A plodding grace with each footfall
of cloven hooves upon soft centers
of winding trails engineered to grade,
cows claim this ground, claim us as well,
tracking seasons of the sun ever-circling.
Behind fences grazing shade to shade,
they worry not about the days ahead.
How we envy and emulate their easiness—
hang totems to draw the cow gods closer.
I made a couple of videos of us working cattle in the new corrals in Greasy to send to my sister who owns the ground and financed their completion. Our cattle handling has evolved since the use of the Kubotas, finding it much easier to lead cattle than to drive them while gathering this steep and brushy ground. Over the years, the cows have become gentler and more cooperative, and having good facilities insures they remain that way. I thought some followers of the blog might be interested.
The first video shows the improvements to our loading facilities and the second demonstrates how we worm our cows for potential parasites—not the kind of action one might find in wild cow poetry, but the way we like it.
Since the four-year drought when we had to leave the gates of each mountain pasture in Greasy open to secure water, we haven’t had a decent count on our cows. Drought-killed trees and limbs on fences haven’t helped us manage our numbers either. But we do know how many calves we branded in Greasy.
As we’ve gathered to wean and harvest our crop of calves, all but one calf was accounted for as of last Thursday, a calf that may have died sometime after branding. Nevertheless, Robbin and Terri left early Friday in the Kubota with a bale of hay, salt and mineral to look for tracks, to insure we got all the calves.
Evening wine, and
I still want to celebrate
the last marked calf
on the books, in
the weaning pen, out
of the brush and rock
with cows behind
the Kubota and a bale
of hay, Robbin and Terri
on the cellphone calling
for a gooseneck, for Bob
and I to haul him home.
Two frozen bottles of water,
four beers with lemons, cool
reward in an insulated pouch.
(iPhone selfie: Terri Drewry)
Though offerings from the blog have been meager while we’ve been weaning calves, we seem to have had lots of visitors in the last six weeks. Our latest, my niece Katy and four month-old daughter Lennon were photographed by her husband Neal Lett @ the Sip ‘n’ Dip with his iPhone Thursday afternoon. I couldn’t resist posting it.
Moonrise at her throat, a glowing pendant,
hair spilling into the creek as she sleeps, and
when the light leaves, her dark silhouette
begins to breathe as the hills come alive at night.
Native women dance where they have worn
the ground to a powdery, fine dust, easy to inhale—
their chanting rises with the moon as coyotes answer
from the canyons these past ten thousand years.
Temporary, we become lost in the landscape—
our souls, the depth of our flesh absorbed,
secreted in her creases for safekeeping as we wait
just beyond the reach of certain change.
I wonder through pipe fencing
to blond feed and green sycamores
to the pinkish hillsides dotted
with blue oak drought survivors,
why—or does it make a difference
in the long haul to God
knows whom or what! This is
our moment to spend on what
is important to whoever
we think we are—our
chance to stand for something,
for someone, somewhere.
We hauled the last of this year’s calves out of Greasy this morning to ‘soak’ in the weaning pens before taking the steers to town next week. The heifers will join the rest on the irrigated pasture to be Bangs vaccinated and then sorted for replacements. Despite one of the driest beginnings to our rainy season, they’ve all done well due to our March and April rains. Including some late slicks that missed our brandings in Greasy, these calves averaged over 700 pounds.
We’ve done well, too, weaning our English calves in 30 days, 20 of which were over 100 degrees. It’s been saddle at 5:30 a.m. to beat the heat. Our thanks to Bob, Terri and Allie for their cheerful willingness to help get the job done. (iPhone photo by Terri Drewry)
Perhaps age, or perhaps it’s the 100-degree heat, but my enthusiasm wanes for lots of things, including poetry.
I’m up early enough to write before we leave at daylight when it’s the coolest. Perhaps it’s the drama of the news, its incongruence, its self-righteous and self-serving players vying for the spotlight, for power or money—mostly bad-acting at best, politics has become so terribly transparent these days. Thank God we have work to do.
Yesterday, when we finished processing and doctoring a few eyes of the calves we weaned Tuesday, Terri pulled her iPhone out to document the Greasy calves—something I had planned to do, but didn’t. Thank you, Terri.
Perhaps the work, the satisfaction that comes with the jobs we do is where enthusiasm waits, apart from the distractions of the outside world beyond our ridgelines. Engaged and invested, each day is usually an adventure. So I’ve changed my writing habits to summer afternoons, glad to be inside and out of the heat hoping to find a little more enthusiasm then.
MATURE
We take sleep when we can,
welcome the dreams that dance
unsteadily from out of dark curtains.
Undisturbed, we are the playwrights,
shaping characters and editing lines
as we move towards an unknown ending
or a mysterious purpose, if any, on this planet
at odds with itself, and with humanity—
yet hoping that the visions we hone
subconsciously will bleed into the daylight
and become like ripe seeds planted
in our brains, waiting, waiting to mature.
The foundation crumbles—
the red, white and blue
states of dysfunction
grapple blindly
for another victory,
chip away at truth and honor
just to play in the District
of Columbia. Poll-driven
word games, big dollars
for coffers drive the train—
O’ Casey Jones
watch your speed!
We’ve been looking forward to working cattle in our renovated corrals in Greasy, a project started by Earl McKee before our family purchased his ranch nearly twenty years ago. The work was completed last spring after we branded our calves in the old corrals. Today, we sorted cows from calves to be hauled down the mountain to begin the weaning process below.
In the photo, Robbin and the girls are sorting two gooseneck loads for Bob and me to haul, a two-hour round trip. While we were gone, they finished their sort and wormed the cows in our new facilities, pleased with all their options.
(click)
