A few blue clouds float
upon a light gray sky
above Barnaphy after
the surprise last gasp
of a cut-off low
cruising south to flood
California’s coast—
a warm forty hundredths here
brings a tinge of green.
Sycamores like torches afire,
not quite ready to undress
their long white limbs
intertwined, plump Rockettes,
our native chorus line
burns along the creek.
The cattle stay high,
all but a hopeful clutch
spurn the feed grounds.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, Fire, photography, poetry, rain, sycamores, weather, Winter Solstice
The poem has been ricocheting inside my head as we reconstructed a portion of the Paregien corrals last week to accommodate a calf table to brand our calves. Roads impassable for a crew, we were unable to brand our calves last year due to last winter’s Atmospheric Rivers, so we borrowed a calf table to try.
I grew up with a calf table, pushing calves up the chute at six or seven to my Dad and one other man to cut, brand and vaccinate. Part of the poem is how I’ve come full circle in a 70-year span, with lots of branding pen bravado in between. There is no substitute to be a horseback and roping calves to brand, but I’ve outlived my dependable horses and my hands have slowed with age.
Part of the poem would be my excitement as a boy to be asked to help brand, even though my shins would be kicked with calf shit up the front of my pants. Details like my Dad’s red bone Case carbon steel stockman’s he constantly sharpened on a small whetstone that he carried in his pocket. The one he thought he left at the corrals after cleaning it, only to find it on the running board of the old International pickup after driving 20 miles to the corrals and back.
Thanks to the Fry family for their essential help with the reconstruction, and with yesterday’s branding—just before, we hope, will be our first taste of El Niño.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged branding, calf table, El Niño, photography, Pregien Ranch, rain, weather
Yesterday, Robbin and I were checking the cows and calves on the Paregien Ranch while putting salt and mineral out when we ran into these two bucks and some does. Because they don’t get much hunting pressure and familiar with our comings and goings, the deer are fairly tame. Add the bucks’ tunnel-vision this time of year and it’s as if we weren’t even there. Robbin took the video from her cell phone.
We didn’t see many deer this summer due to the tall feed as a result of last year’s abnormal rainfall, so it was encouraging to know that their basic breeding routine has not been interrupted by all the drama and tragedies around the world—something solid to depend on.
Once again
storm forecasts
have driven our rain away.
Stovewood stacked
against
dry cold fronts
like woodpeckers
stash acorns
for a rainy day.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged Beaver moon, photography, poetry, rain, weather
Over a hundred years ago
they herded turkeys along
the creek to market,
pioneered citrus
to harvest the gold
at Thanksgiving, 1914.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged orange label, poetry, Thanksgiving, turkey
WINDOW GLASS
This to a man with neither courage, brain,
nor heart to find his way back home again.
– B. H. Fairchild (“The Second Annual
Wizard of Oz Reunion in Liberal, Kansas”)
I catch glimpses of faces reflected in windows
this side of the mountains the birds mistake
for open space—beak first limp upon the redwood
deck. Bell rung, we set them upright and wait
as most come back to life. I claw my memory,
open it like garden soil for names to nurture
at the damnedest times of day or night dreams
as the bird flies off. Nothing’s quite connected, yet
familiar as my grandmother’s vegetable beef
soup steaming on the electric coil
that blistered my hand red. My aunt would talk
politics back in the Watergate Days, swear
by Nixon, then take my side of the debate
between spoonfuls, beckoning me
from the other side of the window glass.
for Sean Sexton
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Might as well consult the stars
than to foretell the weather’s future
on the whims of giddy goddesses,
gossamer waves blazing above
these palomino hills—cow trail dust
rising before the sycamores turn
to shed their autumn clothing
while shepherds and sailors await
a certain weather change.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged goddessess, photography, poetry, rain, red sky, weather, weathermen
Red wave at dawn,
upcanyon forecast north
before the storms,
the rapid fire
atmospheric rivers,
before El Niño
or whatever clever
weathermen
tag as fresh nomenclature,
acronyms, fodder
for the inner ear to file
and the mind to find.
Red wave at dawn,
upcanyon forecast north
before the storms.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Tagged Atmospheric River, El Nino, photography, poetry, rain, weather
It’s been years since
we circled the section
of steep pasture between
the creek and Antelope Valley,
reading tracks and trading
memories of battling bucks—
the merge of gathers
spinning in a blur
of wild oats.
It’s how the ground reminds us
who we were and who we are
once again.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, memories, partners, photography, poetry
We’ve enjoyed the striking colors of the dahlias and zinnias in the garden during a relatively mild summer this year, with bouquets of both inside and out of the house. They have drawn a host of Monarch Butterflies after a bountiful year for the Showy Milkweed in our upper country. What great weather to wait for a rain!
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, Monarch Butterfly, photography, weather, zinnia
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