Warhorse

It is dusk and rains come across the Ka'u Desert.  The horses stand at the gate, hoping I will open it onto the new pasture, but they must wait.  This morning I went to see if the old gray mare, my father's "warhorse" in former days, had passed.  I hoped so.  She had fallen and could not get up.  Her time had come, but she had lingered, lying there under the sky.  I had put my hand on the gun to put her down, to put her out of her misery, there on the ground.  But a voice inside me had said no, that she would find her own way to the other side. Strong-willed horse, you were never afraid.
When I told my mother, who had fed her daily for the last three or four years and who could not bear to see her dying, that she had indeed gone, she said: "So she made the leap."
"Yes," I said.

Multi-dimensional

That is ranch life.  The day before yesterday I spent the entire day saddling colts.  Today, blessedly, it is raining.  I celebrate by gathering electronic and paper documents for our annual workman's comp audit. Click, click, click, scan, convert, download, send.  Resend.  Usually I turn Pandora on to get through the robot dimension. "God Doesn't Take American Express."
My daughter and I have decided that there are a lot of similarities between Pomeranians and I Pads.  They are both amusing, clever little pets.You buy them so that you can take them around and show all your friends.  You buy them cute  and expensive costumes and accessories.   Marketing genius. 
I have a lap-top.  It's not so cute.  It's more like a hound dog.

Saddling Colts

This is as close as I get to a spiritual activity.  It is also emotional, physical, and intellectual.  It is something that you do with your whole body and mind.  With your energy and your alpha waves.  With your compassion, your creativity, and your strength.
You are offering them a culture.  Your personal cultute.  Your version of reality.  Your way of life.  It had better be a good way of life.  So getting a saddle on a colt reaches deep into your life. The young horse will question you in their wordless way, and you must have something to say for yourself, for your species, for the order of the world. 
They come to this willingly.  They give you the benefit of the doubt.  That is the miracle of horses.

Doing It

Rode hard for four days last week.   Blissful, punishing. On Wednesday we moved herds, on Thursday we sorted cows that had gotten mixed up and moved them back into their proper pastures, Friday we walked 400 mama cows and calves 3 miles to new pasture, Saturday we had a little branding -- 125 calves or so, lots of British Whites.    On Sunday I cleaned tack and in the late afternoon rode some of my young horses that are not quite ready for the high pressure situations that come up routinely in ranch work.
Yesterday, Monday,  did Honolulu, a farm-to-table demo with Chef Mark Noguchi and farmer Shin Ho for the American Farm Bureau annual convention. Met Andy Tranh and Amanda Corby.    Mark broke down a short-plate on stage, which is a little bit like mud-wrestling only with tallow.

culture cont.

I repeat myself, I realize.  But perhaps the best kind of thought is the one that comes back.  That circles the  words that it is trying to herd into the light like a sheep-dog. 
The so-called soft disciplines of culture go much deeper than we grasp at this point.
We have valorized the engineers and the economists, the financier and the venture capitalist, the scientist and the system analyst, the statician and the adminstrator for so many long years. 
We defined what was serious by its dollar value.  Then we systematically destroyed the values that gave the dollar its value.  Now we don't know what to do.
More grieviously we don't even know why anymore.
The why never was something that you could just say and be done with, like the ubiquitous mission statement.
Why was where you came from, who you loved, the beloved horizon where your dreams and fears lived, the possibility of a world made by your own hands.

Boots, Culture

Wore through another pair of my favorite cowboy boots - Olathe Muleskinners - yesterday.  These lasted me about 4 years.  I used to wear through a pair a year, I was cowgirl-ing so hard.  Actually these could have lasted a couple more years if there was a shoe repair shop on the island.  I send a pair like this to Drew's Boots in Oregon to be re-heeled.  They told me they were beyond repair.  The thing is they are still pretty much water-tight.

It occurred to me this morning that we don't have any kind of energy crisis, food crisis, water crisis.  We just have a heck of a culture crisis.  We adapted our culture to cheap energy.  Now we are going to have to re-adapt.  I'm sure we will bitch, moan, and fight every step of the way.  But material reality does not change; we have to.  And my god, it's not like the culture we have now is all that perfect.  A less wantonly industrial culture will be quite a relief to most people and to the planet.

New Year, Ranch Life

This year started very auspiciously with my father's annual New Year's Eve Party -- lots of family and friends in my parent's garage, lots of kids setting off fireworks, lots of huli-huli pig.  We played Texas Hold'um for brass rivets and laughed at each other.  The New Year came, we were all a bit amazed to still be awake, hugged each other, helped to clean up, and went sleepily into the new year.
Yesterday we had a branding.  We worked about 125 calves - vaccination, castration, and worming.  It is probably the worst minute of a cow's life, but it is all done for good reasons and as quickly as possible.  Then they go straight back with their mothers.  We had a skeleton crew so the ranch kids really had to pitch in, which is a satisfying thing to see, the next generation hard at work.  My father roped calves on Kualii, my brother's black Apaloosa, and roared encouragement at the kids.  It was so hot that no one had an appetite for lunch for a long while after we were done.  In the afternoon a great bank of cloud rolled in from the east and mist raced across the mountain pastures.  My puppies got lost, and then I found them.  In the night it rained.
Today I replaced the tire that I shredded last week driving the flat-bed.  That was a bit of a wreck.  I still need to get the fuel line re-attached properly, that and the driver side mud flap. Everyone who saw the tire was impressed.  The guy at Lex Brodie's said, "Ho, you no fut aroun'!"