keeping the cows out

There is a valley in central California where five bio-regions intersect. Exactly what they are escapes me, but one is definitely desert. In the summer the temperature is often above 110 degrees.

I fixed barbed-wire fences in the valley for a summer. I worked at a nature preserve that had miles of border with ranchland. In some states it the the job of the ranchers to keep the cows in and in others it is the job their neighbors to keep them out. That was my job.

And it was hot.

And the valley is filled with mosquitos. So despite the heat, you are forced to wear long pants, long sleeves and something covering your neck.

Melted snow runs down from the mountains all through spring and summer. During the first major thaw, the valley floods and the fences at all the creek and river crossings are decimated.

I see myself standing waist-deep in the current, jeans and cowboy hat, a cloth bag full of wire clips, a pair of fencing pliers and not a care in the world.

I see myself very happy. It's a kind of happiness that just isn't available to me now.

Don't worry Miss Kate! There are many things I have now that I couldn't have then. Things that are mutually exclusive with being carefree.

I wish you could see me standing there, though.