Countin' cows.

Visited L's ancestral homeland this weekend. It was a final farewell to her mom, as well as an opportunity to catch up with relatives (naturally), visit the farm (any excuse really) and failing to do any fishing (gale force winds and driving rain). Sunday morning greeted us with a dusting of snow on top of the hills--I always forget that the valley floor is at 5500 feet. (So they say. I haven't looked it up.)

It's still calving season there. Lynn has taken to later to over-wintering the steer, rather than trying to get them ready for market by October. He loses fewer calves to harsh spring conditions (I suppose that means May snowstorms!) this way.

Another thing I learned: cows can swim. Well, at least the one that I scared into the irrigation canal figured out how real quickly. One appeared to be caught up on some brush on the bank of the canal. Mama and everyone else had scattered (my Dr. Doolittle powers apparently don't extend to livestock) and he was either hiding from me or really was stuck. I figured that I would have to go get Lynn if he was hurt or so caught up that I couldn't move him. (How much do 3 week old cows weigh anyway?) But as I approach shear panic seemed to do the trick. He thrashed his way out of the bushes and rolled right into the water. He swam downstream a bit, climbed the bank, and ran like hell for mom.

Listened to in the car on the way out: Chieh Chieng's "A Long Stay in a Foreign Land." Highly recommended. On the way back: the first two-thirds of Jonathan Letham's "Fortress of Solitude." The first half was fantasic. Part 2 is a little slow, but I have great hope. I'll have to grab a print copy to finish it up.