A water trough
leveled for a float
with a puddle
at the bottom
resembles our aquifer
thousands of feet below
the tax write-offs
of corporate farming,
as the ground collapses
to take the water’s place
deposited before man
walked this earth,
before we were so many
thirsty inhabitants
pumping for more
until the trough is empty.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2026, poetry
Tagged aquifer, corproate ag, subsidence, water
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal, Video
I can smell the salt in the dark,
coffee and cigarette in hand,
Rachel splashing California’s coast
swallowing beachfront mansions.
On a slight breeze out of the south
I can smell the sea.
Posted in Poems 2026, poetry
The lazy sun sleeps in,
sinks sooner, but brings color
on a breeze to these hills
growing golden until it rains—
even the turquoise turkey mullein
fades to brittle bronze. No place to hide
for hungry ground squirrels, assorted
hawks and Golden Eagles glide
above their tailing piles
or tease and test one another
with aerodynamic acrobatics
as summer heat relinquishes
its hold on the air we breathe.
We become young once more,
stepping lightly with aging feet.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2026, poetry, Ranch Journal
Young finches fall like leaves from the Valley Oak
we planted 30 years ago
to congregate at the garden’s overspray
collected in a homemade dish—fluttering, fluttering, fluttering…
waiting for space to drink from its edges.
They always startle me
from the corner of my left eye,
as if an avalanche, or branch tumbling to the ground—
releasing me from my reverie of the buck and run
of newborn calves into the long shadows of dawn.
Their mothers plod and graze in a straight line
towards the new water trough
suspicious of the gravel and concrete replacement,
stopping to listen to the familiar clunk of the pump
after browsing the first light of a new day.
The finches rise in an orchestrated flurry,
in an unheard whir
into trees, a welcome intrusion,
one more bucolic page between me
and my fears for a scattered human herd.
for JEG
Posted in Poems 2026, poetry, Ranch Journal
As is apparent in the photo, native feed is all but gone, but on the hillsides, accessible and a little taller. Here in the flats where most of the cows will choose to have a calf, only Turkey Mullein or Dove Weed that cattle will not eat.
Most of these cows are close to calving. Fed alfalfa hay strung-out like this, they are easier for Robbin and I to check in the Kubota and to pair-up newborns with their mothers. Too early really for a rain, though 3 hurricanes in the Pacific, most grass started now would probably die unless followed by more moisture. We’re rooting for a rain nonetheless.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calving, checking cattle, feeding, rain, Turkey Mullein
We’ve begun replacing our galvanized troughs with concrete, as the price is comparable with the price of steel, plus the concrete lasts much longer. We have some that my Dad poured during the drought in 1947 that still don’t leak, where as the galvanized troughs might only last 5 years.
Robbin and Shawn Fox set this one, 6,000+ lbs. yesterday after Chuck and Shawn prepared the pad the day before. It’s taken the cows a few passes to get used to it and the gravel, but this morning they act like the trough has always been there. Major weather change as the morning lows have dropped into the 50s. Here’s hoping summer’s done.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged concrete water troughs, Hilvers Dairy Fabricating, photographs, water
This calf was only a couple of hours old this morning to its 2 year-old mother. Both have the necessary instincts to survive. She has carried it for nine months and now it’s learning to trust her instructions as she heads to the feed grounds, it trailing behind, before we intercepted them with a couple of flakes of hay near a shade tree. All’s well.
PEAK EVERYTHING, OVERSHOOT, & COLLAPSE—Chapter-19-CA-aquifer-depletion.jpg
California has the law it needs
to retire Mom and Pop (early)
when they can’t find the fees
to fund its application—
let the citrus hang on trees,
fill the furrows with oranges
when they can’t pay
to drill a deeper well
if there’s any water left
after the Big Dogs drink,
leave and let the farm ground sink
clear to hell.
Posted in Poems 2026, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged acquifer depletion, California, poetry, SGMA, subsidence, water
