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Hundred year storm

Originally written October 9, 2013

If you live in the northern Great Plains, you know about the storm last week. If you live elsewhere, you likely have not heard much about it other than through social media.

I don’t know where to begin describing this disaster. Disclaimer: we only had rain and wind at our place, the temp stayed at about 39 F. I have seen pictures and heard second-hand accounts of what happened west of me.

I should start by describing the people. I have the privilege of knowing probably 40 or 50 people who ranch in western South Dakota. You’ve heard of the seven degrees of separation? In West River SD, it is no more than two. To have such a well-networked group of people spread out over such a large geographical area is something you have to experience to really understand. “Networked” is a stupid term to use, because it brings to mind the wrong images. These connections didn’t develop over evening social hours during the Big Convention, or invitations on Linked-In. These families are co-dependent on each other. An example is spring brandings. Spring brandings are social events, and yes there often are drinks involved, but so is a lot of hard work.  Nothing demonstrates teamwork better than brandings.  If you have never been to one, you should.  Everyone has a job, and the whole event grinds to a halt if someone is slacking.  Young and old, male and female, each person has a job.  It’s something to behold.

You see, the West River community is not held together by the same things most of the rest of the country is. Life doesn’t revolve around the local professional sports team. Nobody is keeping up with the Kardashians, and there’s no water cooler to rehash last night’s “Dancing with the Stars” episode. A lot of times there isn’t even cell service to txt their bff’s 2 find out what they r up 2, or to find out what is #trending on #twitter.

They are held together by their livelihood. It takes a stubborn, independent person to raise livestock for a living. You can’t give up easy. You have to work hard. The paradox is, you can’t do it all on your own. As I mentioned earlier, nobody out there brands calves all by themselves. Neighbors are always helping each other when the job requires it. I don’t know of another profession that so closely links neighbors.

If there is a group of people who can get through this, it is them.

So what are they going through? Yes, financial loss is the most obvious. A bred cow is probably worth $1800-2000 right now; her 550 lb calf probably averages $925. Yearlings are worth around $1200. Rancher A loses 30% of his herd of 450 pairs. That’s $381,375. It’s more than just money. It was this fall’s paycheck, next fall’s paycheck (remember the cow was bred), and the calf factory…all gone.

But not really. They are still there…along the fenceline, in the creek, out in the open. Imagine fifty or more 1300 lb dead animals laying in the bottom of a muddy creek. Can’t just leave them there, all the water downstream will be contaminated by their decaying carcasses. How do you get them out? How big of a hole do you need to bury them? Some ranchers are having to find the answer to these problems this week.

And they aren’t just animals. These are the beasts that have been providing a living for their owners. You get to “know” them…which one will eat out of your hand, which one raises a good calf each year, which one crawls fences.

There are some people who, in their infinite ignorance, believe the deaths are due to negligence. How disgustingly disrespectful. As if these ranchers have not dealt with blizzards before. As if they did not care about their animals. As if the cows themselves would have been fine if they had just gotten a little care. I have seen photos of dead cattle laying right next to the hay bales their owners had put out for them, trying to keep them alive. This was not a normal South Dakota blizzard. If it was, I promise you it would not have been much to talk about. Just a couple feet of snow and a stiff breeze is all it would have been, and it is normal to get that. But not right after a couple inches of 36 degree wind-driven rain. Not in October while cattle are on summer pasture without wind protection. Not without their winter hair coat. It was not a typical SD blizzard.

And these aren’t typical people.  Typical people would have the ear of the media, and they would be a political football in DC right now.  Typical people would be waiting for help.  But they aren’t typical.  They are working together, helping each other, moving on.  Proof can be found on the Atlas Blizzard Ranch Relief and Aid facebook page.  Real people helping each other.  These are not do-nothing people. If you would like to help those affected by the storm, a fund has been established by the Black Hills Area Communty Foundation to aid in the recovery.

Most of all, these good people need your prayers and encouragement.  The emotions involved with this ordeal I believe may have a larger impact that anything.  Pray for the marriages and families, they are under enormous stress right now.  Pass along the story of what happened and how those folks are dealing with it.  Thank a farmer or rancher for what they do.  Eat a steak this week and thank God for the family that raised your meal.

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Change

A couple evenings ago, Isaac and I went out to move some cattle to fresh pasture.  He's always game for anything involving "work," but with extra enthusiasm when the cows are involved. 

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He would have walked all the way out to the cows had I let him.

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This pasture has a little sentimental element to it.  My grandpa ran cattle here before my dad.  One of my very first cattle-working memories was having a picnic out here next to the corral with Grandma Vivian and my cousins while the men were doing something with the cows. 

After we got the herd moved, we parked on another hill and spent a while enjoying the evening.  I taught Isaac about litter and that it is good.  Not the empty-beer-can-in-the-ditch litter, I'm talking about the dead grass and organic matter that covers the soil surface between plants in a healthy rangeland.  It keeps the soil cool, retains moisture, and helps rain soak into the ground.  We didn't get that in-depth, but it was fun watching him explore the rocks and grass and forbs growing there.  We sat quitetly as a flock of Canadian geese flew right over us – low enough that I was whispering "take 'em!" under my breath.  We listened as Wilson (our dog) howled from the yard, answering back at the coyotes to the east and south.  It was a quiet enough evening that we could hear the cows munching on grass from 75 yards away.  It seemed a crime to start the 4-wheeler to take us home.  It made me think about how I need to find another old plug of a horse for the kids to ride for times like this.

We idled home and had a bowl of ice cream – a Perman tradition, especially after a long day trailing cattle like we had.  I took Isaac up to bed after the usual routine.  After prayers, as I was tucking him in, he said, "Thank you daddy for working with you."  I didn't cry but sure did catch a lump in my throat.  I said, "You're welcome buddy, thanks for helping me."  He said it again before I closed the door to his room, just to make sure I understood.  I don't need to explain any more.  It is safe to say I will remember that exchange for quite some time.

I came across this picture in one of the photo albums at Grandma's house last winter.  It is taken in the same pasture, just from a different hill.  Just like in the first picture, you can see Lowry in the distance, as well as "Haystack Hill" to the right of town.

Things change.  Grandpa's Herefords have been replaced with Angus.  The dam in the old photo is washed out.  We've added some crossfences and water tanks.  Lowry probably has 50 fewer people.  My photo was taken instantly with my smartphone rather than on film, no dark room required.

However, some things don't change.  Haystack Hill is still there.  There's still four-legged bovines wandering these Lowry hills.  The coyotes howl just the same as they did back in the 60's when that old photo was taken.  Litter is still important. 

In 50 years, I expect Haystack Hill to still be there.  I expect that cows will still be roaming those gumbo flats.  Most of all, I hope Isaac will be able to have good memories of this land; of times when he learned something about the world around him, and learned how to coexist with it.  I hope he learns the value of working until the job is done.  I hope he learns the importance of sitting on a hill and taking it all in. 

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It’s complicated…as it should be

I'm learning to appreciate diversity and complexity more.  Nature seems to favor these over simplicity and monotony.  It frustrates us as humans because we have a much harder time managing all that complexity.  Maybe we don't have to manage it.  Maybe we can just be part of it.  I listened to several speakers at the Grassfed Exchange in North Dakota a few weeks ago, and in a nutshell, what I learned was that it takes more skill to work with nature's complexity, but the skill is rewarded by healthier and thus more productive natural resources.  It fits with something I remember Dr. Tom Noffsinger (cattle handling expert) say in another venue about the need for humans to greatly improve our powers of observation if we are to be successful in relating to nature.  We like to compartmentalize different components of a system and max out each components production or value, sometimes at the cost of other components in the system.  The interactions between these components are very important for the overall health of the system.  Push things out of balance and there are consequences.  One example I can think of is chemical application on rangeland.   I think there is a place for it, please don't misunderstand.  But I cringe when I read a herbicide brochure describing anything that isn't grass or alfalfa as a weed, and worse yet, taking away from the "productivity" of a pasture.  Wrong answer.  Removing invasive noxious weeds, ok (although I'd rather use biological control methods).  But taking out everything that isn't grass?  That diversity is there for a reason, and it's rather conceited to think we understand all the implications of messing with that balance.  There is not a plant we have that I haven't seen a cow eat at some point (except leafy spurge).  The more I learn about plant interactions, below-ground biology, and cattle diets, the more repulsed I am by our (my) want for simplicity for management's sake. 

Set aside 20 minutes and check out this thought-provoking video.  Mike Rowe, host of the TV show Dirty Jobs, is a hero for those of us who work with our hands.  In this video, he speaks of his experience castrating sheep and how American culture has forgotten the importance of manual labor.  It's well worth your time to watch.  Trust me, there are much dumber ways to spend 20 minutes on the internet.  It is such a good video that it might warrant its own follow-up journal post some snowy day this winter.