The end is near

 

The end of the year, that is. We mostly have all survived Christmas and all that that entails. There were all the pre-parties, where we ate and drank (some of us) like there was no tomorrow. Then there was the last-minute shopping spree where we spent more than we intended (except for some of us). Finally, the big day arrived and after package unwrapping which brought delight, embarrassment and sorrow, we eventually sat down to a meal which took three long days to prepare and about 15 minutes to consume. Thank goodness that’s over!

 

It was fun, but right about now I am looking forward to my normal, overly busy routine.

So the next big event is New Year, when some of us once again have the round of parties to attend, and the obligatory Rose Parade and bowl games to watch all day. I have lost count of how many games are playing and what they are called, because as soon as I heard there was a Frito-Lay Bowl, I totally tuned out. This was not because I have anything against Frito-Lay, as I am very fond of a number of their products, but the commercialization of the named bowls like orange, sugar and rose was distressing. I confess, I was never much of a TV game fan of any sort, although I do watch the occasional tennis match and all the ice skating and Olympic sports I can find, but the other TV games have never caught my interest. I know there are many who are ardent fans of specific teams and I admire their loyalty and hope that their team wins.

 

I am certainly glad that the old habit of making New Year resolutions is not as popular as it used to be. It always seemed to be such a setup for people, including me, to make promises to do or not do something in the new year that invariably went by the wayside almost as soon as the promise was uttered. Sometimes, if one was particularly diligent, the promise could be kept for some length of time but eventually, after a protracted struggle, it, too, was broken, leaving behind feelings of depression and failure. I didn’t ever feel positive about such an occurrence, so I quietly vowed to just do the best I could on whatever topic was of current importance to me.

 

Florence

Ranchers are not in the habit of naming their cows, unless one is a celebrity (the rancher, not the cow), but this cow stood out from all of the rest. We named her Florence sometime in the 1980s because she was such a distinctive cow. She was part Longhorn, which accounted for her extremely long and beautiful horns. She was white-faced with a black back and sides and white belly. She was old in the ’80s but continued having calves every year, much longer than any other cow, and she nursed them until they were usually one of the biggest of the year. She also had a bit of an attitude. When we put all of the cows through the chute every year to check to see if they were pregnant and healthy, something that is normal practice, we never put Florence through the chute because the area was too small to accommodate her horns. We would leave her back in the corral, whither all of the cows had been gathered, until we were ready to release all of them back into their pasture.

 

A couple of years ago, Florence decided that hanging out in the corral while we processed from 160-200 head of cows was going to take longer than she was willing to spend by herself in that board corral. So, like the wind sprite that she definitely wasn’t, she launched her mighty self, horns and all, over three — count ’em, three — six-foot gates until she reached the alley which led to her pasture. We all stood around with our mouths hanging open, feeling like we had just witnessed the grand champion of cow high jumpers! As she trotted off, she looked over her shoulder to make sure we had noticed and then, head high, she returned to her field. We still talk and laugh about the day Florence became the high flyer, defying all laws of gravity!

For the past couple of years she has been in retirement out at the horse breeding facility, where she supervised yearling foals as they frolicked with their mothers in the grass field near their corrals.

This past week, Florence went on to greener pastures. I can’t tell you how old she was because for the last 20 years she has been old. What I can tell you is that Florence was one of a kind, and she will be very much missed.

 

Packaging

I don’t know about you, but it seems like every year it becomes more and more difficult to get those packages open. I’m not talking about Christmas gifts, as they deserve a discussion unto themselves, but rather the everyday packaging issues that one faces. Have you ever wondered why someone decided to put a plastic band around the cottage cheese container that requires scissors to remove? I know there were problems with some mentally unhinged person putting some chemicals in Tylenol and all of a sudden you need sharp implements to open your breakfast container of yogurt or cottage cheese.

 

I often wonder how people who have debilitating arthritis or some such difficulty cope with the draconian measures manufacturers have taken to keep us “safe.” Perhaps it is necessary or it has been legislated so, but good grief, it has become ridiculous! Just try to rip open a block of cheese without something pointed and sharp. Of course, you have to be careful not to stab yourself or to destroy the cheese in the process of getting the package open!

My husband found this lovely little tool that was designed to open those really awful plastic packages that virtually everything other than cottage cheese and yogurt come in. I refer to those plastic prisons that you cannot rip or tear or gouge that encase things like electronics, staplers and ipods. Unfortunately, this delightful little instrument comes in the very same packaging that it is designed to open. So how do I get it out of the package if it is inside?

 

2007

As this year closes and a new one begins, I have been looking back at how this year developed. As is customary, there were numerous ups and downs, and even though I never enjoy the downs, such as losing treasured animals or friends and family, I have to believe that they are all in a better place and that I did what I could to make my part in their life as pleasant as possible.

A lot of new things occurred, such as the first horse shows for first foals of mares that I had sent to trainers to train and show; get show records, earnings won on, then bred to fancy stallions; wait 11 months for a healthy foal to be born, then wait two years for the foal, hopefully still healthy, to go to a trainer, who will then evaluate whether you have something worth spending $800-$1000 a month for a year and a half before it goes to a show. This is not a business for the faint of heart, easily discouraged or impatient.

 

This past year has also seen the rise of a discussion on the fate of the deer and elk on Santa Rosa Island by several senators. As a member of the Vickers family, I take the conversation personally. Unfortunately, none of the politicians care one whit for the agreement that they signed many years ago with Vail and Vickers, which was the condition of the sale. So far they have managed to break virtually every facet of the agreement and continue to repeat falsehoods to the public regarding the situation.

Tim Setnicka, superintendent of the park at the time, has written a most revealing expose of just what happened behind closed doors between various government agencies and our local environmental organizations to deny V&V what they were promised in the congressional legislation. Once again, these three congresswomen are going to cheat not only V&V but the people of California out of a beautiful, healthy herd of Roosevelt elk and deer who have existed on the island for a century and are surely as much a part of the ecology as anything else.

 

You should know that, for example, there was not a problem with the island foxes before the Park Service took over management, and I suspect that removal of the cattle and horses, which also had existed there for over 100 years, might have impacted the ecology as well. I fear that the government-regulated new roads, power systems and water supply systems may have had a considerable impact on the island, which no one wants to talk about.

So here we have a situation where entire herds of healthy animals will be killed to satisfy some perverse unproved theory about what exists where or when — and where are the animal activists? Where are the so-called environmentalists? Or is it just control that they want; they don’t really care about ecosystems or animals? I believe that is the truth of it, and I dare anyone, including those legislators, to prove me wrong. Santa Rosa Island has always only been about control.

 

The Santa Ynez Valley Journal was just in it’s infancy as far as I was concerned when I purchased it in October 2006. Not having been educated in journalism, which in some instances is a good thing, it has taken me some time to gather together people who were qualified to put out a paper. We had so much information about what was going on in the community, and we still do, that it was difficult to get enough out there to make sense to people. As soon as we started to feel the rhythm of publication, we changed from monthly to weekly which totally disrupted the rhythm again.

We have had changes in personnel throughout, which is fairly common in this business, but those who have stuck with us through all of the changes are the backbone of this paper.

Little by little we are building what I hope to be a source of information and dialogue for the valley community. I am grateful to all of you who have supported our efforts from the beginning and hope that you will continue to keep the conversation going so that we may be an informed group, even if we don’t always agree. 

 

I hope you have a happy, healthy 2008!