Spring brings snowmelt and rain which flows (and floods) down the old creek bed known as Dry Creek in central Johnson County. It is a misnomer to call it a “dry creek” as springs, seeps and standing water fill the channel, sometimes running underground into North Fork. Trying to negotiate this annual tide can be challenging.

Once ice melts, we have to wear very tall boots or find another way around. Our daily walks are part of the routine, whether in rain, snow or shine. We also find it difficult to drive or operate equipment with a moat running through our property. Ducks, wild geese and birds love it, but the larger critters run into problems. Feedlot, our 1,000+ pound steer sinks into the mud and if he gets stuck, we have our hands full, literally.

A pile of refuse (really?– on this place?) revealed a sturdy cast-off telephone pole, saved for some nebulous future use and when the creek dried up in 字幕下载网站 we drug it into place next to the fence. The water has come close, but has not run over this makeshift bridge, which I am determined to traverse each day without hanging onto the fence. Maud does it, I can do it, but Michael’s size 13 shoes just don’t want to hang on and he grabs the fence for balance.

In a wider, shallower section of the creek, we dumped rock in to make a bridge on the road leading to the lower pasture. The water matriculates through the stones and travels on its way down the creek. This crossing is pretty easy to negotiate until it freezes up and coats the rocks with ice.

We installed a culvert just above the pond and filled in with dirt and rock to create a road across the creek. It is a rough ride, but we can drive across it most of the year. Right now it is pretty soggy and our steer leaves deep tracks in the mud. Water is backed up on both sides of the road and the culvert is completely submerged, but so far it has not run over the road.

These 16-ft. planed pine logs were part of the Nine Mile homestead cabin which was moved to the ranch headquarters in the late 1950’s. When we took the cabin down, we saved all the logs that were in good shape and used the rest in a variety of ways. These two are sturdy, even though they were milled over 100 years ago at the Mayoworth sawmill, and they make an excellent walking surface.

Frustrated that part of the walking path was submerged in water, I drug up some old corral poles and a long timber and anchored them on a downed tree trunk that protruded into the water. It was shaky, unreliable and dumped more than one traveler. Maud and I negotiated fairly well (you had to tip your toes down and lean a little to keep the long timber from teetering out from under you) but again, Michael’s size 13 shoes failed to make the journey. A few others with smaller shoes failed as well. Something had to be done!

Previous mention of “refuse” needs an explanation. Dad and other area ranchers utilized oil field surplus of all kinds — pipe, sucker rod, pumps, scrap of all kinds, as well as wooden walking beams leftover from the days of wooden derricks in the Salt Creek field. Made of oak, they were meant to last a very long time. Two of the walking beams had migrated under the fence and out of sight until Michael asked for my help in hauling them down to the creek bottom.

We drug them from the barn yard down into the bottom and lined them out, taking measure to see if they were long enough to span the water in the creek. Amazing that they were sound after laying in the sun and wind for 40-odd years! Now the question looming large was “how do we get them across the creek?” Driving was out of the question – if we got the four-wheeler buried in mud, we would have to get the tractor to pull it out. Then we could get the tractor buried as well.

Michael had an idea we could move the beams with straps, which we have used successfully on many occasions, but this looked dubious. Somebody has to lead and somebody has to follow. Who is going to wade into the creek strapped to oak beams that weigh a ton?

At this stage of the operation, the camera crew (me) has to engage in the action at hand, which was quite complicated. We should have had a videographer! We began by sliding one of the beams in the water alongside my old, shaky bridge. Then I crossed to the other side and was able to reach the tip of the beam, dragging it out of the creek and up on the bank. With a strap, I was able to move my end up to the bridge site. Michael carried his end up to the site on the opposite side of the creek. He then shoved the second beam into the water, and I crossed to the other side to drag it up on the bank. Once we had them in place, we moved the long timber from my old bridge, laid it alongside the walking beams, wired the bundle together in a couple places and voila! A bridge that even Feed Lot can cross on (we have not witnessed him trying, but he has been as inconvenienced as we are with all our routes covered in water.)

In all, we have five crossings that are rude, crude and ugly but work to transport us across the water in “Dry Creek.”

Firewood . . . .

Each spring during March and April we gather dead-fall from 100 or so cottonwood trees along the creek bottom.  This year is far worse due to a deadly storm last July that brought hurricane-force winds and amazing destruction.  We have been cleaning up since that storm, but the tall grasses that grow in summer inhibit a very concentrated approach.  We decided to wait until winter and try again once the snow had subsided.

Not full yet . . . .

Many of the larger branches and stumps had to be cut with the chain saw to make them manageable.  We concentrate on those first, and then gather up the smaller branches and twigs.  It is tedious, scratchy work.  We dump each load into a burn pile and dispose of them in that manner, keeping the larger chunks for the wood pile and the fireplace we burn in the cold months.  Smaller branches are cut to a shorter length for our outdoor patio stove which we burn in late spring and early autumn when we can avoid the mosquitoes.

Aching backs . . . .

We attempt to mow these grassy meadows in summer and my ambitious plan for a private nine-hole golf course is still a dream in the distant future, however the cleanup has to occur first.  Even the brush hog pulled behind the tractor cannot deal with this kind of mess.  It is cut, bend and stoop, load on the trailer and haul away to be burned.  Like it or not.

Sir Winston and Maud . . . .

We have lots of helpers who want to get in on the fun.  Maud attempts to grab onto the end of the limbs while we are carrying them, and Sir Winston gets tangled up in our feet while he tries to give us a friendly rub.  We couldn’t do it without them.

Dry Creek? . . . .

The Not So Dry Creek has been running since mid-字幕下载网站.  Flood stage had subsided and most of the snow had melted one week ago, but this week we have had another 8-10 inches of snowfall and bitter cold.  Trying to get tractor, trailer and other equipment in to some areas is a challenge that will not go away soon.  And when this latest snow melts, we will be back up to some level of flooding again.  Ethel will be in heaven.

A goose’s favorite pastime . . . .

Ethel, our one remaining goose has been waiting in a dusty, dry poultry house all winter for a bath and a good meal of roots and mud.  She is in her element and spends the entire day fishing and bathing in the water.  The chickens like to pick along the creek bank although it is a mystery what they are after – still too cold for bugs and worms!

A creek runs through it . . . .

My fondest dream as a child was for Dry Creek to run again all year long.  I spent the spring flood season splashing around in the water up and down the creek.  My bum lambs would join me for a nibble of green grass.  Alas, by July the water was gone and I was back to being a dry-lander.  Underground springs are found for several miles along the creek bottom and we have a nice pond that is spring fed.  In the early part of the last century, homesteaders built dug-outs in the creek banks and utilized water from seeps.

Not so deep . . . .

The water makes its way downstream to eventually join the North Fork of Powder River.  Reservoirs that hinder its progress have been overflowing and the underground water still makes its way to join the river, which flows into the Middle Fork of the Powder.  Who knows, perhaps climate change will bring my dream into reality and Dry Creek will run once more!  I’m not buying a fishing pole any time soon.