Sweet meat!

I received something pretty groovy in the post a couple of weeks ago...
'Twas a parcel all the way across the seas from a place called Utah.
A lovely bloggy friend saw this t-shirt

in a store somewhere and thought of me!

Should I tell her now that I am vegetarian?

Heh. Kidding Kate!

~~~
Now I should point out that - while I AM definitely a carnivore -

I am not a 'meat preacher'.

I don't care if you, or your parents, or the next-door neighbour are vegetarians.

I firmly believe that people's bodies tell them what they need.

Sometimes I only feel like a big plate of stir-fried veggies.

Sometimes I crave oranges.

And sometimes I get all lethargic and cranky,

and I know it's time for some red meat.

Some people just need it more than others.

Some people don't seem to need it much at all.

And that's okay with me.

~~~

Heck, my sister was a veggo for a decade.

Then she went got pregnant and her body was all

"FEED ME MEAT".

And so she did.

(Happiest day of our father's life!)

~~~

Of course we all grew up helping our parents produce great beef cattle.

Each animal was nurtured and given the best we could give it.

And its purpose, besides living well, was to provide beef.

To me, it was (and is) a real and honourable thing to do.

To provide sustanence to other people.

We (my brother and sister and I) assisted when it was time to butcher

to restock our own freezers -

never thinking for a SECOND that it was terrible or gross.

It was the most natural thing in the world to us.

My job - as a child of 10 or 12 - was to help skin the fresh carcase.

I took great pride in the long, clean slices cleaving hide from fat.

We had never been taught to shrink from blood or sightless eyes.

It was more than matter of fact. It was everyday life.

The warmth and rhythm of it was intriguing to me.

And the inky early morning cutting and bagging of the sections,

and the production-line mincing and sausage-making,

was always kind of fulfilling (if you'll pardon the pun).

My family worked as a team to make it happen

watching the satisfying rise of bagged product

in the industrial freezer in our laundry

as the sun rose steadily over our busy industry.

Breakfast on those mornings was well-earned and hearty.

~~~

It was with real shock that - in my teens at boarding school -

I took in the shuddering aversion to such tasks,

of those who had never actually experienced a farm.

Who somehow managed to put themselves into the hooves of a bovine,

and imagined the 'awfulness' of their end.

And who certainly could never, ever picture themselves

taking part in the elegant science of butchering.

I watched and listened in silence.

Just as I watched them eat bolognaise sauce with gusto on their noodles,

with a quiet wry smile.

~~~

Having recently gone from the artful nothingness of being a 'spin doctor'

in my decades of City Life,

to the dirt-under-nails reality of living as a beef producer

in my new take on Country Life,

I can tell you one thing for sure and certain.

Whether it's you or your parents or your neighbour I am feeding (or not),

I know that NOW we are doing something real and relevent.

It's a choice that may not make us rich,

and it may not bring us fame,

but I really couldn't care less.

We provide.

We provide a commodity that nourishes many.

And that is a wonderful, enriching, real reason to work.

I sleep pretty well at night.

~~~

So no...

I won't tell you what to put on your plate,

not here, and not in person. Not EVER.

I'll happily sit by you in a restaurant and sample your

mushroom risotto or olive tapenade or spinach soup.

I'll never wonder why you choose to partake of beef, or abstain.

I'm just not that wired that way.

Just as I won't tell you what religion is best for you,

which sexual orientation you should follow,

what bank to invest your hard-earned into,

or what music should soothe YOUR soul.

(And I kinda anticipate the same respect from others... and you.)

~~~
Of course blogging can come across a bit like preaching sometimes.

Except that it's a two-way thing.

I love the two-wayed-ness of it most of all.

And if there is one thing blogging has shown me...

it is that people (on the whole) are fabulous, generous creatures...

whatever their food, religious, sexual, musical or banking choices!

Oh, and it has also re-confirmed

my strong belief that...

Thanks Kate!

:-)

BB

Eye Spy

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with 'B'...

(Remember Bay Lulic aka Bella? Original story here)

...

I spy with my little eye, a cow who saved a calf from starvation.

I spy with my little eye, a cow who took that orphan on as her own in an instant.

I spy with my little eye, a cow who is part of our family now.

I spy with my little eye, a cow who is one of the best mothers ever.

I spy with my little eye, a cow with only one working eye.

(A fact that never impeded her ability to care for her adopted 'son'.)

...

I spy with my little eye (a couple of weeks later)...

a cow with a new problem...

Something which makes life a whole lot harder for her...

I spy with my little eye...

Pinkeye.

A serious infection that has blinded our darling Bay Lulic.

Lots of antibiotics and TLC and eye cream later... she can see shapes again.

So the crashing into trees and fences has lessened a little...

And the need to walk her in each day from up the paddock so she can find the trough for a drink, is a little less urgent.

Oy, the DRAMA.

I wonder... you reckon the TV networks need inspiration for a soap opera cow?

Dirty work

It's been a big week this week - a week of 10-hour days spent at the yards, a couple of hours before spent preparing for, and after spent dismantling and cleaning up.

It's an organisational Everest (for me anyway!) getting all the eartags sorted, vaccines organised and kept chilled, cow and calf lists printed out ready for notation and mothering-up, food and drink prepared for everyone... well, it's just big.

My eyes are scratchy and bleary and I have even managed to get injured.

(Honestly I am hopeless, but more on that silly saga later.)
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This post is about filth.

Dust and dirt and filth that one must inhale and observe and do one's best to ignore.

(I always feel like sticking my little finger out while drinking an imaginary cup of tea when I refer to myself as 'one', don't you?).

I have to admit I don't have many photos of the actual branding process this time around - I was just too busy taking part! I would have been pretty darned unpopular if I had downed my tools and called on the production line (i.e. Mr Incredible, my dad, my brother, the kids and a couple of other helpers) to halt and pose.
Trust me on this.
Their senses of humour just don't stretch that far.
I do have some quick snaps of the haze and muck to give you a clear mental image of my workplace (if you get my meaning).
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Before the cattle arrive, the yards can a be a peaceful place...

calm and sturdy and serene...

Even pretty if you use your imagination just a little.

Then the low roar of hooves and horses and swishing and mooing arrives...

and the dust and the flies...

(Hello, it's Dash the seasoned stockman bringing in the mob!)

Basically what I am saying is that branding is dirty work.

The yards soon become a dustbowl of busy bovines as the stockmen (and women!) move them through to be sorted. The cows get treated for buffalo fly (the bites can cause quite severe irritation to cattle and horses... and people, if the complaints of the kids following the mob are to be believed. Note earlier photo of Dash and the swarm).

The calves are drafted off from their mothers to be later 'marked', tagged, assessed, castrated (if they are male and not to be kept as bulls) and vaccinated.

.

While all this sorting out is being undertaken, Violet and a friend played Barbie dolls beside the cattle crush (where the cows move through single file) oblivious to the cacophany!

Never mind the muck on the ground - it's the orange chiffon today!

Of course, we do take time to stop and have a cuppa occasionally -

we reflect on the activity of the morning, the state of play in the cricket and tennis

(and the laundry ahead of us!)...

Those boots tell a whole story on their own...

not a pretty story, but a story nonetheless!

Of course not EVERYTHING is filthy at the yards...

some things are held aloft above the muck specifically to distract the photographer.

Oh dear... sorry.

Someone wanted toes to nibble on last post, if I recall?

Gotta go get ready for another round tomorrow...

See you when the dust settles again!

Tease...

I might have mentioned things are a little hectic and dusty

and frayed at edges here at Granite Glen this week...

It's stud branding time which means that we muster in all our best cows and calves, separate mums from bubs and then 'mark' the youngsters so we can identify them and follow their progress over the coming years.

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It's full on and furious.

It's hectic work.

It's hot work.

It's very, very loud work.

But, occasionally, in the midst of the chaos and cacophony,

you can find peace and silence,

if just for a moment.

And here we have a rare BB image with her most darling baby niece, Paris...

and yes, I was doing a little gentle nibbling here people.

Can you blame me?

She's scrumptious!

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Most posting when the dust settles slightly -

be assured/scared...

there are LOTS of photos...

The Big Dipper: A tale of Tuffy

If you recall, I alluded to a bit of a bumpy rollercoaster-ish kind of ride in these parts, in the pre-Christmas period. And I'm guessing I shouldn't keep people hanging on through the New Year (cause I have BIG THINGS planned for the New Year in this little ol' black blog...)
...
You ready?

Coffee and tissues at hand?

Okay then...

Remember this calf?

Our amazing little injured bull calf and his incredible Mum...

To catch people up, this little boy was discovered beside the public road running through our place. He was badly injured after apparently being hit by a vehicle. We had thought his mother had abandoned him, but when we reunited the two after bringing him home for nursing, she showed her true colours by standing over top her injured baby to feed him.

Well, in the lead-up to Christmas he became the House Pet, as my visiting niece Salina followed the rest of the family in completely falling in love with him.
.
As well as being (pre-accident) the perfect package physically of a baby Brangus bull, he showed us the most calm, gentle, optimistic nature. Despite never being much around humans before, he was quiet and happy to lay his head in welcoming laps as we tended his needs. He seemed to know we just wanted to help. We consulted a couple of vets, brought him water daily, injected him with anti-inflammatories, moved shade and offered hay - and in return he never stopped trying to recover.

.

And while ever an animal is TRYING, we tend to keep trying to help them. He was nicknamed Tuffy for his resilient attitude despite clearly being in pain with his injuries.
He continued to try to stand, regardless of the fact he could never actually get up.

His legs simply would not hold him.

His mother continued to come back to him a few times a day to check on him and feed him. The wonderful Bay Lulic (the real name for this amazing cow) kept K114 (the 'name' we gave Tuffy's Mum when she was a calf) company in the paddock by our house. Bay Lulic's adopted orphan would frolic around the game little Tuffy as if encouraging him to 'come and play!'
.
Our place is very hilly, and each effort to stand would take Tuffy further and further away from the house. A couple of times each day we would re-tie the blue tarp over his newest position, refill the knocked-over water containers, push the hay closer and give him another cuddle.

.

But it just wasn't enough. It was very hot and he would breath terribly heavily. One shoulder swelled up massively and he gradually lost weight. Then about 10 days after we brought him home, I saw it. That dull look in the eye that an animal will get when they start to fail.

And I knew. I just couldn't let it go on.

He was just never going to get up.

He would never recover.

So I decided (such a heavy, heavy decision),

Mr Incredible quietly agreed,

and we waited until Salina went home.

.

The next morning I took Tuffy a drink, a small sheaf of hay, scratched his jaw in the spot he liked the most... and then I took the kids for a drive in the truck.

.

Mr I and Lila (our lovely neighbour who discovered Tuffy initially) put the little guy out of his pain. Afterwards they did a bush autopsy and discovered terrible, extensive bruising, one severely dislocated shoulder and a broken back thigh bone. (Someone asked me in a previous post if we would eat the meat if we put him down - I have to say it would have been hard because we had bonded with him, but this really wasn't an option at all with such injuries).

.

Tuffy had put up such an incredible fight - we couldn't believe how shocking his injuries were. He didn't stand a chance really. It made the pain of the decision we made a little easier, mixed with guilt that we should have done it earlier.

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The kids were upset initially but we explained how Tuffy would now frolic pain-free up in Heaven, just like all the other calves. Dash accepted this, but for a while Violet was beside herself that she hadn't said goodbye properly. I assured her that he already knew how much we all cared. We wiped away our tears and climbed from the truck.

.

But our job was not over. We had to take K114 back to her paddock - she had been patrolling the house paddock looking for her Tuffy and we needed to re-settle her as best we could. So we reloaded the truck and drove her home.

She was reluctant to get off the truck on arrival - she knew she was missing something.

Why am I here? Shouldn't someone else be getting off the truck too?

Is he hiding somewhere in the shed?

And off she went...

Straight back to the creek where she had seen him last in this paddock.

.

I broke up a bit at this point, I admit it.

A Mother's Love is a powerful, powerful thing.

She did her very best.

We all did.

R.I.P. Tuffy.

I hope you are frolicking free...

Vignette #2: A Real Good Mother

We have had lots of highlights and a couple of lowlights with our calving this year.

We pride ourselves on breeding low-maintenance cattle and excellent mothering cows. But when something happens that leaves a calf unusually vulnerable, we humans try our best to nurture these poddies and replace the missing Mama cows with our own brand of TLC...

but sometimes it's just not enough.

...

Our latest drama has fallen into this category.

I haven't really been able to bring myself to blog it til now.

It's a little bit confronting, but I reckon the latest twist in the saga warrants a post.

A few days ago, while we were away, a calf was found badly injured in a paddock beside a road.

I felt sick when I heard the news And it was not just any calf but a gorgeous show-quality bull calf. This guy was not a baby (like this dude was) ... the injured calf was about ten weeks old and glossy and in very good condition. He also had a great calm nature and appeared very alert, despite his injuries being quite extensive.

...

Some great teamwork between my Dad, our wonderful off-sider Lila and our neigbours kept this little fella alive. They kept giving him water, erected a tarp to shield him from the worst of the sun and injected him with anti-inflammatories and antibiotics. He could not walk or stand at all, with suspected spinal or hip injuries. Depite the constant care and visits, no-one ever saw his mother near him. We knew which cow she was, but with no sign of her during the regular checks and drive-bys, we decided she thought he had died and abandoned him.

...

So on our return to Granite Glen, we slid him into a horse float and brought him home from the paddock for some intensive TLC. We treated him and got him to drink, but could not tempt him to eat hay or calf crumbles or grain. It was very disheartening. Despite his good condition and great temperament, he had to eat something to have a fighting chance.

...

Mr Incredible and Dad decided to bring his mother in this afternoon. We didn't know what good she would do - as much as we tried to encourage him, and as hard as he tried, his legs JUST wouldn't work. He buckled and fell at every attempt. And she seemed to have shown very little interest in him since his accident.

...

On walking off the truck, the cow bellowed and immediately (despite not calling for her at any time before) he answered. They called back and forth as we moved him gingerly into a yard from the horse float, sliding him down the tailgate. As we released her into the yard, he tried once more to stand...

But to no avail.

The cow marched around the yard, seeming to look for a way out.

Her udder was very full and probably uncomfortable and we thought about trying to milk her but decided to leave them both for the night to settle down.

We sighed heavily, put some hay in a feeder and checked her trough

before heading up to the house.

It had been a long, hot day at the yards for us all,

and we were all tired and (I have to admit) a little bit 'down'.

As we prepared to shower and get dinner ready,

Dad called out from the yards.

Mr Incredible went outside to see what was wrong.

And then he told me to grab the camera.

So I did.

And this is what I found...

This cow has literally reversed up to the paralysed calf ...

And patiently stood over him, allowing him to suckle from each teat...

And I would say that each night (three in total)

that he was out there in the paddock beside the road,

while no-one was looking or driving by...

That this is EXACTLY what she was doing,

to ensure her baby got the nutrition he needed.

Even if she couldn't understand why he wouldn't get up and follow her,

or stand and suckle like normal....

I swear that is a tear of joy and relief you see there...

...

This will no doubt be an ongoing story,

and you need to know it may not have a happy ending,

because sometimes it gets very, very real out here...

but I know this much is true:

whatever the ending is like,

it will be a story about

a REAL GOOD MOTHER.

Vignette #1: Are You My Mother?

I am calling this a vignette - one of two I will post in the next few hours. You will see why when the second arrives - if I'd tried to jam it all into one, it'd cause some sensory overload. Trust me.

...

It's December - so that means it's hot, darned hot here and it also means that there is a serious influx of poddies and calving and babies around here.

...

We have a miraculous poddy calf-foster mother setup going on near the house;

my little sister is very VERY close to giving birth to a new Paradise baby;

And my sister-in-law Curly will present my brother with their FOURTH child any day now.

(Yes, now you mention it, some kind of strange race appears to be going on.)

Basically it's some kind of set-up designed to make me clucky.

*fingers in ears*

LA LA LA LA!

...

What? It's NOT all about me?

Oh...

Well, anyway, I promise to tweet any news I get from my dear sister (via a watchful Nana who is hovering nearby) but in the meantime...

I shall bring you cute.

...

We spent today vaccinating some of our calves.

Like humans, calves need protection from various diseases that can be deadly.

The vaccine they get needs two doses, so they get one now and one at branding in January.

We muster, we sort cows from calves, and we treat the youngsters.

It means a fair bit of bellowing (from the separated Mamas)

and lots and lots of bovine cuteness.

Like this little guy...

He is only about two days old, has just arrived in the yards after a long walk from the paddock with a mob of about 80 cows and their calves. He's a bit dazed and thirsty and probably looking for a milk break...

...but he seems to be just a tad confused.

He sidles up to Mr Incredible (and his steed Cherokee) as they head to the trough for a well-earned drink of water...

Apparently our calf is under the impression my husband is his Mum...

Are You My Mother?

'You walk a little like her...

and she was here in front of me just a second ago...

hang on...'

'Was Mum wearing blue today?'

'Aaaaaaggghhh!!!'

...

Kids... they never just pay enough attention!

The Beauty of our Bella (The Eye of the Beholder)

Something pretty special arrived here at Granite Glen this week. No, I am not referring to the calendars, which have mostly gone off in a cloud of dust to all sorts of amazing places. (More on that in a later post).
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Something was delivered here in the last couple of days that is just so beautiful, I cannot even begin to share the blinding glory of it. Well, I could, I suppose. But there are some things that the camera struggles to fully capture and translate - some kinds of beauty that supercede mere pixels and hues. I know I won't even go close to being able to show this particular being in its honest embodiment of the divine.

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But I guess I should try ...

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Are you ready?

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You may need sunglasses.

.

And please put down any hot beverages you may be likely to spit.

.

I am warning you - this particular femme fatale is unlike

ANYTHING you have ever experienced.

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Meet... Bella.

Bella is a cow.

Not one of our sleek black beauties busily breeding beef babies out in the paddock, though...

She is a dairy cow.

She is a dairy cow with one eye.

She is a dairy cow with one eye and a HUGE bag of milk.

A dairy cow with one eye, a huge bag of milk, and the kindest sweetest gentlest nature EVER.

I pretty much kiss this cow every time I check on her.

Her and her newest admirer.

The poddy.

This little guy who has struggled with his grip on life ever since his Mama died soon after he was born.

The dude who REFUSED to suck a bottle and gave me backache and heartache as I force-fed formula to him three times a day. Who leaned against me as he submitted to my efforts to keep him alive before flopping his head down dejectedly after each feeding effort... making me feel very much like doing the same!

.

Well, this same little rascal decided that maybe...

just maybe,

a teat ...

a real one...

might be...

something he could...

maybe ...

get into.

(See that tail flick? That's a barometer of milk flow and belly happiness.)

Let me tell you,

The Poddy thinks Bella is the most divine thing ever placed on this earth.

And he has the swollen belly and contented naps to testify his devotion.

And one eye missing or not...

I have to agree with him.

I can trust her with the Poddy and with his Little Handlers.

Her one eye radiates her beauty -

it is so gentle and kind and sweet and giving.

I just heart this cow.

Can you see the tiniest little glimpse of the beauty I am talking about?

Or do I sound like a raving loony?

And while you are mulling that one over,

What's the most beautiful thing YOU have seen today?