Labor Day Weekend 2010 Kate and I hosted the Saturday festivities of our family reunion here on the Albrecht Homestead 4 miles south of Bridger, MT. Great food and Great times were had by all!
Thanks to all that attended and we can't wait for the next reunion!My Wednesday evening ride with Team Heinous. Holy crap it was cold.
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We took the weekend off and headed two hours north of our place to Deadman's Basin Reservoir for some fishing and camping with Jon's sister and family. Approaching Deadman's is like any typical drive in the country until you turn down a dirt road and crest a hill to find a giant lake nestled in between farm houses.
We thought we had the place to ourselves but on Saturday morning, we acquired neighbors on both sides. On our right, the jet skiers who insisted on riding directly on top of our fishing lines - thanks! On our left, the drunks with a boat. They were piss drunk at 9:00 am when they pulled up. I was expecting high entertainment, and hoping for no fatalities. There were neither.
When we returned, nobody asked if we had fun. They only asked, "Was it windy?" This particular reservoir is notorious for wicked storms that whip out of nowhere, capsizing boats and not too infrequently, drowning people.
The answer? I'll let you judge for yourselves.
On Saturday night, a storm did roll through. We hastily gathered everything in camp, stashed the chairs, weighted down our camper awning with massive logs, and took shelter.
We fished for salmon and trout, but caught a fair share of suckers and carp, which are junk fish.
We learned that Gus is fanatical about going after your fish as you reel it in. That dog has a serious chasing issue: squirrels, mice, rabbits, horses, sheep, cows, and now fish. Thankfully, he leaves the neighbors' cats alone.
Every time someone got a bite, he raced over and plowed into the water to attack the flailing fish. This is fine unless you like teeth marks in your dinner and digging fish hooks out of your dog's paw - which did not deter him, I might add. I only had one bite the whole weekend and I lost the fish because Gus tore the line as I was reeling it in.
For most of the weekend, Gus stood a few feet offshore waiting for a catch.
The Falcons brought their canoe and did a good bit of trolling in it. Taya, my niece who has the entire family wrapped around her five year old fingers, caught more fish than any of us! Not wanting to miss out on anything, she would yell, "ARE YOU GOING ON A BOAT RIDE?!?!" anytime we came within 20 feet of the canoe.
One of the irrigation methods used by farmers in these parts involves 20-odd foot sections of gated, 10-inch diameter PVC pipe. In the summertime, Jon and I often help our neighbor Josh put out pipe. If we are lucky, Josh comes to get us in the cool evenings and not in the heat of the day. Jon and Josh are just six months apart. Three generations of Josh's family live on our lane and so they grew up together - they will surely be lifelong friends.
For irrigation, water is diverted off of the Clarks Fork of the Yellowstone River and into the irrigation ditches that snake their way through the farmland. Having irrigated pasture is an expensive, but critical piece of farming out here. We are fortunate enough to have about half of our acreage irrigated and we pay dearly for it. While we don't farm our ground, we irrigate the fields to grow grass that we then lease to a rancher that runs cattle on our place. That money then pays for our shares of the irrigation ditches. Rinse and repeat, every summer and fall.
Farmers route the water into this pipe which has lots of little "gates" that they can open and close to control the flow of water. The gates are spaced on the pipe so that they flow perfectly in between the crop rows.
The pipe is heavy and takes two people to manage. First, you hook up the pipe trailer to the truck or the tractor. Then, if you are me, you get distracted by the old buildings on the farm and wander off.
This doesn't happen to Josh and Jon.
Oh right, we're loading pipe. I supervise while Josh and Jon load the pipe onto the trailer and then we pile into the vehicle and drive to the field.
If you are lucky enough to have three people working, one drives the truck while two pick the pipe off of the trailer, lay it down, and connect it like lincoln logs. The driver creeps just far enough forward so that the trailer is positioned exactly where the next pipe needs to go. It's a well-oiled machine.
It's a big help to Josh to have the extra hands for laying pipe, but to us it is just an opportunity to help out. The work isn't hard. It's a good time to socialize and it feels right to foster the sense of community we feel with our friends and neighbors.
While doing my morning walk in our Boise yard today, I noticed the number of plants abloom with hanging flowers. They are quite pretty. Their languid posture belies the fervor of spring.
These are currant flowers. Our two bushes are loaded with flowers this year, along with our gooseberry (we planted last spring). I had to move to Idaho so I could grow these -- they are outlawed in North Carolina because they are a possible vector for some pine tree disease.
This is our Harry Lauder's Walking Stick tree, also know as curly filbert.
We have lovely, massive bleeding hearts in our front yard.
Not a plant, but just as pretty. A Buddhist prayer flag that hangs in our backyard.
Turns out that the woodpile we stacked (I use the term "stacked" loosely) last summer became a hovel for mice. All of the dogs were extremely interested in the mice, but only our blind dog Cash pursued the mice with the intensity and focus of a Buddhist monk. He barely left that woodpile during the entire trip which was good because we needed someone to, er, watch the fire. Winds can pick up in an instant out at the ranch.
We choose carefully when to have fires and we watch carefully for flying embers and increasing wind speeds when the fire is burning.
Not only can winds pick up faster than you can say snap, severe weather changes are to be expected in the west. This same night it started snowing on our way into a movie in Red Lodge. When we got home, we lit the fire again to have a beer before going to bed. It was so cold outside that our beers were turning to slush in the bottles. The next morning we woke to this scene:
