¬ My Paternal Grandfather Lupe Concha of Taos Pueblo raised cattle. I was born too late to witness it, but that is what I hear from those that knew him. Now all that remains of that life now are some old haying equipment buried in plum trees and corrals that are barely hanging together.
I became engaged with food after learning from my mother that Lupe used to eat the wild roses, and found my way to having cattle through food. If I had to make a map of my life, the spirit of Lupe would be in the legend. Though I was never witness or taught to these ways of life, they seem to have found a way in regardless.
Lupe Concha
The last few days have been corralled with sorting our cattle. Deciding who might become meat, who will stay in the herd. It’s a strange thing to be playing god in this way. Tuesday was all about sorting out the two herds then pushing them down the road to our second property where they will remain until spring. There they have access to the river and if it doesn’t get too cold, will be able to drink water as they please. Back at the field where we were pushing them from we would have to haul water almost each day, which now that winter has finally kicked in becomes too frequent and difficult.
My sister Allsya, who now lives in Lupe’s old house where we grew up and her daughter Meia came out to help. When we had finished sorting out the two herds Maida drove the truck with a bale of hay weighing close to a thousand pounds on the back with the cows trailing close behind. Allysa and Meia drove behind the cows, and I walked between the making sure the cows wouldn’t stray into the hills. This isn’t the first time we’ve pushed them between fields so they were pretty good about it. After unloading the hay and turning the truck around we drove into a badger hole in the field buried by snow. If it were easy it probably wouldn’t be any fun. Eventually, I pulled the truck out and we carried on with feeding, watering, and sorting. This task took the majority of the day. When we finished we all shared a meal together.
The following day, Wednesday, we got up at 6 and made coffee as the sun starts to light up the sky. We made our fire and started the trucks and tractor. Maida was heading to get our dog spayed and I had to load the two cows that were two years of age that I would be hauling to Tierra Amarilla to have processed for our Meat Share. As I started the truck I glanced at the thermostat which read six degrees. The the tips of my fingers were already stinging from the cold.
As the morning warmed up slightly so did I, slowly sorting out the small herd and loading the two cows. We inherited our corral not of my grandfather, but of someone else's when we bought our land. A distant relative of mine in some way or another from the Chavez linage. This corral isn’t much better then Lupe’s and when a cow notices whats going on they could brake right though. So I take it slow, taking a step here and there, gently guiding them where I want them. After an hour or so of this, and a few situations of mayhem I manage to get the two cows into the trailer. These tasks are much easier with a second person, and I wished a time or two that Maida and I hadn’t tried to divide and concur, but I managed.
I finally got on the road and in my hour and a half drive to the mantanza I have time to contemplate life and death and why being connected to the cows life and death in relation to my own is so important. It’s not an easy task by any means raising cattle, emotionally or physically. You need trucks and trailers, tractors and water tanks, barns and corrals, land and forage, fences and ditches, strength and tenderness. When you look at the numbers and try to imagine how it ever is worth it, you either become overwhelmed or remember that this as anything else in life. It isn’t a means to an end, just a constant means. This practice and how it feeds our life is incalculable. We might lose money if we put it down on paper, but the land and our lives are better because of it.
We could raise 6 head a year, 1 bull and 5 cows and have 4 calves each summer. This would make our life easier, but it would also be only for ourselves. As we look toward the years to come it’s nice to think about creating systems that benefit us, but also that benefit those in our community. We have 22 head at the moment, and on the drive back instead of contemplating life and death and further, I delve into our systems and how to make them better, maybe one day having it sustain itself monetarily. With the task complete I get excited for the tasks awaiting me as I return home.
My niece Meia is close to two years old now, and she loves pushing the cows with Allysa, sitting on moms lap while she pretends to drive. I think about Lupe and what it would have been like if I would have been around while he was active, and thinking on it I must be something like this. Maida and I are having a child this summer and I’m excited to have meat from cows we raised, who are loved and nurtured to nurture us and this new family. I get home and spend the rest of the daylight hauling water and chopping wood.
