D e s e r t E x p o s u r e 
January
2008
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Voice of a Ranch
Woman Third in a Series |
The First Track in the Snow
Living and ranching out in nature, as stewards of the land.
By Linda McDonald, as told to Victoria Tester
This first-person reminiscence is excerpted from recordings of Linda Nielson McDonald at her home on the McDonald Ranch. Established in 1903, the McDonald Ranch is among the five oldest continuously working ranches in Grant County. Linda McDonald, born in Moab, Utah, in 1942, is the wife of Jerry McDonald, the son of Jonnie McDonald and Evelyn McCauley. These recordings are a collaboration between McDonald and author Victoria Tester, whose book Miracles of Sainted Earth (University of New Mexico Press) won the nationally recognized Willa Cather Literary Award. Their efforts mark the beginning of a project by the two women to record and publish a book of oral histories of ranch women in southern New Mexico.
As I think back about my own childhood, and even before, I remember my parents telling me the story that we lived in a tent at the Yellow Circle Mine up from Moab. We lived there for a winter after I was born.
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The author and her family at the
Nielson ranch in Colorado about 1950. |
My mom and dad would go down to Moab, to the dances, in a dump truck. And they had my buggy. So they'd put me in my buggy, up in the back of that dump truck. From that very time I felt close to nature. Because there I was in that buggy, looking up in those stars. Looking up at those beautiful red rocks in Moab.
Maybe I didn't. I was just a little ol' baby. But I do think that started me feeling close to nature.
They'd be in at the dance, and come out and check on me, and go, "Well, she's not crying." So they'd go back in and dance a few more sets, and come back out and check on me again.
In the meantime I was getting close to nature. They didn't know what a favor they were doing me.
When I was a child, I used to love to smell the rain on the manure down at my granddad's ranch. The smell of rain is my very, very favorite smell.
They've never duplicated it. There's no perfume. Even though they say it smells like rain, it doesn't smell like rain. Nothing can duplicate Mother Nature.
I don't think I appreciated rain up in Colorado. You got a lot more moisture up there. In New Mexico, you really appreciate the rain. Because it doesn't always rain. I remember going a whole winter and we got no moisture. So when it does rain, you're so thankful for it.
Because that's our livelihood. Out here on this ranch we depend on the rain for the feed for the cattle.
Of course, when I married Jerry, he'd been raised out on this ranch all his life, and he was in tune to nature. He'd watch the moon and see what phase the moon was in, and he'd watch tracks and things like that.
When Jerry and I lived at the Cienega, there was a screened-in porch with a bed out there. He'd slept out there all his life, and so he decided we were going to sleep there, summer and winter.
In winter time, he'd put a tarp over us. It kept us warmer, and, in case it started raining or something like that, it would keep the rain and the snow off. There was a time or two that we'd wake up in the morning and there would be snow on that tarp.
That was the best of both worlds. Because you could stay on the porch, and not have to take your bed inside, and you could still be out among nature.
Then, after we moved up here, we got an old bedstead and set it up back here under an apricot tree. And we'd put a mattress out there and sleep out on that old bedstead.
He said, "Oh, if your college roommates could see you now! Here you are sleeping out under the stars!"
But we just love sleeping out like that.
Later, he'd pull his flatbed trailer up here by the house and we'd take this little light mattress, just a piece of foam, and we'd take it out there.
And it was the funnest thing, the funnest thing — to be out there under the stars, and to hear those birds chirping early in the morning — but the funnest thing of all was you'd be sleeping and all of a sudden you'd feel these raindrops on your face. And I'd go, "Jerry, it's raining." So we'd gather up our bed. He'd get the mattress and I'd get the covers and we'd run back to the house — and about that time it would quit raining.
Now that we're staying at Granny's, we go down there late at night and we leave early in the morning.
But the funnest thing for me when I step off her porch is to feel raindrops on my face, and it's raining early in the morning. Or you run down in the night with your raincoat on because it's raining.
When I moved to New Mexico, I didn't know about flash floods. We didn't have that in Colorado. And I didn't know how to deal with them. But I learned real quick.
Because Jerry and his mom and dad would tell me the stories, like in the 1950s they had this huge flood. It had rained, and there was so much water in that flood that when they would stand out in front of their house they could feel the ground shaking, from the power of the water of that flood. They were just blessed that it didn't rain so much that it washed the house away.
They began to teach me about these flash floods and what you do with them, and how you deal with them. And I learned right off, you don't ever drive off into a canyon when it's flooding.
They told me a story about a Mexican family that had driven off into a flood, and it had drowned a lot of them, and how they'd come in to Jerry's grandparents' house, and they'd revived this little baby. The poor little baby had leaves and mud all over it and everything.
So it scared you. You just didn't drive off in those floods. And those floods could come anytime. You think: Get to town early, before the floods in the afternoon. But the rain will come early in the mornings, too. Then sometimes it will rain all night.
It doesn't take long for the canyons to run down usually, but when they're running, you don't go off in 'em. It's not a place to play or anything, because there might be a canyon that hasn't come down yet, and it'll make a rise in that flood. So it might not be that much at one time, but there might come a rise in it because there's the water coming in from the other tributaries, coming into that.
So we have a real respect for the floods. Fortunately, we've never had anything serious happen, other than just it taking the electricity out and messing up the roads.
What Jerry taught me about the daytime rains is that you always watch the clouds. You always watch the clouds to see where those thunderstorms are, so that you know that you need to get home, or you need to get in, or you just need to prepare yourself so you don't get caught in one of those floods.
I've seen a lot of coyotes. Always the dog has to go jogging with you. And you think a dog's gonna be protection? No. They go out and find the coyotes, and bring 'em back to you. I've had dogs and coyotes come right down the road, meetin' me.
And then one time I was saying my prayer out there and I was thankin' the Lord for the animals and I looked up and there was a coyote looking right at me. I go, "I'm not sure I was really thankful for that coyote."
Then another time when I was out jogging right in the creek — it was in the summer, and I looked at the ground and I saw this weird track. I go, "I think that's a bear track." And I went home and I told Jerry that and he says, "No, it's not." And I says, "You just come look," and he did, and he says, "Yeah, that is a bear track."
Sometimes I'll see a snake track, and they usually cross the road straight across, not at an angle. It's like they're trying to get across as fast as they can.
But one time, in the space of probably about a hundred yards, I saw 16 snake tracks. It must have been spring or fall, and they were really moving. I saw 16 snake tracks in that short distance.
I've seen javelina.
And of course you see crows every single time you go out, flying all over. And there's been times I've seen buzzards. And quail.
One time I was jogging along and there was one little quail feather. One little quail feather on the road. So I brought that in.
Yesterday I left my house with Granny's dinner, and right in front of me on my trail were these quail, and they were just fluttering off. I'd disturbed them, and gotten in their way. But they were so pretty. Those quail with those topknots were just so pretty, and I stopped and looked at them, and some of them were the little quail. That little covey hangs around here and keeps me company.
I've seen roadrunners. I heard a roadrunner. I didn't know what it was. But when I described it to this boy who helps us, he said, "Yeah, what you heard was a roadrunner." It's kind of a muffled, whirring sound.
Michele, our daughter, said yesterday, "My folks have always lived camping out." Her friend didn't believe it. Michele told her, "A whole nest of racer snakes hatched out in their house. Mom trapped six skunks out of the storeroom."
Jerry paid me $20 a skunk for every one I caught, and he drowned them.
I killed a rattlesnake in my pantry storeroom, and I've had two bats flying around in here.
And what else?
Oh, yes, right now I have a five-foot bull snake somewhere in this house. Jerry says, "You don't know it's there," and I say, "You don't know it's not."
But we didn't kill it. It got away and it's still someplace.
Anyway, Michele's friend was convinced, after hearing all this, that yes, we have lived "camping out" with all these critters.
And mice. "Rats," Michele told her, "big enough to carry off a small child."
That's the reason we've never done that much camping out — because we live out in nature.
Then there's been those few special times when it's snowed. You see, I don't like the snow. In Colorado I never did like the snow. It was cold. I was cold all the time. But in New Mexico the snow is real special.
Because it melts. It doesn't stay and keep you cold.
So there have been times when I've gone out and stood by my prayer tree where I say a prayer, and the oak leaves will just be cupped and holding that snow.
And you know you're catching a glimpse of nature that's going to be gone in only a few minutes when the sun comes out.
Another special time is when you go out and it has rained. The rain is dripping off the limb or the leaf, or maybe the fence. That's going to go away in just a little while, too, and so you just feel like you've just captured a little glimpse of nature.
And nobody else is there.
That's another thing, too. When I jog up the road — and I've got trails in other places, too, just because I don't want to meet anybody on the road — I like to be out by myself. I like to enjoy the solitude and feeling of Heavenly Father's creations.
Every day I say a prayer and I thank Heavenly Father for the rocks and the trees and the birds and the animals and the wonderful rain He's sent to dampen our land, that our cattle will have feed. Because if they don't have feed, we don't sell calves, and we don't have a livelihood here, because we are totally dependent on the rain.
We are so grateful for it.
Jerry keeps meticulous records on how much it's rained. And that's the talk among the ranchers. "Well, how much rain did you get?" "Well, I got 33 hundredths." "Well, I got an inch."
It's just important, because that's how you make your living.
When I go out in the snow — and always I go out when it snows, because it doesn't snow that often — I just love to be the first track in that snow.
And that will be the first that will melt, too, will be where you step on it.
Then after it has rained, too.
I really don't like people to see my tracks, but I still like to be the first one out.
And then you'll see, oh, there's been a rabbit out here, or there's been a coyote already come out. They've beat you out.
But it's fun to be the first one after a rain or after a snow, to intrude on nature. Because indeed, man does intrude on nature.
But nature also blesses man very much, and so I feel very blessed to be that close to nature. Even though you have to cope with the dangers, that's part of it.
Think about the Mormon pioneers coming across, pulling handcarts and wagons, walking. They didn't ride in those wagons. That would be a really horrible ride. They walked. Pioneer children sang as they walked and walked and walked and walked. We've got so many songs in Primary that teach the children about the pioneers and how the oxcart creaked as it went along.
I did try one time doing what they talk about, using buffalo chips for their fires. Well, I tried using cow chips for a fire. I don't know how they cooked with those. Maybe buffalo chips were better than cow chips. But those cow chips didn't make a very good fire, or I didn't know how to do it, one of the two.
My sister got me going making cards to give to people. She did it with things she found out in nature, just little weeds or little flowers.
When I go out in the morning I see, say, those primroses, they bloom early in the spring. That's the first flower that will bloom usually. You pick a primrose and you bring it in. When you put it on the contact paper it becomes kind of iridescent. It's so beautiful.
And then I have also undertaken quite a study of the flowers.
There's this beautiful red four o'clock. I didn't know what it was. I'd just see this beautiful, fuschia — they call it a red four o'clock, but it's a fuschia-colored bell — and it grows real sparse. It usually grows by a bush and it usually grows on the east side of it. I wanted to know what that flower was.
My friend, Suzanne Dye, gave me a book by the Audubon Society, and it classified all the flowers in the United States. And I found that flower. It is called a red four o'clock.
So, on my cards, I could put the name of that flower. Because I'd seen it in this book. Then Jerry also bought me a book about the Weeds of the West.
In my study of the flowers and weeds, one time I asked Grandpa McDonald, "Grandpa, have you ever seen this flower?" And I showed him this red four o'clock. And he says, "No, I've never seen that flower growing."
I think the reason he hadn't was because when he went out among nature he was usually riding horseback. And he was going faster, and he was up higher, and so he didn't see this pretty flower I'd seen.
I felt happy that I knew something Grandpa didn't know.
You find out pretty quick on a ranch you don't ask too many questions. They just expect you to see what's going on. I'd ask them a little bit about what things were. They knew about the gramma grass. They knew that was good feed for the cattle. And they knew the sideoats, and of course in the spring the filaree is real good cattle feed.
But you just don't ask too many questions. Because ranchers just expect you should know it.
So I was just excited that I knew the name of something that even Grandpa didn't know.
Even now, I'll ask Jerry, "What is this grass?" There's all different varieties of gramma grass.
But now I'm finding out some of the names of things that Jerry doesn't know, too.
I've also found out that most of the things in nature, most of the things that grow, are beneficial. But there are two kinds of locoweed that grow in the spring that are like dope. It's like cocaine or marijuana, and of course we don't like the cattle eatin' those.
What it does is it makes them crazy. We had a migrant worker here one time who chewed on a little bit — and the blue loco isn't as strong as the rattleweed, but he chewed on a little bit of that, not for very long. And pretty soon he was going nuts, running, and his dad had to get him and tie him up until that stuff wore off.
It's a hallucinating drug that's in 'em. But the rattleweed — that's the one that grows in a circle and the pods on it you like to step on it and pop 'em. And that's like cocaine, and usually cattle won't eat that. But if they do, it does eventually kill 'em.
Because what happens is — it's kind of like Granny's dementia — what was it this rancher said? He said, "An old cow on loco, she goes in for a drink and she starts drinkin' when she starts into the corral, before she ever gets to the water trough, and by the time she gets to the water trough she's already full, so she doesn't get a drink. She just turns around and goes back."
It just makes them crazy and it makes them where they don't have any control over their muscles. And they eventually do die.
If a horse ever gets on loco, they're dangerous to ride. Because they just think crazy.
But most everything's beneficial. Mesquite is a good food. But the oak trees, I love the oak trees.
My very favorite plant is the blackjack oak, because it's such a big, majestic tree. For some reason, I've got to find out about this, but the blackjack oaks, there's no mistletoe grows in a blackjack oak. It's killing a lot of these white oak trees, but it's not in the blackjack oak trees.
In Colorado, the oaks lost their leaves in the wintertime. It's colder up there. But down here, these oaks are evergreens. They keep their leaves all winter long.
Except, when it's been a really dry winter, they'll lose their leaves, to protect themselves.
And they won't get those leaves back until it rains.
That's the only time they lose their leaves for a period of time, is when it's been really dry. So all these trees will look dead.
But you let that rain come in, and then all of a sudden they start putting out their leaves again.
My prayer tree is a blackjack. It's a little baby blackjack oak.
This New Mexico sky is absolutely gorgeous. You walk out there and you see the Big Dipper every single night. You see the North Star. When I leave Granny's, I see the Morning Star. And I see the moon. There's nothing like this New Mexico sky. It is crystal clear.
You look up there and you just go, "It was no accident that all this was created. This was created by a loving Heavenly Father that has an order to all things."
Jerry taught me about sundogs. A sundog is a little splotch of rainbow in wispy clouds. That's the sun shining on those clouds and it's got just a little bit of moisture in it. A sundog is a sign of rain, that it's going to rain. After the rain, you see the beautiful rainbows.
And you know, after it rains, water will wash into this old dirt tank and put water in it, and then the frogs will come out and they will croak all night long. There's nothing to sleep better to than to hear those frogs croaking. You'd think that would keep you awake, but it doesn't.
After the rain, the insects — after the first big rain you will see little red velvet rain ticks. You don't see them before, nor after, just right after a big rain.
Everything comes out and everything is so happy. Granny used to say, "It's just like Heavenly Father took a washrag and washed the earth's face and made it all clean again."
It all belongs to Him. It's not ours, really, you know. We're just stewards over it, and we want to take good care of it.
Ranchers are the greatest environmentalists there are. Because they take good care of the land.
They are aware of it and they love it. They love it with all their hearts.