if they had more teeth, and the teeth were functional, but that’s just aging for ya I guess), the horses have fared quite well through the cold.  

I went out yesterday to check on the horses.  Yukon was bucking and playing.  I checked on the mares and they all were running with their tails in the air, snorting and bucking.  Even the quiet, thoughtful draft horse mare Sis was feeling frisky.  

*What the heck?  Goldfish?  Yup, goldfish eat algae and fly and mosquito larvae.  I’m not so worried about algae, but oh man — anything that cuts down on flies and mosquitoes is good by me!

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Our Horses Don’t “Escape” So Good

Posted on November 10, 2014 by Teresa

The “herdlet” of mares got out this morning around 3.  Jeff and I went out to investigate.  For the most part my experience with horses escaping has been that they get loose, lose their minds over their new-found freedom, and it takes hours of walking and food-bribing to get them back.  Just about the time you think you can sneak the rope over their necks, they take off.  

It’s enough to make you want to chew your own arm off.  

We went out and once I got a visual on the horses, we ignored them and went to check the fence.  Immediately Wrigley was following, so I turned around to pet her.  I gave her a good scratch and carried on.  She continued to follow.  

We got the fence fixed and I let Wrigley in.  The others were equally easy to catch and after a quick check for cuts and whatnot, we put them back in their paddock.  The little Arab – Suzzie – couldn’t resist the cool evening and moonlight, and I couldn’t blame her.  She did a quick lap with her tail in the air, and then was ready to go back into the paddock.  

They got lots of petting and hugs, I was so appreciative of them sticking around instead of doing something foolish.  Whew!

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Remembering the Holidays with Family (a non-violent story)

Posted on November 9, 2014 by Teresa

I’m listening to Christmas music only because I have to.  I’m putting together “the perfect holiday music playlist” for wagon-ride season.  Johnny Cash, Bing Crosby, Patsy Cline — all the old country and crooner Christmas music I loathed as a child.  I love Christmas and Christmas music, I just don’t typically get into the Christmas spirit until I’ve fully digested all leftover Thanksgiving food.  So, roughly December 10th.  

As I put together the playlist of music I grew up loathing, I have somehow replaced memories of passing out from a cigarette smoke/turkey overdose coma in the backseat of the old T-bird while Johnny Cash growled ‘Silent Night’ with warmer memories of family gathered around Grandma’s table as the rain fell on the tin roof of their little house.  

I loved those trips to visit family for the holidays.  The women wore aprons and most wore wigs.  I have no idea what the men did, gender segregation thrived in our households, albeit by choice.  My grandmothers, mother, and I loved being in the kitchen.  None of us grasped nor cared for football, which the men all watched on Gramps’s massive console t.v. (the kind with the record-player in the top, remember those things?).  Or at least, that’s what I think they did.  

At dinner time we loaded Grandma’s poor table with so much food the legs nearly buckled.  Turkey, of course.  Mashed potatoes, stuffing, all of the usual stuff.  I come from a long line of proud bakers, though, and the carb-to-protein ratio at our dinners was probably 50:1.  Pies, breads, cobblers, muffins, rolls, cakes, cupcakes, cookies.  How on earth did they do that back in Grandma’s tiny galley kitchen with only one little old stove?  

The kitchen didn’t have much more than a couple of feet of continuous counter-space, and only a single overhead light.  (gasp!)  She did have an awesome pantry though, with the exact dimensions of a horse stall.  No coincidence, there.  

Grandma and Grandpa bought the old Southern Oregon District Fairgrounds — complete with massive old barn, sulky-racing track, stables, and tack room.  They converted the stables and tackroom into their own house.  This was not a Pinterest conversion.  This was a redneck conversion in every way.  Uneven floors, tin roof, oddly-placed appliances, and trapezoidal bedrooms included.  

So as I fuss and fret over the Christmas playlist and making our holiday wagon rides perfect, I’m reminded of those days in that old converted tack-room and stables that it isn’t so much how it looks, but how you make people feel.  Nothing about that place was particularly attractive, but everything about it was warm.

Happy Trails!

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The MOWP List

Posted on November 9, 2014 by admin

We have a MOWP list.  MOWPs are “Middle of Winter Projects”.  It’s all the stuff that we want to work on but don’t have time any other time of year.  

It’s a double-edged sword though.  The more we grow our business, the shorter our “Middle of Winter” window is.  Yet, the more we grow our business, the longer the project list is.  

And don’t forget the MOWPs we never finished last year.  Our barn is like a graveyard for half-started projects.   

What are some of our MOWPs?  

  • build insulated covers for the stock tanks
  • remodel the bathroom
  • hobble-break all the horses
  • rebuild one of the wagons
  • redesign this website
  • build a couple of Android apps for managing our herd
  • put together our “Cowboy Camps” for next year
  • make pates for next year’s dinner rides
  • make portable sprinkler sets for the pastures

… it goes on and on.  

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Garlic Gadgets, Smadgets

Posted on November 3, 2014 by Teresa

I [heart] gadgets.  And yet, every time I try some new-fangled widget that is supposed to make my life easy, I end up spending more time a) assembling it, b) cleaning it, or c) cussing that it’s not working.  Often, I end up reaching for my knives.   In fact, it was years before I committed to a food processor for the above reasons.  

Garlic, however, frustrated me.  The damn skins, the slippery cloves, my fat fingers.  They all conspired to separate me from my fingertips and season my dishes with blood.  

Then I went to cooking school in Thailand.  Garlic is a big deal in Thailand, possibly moreso than Italy, believe it or not.  When I arrived one morning to my cooking station and beheld a bowl full of garlic — completely intact with their skins and all — I wondered if I was being given some sort of sick Asian torture treatment.  I looked around my station for a special garlic tool — anything, really.  All I had were knives, a cutting board, and my wok.  

Hell.

Then class started.  We tied our aprons and stood waiting for our instructions.  We had a big day of stir-fry ahead of us.  I knew I could probably burn through the vegetables pretty quickly and keep the blood-loss to a minimum, but considered doing the cooking-class equivalent of cheating off your neighbor as I looked around for someone who could mince my garlic for me.  Or whose minced garlic I could steal.  

The Irish pub owner at the station next to me accused me of hitting on him when I tried chatting him up and informed me he had a girlfriend.  Seriously, I wanted him to mince my garlic, no innuendo intended at all.  I don’t see how, in any culture, “You look like you’re handy with that knife” could be interpreted as “Hey hot stuff.”  I returned to my station and decided to cancel any plans for the evening so I could hunker down and tackle my garlic.

The instructor then proceeded to blow my mind.  He cracked the heads of garlic open by smashing them against his cutting board.  Papery skins fell like confetti around his station.  He swept it all aside and picked out the cloves.  They still had skins on them.  He placed the cloves in a neat little pile on his board and then picked one out, which he set in the middle of his board.  

WHACK!  It happened so fast I nearly missed it.  He’d lifted his knife and slapped it — flat-side down — on the garlic clove.  When he lifted his knife away, the little clove lay flat, and the skin slipped off of it and stuck to the blade.  Whoa.  He quickly assaulted the remaining cloves, dusted the skins off his board, and minced the garlic in less time than it’d take me to retrieve all of the random parts of my garlic press out of my “utensils drawer” (read: the drawer that holds crap that won’t fit in the crock by the stove).  

“Okay, now you.” he told us.  We slammed, bludgeoned, smacked, and hacked our way through our garlic pile, everyone producing a bowl of beautifully diced and perfectly peeled garlic in a matter of minutes.  

I’ve since never even considered a garlic gadget.  Nor an Irish pub owner.  

Here’s a video of how to peel and mince garlic. Bonus: once you’ve handled that garlic, you can remove the smell from your hands (who would WANT to???) by rubbing them with a stainless steel spoon. Just hold your hands and the spoon under the tap and rinse your hands while rubbing the spoon all over them.

Posted in Chuckwagon | Comments Off on Garlic Gadgets, Smadgets