Author Archives: John

SYMMETRY

Posted on February 14, 2015 | 3 comments

May 18, 2014

A crop of fat calves
just weaned from relieved mothers
like peas in a pod.

WPC(1) — “Symmetry”

3 Comments

Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Poems 2015

Tagged Calves, cows, Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge

Ode to the Crew 2: Six Pix

Posted on February 14, 2015 | 3 comments

Branding calves is an acquired art, not to be confused with the timed rodeo event of team roping. The idea is to get the calf to the fire while making it as easy on the calf, horses and ground crew (in that order) as possible. Douglas Thomason above times the rhythm of his loop for a long distance shot, catching the calf before it knows it’s caught, half the job done with no stress and little fuss.

Though the camaraderie is an essential part of trading labor, the branding pen is not a place for recreation. Robbin and I appreciate the care our neighbors take with our calves, as this 450 pound bull calf above would bring about $1,100 in town today. We hope that by June that he’ll be a 650 steer and bring in the vicinity of $2.50/lb. An injured calf, or ones overstressed and susceptible to sickness can become expensive.

Followers of branding pictures on this blog will recognize many familiar faces. On the ground, everyone has a job to do, an orderly process of vaccinations, castration, branding, dehorning, earmarking, tagging and recording–in the branding pen, it can become a dynamic dance.

Yet in the midst of it all, there are moments that might be forgotten if not captured in a photograph, whether a daughter recently returned home having a moment with her father,

or a Brent Huntington wiping sweat and smoke from his eyes.

Our thanks to all, especially the several anonymous photographers.

3 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal

Tagged branding, Brent Huntington, Calves, Douglas Thomason, Greasy Creek, neighbors, photographs

Ode to the Crew 1: Six Pix

Posted on February 13, 2015 | 9 comments

We set the ‘point and shoot’ on the branding table, the following were shot by several different people.

There is no easy tribute to good neighbors necessary in the branding pen, whether horseback or on the ground. Trading labor is part of our culture, and the work’s not done until everyone’s calves are branded and vaccinated. Towards the tail end of the branding season, our last bunch of calves were big, which makes Robbin and I happy of course, but it also means harder and more dangerous work for everyone.

Our gather to brand in Greasy began Sunday, over a week ago, interrupted by welcome rain that kept us from finishing the process until last Tuesday — some cows and calves had spent eleven days in out Gathering Field waiting for yesterday. Additionally, wood had to be cut for the branding and cook fires, and the weeds in the corral, nearly two-foot tall, had to be addressed with a weed-eater before we were ready.

It was a long day, shirtsleeves weather, warm in the mid-70s.

Always some exciting moments, even though everyone tries to be respectful and gentle with the calves, some were a handful, pushing 500 pounds.

Calm and steady, we have acquired an efficient routine of ropers and ground crew. Divided into two groups of ropers so arms and horses have time to rest between bunches, there’s always time to visit.

9 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal

Tagged branding, Calves, cows, Greasy Creek, neighbors, photographs, weather

OLD NEIGHBORS

Posted on February 12, 2015 | 10 comments

                        By the excellence of his work the workman is a neighbor.
                        By selling only what he would not despise to own
                        the salesman is a neighbor. By selling what is good
                        his character survives the market.
                              – Wendell Berry (“Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer”)

We wish success for all our neighbors, fat
calves and money enough to buy good bulls
looking for work on our side of the fence,
and ours on theirs, despite best intentions.

Today, old neighbors come to help brand calves
with respect—rope, stretch and vaccinate
rambunctious children to a slow waltz—
to share the bounty of our heritage

despite the drought, despite the cows
we had to sell to save the others
and ourselves. Character upon this ground,
we have survived weather and the market.

10 Comments

Posted in Poems 2015

Tagged "Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer", Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, Mad Farmer, neighbor, neighbors, poetry, rain, weather, Wendell Berry

METAL ROOFS

Posted on February 11, 2015 | 11 comments

                        Let me wake in the night
                        and hear it raining
                        and go back to sleep.
                              – Wendell Berry (“Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer”)

The lullaby that soothes my brain,
a metal roof under rain, proof
of gods and goddesses on the job

while I rest completely—let night
take me unafraid anywhere it wants
until the glistening of puddled mornings

blind me with glimpses of paradise
upon this earth, wet and wanting
nothing more from rustic religions.

Every church should acoustically angle
its spires and ridgelines to accentuate
these heaven’s gifts—and to withstand

retribution’s thunderous roar while
renting and gnashing huddle beneath
the storms that flood the rivers muddy.

We are not the architects, nor the nomads
chasing rain from place to place with herds
anymore. We pray instead for basic

sustenance to run upon and off our roofs,
season after season—no two the same—
to wake in the night and hear it raining.

11 Comments

Posted in Poems 2015

Tagged "Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer", Drought, Dry Creek, Mad Farmer, Metal Roofs, poetry, rain, water, weather, Wendell Berry

GOOD LUCK FISHING

Posted on February 10, 2015 | 2 comments

                         Don’t pray for the rain to stop.
                         Pray for good luck fishing
                         when the river floods.
                                – Wendell Berry (“Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer”)

And we will fish reflection pools
with Egrets and Great Blue Herons, wade
cloudy skies when the creek subsides

listening to the glorious chorus of tree frogs
croaking symphonies from fresh verdancy—
the canyon clean, all tracks erased

but for the moment to begin again.
What better luck can any god offer
a mad farmer, or mankind?

April 1968: my feet wet with fishing
the great white limbs of sycamores,
naked canopies reflected below me,

recording fresh soliloquies on war
that have not changed but for poetic
editing each time the creek rises—

hope still claims high water marks
beyond the creek bank, despite
clear-cut scars upon this landscape

after a decade’s invasion of machinery
from towns craving to become cities.
We pray yet for good luck fishing.