Farmers and Ranchers.

No cows to feed, no hay to tarp, no mud holes for the feed trailer to get stuck in, no endless mound of muddy boots and rain gear at the back door. Nope, none of that this winter.

I am out of the cattle business. I have been out for almost two years now, and there are thing I do miss, and some I do not.

I do not miss calving season. Seeing a cow off by herself just as you get home in the dark and walk out to see if she's having trouble calving. Or being way past your elbows inside a cow's uterus trying to put hay twine around the calf's hooves to pull it out when it gets stuck. Or the disappointment of having a still born calf. Seeing the confusion of the cow as she tries to get the calf up by pushing it around with her nose with no result. Or a first-calf heifer who is astonished, and somewhat horrified, by the small animal that just came out of her and seems determined to suck on her utter for some reason. Some heifers can drop a calf on the ground, give it a sniff, and walk away to the feed rack as if it were sack full or rocks. If you cannot reconcile the two you will have a orphan, or 'bummer' calf. Nothing beats heading out to the barn in a driving rain with a bottle of calf-replacer half of which ends up in the calf, the other half all over you.

A strong mothering instinct is no picnic either. If the calf needs medicine or treatment, some cows are quite sure their new calf is in mortal danger, and transform from the somewhat jovial bovine you used to hand feed, into a lioness protecting her cub against all comers.Trying to hold a calf's head between your legs as you fumble with a syringe all the while having snot blow on you by a 1,200 pound mama cow prancing around you is not something for the timid.

I do miss the calves. I miss the running, jumping, and bucking. I miss how curious they are. I miss  when you go out to work on the water trough how the calves will pick up your work gloves and tools in their mouth just to see what they are. I miss how the bull calves will find the highest piece of ground, no matter if it's a foot tall mound of dirt, and play King of the mountain.

The thing I miss most is going out in the tall grass, laying down on my back, and just being still. The calves cannot help themselves. It may take ten minutes, or an hour, but eventually all of the calves will form a circle around you. They sniff at you, some have even nibbled on my boots, but they want to know what you are and why you are there. The mothers are usually right behind them, just in case they feel the need to stomp a mud hole in your chest if you mess with their baby. It's probably not a smart thing to do, but I have never been accused of being too smart.

No, I have left all that behind for the modern day gold rush of planting an almond orchard.  Not as romantic, not as messy, but I have yet to be kicked in the package and smashed into a iron gate by an almond tree.

Planting almonds seems to be the thing to do in Yolo County. When I drive into Woodland from Esparto I must pass 5 or 6,000 acres of newly planted almond trees. I have no idea how many new orchards are being put in right now, but if the trend continues, the canning tomato may get a run for its money as king of crops.

I actually hate being one of the crowd that is chasing this growing market. To hear the almond industry tell it, Asia loves almonds and walnuts and that market has huge growth potential. That is probably a true statement. However, I still have this feeling of being that sod buster in Iowa back in 1849 working his small farm when the news of gold fields in California hit. Pull up stakes, sell the plow and mule and head to California as fast you can. I'd much rather have opened a hardware store in the gold rush selling picks, shovels and gold pans at a good mark up. You may not strike the mother load, but you will always have a constant supply of customers looking to get rich quick.

I didn't have much of a choice about selling my cattle in the second year of a drought with no prospect of irrigation water from the district. I would buying ever more expensive hay to feed my cattle. To a point where the calves would not pay for the hay bills. Still, I hate being a farmer. Farmers work all year, and if the wrong weather happens in the wrong time frame, you are sunk. Pouring rain and wind during your orchard's blossom? You may lose 20-30% of your production. Hard freeze? Even more losses. It's like gambling with Mother Nature. I'm not much of a gambler.

I liked being a rancher, even with all the bad parts thrown in. Maybe I will have a change of heart. Maybe in 10 years, when my orchard is in full production and I am sitting in my new bass boat, (I really don't like to fish, but it seems rich people do) and I will laugh at my current misgivings and trepidation.

Or I might be pulling out my almond trees and cursing the slightly cooler climate that brought back ample snow fall and plenty of water to southern California where almonds have a longer growing season and much higher yields. Well, we will see.

Hmmm. Maybe I will buy a few head of cows with my almond money.........