the Homestead

Funny how things come back around.  You see it in fashion all the time.  Children grow up, become consumers, and their collective buying power forces the revival of whatever stylistic elements were in vogue when they were young.  I saw a kid at the post office and couldn't help wondering if he knew he had raided the wardrobe of a John Hughes film.  I’m sure the girls will start pegging the legs of their jeans any day now.  I’ve even heard that mullets and cheesy mustaches are on their way back.

When I first arrived in the Bitterroot Valley, my brother Jeb sent me an email informing me that our Great-grandfather Spencer (my mother’s mother’s father) once had a ranch here.  The story is he also had a hunting cabin up the Rattlesnake north of Missoula.  Later the family moved to Southern California because they thought the climate there would be better for the children's asthma. Jeb suggested I go hunt up the old homestead in the Ravalli county records.  I figured I could do one better.

Skip ahead three generations, and history repeats itself.

You can’t really call it a ranch, since it is much too small and has no livestock.  Yet.

But there will be.  My hope is for a Holstein heifer, a few sheep, a handful of chickens, and possibly a pig.  Brandi is leaning toward goats and a wee donkey.

Regardless of what shape the hoofed residents take, there will definitely be more of these.  The latest addition, our new puppy Isis, arrives today.

The thistle crop in the front pasture isn't very pretty but we enjoy the rest of the view.

Bertha likes hers too.

 

                Reverse angle.

Now pull back

It's not the old Spencer place, but it will do.

We're gonna put the dog kennel here.  Bertha and I will be plenty busy this weekend peeling back that layer of compost and moving it to the garden.

Looking east toward the Big Ditch.  Gravity flow sprinklers irrigate the pasture on Kona's side of the fence.

We know it will be tons of work but we love our little spread.