It was one of those subzero days, back in early Alderspring history before hired help. With frozen wooden hands, I finished the feeding of 6 tons of grassy alfalfa hay, and jumped down off the 4 foot high bed on the back of the rusting 1959 Chevy Viking ranch truck. It was good that I was finished, because the Viking was near the end of the field, idling across the bumpy and frozen waste in low gear, driverless. Most people around here feed cows like this. They just pointed truck to where they hoped it would drive on its own, popped it in gear, and ran back to jump on the moving bed or trailer the truck pulled. Then, they flaked off their cargo of hay to the hungry beeves. In the barely marginal practice of cattle ranching, it was unlikely that you would afford to hire a driver; you just “made do,” as we were.
We were between draft horses. Up until a couple of years before, we steadily fed with Pet and Pat, my lovely team of Belgians. But I lost them, sadly, to the tragedy of old age, and my new team of Suffolks, Red and Snap, were not yet ready for work. So we had to truck feed. It’s what most people do, and they are alone as they do it.
And sometimes, as you’ll come to note, dear reader, that solo hay feeding can cause quite unexpected problems. Here’s a word of advice: you might not want to feed those cows with a new truck.
Sometimes a kid helped me. I recalled one night, 11-year-old Melanie was driving the big Viking, and those semi tires on the real duals got inextricably stuck in a drifted over ditch. No blame to the driver; the ditch was invisible on the flat snow-covered field. It was an icy subzero night and we were cell-phone less. We would have to walk back to the ranch.
Since the old and rusting orange beast of a truck was missing a heater, Melanie had the presence of mind to dress very warmly. It was a good thing she had.
It was about a mile and a half away, over the river bridge. We couldn’t see the warm lights glowing from home due to the steady snowfall. Fording the river, it would have been only half a mile. But that was unthinkable given the weather and the darkness; there were places that the Pahsimeroi was over 10 feet deep. Despite the cold, our stupid but loveable mutt dog Bamer-Sue decided to swim and left us (he made it back before we did). We had to hike over to the bridge. We made it OK, but we were both near frostbitten, and grateful we didn’t get turned around and lost on the featureless blizzardy night.
I learned my lesson on that one: when feeding or venturing to the other side of the ranch, you had better be ready to tough it out; maybe for the night. There’s one night I recall having to do that. It was 30 below zero, and I slept in the back seat of the four-wheel-drive carryall I had driven over there. I couldn’t run the heater very much (I didn’t trust the rotting body to keep carbon monoxide out). I had a bedroll in there, but still froze. It was too far to walk at almost 2 miles away from the house. I did have a cell phone and told Caryl I might not get back because there were 200 calving cows with newborn calves being born in the brush, and I needed to check on them, getting them up so they didn’t freeze to the icy ground. And so, there I was, wandering around in the frozen river bottoms, poking around willows with a flashlight, seeing what I could see, making rounds every hour or so. Indeed, there. There were calves to tend to, so it was a good thing I stayed (besides, I think I was younger and tougher then).
Besides getting stuck and stranded, there were other hazards of running a driving feed truck alone. I recall my older rancher friend, Jack, so proud of his new royal blue Dodge pickup (“It was only one week old!”) hooked to the feed wagon. He finished forking hay from the last of the hay wagon, jumped off, and dusted the hay off of his pants (got to keep that new truck clean!), looking forward to warming up after getting near blasted by the frozen wind. He had left his best friend blue heeler cow dog, Sherm (for the Sherman tank, which he did have a strange tank like resemblance to) in the truck as he fed. The truck wasn’t going fast by any means; it was in “granny gear,” what we call low range 1st gear. He hardly had to walk faster than his regular long-legged walking pace to reach the driver’s side door.
Sherm saw him coming and, ecstatic, jumped up on the door against the closed window, wagging his stubby tail, eager that the boss was about to rejoin him! And in that moment, just as Jack reached his ungloved hand to open the door, the lock clicked shut. Sherm had pressed the door lock down on the door panel with his happy paw.
Jack rushed to the other side only to find that best friend Sherm had already taken care of that lock, too! And then, with a sickening dread, he turned to eye the situation ahead that he already knew in the map of his mind: he had only about 100 feet of field left before the end of it would come, marked by the rickety barbed wire fence at the edge. Beyond the ancient wires was a 75 foot cliff that bordered many of Jack’s terraced fields, typical for where he ranched, right against the abrupt rise of the 10,000 foot Continental Divide.
Jack quickly pondered his options and came up with only one. He sprinted ahead to the edge of the frozen field and started wildly kicking rocks along the fence line placed there for years of three generations of his family, decades of rock picking this hardscrabble hayfield. Good thing they had placed those stones there. Little did they know that one could really come in handy someday, for such a time as this.
When you might need a rock.
The rocks were frozen in the ground, quite like concrete binds stones facing a rock wall. He kicked the rocks frantically until his feet ached; a brief glance up told him that the truck only had 15 feet to go. He stole an ever-so-brief glance toward movement in the cab.
Sherm was still happily gazing at his best friend through the window. Wagging. Jack looked down and kicked harder.
Finally, a good sized granite rock yielded to the blows of his now smarting toes. He hefted it above his head, and ran for the pickup, yelling at Sherm in his best bellering and angry sounding voice. Sherm moved away from the window, anticipating Jack’s final entry. The boss was finally coming back!
Entry it was, albeit slightly unorthodox. From deep within his muscle memory, Jack called on his mid-1960s high school basketball prowess, and volleyball-sized-rock launched through the air. Rock center-punched the window, and contacted yielding safety glass explosively. Rock and glass hit seat, startling Sherm against the passenger door, now looking at the boulder he shared his seat with. Jack plunged his hand gingerly, quickly through the jagged hole in brand new pickup window, pulled lock button up, opened door, and crashed his butt into the bed of brittle on the otherwise spotless seat. In one fluid motion, he slammed both feet to floor: clutch and brake.
The chrome accented shiny blue truck lurched to an abrupt halt on the rocks of the field boundary.
As Jack gasped for air, he rested his heaving forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, and then looked up.
There was nothing but barbed wire and blue sky ahead of him, and below, a nice view of the Freeman Creek valley. He had stopped 5 feet from the edge. As he caught his breath, he slowly looked over at Sherm, on the other side of the rock; fur and face were glistening with shards of broken glass. Sherm was panting with pleasure. Boss had arrived.
And Sherm happily wagged his stubby tail.
And so dear friends, we always leave the window open if our best friend chooses the warmth of the cab over the blizzard blast outside when we feed the stock.
You should too.
Daniel Jardien du Maurier
To my knowledge and experience navigating around your site, I have not come across an archive of your sublime weekly newsletters. I was recently extolling your innumerable virtues to a local butcher while commenting on the wide (and utterly interesting) range of topics covered. Assuming that I haven’t overlooked such an archive, any possibility of creating one?
Much enjoyed Sherm’s excellent adventure!
I’ve had adventures of my own in more than fifty years of canine companionship but thankfully none quite as hair-raising…
Glenn Elzinga
Daniel
Thanks so much for your kind words about the Sherm story. The funny thing about Sherm is that he was a one man dog. He’d just about take the arm off anyone else who tried to reach out to him! Jack’s pickup truck was always safe, provided Sherm didn’t inadvertently lock the doors while it was rolling!
So, Daniel, if go to Organic Beef Matter’s main page, all of the newsletters are archived there. You can search by the three subject matter lines on the top bar, or just scroll through…
Here’s the main page link:
https://www.alderspring.com/organic-beef-matters/category/regenerative-organic-ranching/
Enjoy!
Glenn
Alderspring Ranch
wendy perkins
Beautiful writing…what a tense and, almost tragic story. Whew.
Who knew, that the finest meat on this magnificent planet, was brought to you by ranchers with exceptional writing skills. Thank you for everything you do…it’s always 110%.
Love from the tropics…Wendy 💖
Caryl Elzinga
Wendy! Really great to hear from you! Thank so much for your kind words; we sure appreciate your partnership in Alderspring and your constant encouragement! We have the best customers on the planet! -Glenn
michel andre
Goeden morgen in belgie Ik lees al lange tijd uw nieuws brief en ik ben echt onder de indruk Ik ben beenhouwer geweest ik had dat ook graag gedaan in bc canada mijn broer heeft daar ook een hondert paar koeien maar mijn broer zijn familie daar heeft er geen of toch weinig belangsteling voor IK ben 70 jaar en was ik wat jonger nog was ik u kommen op zoeken en een paar maanden per jaar mee in het vlees kommen werken al was het maar om op zaterdag of zondag als er in het werkhuis geen werk was on zo eens op de ranch te kunnen zijn Volgend jaar ga ik mijn broer bezoeken en kom ik eens langs Michel andre belgie
Glenn Elzinga
Michel
So great to hear from you in Belgium. I almost was able to read most of your original language note, as I was brought up around the Dutch language in my household and with other immigrant friends of my parents. But I am 56, and have forgotten more than I can remember!
Great to hear about your brother in Canada; was wondering if it was in Western Canada. I would be happy to visit with you and show you around if you make it back into the US next year. Just let me know in advance before you come so I can plan on connecting with you as I may be in cow camp in the middle of them mountains (very difficult to get to, and often out of cell service).
I’m so glad you like the newsletters, and I appreciate your correspondence!
Happy Trails, Michel!
Glenn
Alderspring Ranch
Bruce Watters
Hi Glenn and Family,
I am now a routine customer and a huge fan of your product, principles, and prose. Thank you for your weekly emails as they remind me of my grounding and youth. I now reside up in Eagle Id. and love it.
I was born and raised in Santa Maria, Ca. and worked extensively with livestock. I worked at arguably two of the best three local steak houses specializing in Santa Maria Style BBQ. I was also a long term gopher for my Father’s Elks club BBQ team who competed very successfully in same. I have some closely held secrets I’m willing to share if you ever have a question (e.g. pinquito beans and sourcing / seasoning).
I will share one secret now relating to authentic SM style appetizers. Linguica, specifically authentic Portuguese variety. Cattaneo Bros. is a brand that is the best I have ever had with the exception of my Grandfather’s home made. I have eaten this sausage at every BBQ for over 50 yrs and it is exceptional. Unfortunately, their shipping up here exceeds the cost of the product for some stupid reason; I routinely order live abalone / lobster / fresh tuna for reasonable rates…go figure.
As my Family loves your sausages…we just devoured a package of your garlic version last night ( w/ your ribs:)…I had a mild epiphany. The quality, as in real beef range flavor, of your meat is perfectly suited to this style of sausage. The real meat flavor shines in the traditional formulations. Given the substantial influence of Basque population in this area combined with the obvious talent of your sausage chef, I highly suggest a trial in authentic, high quality beef/pork linguicia. There is so much junk out there with milk / starch fillers that is pure junk. Your outfit could pull this off!
I will be making my own in the near future and will share any beta I discover regarding true Santa Maria style ingredients.
All the best to you and yours,
Sincerely,
Bruce Watters
Glenn Elzinga
Bruce!
It is great to hear from you! Your email is fascinating.
I am very intrigued about your linguicia idea. I, too am interested in representing some of the Basque culture–giving it a local, yet European vibe–in our presentations. We run a Chorizo right now, fairly traditional and basic as Chorizo has run across many border lines and lost some of its original flavor authenticity. As a result, it is hard to nail down what the real deal is in Chorizo. Perhaps with linguicia, we could pull it off, and keep it fairly authentic. I think Dewey, our sausage chef, would enjoy crafting some new flavors.
Keep me in the loop on this, Bruce! Shoot me an email at glenn@alderspring.com if you through your experiments you hit the holy grail (that is, if at that point, you are still willing to share your concept). We have the pork, through Ethan and Abby’s pastured variety to pull off a combination sausage. Very cool stuff.
Thanks so much for reaching out, Bruce, and for your encouragement!
Happy Trails
Glenn
Alderspring Ranch
Vicky Anderson
Hi from Minnesota. Caryl is my cousin. Her mom and my dad were brother and sister. My maiden name is Vander Plaats. I think about aunt Betty often. Enjoy your storie
Glenn Elzinga
Hi Vicky. Caryl here. I remember playing with you and all your siblings when I was a kid! I moved Betty a few years ago to an assisted living home near us so we could take care of her. She is doing pretty well, although her clearest memories are those of growing up on that Minnesota farm.
Glen Hardy
Great story Glenn; I just ordered for the first time for my son in Reno, Texas, a couple of weeks ago. He ate a beautiful sirloin last night and was amazed at the tenderness of the cut. I will be sending a order for myself soon(we live in Alabama). Your website is awesome, absolutely gorgeous country. By the way is the dog in the pic an Australian Sheepdog? If so, a wonderful breed and oh so smart. Thanks for the link.
Sincerely,
Glen Hardy
Glenn Elzinga
Glen!
Great to hear from you! I am so thrilled that your son enjoys our beef. We’ll look forward to hearing from you in Alabama! I’m glad you noticed the country and the “lay of the land.” You are right; it is awesome country. It’s great to hear that because working in it day after day we sometimes forget, especially when the weather unravels on us!
On that dog…that particular one is a border collie. They have some blood relation to Australian Shepherds, I am told–but way, way back. We’ve had several Aussie Shepherds on the place and they probably would be my second choice on a purebred dog after a border collie. We have some pups now that we are raising that have a little Aussie in them; I am very curious about how they will work up on the range. This summer they will be going up there with the crew; we’ll see how they help with moving the cows. They are both extremely smart dogs.
Thanks so much, Glen, for taking the time to write. We really appreciate your encouraging words!
Happy Trails
Glenn
Alderspring Ranch
Celeste Gober
Nobody knows the trouble you guys go through to bring us meat… thanks for what you do, and sharing these stories….
Much respect and prayers for you.
Caryl Elzinga
Celeste: Thanks so much for recognizing that it can be some “trouble.” But it is forever rewarding, especially when we hear encouraging words of friendship and support from folks like you! Thanks for taking the time to write! -Glenn
Deb Olsen
I can’t imagine how many stories you have from the ranch, all of the experiences and learning curves good and bad. I picture your ranch in my minds eye with every story I read, and I honestly don’t know how all of you are able to accomplish such artistry in ranching like all of you have done. God surely is proud as he looks down upon all of you!!
Caryl Elzinga
Thanks for this Deb, and thanks for reading!
-glenn