Prego-Testing 101
Saturday, 16 January 2010 12:37
Karen Land
Lifestyle
So far this season, cows are helping to temper my longing for sled dogs.
Since I moved to Martinsdale, I've had the opportunity to help out on the Cameron Ranch. My friends, PJ and Spunky, work as cowhands on Gil's family spread just at the bottom of the Little Belts. I have the best of both worlds. I get to go play cowgirl on a beautiful ranch whenever the whim arises, and I can pass on those days when thirsty, snow encrusted cattle stand and stare at the water troughs - ice frozen hard as concrete. A few weeks ago, I helped Gil and the girls pregnancy test cows. I was nominated the official record keeper and all around go-get-it girl. I was also given the very important role of wiping the thick, greasy orange wax off the insides of the ears of cows that were missing tags. The wax needed to be cleared away in order to read their tattoo. After an entire day of ear wax removal, I was amazed to find that my usually rough fingers and hands were now silky smooth. The girls and I decided that we should start scraping and bottling that wax to make hand cream out of it. Unfortunately, this hand cream would be quite expensive because most cows don't stand still while I am trying to decipher their faded number hidden under a gooey layer of ear gum; no, they insist on thrashing their 300-lb. head this way and that way, snorting and spewing spittle in my face. "Karen's Bovine Blend" would be pricey stuff. At the end of the second day of prego-testing, Gil asked if I wanted to give it a try. For those of you who don't know exactly how this process works, I'll give you a quick lowdown.
Read more...
Tiny Terrorist
Saturday, 02 January 2010 09:38
Karen Land
Other Dog
 Recently, Jigs (my German Jagd Terrier) discovered a fresh, hot passion.
In my new home, I have a small, antique woodstove that once was used on a train caboose. The stove body is tall and slender, standing several inches off the ground on four graceful legs.
Jigs took to the stove like Pooh to a honey hive. At first, he was reasonable and reclined on the rug just a few feet away. Over time though, Jigs inched closer and closer until finally he designated the hottest spot in the house – between the stove and the wall – as his and only his.
When the stove is roaring, Jigs refuses to budge from his oven-like corner. He remains sprawled out on the scorching ceramic tile, panting hard like he’d just sprinted several miles in the dead of summer. His watery, red eyes bug out of his head, his pulsing pink tongue hangs to the floor.
Jigs is purely miserable sitting that close to the fire, yet he snubs my pleas to come to the cool kitchen or go out into the snow and play.
Unfortunately, the woodstove isn’t my terrier’s first addiction.
Read more...
|
A Montana Christmas
Sunday, 13 December 2009 12:41
Karen Land
Lifestyle
No matter where Harriet S. Dusenberry roamed across the globe, she always called Montana home.
Harriet, born on a ranch in Lavina on July 24, 1911, cherished the stories from a simpler time growing up on the Trask Ranch along the Musselshell River.
She wanted her 3-year old granddaughter, Dru, to know what a frontier Christmas was like for her as a child, but she couldn’t just sit Dru down on her knee and share her experiences - granddaughter lived in Bozeman, and grandmother lived thousands of miles away in Nepal.
In 1952, Harriet and her husband, Harold, moved to Kathmandu on a two-year assignment with the U.S. Agency for International Development. This was the first time the couple had ever left the state of Montana.
“So my Grandma decided to write me a story,” Dru Dusenberry Robidou explained.
She found a Nepalese artist, named Chaitanya Muni Bajracharya, to create illustrations, showing him an American Christmas magazine and the work of Norman Rockwell so he could visualize the style.
Harriet asked the artist to design a rough draft of painted pictures, but instead, he returned with a gorgeous, finished product. The book cost Harriet several hundred rupees, much more than she could afford at the time, but still she was pleased. The book was perfectly done just as her mind had imagined it.
Read more...
That'll Do
Thursday, 26 November 2009 00:00
Karen Land
Mushing
When I realized this column would be published on Thanksgiving Day, I knew it was time to write about Pig.
Some feelings and memories are so easy to pour into words; others stick inside the head and the heart like honey at the bottom of a jar taking its own slow, sweet time to finally make its way to the lip.
I still can’t speak of my beloved Iditarod lead dog without tears, but when I think of Pig and her life and all of the places we explored together and the people I met with her - because of her - I am filled with thanks.
I might not be able to find the exact words just yet, but I need to start somewhere.
Pig, my great girl, passed away on July 23, 2009 at the age of 12 years old. At the time, she was retired and living in Ellettsville, Indiana with Sue and Larry DeMoss, two amazing friends who offered to care for her in her final years. I will always be thankful to them for providing the secure, loving and peaceful home that Pig deserved. She was in the perfect place when she left this world, surrounded by people who love her just as much as I do.
Read more...
|
As a child, I loved watching reruns of the 60’s television comedy, “Gilligan’s Island.” The idea of becoming one of seven castaways on an uncharted, previously uninhabited island was oddly romantic to me. Of course, it was easy for me to relate to Gilligan, the bumbling and accident-prone crewman of the S.S. Minnow. But it wasn’t just one character that did it for me, it was the hodge-podge of pasts, personalities, interests and hang-ups of all the ill-fated passengers – the Skipper, Thurston Howell III, Lovey Howell, Ginger Grant, the Professor, and Mary Ann – that made the Island seem like a home.
