What a month it was.

The lovely missus and I made 3 forays deep into province during September. Each visit was startlingly different and demonstrated the many powerful moods of pachamama as she dreams in Winter and her Spring morning ablutions.

We were there working with the hacienda (herd) on the 1st of the month. The condition of the land was enough to test nerves of steel. We'd had almost no measurable rainfall for close to 3 months... the first such dry Winter in many many years. On top of that, the areas we have leased to "the planters" had been doused liberally with herbacide in anticipation of corn and soybeans, giving the horizons an even more exaggerated brown.

The soils in our neck of the pampas have a rather high component of clay. This is generally a good thing for pasture land in that, even though rain is not readily absorbed into the surface, it stays longer once it soaks in. Another aspect of clay is that it can get hard as a brick during prolonged drought. Through good business practices and lots of delicious dumb-luck, we had reduced the size of our herd this winter to the point that we actually had excess pasture for our lovely beasts. Other ranchers in the area did not and could be found close to tears regarding the condition of their cows and were forced to send many excellent but skinny animals to market where they of course brought much less money... or they watched them die in the fields. Our animals looked so beautiful and we had so much pasto... we were embarrassed during a tour we gave to a ranchers group on the first.

Then came the rains. Then came the rains. Then came the rains. Our head-gaucho, Miguel, reported that the whole operation looked more like a river than an estancia. The amount of standing water in the whole area was impressive ...in some spots more than I've ever seen in my few years here.

Our place is about 200mi/300km from where I sit. Most of the journey is by good highways and roads. The last 25km, however, is good old-fashioned dirt roads. I will add that they are best damned dirt roads I've ever seen! Compacted by traffic and maintained by the condado (county), they are so serviceable that even the most pampered yanqui could not defend the expediture it would take to pave them (unless, of course, he had cousin in the roadpaving business... one of the reasons that the rural US has so many paved rural roads!)

After normal to heavy rains, the dirt roads are impassable. 4x4's are the last to leave and the first to venture back onto the mud dancefloor... but there is a period during which only an idiot would make a run with any wheeled vehicle.

Entonces, it was the 21st, the first day of Spring before we could make it back. The difference was eye-blinkingly astonishing. Storybook springtime. Cinematic springtime. Central casting springtime. Edith Head Springtime! Where everything was lying about half-dead in brown sackcloth now was draped in green velvet. Every flower and tree was in full bloom... I never even saw the buds! The huge bay laurel tree/bush is heavy with its weird deliriously scented blossoms and the air is indescribably soft and sweet and mild. Narcotic. Any extranjero that has spent a spring in capital or the province... and knows of a deeper, sweeter, longer Spring anywhere on the planet... please write to me!

We just got back from our 3rd visit yesterday. The sun and the wind and the soil had each taken their share of the standing water and our ranch was back to beautiful normal. The picture at the top is from Saturday. There is an expression in castellano very similar to English, "Like a pig in flowers! (¡Como un chancho entre flores!) The foto is of one of our young bulls standing in sweet green spring grass that is being snowed-upon by flowering pear trees. I hope you can see the petals on his big black shoulders.

We got a call from Miguel this morning, though. It is raining again (¡Baldazos! Me dijo.) That's fine. So fine. The previous rains and the later break have softened up the soils and they'll be able to take much much more ...and hold it in the soil.

Spring is a good time for beginning in general and could be a good an especially good time to begin a series on what it takes (...at least, "has taken") for a city born and bred yanqui to become a gentleman rancher in Argentina. If I can get this series off the ground, thanks go to Pieter, my cattleman friend in South Africa, who is investigating a move to our fair país. His questions forced me to put to paper some of the figures that a real rancher should be able to rattle off the top of his head but I could not. If you're reading, Piet, I just realized that I owe you an email! Gads! Sorry I forgot.

Along with the good grounding in the numbers that I now have I expect to put some of the tasty cultural differences between capital and campo.

You can also follow how much work we do, how much fun we have, how much food we eat... and if we make some money or lose our ass between now and next spring.

Somewhere along the way, there'll be a temendous asado for any and all readers brave enough to cross the Río Salado. Don't worry. It's a lot safer since some guy named Rosas swept through a while back.