Monthly Archives: July 2016

LOGGING TRUCKS

 

Dead cedars, yellow pine
roll off the mountain
on trucks, great rounds felled

after drought
down a narrow road
to be ground

into toothpicks, I’m told.
Under the leaky flume
on the Middle Fork,

a Kenworth edged
the ’57 Ford wagon full
of kids and groceries

to a stop, red bark
dripping, hanging like hair—
we held our breath.

Breaking black silence,
a diesel rumbles upcanyon
at four, piggyback, phallic

trailer tongue angled up,
pointing to Eshom
as headlights pass,

to remove the last
witnesses
to Ghost Dances past.

 

Summer Heron

 

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Our Future

 

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According to my records, we’ve only had two days since the Solstice under 100°, but the mornings have been fairly cool from first light until 9:00 a.m. This morning was no exception, simply a beautiful Sabbath.

We’ve kept our replacement heifers close to the corrals since they were weaned in May and June, waiting for their Bangs vaccination for Brucellosis and second round of shots, deworming and fly control that has entailed pumping water daily. We’ve had a lot of eye problems due to foxtails and some foot rot due to bacteria encouraged by the wet spring. Having them close by has helped us gather for doctoring.

We think this year’s heifers are exceptional, both in genetics and temperament. They have gotten to know the Kubota since they were calves, and then again when it brought hay everyday to the weaning pen. So we utilize the Kubota when we gather—they come to it naturally.

Saturday, after Friday’s processing, I led the bunch off the dry feed and irrigated pasture, fed some hay, ready to open them to 300 more acres of dry feed and another source of water, our irrigation pond. By this morning, they were exploring the shore of the pond when I arrived to see how they were doing. Naturally, they all gravitated to the Kubota to discover tall, untouched green feed in the spillway of the pond where excess water flows back into the Kaweah River.

Followers of this blog know it’s all about the girls, our prejudice for females—after all we are a cow/calf outfit. Though we were quite pleased with our steers, it’s not about bragging rights as to how big or nice they were in the sales ring—just an annual dividend, they pay our bills. It’s about the girls, two-thirds of which, with a little luck, will be with us for ten years. They become our future.

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WOE BE TO INTRUDERS

 

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Clinging to a willow branch
above the cattails, singing
across the pond at dawn,

this world is small enough
for herons and mud hens,
a loan goose and bullfrogs—

all the drama necessary
for a rich full life
of trying to get along.

 

OSPREY

 

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The poles were new
after the Flood of ‘55
serving granddad’s pump

in the river,
serving cross-arms,
serving Osprey

nests of sticks
shorting-out
and burning-up

into a hard rain
of spring, 2010.
Platforms now above

the wires, they watch
from a distance
of distrust.

 

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JULY DAWN

 

The barn light
leaks off the metal roof
a golden stream of rain,

black silhouette of hills,
a carcass slumbering
beneath first blue.

Breeze down canyon—
dogs bark,
chatter of raccoons.

 

Wordless Wednesday: Deacon in the Garden

 

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TURKEY VULTURE

 

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Busy with cleanup,
little time to say hello
or come much closer.

 

Nameless

 

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While waiting for the water tank to fill yesterday morning, I took the big lens to the stockwater pond that is receding to see if I might get some clearer photos of the birds I posted on July 1, still unable to identify them.

 

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Rather drab birds except for the pair of white tail feathers, about 10-12″ long overall. They have been circling the shore of the pond looking for grasshoppers in the water that they have flushed from the surrounding grasses. They are busy birds with rather large feet, somewhat comical to watch.

 

TWO BLACK VIRGINS

 

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Coming through the dry
blond stems of wild oats,
late spring rains

in their eyes, two black
virgins weave their way
to water as they discover

the near reaches of womanhood
that simmer within—come
to a boil from time to time.

And they are beautiful,
and innocent—just unable
to see what’s ahead.