Before my time
an empty bottle cast
where there was no road,
pink with a lifetime
of blistering sunlight
and I wonder who
a horseback threw it
now in the short grass—
legends in these hills,
weathered men,
drinkers all
coping with the times—
with bankers and buyers
betting on the market
and little chance of rain.
Or what couple when
lay naked then
in wildflower sunshine.
Not much has changed
except for the price
of a cheap bottle of wine.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged cattle business, lovers, weather, wine
Gray silver rain,
burnished coins
upon the green—
first leaves of filaree
like faces waiting,
hands open expectantly.
The ground sighs
just in time and we,
with wood stacked,
breathe freely now
as cows down from ridgetops
collect babies waiting
for breakfast
and old enough to listen
for their mother’s voice.
She slipped easily away
under clouds like these.
I hear phrases now—
her knowing
and all her demons
haunt me delightfully,
words that fit
and suddenly
become my own.
She would be pleased for us,
gray silver rain
upon the green.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Beneath clouds
the forecast rain peters out
to a light mist, heavy dew, a sip
to hold greening hills a week—
like always, I’m disappointed
wanting more
security for cows.
Today, we’ll cut skeletons
of brittle manzanita
into woodstove lengths
to bring Blue Oak coals
to flame each morning.
We’ll take the dog,
put out salt,
check cows and calves—
stack the brush
load the Kubota
and let her sit between us
all the way home.
Through the years
we have worn cow trails of our own.
Like always, we’ll see something
we’ve never seen before.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged cow trails, cycles, dog, habits, Manzanita, rain, woodstove
A week after our 2” rain event, everyone is feeling pretty good. Yesterday as Robbin and I began scattering hay to our first-calf heifers, their Wagyu X calves busted loose across the Flat. The iPhone photo is but a portion of the 60+ head on their return trip to mama and the feed grounds.
Ever respectful
in the presence of preying,
or praying out loud.
Posted in Haiku 2021, Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged pray, praying mantis, prey
After nearly 2 inches of rain, everything is clean, having traded dust and smoke for mud and puddles, we’re delighted and relieved. Though we’ll be feeding hay for another 3 weeks or so, we expect our hills to be green this week. Though it feels like a drought-buster, long-term forecasts point to a developing La Niña with only a 10% chance of this year’s rainy season being wetter than last.
Around here all the gods live in trees.
– Jim Harrison (“The Whisper”)
It’s been tough on the woodpeckers: dry year,
no acorns in the oaks, yet
they still flap and squabble over bugs in the bark.
I can’t see the owls in the dark of dawn
as I wait for the black to disappear, yet
their mournful presence is good company.
Robbin likes the flock of little bushtits
flitting tree to tree, or washing-up at six o’clock
when the timer sprays the Mexican Sage.
Above it all, they’re smarter than the rest of us
to fly where they want—or most needed.
But around here we irrigate the trees.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged gods, Jim Harrison. birds, trees, water
2.
Drought and dust,
pandemic and the masks
we need to breathe and feed—
day’s end cloaked in smoke
and gin—how tough are we
and every living thing
looking to escape
to a Li Po poem
and Chinese tapestry?
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, dust, KNP Complex fire, pandemic, smoke, Windy Fire
1.
I can taste the pines and cedars when I awake
to fuzzy black to search for stars
beyond, hoping for a clear day.
Choking smoke with my coffee,
with feeding cows and first-calf heifers
calving, faded coyotes close.
Ash falls like snow, skiffs light and dirty.
In this haze, it’s easy to get lost at home.
I track my steps to where I’m from.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged ash, KNP Complex fire, smoke, Windy Fire
Three days ago, this second-calf heifer (9061) was fighting two coyotes off her newborn Wagyu X twins. I got a call from a neighbor who saw the action from the road, but I was 15 minutes away checking our first-calf heifers. I called Robbin who was getting ready to leave for a dentist appointment. She jumped into the Kubota and sent them packing.
Usually twin calves for a young cow is a curse, wherein most cases she abandons the weaker one. If she tries to raise them both, it typically taxes her so much that her poor shape keeps her from cycling to breed back. By themselves near the house this morning, I took out some alfalfa while the rest of the cows were still on the hill. Here the calves are playing while she has an early breakfast in our fourteenth straight day of smoke from the KNP Complex fire in Sequoia National Park and Forest.
I think they’ll make it now.
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