Why Cattle are Valuable in Alberta's Forest Reserve and the Feral Horse Controversy

As sourced from the ESRD, there are currently 980 feral horses just on the Southern East Slopes, and it is suspected there is actually a higher count. Currently, in Alberta there are capture permits out to cull some of the horses. It is important to keep in mind that based on the stocking rate formula, established by the ESRD, that in ONE grazing season (based on a five month grazing season) the number of 980 unmanaged horses is equivalent to 3435 cows/calf pairs.   Conservation and grass management is not only important to producers, the Alberta government, and livestock, but to other wildlife on the hills. ** Numbers are calculated through the current stocking rate formula, for a complete breakdown and photos of the formula from a current grazing permit, send me a line & I'll get back to you. littleprairiebaby@gmail.com **

Tucked deep into the Albertan forestry on the eastern slopes of the untamed Rockies, cabins are hidden away and cow camps look like a snapshot from one hundred years ago. Grazing permit holders are still cowboying the old way, packing salt in on horseback and pushing their cows high into the mountains to graze. Although far from cell phone service and bright lights, with approximately 16 500 cow/calf pairs coming off of these ranges in the fall, how they are managed is far from primitive. 

The provincial forest reserve is a land mass that stretches around 23,000 square kilometres and has had cattle grazing under government management since 1915.  In 1930 the provincial government, replaced the federal government, as the acting custodian of the reserve and continued to implement the same values that were brought to light in the early nineteenth century. Conservation of timber and watershed were recognized as important; therefore, cattle were brought into the forestry to help protect it against fires by clearing away dead grass and brush. This proved to be mutually beneficent, as the continued success of ranchers hinged on the need for more grass. Since the grazing permits’ inception in the early 1900's, both the science of range management as well as the overall health of the forest reserve has grown.  

Unlike government leases, grazing permits are set up on a preference quota (PQ) giving the rancher rights to graze a certain number of Animal Unit Months (AUMs).  The ranchers are required to follow a number of legislated conditions; one condition is to have a Range Management Plan (RMP). Ranchers work closely with government employed agrologists in the writing of their RMP, a valued manual which is meant to stay current and updated. Management strategy is held in high esteem by both ranchers and the Alberta government alike and details down to salting techniques, dates of grass use and range riding are all recorded. Producers today know the value of educated range management, going as far as helping to fund their own vegetation inventory studies and continuously putting forth the effort to trail blaze in the way Alberta's forestry is grazed. 

In the late 1990's, ranchers utilizing the forestry grass, bound together to form the Rocky Mountain Forest Reserve Association (RMFRA) because they recognized the importance of a collaborative effort to continue to promote stewardship of the land. The association is made up of a board of directors and members who pay fees of $1 per AUM, with a current total of 83 000 AUMs in the association. This association has also received grants to help pay for studies to promote rangeland health and its impact on livestock. The collective group of ranchers strive to produce unbiased and educated studies for themselves and the public alike. In the past, this group has completed studies on wolves and feral horses and their impact to livestock health, prescribed burning of timber, and  recreation and land use. The RMFRA has been recognized and received an international award for their conservation efforts, but director Keith Kinnear humbly puts it, "For the most part it is in our best interest to graze properly as we are the first to feel the impact of overgrazing."

With the cow/calf sector being critical to one of Alberta's leading industries -- beef production, grazier Jim Bauer says, "With no calves, there is no beef. A beef cow can take rough range land pastures and make relatively low quality forage into a big healthy calf in the fall." Beef production doesn't just help feed the world, but continues to sustain many farming/ranching families and create a wealth of jobs inside the industry. It is noteworthy to see the provincial government and producers working hand in hand to provide guardianship to the forest reserve. 

Home Folks

My friend Carmen and I camped in these coulees, mucked in that creek and shot gophers in the pasture. We've ridden horseback, quads, and even an old skidoo around that yard. We've slurped black coffee, sat in the warmth of the wood burning stove in the kitchen and listened to stories at the table. It is in these moments, I am so grateful for 'home folks' and to have grown up in a place where neighbours are the truest sense of community - they are like family. 

Alberta Beef

Long Love This Land

Now, the video is public-as it should be!

Yes and amen.

 I long love this land!

Muck Boot Give Away!

A post written in the spring, a few years ago, generated a bit of interest on my blog. It wasn't a mouth watering recipe, some crafty photos, or yapping about everyday life. It was a post about Muck boots.  Yes, the warm, dry feet kind of boots. A thing worthy of a post in itself, let's take a gander at that ol' post, shall we? This time we are throwing a give away in at the bottom, read on, dear ladies. 

Ladies, let's talk boots.

I bet you're enthused, sitting there with your cup of coffee, thinking I'm going to chat fashion with you. You're thinking about those Frye boots or a nice pair of Lucheese that you've been wanting.

I'm here to tell you about a whole new realm in fashion.

Hollywood here thinks she would like to chat about boots. Do you see the reflection of white in her sun goggles? The fact that the goggles were busted out is proof that that white won't last too much longer.

Kids from the prairies are part mud.  You probably didn't grow up here if you haven't had your gum boot fall off , trudging through that ooze, and  kept on going in your sock feet because your feet  were so cold in springtime weather.

We still have feet of snow on the ground, but it won't be long 'till we are swimming in sludge. A big ol' nasty, mire of nothing but pure dirty, that makes a grown man grin as he digs trenches in the lane. That huge ball of fire in the sky is packing heat on, some of these afternoons, and my little girl has discovered the joy of puddles. Trucks are filthy, the farmers in the coffee shop are grinning, and gophers are running around on top of the snow. We are busting out the Muck boots.

I mentioned Muck boots in a previous post and I received an email from a lady thinking it was funny that us Albertan's call our gum boots Muck boots. Girls, we don't just call em Muck boots-they are an actual brand of insulated rubber boots here that are meant to keep your feet warm and dry all year long. They are a thing of beauty.  Pair them with a dirty ol' Carhartt coat and you're Redneck stylin'. I love these bad boys so much that I'm writing a whole post on these blessed chore boots.

Back in the day there weren't such luxuries as these treasures. Ranchers would wade out in the sludge to check calves and come in with stained socks much to their wive's dismay. I'm sure no one really minded that much; you're just thrilled Spring arrived here.

One of my favorite famed 'muddy' stories in the family took place right where my folks live now. It was my Great Grandpa's place many moons ago, the legendary hero we all called Pappa. Years ago, when Charolais bulls were relatively new to Canada, these big beasts got out and were heading to get in with the heifers. My dad was out with Pappa in the barnyard soup when Pappa started hollering to beat the band at my Uncle, at the top of the pasture, to cut the bulls off. With all the bellowing Pappa's teeth flew out of his mouth and landed right in the slop and manure. Losing his teeth paused the hollering, but Pappa just gave those teeth a quick wipe, popped them back in his mouth and commenced whooping. Only in Alberta- we don't let the mud and manure get in the way!

*******************************************************

Now, lucky for you goof troops, this post will lead to one of my readers, in the USA or Canada,  receiving a pair of Muck chore boots, delivered to your door, to fit your feet. I was so pumped about this give away. There may or may not be a neighbour lady who has shown up at my door step with a pair of rubber boots, that were both of the right foot, one being size seven and one being size nine. I'm secretly pulling for her, because who could use a pair of chore boots more than this lady. 

This is where it seems some of  you seem to get a little muddled. Somehow in the part where you read the words, and then in your panic on trying to figure out how to enter the fool contest, I lose y'all.  If you have trouble, please e-mail me at littleprairiebaby@gmail.com, and I will only laugh at you a little. No, I'm just kidding, I won't laugh, but I will drag your sorry self through the process step by step and show you how to make yourself eligible. 

There is only ONE MANDATORY way to enter yourself, visit the Muck boot website, peruse around, come back here, leave a comment and tell me where these boots would get worn. 

For THREE ADDITIONAL entries (this being four separate entries in total) please leave an ADDITIONAL COMMENT FOR EACH ENTRY. (I don't make blog contest rules, I just follow them.)

-"like" Muck boots on FB-tell them Cheyenne with Little Prairie Baby sent you leave a separate comment letting me know.
-Pin this to win this! Slap a photo on Pinterest and leave a separate comment to tell me.
-Blog, tweet, or FB about this contest--and guess what? Tell me about it, in a separate comment!

Good luck! Contest closes Friday, September 21 at 9:00AM, bloggy time. (Thanks Linda, for reminding me what month it is!)

Best of luck, Auntie Sue!

Cow Camp

Cow Camp

 Away in the mountains, where grizzly bears live,

 Grandpa Bill has a cabin so neat. 

He stays overnight when he's herding his cows,

 and cooks up his beans and his meat. 

 When I grow bigger and able to help, 

I'll go out there as his man.

 I'll help build the fences and chase the odd bull;

 I'll be ready next year, if I can!

 --written by Grandma Betty Kilgour, for her grandchildren

To read more about this cow camp, click here.

Haulin' Salt

My lil' ears were burning, when they once caught a less than positive comment about taking salt out to the cattle. I'm always a little startled at words like these, people want their cattle to have been treated humanely, and if my children were deficient in trace minerals-they get what they need. 

In most parts of Alberta, beef cattle need to be supplemented with salt and other trace minerals to maintain excellent health. Better reproduction performance, overall weight gain, and improved general health is found when their diet is enhanced with trace minerals.

Cattle out west on grass for the summer. 

Pass that salt shaker, sister.

Hauling salt out west is happiness like a summer day for me. It means time away without a phone, scratches house work off the list, and allows me to strengthen my innards with some of the beauty around me. It's a boost, ladies. 

The salt boxes get pretty beat up by moose & elk. Wild horses and all sorts of creatures can be spotted with their tongues hanging out.

When you hear folks wanting to put a negative spin on things with "know your farmers" you just holler out an amen and keep in mind that optimum health in beef cattle is a slam dunk situation for everyone. Producers and momma's serving up supper included. 

I think ol' white face up in the front looks hilarious, camera caught, flapping her tail around. Remember, hilarity is in the eye of the beholder.

(A note from the management of this here blog house---let's be sure, that this comment wasn't about cruelty to animals, but just why would we haul salt to our cows? They would never do such a thing in their part of the world! Then some small comments about our food being so salty. Egadzooks!)

Home Again

When I ask my mom about round up in days gone by from when she was young, she covers her eyes and shakes her head. Shows like Heartland might give you a romantic idea of what a round up in the mountains might look like; mercy, I tell ya, there are too many stories in the family that aren't suitable to immortalize on my blog.

The cows are home now and I'm happy my husband is back in cell reception. Things were quiet this year and went without a hitch. It was snowy and cold, that wet cold that get's down into your bones.  When we popped in to see the neighbours, the girl that was riding with them out there had a mysteriously bright looking sunburn on her neck, with nary a ray of sun in the sky, you knew it was damp - the dye from her red scarf leaked onto her skin.

They're ba-ack!

My Dad and Uncle rode up to the 'top end' one year, in minus fourty degree weather and trailed strays back into corrals down at what we call the junction. They got back to the cabins around 10:00PM and when I gasp, "you could have froze to death," Dad just says they almost did. I'm glad the ugly weather this year pales in comparison to others. As much as we know a cold snap will help bring any of the cows left wandering the bush down, I'm quite content with our Indian summer.

I love the term Big Sky. It reminds me of who I am.

One of the boys I grew up with married a lovely lady from Calgary. She always gets such a crack out of things when I say my husband is out bringing home the bulls and that I'm on pins and needles waiting for him to be back in cell reception in case I go into labour. I know she pictures me out in a sod house with the wind a' howlin' and my babes round my ankles praying for Daddy to come home. That's fine, she can picture things like that because I picture her with her homeboys in the heart of the city, waiting for her man to bring her a latte from Starbucks.

Just so you know, Rebekah, if I had a clue how to run photoshop, I would put your picture right smack in the middle of the herd with a rope in your hand and poop on your boots and send it as a post card to the unit you work on .I am going to get you out here one day to help haul water and stoke the stove and maybe you could explain to me what a dishwasher and that thing they call the tee-vee is. I'll send an invite with the pony express on Monday and maybe we'll see you and the boys sometime early January.

Times are a Changin'

My Grandpa was one of the most well read, well travelled, and intelligent men that I have ever known. He journeyed the world with an international organization, C.U.S.O, throughout the seventies and eighties to help local people in  second and third world countries improve farming practices. He was always open to learning and progressing as a person, and as an intellect. Well, almost always. He was also a Scotsman: a stubborn Scotsman.


While years passed and farming practices changed, my Grandpa liked to stick to the tried and true, tested method. One year while painting the big shop on the home place, my Uncle hurried along with a huge roller brush. Looking over and seeing Grandpa methodically painting away with a little brush he commented, "Dad, why don't you get a roller like me? It goes way faster."


"This has worked well for me for the past twenty years."






Things did work well for Grandpa over the years.  That's why we never argued with him while he continued to fork feed by hand daily to feed well over a hundred head of cows, while the new front end loader sat in the yard.


As time passed and my Uncle began to farm with Grandpa, Uncle Ian decided it was time for a new combine. Keep in mind this isn't the early 1900's or anything, this was the time of big bangs, probably somewhere in the early 90's.


Grandma loved to tell the story about Grandpa coming in to put his long red underwear on and crawl into his winter coat when the temperature was somewhere near thirty degrees Celsius (mid to high eighties Fahrenheit). Grandma must have thought the stress of harvest was really getting to him, because as much as a person loves heat, it's not exactly common practice to parade around in clothes like that with the warm prairie sun beating down.


My other Grandpa (Larry) farmed the neighboring quarter to Grandpa Bill and couldn't figure out why the combine was working the field with the door hanging open. After he was cornered, and an explanation of his strange behaviour was demanded, we heard something that we would laugh about for years to come. The long underwear and open door were desperate attempts to stay warm in the new combine, one with air conditioning! A luxury Grandpa had never known. He didn't know how to shut it off, and was too stubborn to ask for help!


With harvest 2011 wrapping up for many farmers in the area, I wish you much luck with your air conditioners, not to mention the GPS systems. If you are having trouble, look up my Grandpa Larry, he'll come and help you shut it off and you don't have to be embarrassed by having to ask your son.

Muck Boots

Ladies, let's talk boots.

I bet you're enthused, sitting there with your cup of coffee, thinking I'm going to chat fashion with you. You're thinking about those Frye boots or a nice pair of Lucheese that you've been wanting.

I'm here to tell you about a whole new realm in fashion.

Hollywood here thinks she would like to chat about boots. Do you see the reflection of white in her sun goggles? The fact that the goggles were busted out is proof that that white won't last too much longer.

Kids from the prairies are part mud.  You probably didn't grow up here if you haven't had your gum boot fall off , trudging through that ooze, and  kept on going in your sock feet because your feet  were so cold in springtime weather.

We still have feet of snow on the ground, but it won't be long 'till we are swimming in sludge. A big ol' nasty, mire of nothing but pure dirty, that makes a grown man grin as he digs trenches in the lane. That huge ball of fire in the sky is packing heat on some of these afternoons and my little girl has discovered the joy of puddles. Trucks are filthy, the farmers in the coffee shop are grinning, and gophers are running around on top of the snow. We are busting out the Muck boots.

I mentioned Muck boots in a previous post and I received an email from a lady thinking it was funny that us Albertan's call our gum boots Muck boots. Girls, we don't just call em Muck boots-they are an actual brand of insulated rubber boots here that are meant to keep your feet warm and dry all year long. They are a thing of beauty.  Pair them with a dirty ol' Carhartt coat and you're Redneck stylin'. I love these bad boys so much that I'm writing a whole post on these blessed chore boots.

Back in the day there weren't such luxuries as these treasures. Ranchers would wade out in the sludge to check calves and come in with stained socks much to their wive's dismay. I'm sure no one really minded that much; you're just thrilled Spring arrived here.

One of my favorite famed 'muddy' stories in the family took place right where my folks live now. It was my Great Grandpa's place many moons ago, the legendary hero we all called Pappa. Years ago, when Charolais bulls were relatively new to Canada, these big beasts got out and were heading to get in with the heifers. My dad was out with Pappa in the barnyard soup when Pappa started hollering to beat the band at my Uncle, at the top of the pasture, to cut the bulls off. With all the bellowing Pappa's teeth flew out of his mouth and landed right in the slop and manure. Losing his teeth paused the hollering, but Pappa just gave those teeth a quick wipe, popped them back in his mouth and commenced whooping. Only in Alberta- we don't let the mud and manure get in the way!

Remembering Big

Around 100 miles west of our home, across the prairies, into the foothills, and finally in the mountains is where  family history runs deep and my heart lies. Our cows are taken out there in June and pushed up high in the hills to grow fat and sassy. They'll wander down in the fall when it starts to get cool, ready to come home.
  
The range has been in the family for years. My heart grins that my daughter will make her own memories there, and hear about the memories of her family's past.
 
Stories that are vividly remembered and told over and over because history is so important to us. Stories about when her great, great Uncle was riding along with his five year old Bobby, in the bush, they came across a creek and the little guy said, "Dad, what's the name of this creek?" A reply came, "Well, son, don't   you know this is Bobby Creek!"

      
The same Uncle was guiding a televised moose hunt, when they came around a bend, onto a creek bed, and stumbled across a grizzly bear. Faster than you could spit, he was off his horse, rifle in hand, and a bear on the ground. When this hunt was shown on TV, it's the one time mom's family was allowed to stay home from church on Sunday and watch the hunt. To this day, these creeks are still named Bobby Creek and Grizzly Creek.
 
One creek crossing, that's referred to in the family as Wet Socks was aptly named after my Grandpa's  mishap. A hired man found him sitting by the creek, drying out his socks over a little fire, where he'd obviously fallen in while he was out checking cows.
 
One of the best stories of a trick to pull my Dad has passed along to my husband. After a good, heavy wet snow, give a tree a good boot while you're riding by, and the next guy get's covered in snow.
 

My mom grew up riding through the range at a very young age. While her love for these parts grew strong, so did her ability to ride a horse. I heard on a few occasions from my Grandpa how good at riding Mom was.

  

Mom tells stories of my Grandma, bringing five children out in the summer to play and make memories. She cooked huge meals in a little cabin, with no running water or electricity. She would bring her typewriter and sit and clunk away in the beauty of the wild, as there were no extra house chores to do, or people phoning or popping in. 

 
Grandma had an ability to tell stories about  life. She wrote for most national farm magazines,published several books, had stories that were heard over CBC and Drumheller radio, and many recall her hilarious weekly columns for the Red Deer advocate that would include stories about being 'Out West.' Grandma's stories were never exaggerated, our family simply remember's big! I'm blessed beyond belief to continue to pass down these stories, and am  fiercely proud to be a part of this family.