Adventures with Jim

Resolution, range management, and megafarm madness

When I feel my eyeballs fusing to the screen and the css and php code coalescing into a pulpy jumble, I know it’s time to get out.

at pasture's edge

Out on the range with Jim, that is, to fill my brain with that beautiful acid green of Nevada County spring.

Except that this year, spring is crowding summer’s turf on the calendar, with seemingly no end in sight to the cool temps and Midwestern weather pattern of rain showers on a nearly weekly (or daily) basis.

For Jim, this year’s springtime shift away from our Mediterranean climate is a Godsend.

“Every day that I don’t have to irrigate is like heaven on earth. It saves me $65 a day in irrigation cost, and the lion’s share of that is for PG&E,” Jim declares as we rumble by truck across pasture land he leases bordering the Bear River, just east of the Garden Bar crossing. As usual, I hang on for dear life as Jim ironically observes: “The ground looks smooth, but it’s not” and stomps on the gas.

Yeah, Jim, no kidding. Even herders Bubbas and Red are on the scramble, balancing adroitly between the bales of hay and the odd assortment of junk that Jim has in the back bed.

Bubbas, through the window

There are 18 animals here on Jim’s leased 237-acre Bear River parcel. Gee, does that mean about 13 acres per cow? Not quite. Seems that in proper range management, there’s a difference between actual acres and effective acres. Actual acres are the total acres in the parcel. Effective acres are the usable acres—once rocks, creeks, and very steep terrain are subtracted. (Kind of like actual pixels and effective pixels when working out the resolution of a photo. Yes! I knew I had something in common with Jim: resolution!) So there are about 10 acres per cow, once Jim has backed out the unusable acres and arrived at a total of 170 effective acres.

But there’s more in the equation. A big, big deal for figuring effective acres is water. Once our oddball spring weather has passed, Jim intends on irrigating 35 acres of this land to maintain its carrying capacity year ‘round. Here’s the plan. Over the summer, Jim will clean out the existing ditches here, plus install a half mile of surface irrigation pipe. As summer winds down the system will be ready, enabling Jim to move about 20 miner’s inches of water from the Wolf-Hanneman canal beginning in the middle of August. This will effectively move up the onset of autumn on the newly-irrigated land. It will also create a protective greenbelt and firebreak; a plus for the land owner and for the safety of Nevada County.

As I ponder all this, Jim gets a call on his cell and takes it. It’s another order!

is it for me?

Our prolonged spring is also prompting Jim to enhance his planting strategy on this parcel. This year he’s been seeding for fall dryland grass production as well as for irrigated pasture grass. The dryland grass will germinate and grow during the summer, then the irrigated pasture grasses will come on line early with the newly irrigated acreage. The cattle that are here now will be moved to Jim’s larger irrigated pastures in a few months once the spring grass disappears, but eventually they’ll be brought back here and they’ll be able to stay here year ‘round, as more and more of this Bear River parcel’s pasture is productive year ‘round. The benefit is less stress for the animals, moving from place to place.

Jim completes his call and, just to see if I’m paying attention, launches into an impromptu math lesson.

All this for 18 cows, 35 acres, one firebreak, and a skillful partnership with nature’s endless variables. Then it hits me: this is real farming. This is not engineered or freakishly controlling. This is nature calling the shots, testing the resolve of a guy who pets his cows and glues his hat together with duct tape. And I can’t help thinking about a story I saw awhile back in the SF Chron: “Battle Over Slow Food Heats Up in Heartland” by Carolyn Lochhead. If you haven’t already seen this piece, it’s an overview of the controversies that surround Jim’s type of farming.

When I first skimmed it, I couldn’t believe what I was reading. The megafarms are getting bent out of shape over guys like Jim. It seems ridiculous. Of all the assertions in the story, the statement by Deborah Stockton of the National Independent Consumers and Farmers Association, rings most true for me. “What we are promoting is actually very, very old agriculture, and what’s considered conventional is new” is Stockton’s quote. I’ve heard Jim say exactly the same words when explaining the care he takes in nurturing the pastures that sustain his cattle.

What do you think, readers? This blog is open for your comments. And, while you’re dipping into SF Gate, check out this story about the USDA’s draft document on food safety at meat plants and what it may mean for small operations like Jim’s.

I’ll be writing more about this later, once I check in with Jim for his take on it. Until then, enjoy the pix of farming the way it used to be and, for the time being, still is—thanks to the hard work and resolution of ranchers like Jim Gates.

a good day

lupine

just a sip

Customer Appreciation Day 2010

Well, I’m virtually back. Sorry to have been away for so long, away on the East Coast and traveling to a couple of technical conferences in far away places. I missed the big picnic but thanks to the pictures from my husband and several other fans of Nevada County Free Range Beef, I feel I was there!

According to all accounts, it was an absolutely stunning day—especially considering all the recent rain and storminess.

Chris Maher, general manager of the BriarPatch Co-op Community Market, stopped by and sure had his hands full. As you see, there were many, many hands to shake, tummies to fill, and lots of friends and family to catch up with.

If you’d like to send photos, please email them to me at webmaster@nevadacountyfreerangebeef.com. There’s always room for more, here or on facebook!

See you all at next year’s picnic!

Next blog topic: the megafarms fight back!

as good as his word

the food

the very lucky dog

Jim with sis and mom

photo by teri personeni

Chris with two of his loves

can it get any more bucolic than this?

Time travel

I thought I had him. Jim, that is.
In his last blog Jim was rattling on about babies in their mothers’ wombs right now that would be born “next year.” Hmmm. In my little mind, I got out the calendar and started wondering about how long gestation is for a cow.  Longer than 12 months? That must be some superbaby cow, and some tired mother. I had called and called Jim to get clarification, but the cell must have been turned off, underwater, or worse.
Surely Jim was wrong. So I did what all writers do: I wrote “around” the unclear point in a way that would protect the innocent.

“Calving year, it’s the calving year!” Jim roared when I did get hold of him after publishing his blog. Got me.

Turns out that at every cattle ranch there is (or should be) an intricate plan for managing the herd according to what the herd needs, and when a rancher talks about “this year” or “next year” he or she is really talking about the reproductive year: the best time for calves to be born so they have the greatest chance to survive and to thrive.

are you my mother?

Keep in mind, too, that Jim’s operation is the antithesis of the factory farm where cows grow up confined and rely on corn and soy for feed. In Jim’s world, the herd is outside all the time, ranging freely, and the feed is pasture grass — with flakes of alfalfa hay to bridge the period when winter grass has frozen and lost nutritional value.
So it’s critical that when babies are born, they have every factor possible working for them and for their mothers. And to that end, timing is everything.

“Everyone believes that babies must be born in the spring. But since the baby doesn’t eat grass for the first month and a half of his life — he lacks the anaerobic bacteria to digest it — it’s better in this Mediterranean climate for the babies to be born in the fall,” Jim says.

Jim is now on a roll.  He’s in his element.  He’s educating someone from the City.

“We need to get babies on the ground before the bad weather gets here. That means our calving year is August 15 to August 14. ‘Next year’ is anytime after August 15,” he explains.
I see. Babies are conceived around November 15 (“this” year), and born nine months later between August 15 and October 1st (“next” year).

you're my mother!

“When they’re born in the fall, they go through winter on their mothers’ milk. When the grass is here in spring, they’re big enough to eat it  and also eat on their mother’s surplus production of milk from the new grass. You can just about stand there and watch them grow right in front of your eyes, they do so well,” he adds.
That’s why Jim is usually running around like a crazy man in the fall, just when you’d think things would be buttoning down for winter. Fall is full of babies. Winter is for mothering, and for walking cows from one end of the pasture to another to manage their use of forage. Spring is for new green grass and as for summer … Summer is fraught with irrigation, irrigation and more irrigation chores, 18-hour days, and miles and miles of racing across warm green hillsides on the tractor.
It’s not your normal calendar. It’s not your normal cattle ranch, if you go by the numbers of cows raised on CAFOs (Concentrated/Confined Animal Feeding Operations) vs. the number raised like this.
And above all, it’s not your normal rancher. It’s Jim Gates, the guy who’s already mentally in “next” year this year, and planning for next next year this year.  Make sense?
See you next time, this year, then next year later this year.

Oh, by the way, here’s a link on CAFO farming. Jim says it has so much interesting stuff in it “you can read ’till your eyeballs fall out.” Thanks, Jim.

Sound bite

What’s wrong with these pictures? OK, another city-ish question, but I still have to ask: with so much brilliant green grass covering the hills like velvet, why are these cows so interested in dry alfalfa flakes? Jim, a walking compendium of all things cow, is only too happy to oblige an answer.

caught me with my mouth full!

breakfast

To maintain herself at this time of  year, he explains, a cow needs three things: nourishment for herself, nourishment to produce the milk for her nursing baby, and nourishment to come into heat and conceive her next baby. Satisfying all three needs requires about 20 pounds of feed every day, but at this time of year that feed can’t be grass alone. Why? Because right now and for about the next two months or so, the new winter grass consists of nearly 98% water and not enough nutritional value.

“If the cows were left just with the natural forage, only very few would conceive. They wouldn’t have enough energy to produce milk for the babies at their sides. And older cows that are short of teeth would starve because there’s just not enough nutrition to keep them alive, ” Jim explains.

So how does Jim select the alfalfa he feeds? Turns out that, just like my screen, alfalfa hay is wysiwyg: what you see is what you get.

“I can tell just by looking at and feeling the hay, how much gross energy and gross protein it contains. From the color, the smell, and the feel I can tell how it was grown and how it was put up,” Jim says. And what’s he looking for? Small stems, good green color, an absence of mold, and lots of leaves. If the alfalfa is too “stemmy,” the cow can’t get the nutrition she needs. (To get a grip on this all-important stem-to-leaf ratio, check out this study by the USDA/University of Wisconsin: “Harvest-Fractionation of Alfalfa.” Or just call Jim.)

With about 180 animals in the herd at the Trabucco ranch (where we are right now), you can do the math to get an idea of this chore’s scope— 3600 pounds of hay have to be doled out each and every day at this location alone. But over the years, Jim’s developed an exquisitely efficient way of accomplishing the task: he throttles down to first gear, steps out of the pilot’s seat, and lets the tractor from hell wander the field as he tosses out the bright green flakes.

As the flakes land, the cattle, who’ve streamed over the hill to meet us,  mosey up to their feed in companionable groups. There’s no competition and no stress. Just the sound of munching.

And that reminds me, I’m hungry. I need breakfast, too, and my morning cappuccino. See you later.

Tractor from hell

For about a month now, everyone at Nevada County Free Range Beef has been after Jim to start blogging. There’d be talk of blogging, thought about blogging, careful consideration of blogging, then some other pressing matter would take center stage; like putting up a couple miles of new fencing, rescuing a newborn calf, or taping up some broken ribs (Jim’s).

“What is blogging, anyway, for cryin’ out loud!”  Jim would bark in his usual gravelly voice, on the rare occasions that we could capture him on the phone. And so we explained what it is, making up some of the details just to keep Jim’s interest.

And Jim was all for blogging. Just one problem. Or two, really. No, make that three.

1. Jim has a computer but has never actually plugged it in.
2. Jim has a cell phone but it often is either unintentionally thrown into irrigation ditches, stepped on by 400-lb. animals, or it has no bars.
3. The thought of Jim tapping away on any kind of keypad, full-scale or contextual, really gave us pause.

“You do it!” was the command.  Everyone else had a lot going on, so it fell to me, the city girl and a perfect foil for Jim Gates, the real deal, modern day cowboy.

“OK, Jim, but just don’t make me ride on that tractor again,” I implored. That would be the charmingly antique 1950 Ford tractor that Jim uses to do ranch chores and test the mettle of  white-knuckled visitors on tours of the terrain. Think Sean Connery or Tom Cruise on some spaghetti switchback road in Monaco or Italy, trying to force the villain over the edge and into oblivion. This is how Jim drives the tractor on a good day. The roll-out is slow, but note the monomaniacal grin on Jim’s face as he plots my fate.

the tractor from hell

“Whatever you say. We’ll always take the ‘gator,” Jim promised while muttering something.

Deal. But first time out for the blog, the comfy ‘gator was nowhere in sight. In its place: the tractor from hell. What makes this the tractor from hell, in addition to Jim’s driving, is the unfortunate fact that there’s no seat for a guest. To go on this journey, you have to perch over the axle while clinging to the back of the driver’s chair. When Jim picks up speed, you have to dodge globs of mud and other unidentifiable flying objects kicked up from beneath the tread.
But I had signed up for this blogging thing and there was a ranch to survey, there were stories to gather and cows to consider and I couldn’t be a wus and back down. Anyway, maybe the tractor from hell is a good enough metaphor for how it is at the whole Nevada County Free Range Beef operation: offbeat, charming, hard-working, and real. Or maybe those are good keywords for Jim himself.
I’ll be back tomorrow or the day after with more. And listen, don’t tell Jim about what’s in this blog. After all, I have to survive the next ranch visit.