Up and Back

Cats ride for free

 For the purists, summer begins on the solstice in June, for most, it begins on Memorial Day, but for Scott Valley alfalfa growers, it begins when hay season starts.  And, more specifically, it begins when the swathers fire up and start mowing down hay.  

There is usually a span on a couple days, usually in late May, when the farmers start getting restless.  They stare at the skies, then they check, and re-check, their weather apps, waiting for the perfect window of good weather.  When the coast looks clear, they hop in their trucks and start doing laps around the valley, checking to see who was brave, or dumb, enough to start cutting.

Fortunately for me, I couldn't do any of those things this year because I was so far behind, I was still under my machine, changing the oil and prepping it for summer.  I finally got the big red machine ready to go just in time, too, because just when I put on the the last fresh cutting blade, I could hear the distinct whine of a swather motor in the neighbor's field.  And so begins the daily ritual.

Dogs do too

Someone asked me once what cutting hay is like.  You start with cutting a few rounds around the outside of a field, usually 4 but some farmers do 3, then you cut a straight line, either in the middle or along an edge, and start going up, then back.  Repeat that a million times and at some point in late September you've caught up on a year's worth of podcasts and you're done.  It's a job I started doing with my dad as a small kid.  First I'd just ride along with him, then he eventually let me take a few passes, and eventually I was on my own.  A hundred years later, I'm still at it.  Up and back, on repeat.

The Country Club

The view is ok.  I guess.

 I'm a member of a Country Club.  No, don't start humming the Travis Tritt hit from 1990.  This is a genuine, legit country club.  Think: manicured golf greens, goose filled ponds, a driving range, and a cold beer at the 19th hole.  Then think what would happen if the apocalypse happened and the golf course went feral.  It's a cattleman's dream.

A friend of ours purchased this abandoned golf course, one on which I used to play when I thought golf was a fun and worthwhile hobby, and let us put cattle on it to graze down the overgrown grasses.  We spent a few afternoons fixing fences, meeting the neighbors (who had a lot of questions), and adding gates and water troughs.  When the truck released the cattle -- a load of young heifers -- they were in awe.  Not of just the jaw-dropping views of Mt. Shasta, but of the knee high grass.

Release the hounds!

So now, checking the cows is the perfect excuse to grab an old rusty 9-iron, hit a few balls that have been dredged up from the pond, and sit back with a cold one and enjoy the solitude and the view.  Now that's my kind of country club.