Progress parallels the creek,
follows a crumbling dirt track paved
up canyon past the end of power poles
and the double yellow line,
the busy bulk of it beyond
the hazy ridgeline—
beyond thinking past water
when the creek is dry
in September.
Caravans of Christians
craving altitude, the new shine
of fifth-wheels pulling for the pines—
the guttural rumble, leather herds
of Harleys and the bright spandex
of cyclists pass us by
as if we were a landscape
to endure along the way
to something better.
drycrikjournal 
we live as strangers in a strange land . . .
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We don’t leave the canyon much, and what passes by with blinders on seems strange to us. In many ways, we have become the aliens.
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Two sides of the fence. When brown grass looks so green.
I have been one of those minions on the other side of the fence. In search of nirvana. I, at least, have stopped along the way to peer past the No Trespassing signs to observe what seems like the only untouched land there is. To us, it seems that those on the other side must be isolationist that must hate any outsider. It can feel like those on the other side have encased the remaining wild and thumb their noses at the rest of us.
We can only wonder as we drive by what it must be like over there.
I have driven the road in the predawn darkness, come to an abrupt stop when I caught site of a turkey tree only 150 feet past the fence. I sat there for an hour and a half watching the turkeys awake and fly down from their roost and begin to gobble and strut.
I have driven up to the gate to ask permission to wander the land just to observe and enjoy some solitude, only to be met by a plethora of warning signs.
At times I would curse the fencers, but then fight with myself, knowing the way people are now, that I would likely “post” as well..
With no other option, I get in the line of vehicles and head up, remembering back when I could go up and still get away from the hoards of the way to often disrespectful.
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We have seen many changes, you and I, on both sides of the fence. Nothing will ever be like it once was.
Part of the purpose of this journal is to share what is here, to open a door to this landscape and cattle culture as we work with the elements towards sustainability, to promote an understanding of what we do. It takes no great genius to carve this ground up into ranchettes and leave with a suitcase of cash. The challenge is to stay financially afloat while harvesting our renewable resources, grass and water, with cattle that are intended to feed people.
Try as we might, this blog is a poor substitute for actually being here, for recreating that humble mindset, the awe garnered as we work with both wild and domestic life. It is a record for the future of what once made their livings here.
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Love the photo and the red tail just below the copyright mark.
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Good eye, Richard, glad I didn’t crop it.
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You do a very fine job! Living vicariously through your blog. Thank you!
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