TSCN#90: The Clamor of the Coyotes
A Cowboy History, the Pillar of Food, and a Warm Tale from Canada
Howdy y'all,
Texas Slim here. We've got a whirlwind of intriguing stories for you this week. From me and ol’ Ruffshot’s research into the history of the internet—to Lifestyle Management tips that will transform the way you move through the world. And along with this newsletter we have a special piece penned by Andrea from Pipcreek Farm in Manitoba, Canada about the enthralling dance between humans and coyotes up in the Great White North. Wondering how it all fits together? Well, saddle up, partner.
Picture a young coyote, paws dusty, fur ruffled, and eyes full of curiosity, making its first steps on the prairie under the watchful eyes of the moon. The prairie is open, expansive, a land of possibilities. That coyote, my friends, was us—the pioneering internet users in the early days. It was the wild digital west, an open-source Eden where everyone had a shot.
The prairie has changed, though. What used to be a chorus of individual coyotes howling to the moon has turned into a cacophony, orchestrated by big tech. Algorithms and intrusive surveillance have taken over, almost like invasive species choking out the native flora and fauna.
Earlier this week, me and ol’ Ruffshot presented A Cowboy History of the Internet where we discussed it’s early decentralized origins. Those were the good ol' days when we believed the prairie was endlessly fertile and free for everyone. But big tech firms—our modern-day land barons—have walled off large chunks, transforming our communal spaces into their own private estates.
Let me bring it home: it's not just the digital realm at stake here; it's our livelihoods. Take the Beef Initiative, a robust attempt to reclaim the roots—the soil and the grass—of our industry. We aim to preserve the foundational ecosystem before it's overtaken by these centralized behemoths.
But it’s not all doom and gloom. Remember, a coyote adapts. We’ve got the raw materials, the seeds of protocols and open-source tools to sow a fresh start. It's time to outmaneuver the predators lurking behind algorithms that manipulate our thoughts like puppet masters.
The cypherpunks, our digital rangers, have been fighting the good fight. Battling to ensure we can roam the prairie freely, without hoofprints tracking our every move.
So, as we stand on this digital precipice, staring down both its gifts and its dangers, listen for the howl of the digital coyotes—our echoes in this grand tapestry of code and light. Those calls remind us that, just like the prairie, the internet has its beauty and its challenges. Yet, freedom is never more than a courageous step forward (shakeyourranchershand.com).
Stick around for Andrea's captivating guest post. It goes beyond coyotes in Canada; it touches on the balance with nature we all yearn to maintain. Andrea's insights will make you think twice about how you interact with the world around you, in pixels and in prairie grass.
BUT WAIT A MINUTE NOW…
👉 Texas Slim’s Roundup: Fresh Off the Press!
Before we dive into Andrea’s Yotes, don't miss this week's Lifestyle Management where we dig into 'The Pillar of Food.' We're talkin' straight-up, no-nonsense advice for a healthier you. And for those of you riding the digital frontier with us, me and ol’ Ruffshot do a deep dive on the decentralized origins of the internet in 'A Cowboy History of the Internet.' Trust me, it's a rollercoaster of insights you won't wanna miss.
👉 Dive into Lifestyle Management: The Pillar of Food
👉 Saddle up for A Cowboy History of the Internet
Yotes
by Andrea from Pip Creek Farm
These guys have been circling around. Crossing pastures, head up, tail hanging low, trotting with their tongues bouncing along. Butt down, tails tucked, as they scritter across the highway. Evenings their calls echo up from the creek with their compatriots answering from the valley.
Yotes have found their way here to the house, crawled right down on to the work table into sketch books, onto canvas storage baskets, and paper paintings. Their knowing eyes and clever grimace hide out somewhere in the back of my head, flashing across whenever I lay my head on my pillow, walking across my dreams.
My first experiences with coyotes came relatively late. I chuckle at that as they are everywhere now. Cities and towns both have their share of these dog wolves who are canny and cool in our presence. I was twelve when I first heard their yips echoing through the black flatland where I grew up. My first thought was to go out into the night to see if I could find them. My dad put a swift stop to that bit of silliness.
Now, their calls are a constant companion. A sort of auditory northern lights for us, commenting to each other as we finish our chores for the day, whoo, that one’s close or, listen, the pups are out tonight. I remember one Sunday fall afternoon we cruised country roads down through a pasture to the river, bird dog in the back of the truck, catching the wind with her wire-hair. Walking along the banks, Molly, then a young dog, moved through the bush when a call came out of a bluff about forty feet away. Nothing quite so eerie as that. The sound rose, hovered, swayed and shimmered in the still warm air. We’d been watched and had been told.
Our general rule has always been distance. Make sure they keep their distance, we keep ours. Coyotes live here in the same land we do. The mice, rabbits, birds and berries are theirs to take. We give chase in the pasture if we happen upon them to keep a safe circle around our animals and children. During calving, we keep the cows close by, especially heifers who in the confusion of first birth may not have the wherewithal to put their heads down and give chase to curious, wild canines.
I’ve raised a gun in earnest to one only once. On a Thanksgiving weekend, I looked out of my window to see the profile of a dog with pointed ears in our tree line. Coyote. Our small children, aged eighteen months, four and five years were seated at the dining room, having come in moments before from playing outside near the house. The chickens were out, scratching about in the same area. A second look. Yes, definitely coyote. I hastily put on my jeans, as I’d been mid-change to go help my husband finish a corral, grabbed the .22, three shells and ran outside, barefoot, through the garden. Her mouth was full of our rooster. She didn’t run. She looked at me and then kept eating. I shot. Once. Damn, in the leg. Twice, she ran. I swore. Chased her down through the long grass, and finished it up.
I wrote that about two weeks ago. And since then I’ve done nothing but struggle with its presence here. I’ve been wondering how this recounting will present itself. Will it come across as brash, red neck impulsion? The inner workings, even now as I remember the pointy eared silhouette standing in the grass, was a mashed up bunch of certainty, protection, knowing something is awry and needing action. Coyotes keep their distance. We keep ours. One that comes in right tight, at lunch, in the midst of sound and heavy scent of domestic dogs and humans is an outlier. Remember, this was no urban coyote navigating constant traffic, sussing out the what’s what of humanity, our patterns and general goings-on. No, this coyote was one of those who might call out farm dogs at night or sneak in to take a chicken or two if the coop door is left open from dusk to dawn. But even that, that’s more the domain for foxes, skunks, raccoon and weasels. Coyotes keep their distance.
A brazen young yote, coming to the house, where it can hear my husband metres away hammering at a corral, radio blaring, with the scent of kids and dog fresh in the yard, is more than an inconvenient neighbourhood addition. The kids had been playing right where the chickens were scratching, within five feet of the house, in the bright of day. Thinking on this side of it, I think I would do the same thing. I say that while understanding the gravity of taking a life. No one creature ever wants to die and I am not keen to be the one to do the job. If I could do anything differently, I would have remembered to breathe, as the shot would have been cleaner and quicker. I’m not sure if the game situation was difficult that year as our employee had also been approached by a coyote while out walking along the fields. The coyote wouldn’t leave and persistently circled closer. Another story came out about a girl, late at night, whose truck had run out of gas, being forced up into the box of her truck and calling the RCMP. Three coyotes had her circled. Tough conditions make for tough calls for everyone, even animals. I wasn’t prepared to chance it and made a tough call of my own.
No, the yotes I know tend to be the ones who look at you, a quarter mile away, cock their head, stare in alert curiosity and then walk or trot on, nose down. They share entries with ravens and magpies in my book of sober respect paid. Please know this is not of those stories where I saddle up, strap on the ammo belt, and ride out to shoot any coyote daring to show itself. No. Not at all. A prairie landscape without chances of spotting one of these dogs is bland and austere. The thoughts of these bundles of travelling teeth and lanky muscle, with their inquisitive head tilt, watchful eyes and then nonchalant turn, not being there makes for a landscape that is too quiet.
I think this story appears as a personal reminder no relationship is pure and golden. They will play out as trails sometimes meandering into darker woods. There’s always going to be the grit that hurts, wounds and makes for lessons learned about our own weaknesses. Nothing deserves a pedestal, perched and pristine. Nature surely doesn’t. Nature is to be respected but certainly not, from my view, emblemized or reduced to pretty things held above life and death and what those two words come down to in the day to day workings. Working with nature, and within nature, means I need to be humble, not extend myself more than I ought and at times it will mean that nature treads in ways I don’t feel comfortable.
Still, coyotes are here. All the signs nature, myth and science can muster tell us they will be here for all time. They are an eternal presence. Coyotes are the only large predator to have both expanded their range and increased their population as humanity slurps up larger portions of the land. They are the wily fur beasts who are a reflection of us. They come to live within the landscapes of our days and imaginations and, at times, sidle up, cross the hearth and lend themselves to pretty pictures.
I hope y'all found Andrea's story as captivating as I did. Her tale is a poignant reminder of the complexities that come with sharing our world with the creatures that inhabited it long before we arrived. To read more from Andrea and to support her work visit https://www.pipcreekfarm.com/
Until next time, keep on ridin' and keep those questions comin'.
Yours,
Texas Slim
P.S. Andrea’s got fantastic taste in music too!
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