Author Archives: John

BIRDS IN BRONZE

Posted on October 12, 2014 | 1 comment

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An endless dream: art
awakening in mottled light,
coin at its feet.

 

 

WPC — “Dreamy”

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Calving

Posted on October 11, 2014 | 2 comments

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Newborn calves are vulnerable to a variety of predators, so cows instinctively consume the afterbirth after cleaning up the calf as it struggles to stand and nurse. After resting briefly, the calf above (middle) is finding its wobbly legs to nurse again as its concerned mother (2110) looks on. This second-calf mother finds little privacy near our irrigated pasture, as two other curious calves become part of the drama in the Valley Oak shade.

We are extremely pleased with so many early calves on the ground after two dry years of little feed. Calving forty days now, about 60% of our younger cows and 50% of our older cows have calves at their sides. The calves seem bigger and healthier this year that we attribute to all the loads of hay, fed last August through April, while the cows raised last year’s calf. Additionally, when we weaned those calves last May, we sent the marginal and late calving cows to town, reducing our cowherd substantially. In this respect, our cowherd as a whole has benefitted from the drought. Whether or not we can make the reduced numbers work economically remains to be seen, dependent mostly on the weather and our coming grass year.

Clouds and a slight chance of rain are predicted for the middle of next week, but probably not enough to start the grass. Our own thirty-day forecast indicates that we have a fair chance of rain on the 19th and a better chance of rain on the 28th.

Meanwhile, we’re still feeding somewhere everyday, trying to keep the cows in shape to raise their calves and cycle when we put the bulls out in December, hopefully on some green grass that we can’t quite imagine anymore.

 

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WILD GOD

Posted on October 10, 2014 | 2 comments

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                         By division we speak, out of wonder.
                              – Wendell Berry (“To Gary Snyder”)

Alone and small within
the Sierra granite, day or night,
I ached for more

than horses and mules
to share the deep
disarming awe at each turn

of the trail, pure snowmelt
reflections of heaven
rippling beneath me,

the infinite blackness,
as I lay down to sleep,
perforated with galaxies

that surrounded me
like lantern light twinkling
off mica-flecked rock.

Perhaps it was that Sabbath
when greenheads rose from the cattails,
drops of water trailing their ascension

and my father’s long pause
to speak beyond religions
that drew me to the wild.

 

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Babysitter

Posted on October 9, 2014 | 5 comments
iPhone photo: Teri Drewry

iPhone photo: Terri Drewry

Calving since the 1st of September, we’re always pleased, and relieved, to see our first-calf heifers forming nurseries rather than hiding their calves singly as easier prey to coyotes. I find the babysitter selection process interesting. Oftentimes it seems that the cow with the youngest calf gets the duty because her calf needs the most attention, so while she’s at it, she just as well take care of the other calves at the same time while the other mothers graze. Yesterday, while feeding the heifers with Wagyu X calves, 1038 was under a sycamore tree with a few calves while the others were lined-out on the alfalfa. For whatever reason, she was off her feed and subsequently got the call. Sympathetically, her calf is licking her head.

 

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A Dozen Signs of Victoria

Posted on October 8, 2014 | 6 comments

 

 

WPC—”Signs”

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OCTOBER 2014, GREASY COVE

Posted on October 7, 2014 | 4 comments

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You ask me now,
in this moment, waited
for my full attention

                         which I have refused,
                         too preoccupied with each rich
                         moment-at-hand.

My patient other voice,
ever-reasonable and calm,
ready for a pause

to pose the obvious, weigh
the load and look
at the short end of my string.

But I am busy listening
to my call carry across Greasy,
to cows bailing off the far ridge

leaving dust trails in trees,
to the diesel’s purr
beside me, promising hay.

To their slow plod up—
they trust that we
will do as we say.

 

 

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal

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SLOW BURN

Posted on October 6, 2014 | 2 comments
7:40 p.m. PST, September 23, 2014

7:40 p.m. PDT, September 23, 2014

 

A little hair here and there
burns across the canyon,
a darkening charred shadow

rising in a wake of even light,
summer days and nights
behind us, behind the ridge

that stands between us
and Antelope Valley, Wuknaw
spilling into the fringed

and frayed urgency beyond.
We have a glass, of course,
discussing cattle—instead of

people—measure likelihoods
for feed and water ready
with another plan, if need be.

Light a cigarette, fill another
glass reflecting decades
of canyons worn upon our faces.

 

 

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THREE RIVERS CEMETERY

Posted on October 5, 2014 | 2 comments

Naked slopes, steep manzanita red
with rock and leafless oaks, fall
into the slow Kaweah and reach

into the blue from the headstones
of pioneers, terraced family plots
facing west, all looking up

as generations gather, heads bowed.
How many times has Earl sung
to this timeless skyline, how many

of his cattle calls still reverberate
in these canyons? No cowboy song,
he picks “School Days” for her childhood

chums, gray octogenarians recalling
the twinkle beneath jet-black hair.
Simple sendoff with simple words,

everyone of us believing she will be
welcomed “In the Garden”—everyone of us
converted for a good, long moment.

                                                  for Barbara Brewer Ainley

 

 

Obituary

 

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ITCH

Posted on October 4, 2014 | 2 comments

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Born contortionists, both man
and beast, we all find ways
to reach an itch.

 

 

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Tarantula in the Shower

Posted on October 3, 2014 | 5 comments

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Our weather has been delightful this past week since it tried to rain, three days of clouds stacked against the Sierras, some thick and dark shrouding our bare foothills but bringing little moisture. For two months we’ve been discussing signs of an early fall, though not convinced that the sycamores may be turning early due to the drought or that Dry Creek ran only 30 days last season, peaking a 12 cfs on April 27th, not enough to contribute to the Kaweah River three miles downstream.

Moods have lifted with the change in temperature as we look for signs of encouragement. The Rock Wrens are back, debugging the window screens. The first Pin Tails and Mallards have arrived on our irrigation ponds. Quail and Bobcats move closer to the house. It’s a perfect time of year for the outdoor shower as the sun dips behind the ridge leaving a wild assortment of yellows between the long shadows of our fruit trees.

And the Tarantulas are moving, beginning to dodge traffic on Dry Creek Road. They have become totems of sorts to most ranchers, precursors to rain. Short of reverence, we reserve a special place for them on our list of wild things, swerve around them on the road. Even shower with them, if need be, rather than disturb them.

Naked before her, I found it interesting with my eyes closed, rinsing the shampoo lather from my hair, that I worried more about stepping on her than any other contact, as if she could leave her perch beneath the soap dish and get underfoot in just a few seconds of my not-seeing. Thinking, I suspect, she was hidden, she didn’t budge, and after the stress of two dry years, none of us is looking for trouble these days.

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