Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies

Loma

Saturday, October 21, 1989

The Fourth Day Following the Earthquake

Part II of The Earthquake Trilogy

Today I’m supposed to go to Ted’s ranch atop beautiful Fremont Peak for a barbeque and a party, but I’m feeling that I really shouldn’t go.

Instead, everyone from the party should head over to Watsonville, Santa Cruz or Hollister to shovel glass, or pack boxes. We can bring empty boxes and help everyone there pack up what’s left of their household belongings.

Or, we can cook. We’ll cook a decent hot meal for everyone who’s been living off of sandwiches and dented canned goods since the earthquake.

I anticipate Ted will call and say the barbecue’s been postponed.

“We’re going to Hollister to shovel glass!” he’ll announce.

“Wear your heavy boots and bring gloves!”

But he doesn’t call.

So I call the Red Cross and ask what type of help they need today.

“Thanks just the same”, the volunteer coordinator replies, “but we have all the help we can use for the weekend. Please call back during the weekdays when we’re short of volunteers.”

Looks like I’m back to the original pre earthquake plan and head towards San Juan Bautista where Ted will meet me and drive me the remainder of the way up the winding rugged slopes to Fremont Peak. As I leave Salinas, I tune the car radio to KGO 810 news. Since the earthquake, I have had the news on nearly 24 hours a day. It has become an obsession for me, a link to the outside world, a constant update of monitoring tremors.

A light drizzle hit’s the windshield. With the tapping of the wipers in the background I listen to the news that movement has been detected within the tons of smashed concrete from the collapsed freeway in Oakland. Rescue workers struggle to extricate a man who has been stuck for four days without food or water. How has he managed to stay alive while squashed in his car, much like a smashed beer can underneath a football player’s cleated foot?

I’ll bet that residents of the entire Bay Area are listening to this, as I am. Even the atheists must be praying that he’ll be pulled out alive!

Eventually, the rescuers chisel him out!

Through the radio I hear bystanders near the collapsed freeway cheering as the survivor is hoisted down to a waiting ambulance! The reporter says the man’s name is Buck Helms! They’re referring to him as “Lucky Buck.” Lucky indeed!

I want to hear what type of vehicle Buck drove that protected him from being crushed to death underneath tons of concrete. What type of Monster Big Foot pick up semi double wheeler freight train super vehicle saved him? Whatever it was, I’m going to trade in my little car for one like his! Gas mileage be damned! From now on, I want the biggest, safest car I can get! You never know when a free way is going to come crashing down on you!

As I continue to drive north along 101, I listen intently as the newsman describes Lucky Buck’s safety vehicle…it was a little Chevy Spring! No kidding! A tin can on four wheels!

Now I am feeling relieved and much less guilt ridden about going up to the ranch for the barbeque. After the good news about the successful rescue, I feel it’s appropriate to have a party now!

Ted is waiting near the Mission, where I leave my car so that he can drive the rest of the way. I am too “chicken” to drive to the top of the peak myself! Ted had left his pick up at the ranch, and had driven to town to fetch me in his trusty little Honda. He expertly negotiated the twists and turns of road leading up through the hills, unpaved in some spots, and only one lane along most stretches. The ride was beautiful, exhilarating, and, for me, terrifying, all at the same time!

As we approached the ranch, I am awestruck by its beauty. I feel as if I have died and gone to Heaven! Even at this time of the year, and, in spite of the drought, the ranch is surprisingly green and beautiful. Studded with sprawling oak trees and dotted with wildflowers, the acreage looks more like a park than a working cattle ranch.

Many of the cows in the pastures along the road, have young calves at their side. Ted explains there will soon be 1,000 head of cattle.

As we wind up the hill, spots a stray cow and pulls the car over to park. He tells me that we are going to herd the cow back to where it belongs.

 “We?” I meekly inquire. As we leave the car and a trek up to the pasture, Ted instructs this “cit girl” on how to herd a wayward cow. Wait ‘til my friends at home hear about this!

He directs me to walk along the fence line on one side of the pasture, while he walks along the other side. My role is walk towards the cow until she becomes uncomfortable with my approach, then she will walk away from me, towards the gate, in the direction of where we want her to. Sounds easy enough.

However, when I walk out there and take a good look at this creature, she doesn’t seem especially thrilled about seeing me in her pasture. The 1,700 hundred pound bovine stares me down. I feel a little uneasy as I approach her as she looks straight ahead at me without blinking.

Naturally, Ted knows what he is doing, and the cow turns away from me and walks in the direction that Ted wanted, where he proceeds to herd her into the other pasture.

In the meantime, I’ve spotted a darling little calf curled up right along the other side of the fence line.

“Don’t touch her!” Ted advises, knowing that I am apt to pet just about any little animal that will sit still for me. He explains that her mother is probably nearby and won’t appreciate me trying to make friends with her baby. I visualize another 1,700 hundred pounder, this time a protective mother, no less, and heed Ted’s advice.

But by the time Ted finishes securing the gate to the next pasture, I notice that there doesn’t seem to be any mother around to claim this long legged little calf. As we head back towards the car, the dark, skinny little orphan attempts to get up and wobble along behind us. Her loud and urgent bleating belies her boney little body.

“Ted, I don’t think there is a mother anywhere around here!” He agrees and decides we’d better take her back with us to barn; otherwise, she’ll likely die out here. As with all the cattle, he has a financial investment in her, which he does not want to lose.

Since had had left the truck at the ranch and had picked me up in the Honda, we would simply have to use it to transport the calf! This is one practical use for a Honda that I have never seen advertised in a TV commercial! Tim’s in the driver’s seat, so that means the calf will have to straddle across my lap in the front seat! We place her belly on my lap, with her head facing the driver’s seat and her rear end and back legs up against my passenger side door. The poor little girl is sweet and good natured on her first, (and most likely, last!) ride in a car!

She is a very dark brown color, nearly black, with huge brown eyes and looooong curly eyelashes. Her wet nose nuzzles and tickles my hand. She enjoys being petted and spoken to softly. Her ribs are protruding from her skinny side, and her dried umbilical cord is still attached. Tim estimates that she is about four days old, an estimate that was confirmed later that evening by a veterinary friend attending the barbeque.

If she is four days old, then I calculate that she was born on the day of the Earthquake. Tim says she is probably a twin that was abandoned. He’s plans to find a foster mother for her, but, in the meantime, she will have to be bottle fed.

 “What are you going to name her?” I ask Ted.

“We don’t name stray calves. They’re not pets.”

Now Ted is not as serious or gruff as this sounds. He explains that this is a ranch, a business, and ranchers don’t name and become attached to livestock who will eventually end up on someone’s dinner plate.

I, however, have my own ideas and, as we ramble into the unpaved driveway leading to the barn, I announce that her name will be “Loma.”

Loma is the perfect name for her. It means “the earth” and she is the color of the rich, moist soil of the Salinas Valley. And, since she seems to have been born on the day of the Loma Prieta Earthquake, “Loma” seems to be a perfect name for her!

To everyone but Ted, of course, because he doesn’t name livestock.

With Loma safely in the barn, we are greeted by the ranch dogs; a spotted Aussies and a Border Collie or two. They run to us and jump around, and appear to be thrilled to see us, thrilled to be living on this beautiful ranch, and just plain thrilled to be alive! And who can blame them, with the life they have here!

With the dogs are our sides, we approach the ranch house, Ted’s authentic cowboy abode! The largest area is the big country kitchen/dining room, with a long wooden table that will comfortably seat all the guests later that night. The kitchen still has the original 1920’s style linoleum floor and reminds me of the floor of my late grandmother’s house.

A bookcase lines an entire wall of the dining room and is stocked floor to ceiling with Ted’s extensive collection of books; a combination of ranch management non fiction, cookbooks and an ample selection of science fiction, which may be an appropriate choice for the clear starry nights here atop Fremont Peak, the highest point in the tri county area.

I thumb through the cookbooks that Ted has thoughtfully selected with tempting recipes for tonight’s meal. We’ll begin with cheese quesadilla’s prepared with a dipping sauce of Ranch dressing, but the main course will be, naturally, barbequed New York strip steaks, originating from Ted’s own livestock.

Suddenly, while I peruse the recipes, the hair stands up on the back of my neck. I sense a current of air that shoots through the house and instinctively look towards the front door, while I sense the rolling of yet another strong aftershock from Tuesday’s original 7.1 temblor. Like me, Ted is also a native Californian, and is quite used to these experiences. He appears nonchalant and although my nerves are becoming more frayed with each ground shaker, I follow his lead and continue researching the recipes through the 4.0 aftershock.

We began preparations for the dinner. Ted’s first task was to prepare dough for his handmade dinner rolls. I have never made bread from scratch before and am impressed with the variety of Ted’s talents…rancher, businessman, an excellent cook and baker too!

He checks the frig and discovers that we’ll need more eggs for the dough. I wonder if we will hop back in the car and drive back down the hill another thirty minutes to the supermarket. No! This is a ranch with fresh eggs within walking distance of the back door! We head for the hen house!

Even though I have a pet cockatiel and a parrot at home that sit on my shoulder every day, for some reason, I am too timid to reach under the spunky hens and remove their eggs! I watch Ted reach into the first nest. The hen doesn’t seem to mind his intrusion, and he continues on down the line until he has enough to re stock the kitchen supply. Afraid of being pecked, I am content to carry the eggs back to the house without breaking them!

As I crack and separate the light brown eggs into the bowl, I notice they feel warm, as in fresh-from-the-chicken warm! This is a small and simple task, yet I can’t believe how much I am delighted I am in baking with fresh eggs. Ted is both amused and pleased by my enthusiasm of these new experiences.

While waiting for the bread dough to rise, we walk outside to the nearby pasture to visit his horses and their “buddies” the huge bulls! I speculate that one of the big fellas is Loma’s proud papa! In spite of their enormous size, the bulls seem rather gentle and much less intimidating than the smaller cow we had approached earlier. However, unlike the cows, the bulls aren’t responsible for protecting the calves, only in siring them.

Ted cautions me to be careful of the barbs as I climb over a barbed wired fence for the first time in my life. The horses love his kind and gentle manner and come to meet him immediately as he enters the pasture. He has about fifteen horses here, and unlike the cattle, they all have names. As they approach us, he describes each one and tells me about their individual personalities, as I “meet” and pet each one. I have never been on a horse before, but Ted rides through the ranch daily. I am fascinated as the horses snack on thorny weeds with gusto. They appear to almost vacuum the dry weeds right out of the ground!

Nearby, the bulls don’t seem to mind that we have come to visit their pasture, but they don’t joyfully trot up to meet us as the dogs and horses had, and, with their massive bulk, it’s a good thing that they don’t scamper over to meet us! Although I had felt timid about reaching under the hens to take their eggs, I feel comfortable in petting one of the bulls, who appears to be very mellow.

On the way back to the house Ted notices a horseshoe on the ground and gives it to me for good luck, as a souvenir of the day on the ranch.

The guests begin to arrive for the barbeque. Ted coordinates the kitchen crew, as everyone pitches in to help with the remainder of the dinner preparation. Not only is Ted a good cook, but it appears that all of his friends are too! They include other ranching neighbors, a lady veterinarian from town, and the local state park ranger, with his young family.  After dinner we all ventured out to the barn so that the park ranger’s darling little blonde haired children could feed Loma her evening bottle. Everyone agreed with me that “Loma” was an appropriate name for her; everyone but Ted, that is.

Darkness falls quickly atop Fremont Peak in late October. It’s a clear, crisp autumn night and from this vantage point it feels like I can simply reach out and touch the stars. All the guests prepare to say good night and thank Ted for his hospitality. I catch a ride back down the hill to San Juan Bautista, with the vet. She carefully drives down the winding road we catch glimpses of long eared jack rabbits, and black tailed deer foraging alongside the road, startled by the brightness of the headlights.

For someone who woke up this morning not wanting to go to the barbeque, I am so glad that I did! Everything turned out for the best, beginning with Buck Helm being rescued from the rubble, and ending with a beautiful day of new experiences for me, on the ranch.

Tim calls me a few days later to say hello…

“I thought you’d like to know that Loma is putting on weight….”

This is a true story and is an excerpt from Where the Red Tailed Hawk Flies

Copyright 1990 by Gabriella Graham

Red Tailed Hawk Publishing