Category Archives: Photographs

It seems that the juvenile Red Tails become fairly tame and trusting this time of year at the corrals, waiting for young ground squirrels to come out of their burrows at first light. This pair met us Tuesday morning as we arrived to gather and process our steer calves, wondering, I suspect, what kind of entertainment we were bringing as they retreated to a nearby sycamore to watch. They probably would have stayed closer longer if I hadn’t needed the flash on the little camera, but they’ll be back.

Not wanting to under-romanticize rural living with my recent rants about natural pests, we also acquire new members to our household from time to time. Like my bathroom tree frog that accommodated me each morning by leaping from the basin overflow to a hanging towel and watched me brush my teeth—a fond attachment ending flat-tragic in the door jam with only green, flipper fingers showing. Ahh!

We become such saps when nature favors us with her trust. And almost always, it is the machinery of our progress that leads to their demise. Identifiable by his drooping right wing, Wy-lee arrived with this year’s hatch of roadrunners, claiming the garden and immediate yard as his. Fearless and trusting, he’s after the snails, bashing them senseless and shell-less against anything hard with his beak before consuming our escargot. Predictably, he arrives from somewhere when we’re in the garden. Robbin followed him around yesterday evening with her camera.

Visalia Lifestyle Magazine

Page 16

I was met at the gate after feeding the calves and changing my water this morning by this young Red Tail, hanging around and close to the ground, presumably, in case I might kick a squirrel out into the open.

JRD Bertson 702-558

Remnant of our foray into raising registered Herefords, this son of MWH Miss Advance 558 has been with us since September 3, 2007, garnering limited duty until this past year. He has, however, been the subject of many funny incidents repeated in stories from us all. Slow to grow because we didn’t push him, and not quite the quality of our purchased Hereford bulls, he was a coming three year-old before we used him, and then sparingly. Year before last, we gave him work with our late calving cows segregated along the creek. Each time we added a little bunch, he was there to meet the gooseneck, on the run at the rattle, even if we were hauling horses. We failed to tip and train his horns down when he was young, hence his nickname: boss of all the bulls, going wherever he wanted.