Never really green with grass,
the south slopes tried to hide the clay,
standing naked in underwear
these past three years. Too late for rain,
precursor clouds let their shadows run
up canyon walls on gusts that stir
our dry flesh, that lift the hair—
each excited follicle reaching
to dance with the thought of rain.
Easter on Dry Creek is normally green and verdant with skiffs of popcorn flowers and patches of poppies on the hillsides. A month ago, I hoped for a long spring and time to photograph this year’s wildflowers with an eye for their expression as life forms, the evolved complexities of each species’ pollination structure, background lines and colors, etc., etc., but Robbin and I have spent the last three days preparing and planting our summer garden instead. C’est la vie!
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Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Bird's Eye Gilia, garden, Macro Monday, weekly-photo-challenge, wildflowers
If we measured life
in moons misused and wasted,
how many left full?
And as the moon rises he sits by his fire
Thinking about women and glasses of beer
And closing his eyes as the dogies retire
He sings out a song which is soft but it’s clear
As if maybe someone could hear…
– James Taylor (“Sweet Baby James”)
I never see her leave
the loose nest of twigs
behind the cactus spines—
long tail feathers up,
eye to the outside perched
a week or more
near the water trough
while he patrols barn
and pasture, garden, yard.
The car’s shiny wheels
spend the night in the shop—
polished aluminum spokes
reflecting distortions
between each beak attack
gone from their spot
and he is confused and lost
without purpose,
without a job at dawn
searching in circles
for the foe
who drew no blood.
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Thirty days ago we hoped
for a better spring,
for clouds to rain us
back to normal
as we looked down
Ridenhour Canyon
to Dry Creek Road—
to the orchards
of Lemon Cove.
Hills now brittle and brown,
last year’s dead oak skeletons
have company, naked
as the Kaweahs—tilted
granite rock without snow.
Corporate Ag without water
drills wells to hell—
spending billions
into the Pleistocene
to hasten the conclusion
of farming the San Joaquin.
We had hoped for a better spring,
another month of rain and green,
creeks and rivers overflowing,
flooding Valley towns.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal
Tagged corporate ag, Drought, towns, Valley farming, weather, wells
Blankets and leather
rest ready for the gather,
cowdogs in the shade.
Dawn’s soft light steaming,
rain’s last embrace still clinging,
love spent overnight.
Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged dawn, Drought, Dry Creek, rain, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
We have come the long way,
rode uneven ground together
ever since that first day
bringing cattle off the mountain,
you there, at the corrals:
Craig’s branding at the cabin.
I could only see pieces of you
busy outside, between the boards,
as we parted cows from calves.
Or was it when he died young,
all consoling one another?
Perhaps the Belle Point cows,
my mixed and colored herd,
fat calves grazing spring,
let you let me touch your hand.
We were friends a long time
before our pillow talk of trust
and honesty, before all this
circling home and horse barn,
our ever-changing garden,
black first-calf heifers at the fence
looking in as we look out
at what we’ve done as one
the long way ‘round.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal
Tagged April Fools, Belle Point, Belle Point cows, crows
Not far from the Roadrunner’s cactus nest, a Killdeer is also sitting on eggs. The shoulder of our gravel driveway usually offers three or four Killdeer a good place to hide and incubate their eggs. To keep from running over them, we’ve been known to place a rock close to the nest. Once hatched, the Killdeer takes her babies to the creek about 200 yards away. But barely running this year and last, we’ve only this one Killdeer nesting.
I had hoped to get photos of her broken wing act, her ploy to lure the dogs away. But she stood her ground yesterday to protect her nest.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
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