Monday, November 27, 2017

Never Far Away

I suppose that for anyone who has weathered an historically severe storm (or lack of storms, as the case may be), the memory of that climatological disaster is never far back in the recesses of memory. The farmers and ranchers who survived the Dust Bowl years were haunted by its memory. The farmers and ranchers who survived this year’s hurricanes will remember these events for the rest of their lives. These kinds of calamities are turning points and mileposts - life after will never be the same as life before. And so it is with my own memories of the 2012-2015 drought. It’s the event that has come to define my mid-life. 

When people ask me how many sheep we have, I invariably compare the size of our operation today with its size before the drought. Before the drought, I thought of myself as a rancher who worked part-time in town. After the drought, I’ve become a full-time cooperative extension farm advisor with a part-time sheep operation. My experiences - selling sheep, scrambling to find grass, working more and more hours away from the ranch - make me conservative in my current approach to raising livestock. We run far fewer sheep than our rangelands will support in the best years (in other words, we stock our ranch for the dry years). We take much more time to estimate forage supplies and plan our grazing. We have a good idea about the sheep we’d keep and those we’d sell if we got into another drought. We are always on the lookout for new grazing opportunities.

All of this is a backdrop to explain to myself (and to others, perhaps) my reaction when I saw a Twitter post today from Daniel Swain, a weather researcher who writes the Weather West blog, suggesting that a building ridge of high pressure off the West Coast will bring dry conditions to California for the first half of December. Even though we’ve had close to normal precipitation in our part of the Sierra foothills, this news makes me worry. Other parts of California have not been so fortunate. Even as a part-time rancher, I rely on rain to grow grass in the fall, winter and early spring - and snow to supply irrigation water for summer grass. Intellectually, I’m reasonably confident that we’ll get enough rain and snow to maintain our current level of production. Emotionally, however, the prospect of an extended dry period in the midst of our rainy season is difficult. This news makes me realize that drought is never very far away in our Mediterranean climate - or in my memory.

Sunday, November 26, 2017

The Day Mae Grew Up

Always a nice site after moving sheep - the flock spread out with heads down grazing.
As some of you may know, Mae is my youngest working dog. She's also the first female border collie that I've started, and the only border collie that I've trained entirely on my own. She's been an easy, thoughtful and trainable dog from the beginning - very different that the male dogs I've started. Don't get me wrong - Mae has her quirks, and like most border collies (and many humans I've met), she gets in trouble when she has time off. She likes to stare at the horses and mules at our home place. She enjoys barking at the leaf blower (which she learned from our older dog, Mo). But she's nearly always made good decisions when we're working sheep. And today, (as she's approaching her second birthday), she showed me that she's grown up. She's ready to take on more responsibility in our small sheep operation.

While today's work didn't involve a long move or a big gather, it was reasonably technical. We needed to gather a 4-acre paddock, bring the sheep out of the electro-net fence, walk them through a gate and past the ram paddock, then through another gate. At the second gate, the sheep needed to make a 160-degree turn up the road. After walking up the road, the sheep needed to duck through a final gate into their next paddock. The last gate was tight, so I wanted the flock somewhat strung out so they wouldn't crowd through it.


Mae and I have been working on taking flanks that are counter to her instinct to balance the sheep with me. We've also been working on taking partial flanks - border collies have a powerful instinct to get to the heads of the sheep. Finally, we've been working on bending out her outruns and flanks - ideally, a dog should take a wide route to the back of the block before making contact with their flight zones.

The sheep were ready to move when we arrived at the paddock, so about two-thirds of them headed up the hill towards us. The remaining third were still grazing at the bottom of the hill about 150 yards away. I asked Mae for a left-hand (come bye) flank. She saw the sheep at the bottom the hill and aimed herself behind them. As she started cheating in too tight, I asked her to lie down and start again. As she started, I used a harsh voice to ask her to bend out. She took the correction and bent out. It took 3 corrections, but each time, she made a good decision.

When we move sheep out of electro-net fencing, we typically wait until the flock is gathered near the point of exit. If a dog is pushing too much, the sheep will press the fence. This morning, I asked Mae to lie down behind the flock as I opened the fence. She obliged, and the sheep came through the opening calmly. We then walked to the crest of a small hill and headed towards the first gate. The sheep veered towards the ram paddock, but Mae's quarter flank to the left got them back on track - I was pleased that she took a come bye, that her flank was square (which allowed her to avoid pushing the back of the flock as she moved into position), and that she held her position when I said, "right there."
Making the turn towards the second gate.

As we approached the second gate, I again asked for a short flank to get the sheep's heads pointed towards the gate. She obliged, dropping when I asked for a lie down so I could slow the sheep and go through the gate ahead of them. As the first third of the flock passed through, I was able to "bump" the leaders lightly to get them to turn up the road. As they turned, I asked Mae for a right (away) flank to turn the rest of the flock as it came through the gate. She took the flank and settled in behind the sheep. After a short walk up the road (during which we let the flock string out a bit), I asked for a short come bye flank, and the sheep turned into the last gate and their new paddock. I called Mae off and praised her - and closed the paddock.
Strung out and walking through the last gate.

To my non-sheepdog friends, this may seem like a very simple piece of work - and I may seem overly excited about Mae's progress. To my sheep dog friends, I suspect, the tasks may seem simple but the progress of a young dog justifies my excitement. As I've written before, the bond between a working dog and its handler (regardless of the work) is much deeper and more intense than any relationship I've ever had with a pet. I've taught my pet dogs obedience, which is a totally different experience than training a dog to work (at least for me). The work that Mae and I accomplished today required 3-way communication - between man and dog, between man and sheep, and between dog and sheep. I suspect that the man in this equation (me) is the least accomplished communicator of the three species. Watching Mae think about the work and adjust her approach according to the behavior of the sheep, our relative positions on the landscape, and my verbal commands, I realized working with my dogs is one of the reasons I so enjoy shepherding. We still have more to learn (both of us), but I realized this morning that we're at a point where we can accomplish a great deal of work together. Good dog, Mae! That'll do.
Waiting for the next job!

Friday, November 24, 2017

Heading into the Dark - #52weeksofsheep

With Thanksgiving Day behind us, and the winter solstice and Christmas Day ahead, we're approaching the slow and easy time of our shepherding year. At our latitude, the daylight hours are relatively short (9 hours and 47 minutes today, according to Weather Underground). Despite the warm temperatures this week, I expect our grasses will go dormant sometime in the next 2-3 weeks (dormancy results from a combination of soil temperatures below 50F and short day-lengths). Since our sheep production calendar is timed to match grass growth, our work slows as we head into the darkest days of the year, as well.

I've visited more northern latitudes during the fall and winter months, but Auburn, California, is as far north as I've ever lived for an extended period of time. I know that many folks grow depressed in the dark days of winter; I've always enjoyed these shorter days. I love the cooler weather (although this week has not been especially cool). I love any excuse to have a fire in the woodstove (our only heat). And I appreciate the opportunity to sleep in a bit, especially on the weekends.

Since we try to match our sheep production calendar to the forage productivity cycle, the next 6 weeks (the darkest part of the year) coincide with the slowest time of the sheep year. Our entire management system revolves around the onset of rapid grass growth - in other words, we want to start lambing in late February, which means we put rams with ewes in October and early November. We separated rams from ewes on November 10 this year; we'll let the ewes settle in their pregnancies until next weekend. Next Saturday, we'll haul the flock to our winter rangeland (which is at a slightly lower elevation than our summer irrigated pastures). Once there, our work will focus on moving sheep every 6-7 days until it's time to vaccinate the ewes in late January. Our work slows as we approach the winter solstice.

For me, these long nights provide a chance to re-charge. I sleep longer. I read more. I rest. I don't find the long nights and short days of late autumn and winter depressing; rather, I find them rejuvenating. I'm thankful that our sheep husbandry coincides with this seasonal slow-down. I enjoy heading into the dark.

Monday, November 20, 2017

At Home on the Range

I had the opportunity this evening to participate in a panel discussion about careers in sustainable agriculture at UC Davis. I was the only animal agriculturist on the panel, and at the end of the evening, a young woman asked whether I thought there was a future for animal agriculture generally, and for sheep production specifically, given growing concerns over climate change and greenhouse gas emissions.

In answering her question, I realized that I've had the good fortune to find work that allows me to embrace the intersection of social science, economics, and bio-physical science. I've had the opportunity to immerse myself in the cultures and places where rangeland agriculture is practiced in California. And I've had the opportunity to engage in rangeland livestock production myself.

My somewhat tongue-in-cheek definition of rangeland, as I explained in my answer tonight, is that it is comprised of land that is too hot, too cold, too dry, too steep - too "something" - to support cultivation. The rangelands in my part of the Sierra foothills don't grow crops - but they do grow grass (more in some years than others). Some would say these lands are of marginal productivity (apparently they've never heard the frogs sing at night during lambing season - fecundity is the word that comes to mind for me). Ruminant animals, through the miracle of their digestive processes, can turn the "crop" grown on these "marginal" lands (that is, grass, forbs and brush) into muscle, fiber and milk. The lambs and wool I sell each year are the products of this conversion - renewable products that benefit my community and the world. Properly managed, grazing animals (like my sheep) also benefit the environment - my sheep help keep invasive weeds in check. Grazing can help reduce the threat of wildfire, as well. The lands my sheep graze provide habitat for a variety of wildlife - critters that wouldn't be here if these lands were converted to housing developments.

I've always rooted for underdogs, so perhaps my affinity for rangelands stems from this character trait. "Marginal" lands (like rangelands) are the "underdogs" of both agricultural and natural landscapes. Rangelands can't grow more valuable crops. Until recently, rangelands weren't considered recreational or aesthetic assets, either. Since rangeland productivity varies greatly depending on annual weather (on our local foothill rangelands, annual grass growth can vary from less than 1,000 pounds of grass per acre to nearly 5,000 pounds per acre - depending largely on the amount and timing of precipitation), ranching has always required a combination of courage and resignation. Some years we guess right - many years, we don't. Consequently, many of us are conservative (with a lower-case "c") by nature - we don't take too many chances. Gambling is bad for business - and bad for our rangelands.

Circling back to the question tonight, I realized while driving home from Davis that I'm most at home working on these rangeland landscapes. I'm happiest working with (and more importantly, learning from) people who have spent lifetimes working on these landscapes. In my fiftieth year, I've arrived at a profession than matches my avocation - I have the good fortune to be doing research and education work centered on rangeland agriculture. And I have the added good fortune to be engaged in rangeland agricultural production myself. I'm truly at home on the range.