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Posts Tagged ‘outdoors’

Sundogs and some things to warm you up.

Posted in Musings, Special Stuff, tagged , , , , , , , , , on January 20, 2013 | 8 Comments »


Good Sunday to you. I thought I’d pop in this weekend to honor the coldest day on my planet.

Yup, we are in the middle of a good old fashioned “Wind Chill Warning.” 

Check it out.


Screen shot 2013-01-20 at 9.05.00 AM

55 BELOW ZERO?!

That can’t even be real can it? I mean, once it hits a certain temperature we should just call it pain.

PAIN.


 Screen shot 2013-01-20 at 9.15.32 AM
Now I know that most people living in this world are not acquainted with a “Feels Like” forecast, but there it is up there warning us that our noses are sure to freeze instantly upon exposure, turn black and fall off if we dare to go out uncovered. The “real” temperature is probably only like -10, and, well, that’s doable I suppose.

But yesterday I  went from my house to the pickup holding on to my coffee mug and by the time I shut the door on the passenger side I had added about fifty-seven new curse words to my vocabulary, my hot coffee was iced and my fingers were blue.

So I brought the puppy in from Mom and Pops’ garage, called Little Sister, poured a glass of wine, made some soup and we played dominos.

And today it’s even colder. I’m looking out the window at the sun shining on snow banks that were melting on Wednesday now frozen solid today as that wind pushes ribbons of fresh snow along its surface like rolling smoke.

And even though I knew I’d be risking my cheeks, I had to get out there for a moment to capture it.

Because only in cold weather like this do we get a halo around the sun.


A frozen rainbow without a drop of rain.

A sun dog.

A little gift of beauty as a reward for suffering frost bite.

Take a look. That is cold.

Hair freezing cold.

Snotsicle cold.

Get in through your Carharts, jeans, long-underwear, leather boots, wool socks, cotton socks and to your pasty little toes cold.

So let’s warm up shall we?

Here’s a few options to make you feel warm and fuzzy and get you through this frozen Sunday.

First, listen to “my attempt at making winter sexy” song Winter’s Sweet and get in the mood to make this soup:

Read more about cow dogs and the new puppy in today’s column ‘Coming Home’ published every Sunday in the Fargo Fourm.

Read this blog from fellow North Dakota writer, Ryan Taylor who has compiled a series of his late mother’s columns, also titled “Meanwhile, back at the ranch…” from their local newspaper in Towner, ND. Her wholesome perspective is sure to keep your mind off the weather.

Then, check out this cute illustration of the one-eyed pug from my friend Cheyanne,

A girl needs a dog
go shopping on her Etsy site, “Hang it on the line”  and let me know if you want your own “A Girl Needs a Dog”  t-shirt.

While you’re shopping, buy my album so you can learn all the words to that song! 

And if cute fuzzy puppies, music, reading, cooking and shopping don’t warm you up, just pretend you’re here in the summer.

Wishing you love and a good pair of mittens.

Your frozen friend,

Jessie

 
 
 

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The littlest cow dog.

Posted in Pets, Ranch Life, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 14, 2013 | 14 Comments »

Meet Juno, Pops’ new cow dog.

Aren’t you just dying. She’s so fllllufffffaaaayyyyaaaa!!!

Ahem.

Ok, look beyond her absolute cuteness and you will see one of the most important elements in our ranching operation when spring comes. Every rancher has to have a good dog made to help get cattle out of a brush patch, move them through a gate or push them along to different pastures and Juno is a little mix of some of the best cattle breeds out there.

Take a look at the white markings around her neck and you will see a bit of border collie.  Her little brown eyebrows and fluffy fur is the Australian Shepherd in her.  Mix that with the speckled feet she got from blue heeler blood and it looks like Juno has all the makings of a great ranch hand.

Errrr, she’s so darn cute!

When I was growing up we always had a female border collie ranch dog. Usually we would have that female bred and keep one of her pups to learn from her momma so that when the momma was too old to work, the pup was at her prime.

Pops’ current working dog, Pudge, was a hand-me-down dog looking for a good home. She is one of the best dogs we’ve ever had on the place;  loyal, sweet and always willing to go along on the longest and most grueling of rides. Her only weakness is a thunderstorm.

And time.

See, we’re not sure how old this lady is, but she’s definitely slowing down. We needed to bring Juno home so that Pudge had a chance to teach her some things about life on the Veeder Ranch come spring.

I’m a little concerned that Pudge may not make it that long, but she’s got a lot of spirit and a heated bed, so the chances are good.

In the meantime we will just love on them this winter, feed them up, scratch their bellies and let them know that this ranch is a good place for a dog.




Even worthless pugs who pee on your Uggs.

Yeah, that’s right, I know what you did…

Ah, Juno, you don’t know what you’ve got ahead of you little girl. It’s a good thing you have big paws and a fluffy coat, because there are going to be adventures, cows for you to chase, mud to slop in, grass to roll in and poop to sniff.

It looks a little cold out there now, but trust me, you were made for this stuff.

Welcome to your new life little girl!

And whatever you do, don’t listen to that one…

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Winter Walking.

Posted in Musings, Photos, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 10, 2013 | 8 Comments »


4 PM. Still in town. Hurry, pack up your briefcase. It will be dark soon. Get in the car, turn on the radio and follow the trucks home.

25

45

55

65

Get to the corner. Take a right. Speed up a bit. Notice the sky turning pink. Turn up that song.

Turn left at the white fence. Follow the pavement

Slow down a bit. Check on that  tree. Smile. Still looks mysterious and beautiful tonight.

Careful on the curve. Watch for ice. Hum along now. It’s not dark yet.

Turn left on the pink road, notice it’s plowed.


Over the cattle guard. Stop at the mailbox.

Bills and catalogs and no real letters.

There’s never real letters.

Glance in the rearview. Almost home. One more cattle guard, one more hill, one more turn. Open the door.

Kick off town boots. Strip off work pants. Toss earrings in the drawer. Find wool cap and camera.

Where are the damn dogs?

It’s getting dark.  Chase it down.

It’s getting dark. Watch it coming. Watch it turn from white to blue.

It’s getting dark. Climb. Climb. Climb.

Crunch. Crunch. Click.

Crunch. Crunch. Breathe.

Dogs pace. 100 steps to my one.

Wish I had fur today.

Wish I had four legs. Wish I could roll in the snow like that.

Wish my ears flopped.

Crunch. Crunch. Whew.

Make it to the top. Breathe. Notice the hay.


Remember how we used to pretend they were Frosted Mini-Wheats and we were shrunken people in a cereal bowl.

Sigh.

Follow the fence line. Time to cross. Don’t rip your pants girl. Easy now.


Walk in the fields, follow the horse trail. Notice the elk tracks. Think they must like Frosted Mini Wheats too.

Crunch. Crunch.

It’s so quiet.

Crunch. Crunch. Except for that wind.

Pull up scarf.

Pull down wool cap.

Lean into the weather. Walk on now. Keep walking. Hit the prairie trail. Follow it through the fence. Stop.

Hands on hips.

Look to the north.

Look at those buttes. Love them in white.

Love them against that pink sky.

Love this place.

Love this wind.

Love this damn cold and these damn dogs.

Love this snow.

Wish I had four legs. Wish I had paws.

Wish I had fur.

Wish I could stay out here all night.

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How to warm up.

Posted in Musings, Ranch Life, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 8, 2013 | 11 Comments »

It’s no secret, winters in North Dakota are long and cold. We always know they’re coming, but still they surprise us as we lean into November with brave faces and feed our bodies with soup and turkey and hot dishes (that’s Lutheran for casserole). We wait for the snow as we prepare our Thanksgiving meals and watch it fall as we wrap up presents, bring in Christmas trees, snuggle our families and ring in the New Year with champaign and a bit of dread, not necessarily about the year ahead, but the month we’re staring down.

No, the initial blast of holiday cheer can’t trick North Dakotans into thinking that winter is a party.

Oh no.

No.

Because we still have January. And January is just the beginning really, marching in on us promising unpredictable, below zero temperatures, blinding blizzards, snow drifts, icy roads, and then usually a nice little thaw to tease us before it starts all over again.

January scares me. It always has. And I know it’s coming, I do, but for some reason I find myself worrying that I might not come out of the deep freeze with the rest of the furry animals tucked away tight for the winter.

I worry I’ll start eating hot dishes (Lutheran for casserole) and never stop.

I worry I’ll grow too comfortable with the extra padding on my rear-end and the bulky sweaters and the scarves that hug me and hide me from the elements and I will decide not to emerge with the warm sun.

I worry I might just turn into a hibernating bear-like creature who never shaves her legs or takes off her beanie and walks all hunched over and shivery if she ever decides to move at all.

This kind of paranoia is not healthy. Fear is not a good place to be. So this January, instead of bidding farewell to the holidays, packing out the gigantic Christmas tree and pulling on the wool socks with no intentions of removal, we decided to keep the party going.

We decided to leave the Christmas tree up. We decided to buy more groceries, turn on the oven, pull out the crock pots and paper plates and keep on eating.

We decided to dig out the schnapps.

And the snow pants.

We decided to call our friends and neighbors to see if they’d like to join us as we flung our bodies down the giant hill outside our window.

We decided to clear off the stock dam and turn it into a curling rink.

We decided to use icicles as stir sticks,

drink hot chocolate, sit close together on the couch,

play some games, tell some stories and sing a little.

I decided to make a chocolate cake.

From scratch.

We decided to build a fire and stand around it and then head inside to eat some more.

We decided to laugh in winter’s face.

Take that winter.

And that.

And this.

And this.

And that.

And…

Ummm…

Well…

ooooo…

I think winter won there.

But I’m not scared anymore.

I just forgot for a moment what it is that really gets us through life in one piece. And it’s not just the special occasions that are put on a calendar reminding us to love one another, to be thankful and to celebrate.

No, it’s the every day and the way we chose to live it.




It’s the phone calls that we make that turn into plans to sit next to one another and eat dip and chocolate cake. It’s the way we bundle up against the cold and scream as we push each other down hills, remembering what it’s like to forget everything but the world you just climbed to the top of and flew down.






It’s remembering that sometimes we need someone to pull us up there.

It’s clearing a space for games and music.

It’s the invitation into one another’s homes, into our lives, to sleep on the couch or on the air mattress in the next bedroom and wake up for bacon and coffee and a recap of how someone nearly killed the pug in a sledding rollover.

Because we are made for so many things–work and worry, fear and bravery, singing and listening. Our lungs are made for breathing, yes, but they also work for screaming as snow sprays you in the face while you fly 25 miles per hour down a hill in a sled with your father and your friend.

How else would you find out a brain freeze can start on the outside of your head?

And our fingers are made for working and typing and pointing out things that are wrong with the world, but they also fit really nicely in mittens, as you pull each other up.

I mean, sure, it’s damn cold out there, but our legs are made for walking, hiking, climbing, jumping and standing on the top of things, we might as well use them properly.

See that’s the thing about us northerners. It’s not that we have found a spot in our hearts for the blinding snows of winters, the icy wind or temperatures that dip so far below zero that I don’t even want to mention it. It’s not that we ever get used to the deep freeze.

It’s just that we know, in the deepest of winters, on the coldest of January days, what to do to warm up.








Note: Only four sleds and two skinny little butts were injured in the making of this blog post. 

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How seasons change.

Posted in Photos, Ranch Life, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 15, 2012 | 5 Comments »

We’re right in the middle of a season change, and while it’s technically not winter yet, it kind of feels like it out there. I spend so much of my time documenting my world, watching the leaves fall from the trees and bend under the weight of ice and snow only to come out of hibernation a few months later in all of their green glory.

In North Dakota the four seasons cannot be mistaken. They don’t blend in to one another, they have their own distinct looks, smell and feel, changing everything under the skyT.

And because I am out there in it all year round, taking photographs so as not to miss a thing, today I’d like to share with you how drastically a spinning earth can change our world in this northern state.

Outside my door…


On the branches…


In the grass…


And the thorns…


In the sky…


Outside the barn…



And me.



Happy almost winter everyone. And don’t worry, spring always keeps her promise.

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Happy Hunting

Posted in Ranch Life, tagged , , , , , , on November 9, 2012 | 2 Comments »


Well, as promised, it’s looking pretty white and chilly out there this morning. But I have a feeling there’s no amount of snow and cold that can keep some burly men and brave women from celebrating North Dakota’s unofficial holiday–Deer Hunting Season.

The kids are off school, the coffee has been on since before the crack of dawn, the poker chips have been located, there’s Busch Light in the fridge and some women are preparing to be left behind for camo caps, jerky lunches and long, lonely walks in the wilderness.

Now some of you ladies are probably ok with fourteen or so days of watching what you want to watch, cooking (or not cooking) what you want to cook and a break from discussions about your online shopping addiction.

But for those of you who are curious about those long walks in the wilderness, I would like to invite you to revisit a little public service announcement I compiled a few seasons back (under the guidance of some of the most serious sportsmen in the county) to help make your first hunting attempt with your man a success.

The Ten Commandments for the Hunting Widow

And if you’re skeptical, here’s a little evidence that I’m qualified to deliver this advice.

Yup, that’s me, that’s my deer, that’s my man, that’s my denim jacket and that’s my neckerchief.

Read up and thank me when you bring home the big one!

Peace, love and venison!

Jessie

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Trail Riding

Posted in Community, Musings, Photos, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 15, 2012 | 12 Comments »

It was a beautiful fall weekend at the ranch and to celebrate roundup and the change of the seasons and friends and horses and kids and ranch life in general our community got together for a trail ride.

The Blue Buttes Trail Ride is a tradition that has been organized on and off for years in this rural “neighborhood” that spans a circumference of 30 some miles.

When I was growing up this event was the like Christmas. The opportunity to ride my horse across pastures all day alongside my best friends made me feel grown up and capable and wild and free and a million things that a little girl wants to be when she’s 8 or 9 or 10.

Sometimes it snowed. Sometimes it rained. Sometimes the wind blew and sometimes we got all three. But regardless of the weather, the neighborhood showed up. They showed up with their horses and wagons and drinks and snacks and kids and they rode together on a trail mapped out weeks before that stretched for miles across pastures and cleared fields, through coulees and along fence lines and roads.

I don’t remember anything from when I was a kid about the route we took or the weather really, I just remember being so excited the night before that I couldn’t sleep. I remember riding my old mare, Rindy, kicking my feet out of the stirrups during the third or fourth mile, swinging my leg over the top of my horse’s neck and thinking I was cool.

Thinking that there was no kid in the world luckier than me.

And so this weekend, almost twenty years later (20? REALLY?) I saddled up again to hit the trail with my neighbors. And I have to say, aside from a little horse malfunction due to all of the energy in the air on that warm fall morning, it wasn’t long before I was feeling all those things again.

Cool? Well, maybe it was more temperature related than attitude, but capable and wild and free and lucky?

Yes. Yes. Yes.

And really proud of my community and how they’ve held on to this tradition despite a changing world.

Proud of how they’ve kept their kids on the backs of horses and encouraged them to run.

Humbled by how they swing ropes and hitch up teams of horses to wagons.

Proud of their potluck dinners and generosity and enthusiasm for a lifestyle that is unique and important and tested by the modern world every day.

For twelve miles I sat on the back of a good horse and rode next to a friend. We talked about life and house building, husbands and pets, horses and work.

And we observed our world as it played out before us, young kids, their stirrups barely reaching the bellies of their mounts, kicking and flying back and forth across the pastures as fast as their horses were willing to take them.

Those kids would have gone faster and further if they were allowed.

And we watched families connected as they talked and laughed and moved through the pastures and gates. Old friends catching up.

Sisters laughing and joking.

A big extended family loaded and bundled up in a wagon sharing snacks and stories.

A husband and wife riding quietly side by side, helping one another along.

Whatever’s going on here.

And my friend and I, getting to know one another and the landscape that stretched for twelve miles as Pops pointed out where his mother was born, the dam where he used to swim and the route we took nearly twenty years ago when I was 8 or 9 and knew nothing but those miles and the back of my favorite horse.

Last Saturday I may as well have forgotten everything I’ve ever learned and all the things I’ve seen and have come to know in those years between. I may as well have forgotten I’d ever wanted to be anyone else.

Or anywhere else.

Because I was having good old-fashioned, genuine fun.

And I was the luckiest kid in the world.

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Delusions.

Posted in Pets, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on October 9, 2012 | 3 Comments »

I’ve been meaning to tell you some things about the pug. You’re all so supportive of him, the dog who, despite his sins and misadventures, still somehow finds a way to sleep on the couch.

Anyway, I figured you might be wondering how he’s been adjusting to this new life in his new home over the hill.

I’ll tell you, at times, it hasn’t been pretty…

And sometimes, his ear does this.

I’m guessing it’s probably due to the wind whipping through his fur as his short, stubby legs take his barrel shaped body across the pasture to try his luck at hunting down this guy:

Nope, not much has changed. Despite the new four walls the pudgy canine is still shitting on floors, hitchhiking to the nearest oil sites to see what’s cooking, working on taming the new feline in his life and exercising his delusions of grandeur.

And every year those delusions get, well, grander.

Don’t tell him he’s not a horse. He won’t believe you.

He will also not accept that he is not a cat.

Or a 110 pound cow dog.

Which is working out really well, now that Husband is on board with the idea that this dog could actually become something… well…helpful.

And so Husband has decided to work on it, you know, making the pug the best cow dog on our place. Which I realize doesn’t say much for the other dogs at the Veeder Ranch, but based on what we have to choose from, I’ll tell you, it could be true.

But it’s definitely weird.

Because the pug’s newly-honed talent has allowed for a fat little pug-shaped space in the corner of my husband’s heart.

A bond 4 years in the making…

Now I wasn’t aware this new role and relationship was occurring until I witnessed the pug stare down a small herd of cattle that had found their way to our front yard, pleasantly munching on what was left of the green grass poking out from under the fallen oak leaves and acorns.

Anticipating that damn dog’s next move, I hollered his name.
I hollered “no.”
I hollered “get back here!”

The pug turned his good eye toward me in confusion while Husband came up behind me, scolding me for yelling at the pooch.

What?

He then proceeded to inform me that lately he had been working with the pug on the whole cow-chasing thing, because, well he seemed he was brave enough, and when told to “sick ‘em”  the lab just runs for the first big stick.

So it’s either Husband or the pug who is destined to perform the task of getting those cows out of the yard.

And it seems the pair have found their common ground.

Delusion.

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About Today

Posted in Musings, Photos, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 18, 2012 | 11 Comments »

I have so many things to tell you about the weekend, about the long ride I took with my two favorite people,

about the leaves changing…

and the radio show we performed on on Saturday.

I want to show you this picture because it’s so damn cute…

and let you that we have tomatoes coming out of our ears in case you need any.

I want to tell you about our new kitten and why my fear that my husband likely lost his mind is equal to the fear I have for my furniture.

And I want to show you my new favorite photo.


I woke up this morning with every intention show you all these things  by performing my Monday ritual of coffee and words. But as I stretched my limbs, turned on the coffee pot and let the dogs out the door I got distracted by the way the frozen air leftover from the evening made the stock dam steam as the sun worked on warming the morning.

I stood at the big windows and watched it roll off the top of the water and suddenly I was very aware of the seconds passing. It seemed the season was changing right in front of my eyes and I wanted to be wide awake.

I didn’t feel like Monday morning or the sleep lines that hadn’t yet had a chance to work their way off my face. I didn’t feel like the daunting deadlines of the week or the kitchen that needed a good cleaning. I didn’t even feel like coffee.

I felt like I needed to be on the other side of those windows.

So before Husband could finish buttoning his work shirt, I pulled on my boots, tucking my bulky sweatpants inside the tops as I reached for a second sweatshirt from the laundry pile. I didn’t want to waste time on things like proper clothing. I had to capture this quiet  moment that I was certain to be short-lived.

Because I know that once it hits the horizon, the sun rises fast…and it never stops moving.

It’s always on time.

I know that raindrops dry up.

I know that when the leaves start to change, winter isn’t far away…

And if I would have slept a few minutes longer I would have missed the pair of ducks cutting their way through the mist.

I know I don’t want to miss these moments.

Or these moments.

Or these.

And I know there are so many things to say…

about today.

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Weird.

Posted in Music, Photos, tagged , , , , , , , , , on September 13, 2012 | 14 Comments »

Life out here is beautiful.

Life out here is peaceful and dirty and busy and windy and full of long “to-do” lists staring us in the face.

And life out here can be weird.

My first example: Last Sunday night when we arrived home from a trip to see Husband’s family, I was working on unloading the groceries and figuring out the jig-saw puzzle that has become my refrigerator while talking to a friend on the phone when my dearly beloved husband sauntered into the kitchen with a hammer in his hand and declared:

“There was a bat in the bedroom.” And then he nonchalantly walked over to the fridge to free up some space by grabbing a beer.

My mouth dropped and so did the package of celery that was working it’s way into a nook of drawer space as I screamed into the phone:

“HERE! In the NEW house! Why? How? Whyyyy?”

Husband cracked open his beer and walked over to the cupboard in the entryway to replace the hammer.

I stood there with my mouth open, looking up, over my shoulders, scanning the walls and then up at  the ceiling again, scoping out any signs of additional intruders as he walked over to me, took a sip and said,

“Don’t worry. I got him with the hammer.”

What?

I have combined this little episode with the fact that I’ve  had a golfball sized crack in the driver’s side of my windshield since the beginning of May and a companion chip that showed up around mid June. I’m worried that we might soon be getting a call to pose for the cover of  the “Rednecks of America” magazine because I refuse to fix them. Because out here when you have a thirty mile drive to town behind gravel trucks and pickups that go too fast, I have convinced myself that installing a new windshield is like asking for another giant rock chip.

And so I will not take the risk. Instead, I’m somehow comforted knowing that I already have two giant rock chips and am okay with watching my world fly by this way. Because I know they’re there. Apparently I’m not comfortable with the invented and preconceived rock chip that is certain to appear once I spend money on my already ruined windshield.

That is ridiculous.

Which reminds me of another behavior that I cannot explain and certainly have no laid out plans to change. The dogs. When left to their own devices they continue to flee to the nearest drilling rig in search of leftover lunches, t-bone steaks, enchiladas and a rig hand willing to play fetch for hours and let them sleep in their camper. Each time we decide to trust the hooligans to be on their own unsupervised in the great outdoors we find ourselves scouring the countryside for the misguided pets only to find them miles away in doggy heaven.

And each time we go and look for them.

We can’t seem to take a hint. Feed them t-bones, let them sleep in our bed and keep them forever.

Dry dog food and a spot on the floor? When will we realize that ain’t cutting it?

And when will we get it together and build a damn fence already?

Which leads me to the weirdest thing of all. With all of the trouble we have keeping the dogs we have raised and fed for their entire canine lives at home, we have now discovered that a stray puppy is living in our grain bins and seeking refuge in the culvert underneath our road.  We have tried and failed to capture the little guy, who is more like a wild coyote now than a dog, skeptical and resourceful, but a bit intrigued by the humans who poke their heads in on him to fill his food bowl. And now our dinner conversations have been centered around how that poor pup got their in the first place.

And how we might tame him.

That stray puppy is strange and intriguing and sad mixed in with a twinge of that feeling of childhood wonder and hope that we might save this thing…

Yes, out here, no matter how predictable we think our lives have become, whether or not we expect the daily visit from the cattle to graze and shit in the short grass outside our unfenced yard despite the fact that there are acres to shit upon, we seem to always be a little in awe…

About how the dogs always run away and how we never learn. By the sudden startle of a horse, a swarm of unwelcome wasps, and this pan that has been sitting on this hill for longer than I have been alive and I have no idea why.

Yes, life out here is wonderful, broken, dusty, shitty, beautiful, predictably unpredictable…and just weird sometimes.










Yup.

Weird.

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