Author Archives: John

Paregien Ranch Water

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Meanwhile, back at the Windmill Spring, the cows have gotten ahead of the water. While trenching and plumbing the abandoned well before we install a solar pump on the Paregien Ranch, I’ve been checking the Windmill Spring every day, counting cows and noting how fast the troughs were recovering. As other water sources are drying up, the number of cows has increased from 30 to 46 this past week with temperatures well above 100°.

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Both overflow troughs were all but dry this morning, and only three cows had watered. Fortunately, we have the two wells near the corrals, one with a submersible pump and 11hp generator I ran for about five hours yesterday towards filling the 2,000 gallon trough and 5,000 gallon tank that normally we utilize only at branding and weaning. I topped off the tank this morning, but only the tracks of a couple of cows had been around the trough. So I went off in search of cows to lighten the load on the Windmill Spring.

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About a half mile away, I found some in the shade near the middle spring that is almost dry

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and convinced them to follow the Kubota and a bale of hay to new water.

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Obviously they hadn’t watered yet today. With a little luck, they will center on this trough instead of the Windmill Spring. Until the solar pump is installed, I’ll have to run the submersible twice a week to keep the top half of the tank full.

Scenarios such as this are happening on ranches all over the arid West.

 

FOR WATER

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The sun is not yet high
and the loose dirt burns
my feet through leather boots

as we work for water:
trenching, gluing pipe
from well to tank to trough

among the oak trees
half-mile above the blacktop
where silhouettes of cattle

claim the shade, chew cuds
and watch. They cannot feel—
cannot see the urgency,

ever-trusting, unafraid
of our intrusion in their world—
we’ve kept them well.

The sun is not yet high
and I recognize the edge
of fuzzy delirium that turns

the order of this world
upside down, that obfuscates
governments and fear,

economies and philosophies—
that boils and distills
each moment down

to reliable water—
up here above it all
where nothing else matters.

 

Bumblebee, G & T and a Buzz

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While in the garden with the Olympus point & shoot last Saturday evening, I attempted some shots of bumblebees, at work on Robbin’s Cosmos, with its telephoto in a breeze. Most photographers know better.

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Last evening on the deck with gin & tonics to assuage the 110° day, I brought the macro lens out. As we were talking, a bumblebee crashed into the back of Robbin’s head and landed on the table, seemingly overcome with heat,

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only to come back to life and head for my glass.

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Whether for the condensation or the coolness of the glass, or both, it was determined. With fading light, photographers understand my lack of depth of field, and the flash

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that didn’t deter him a bit. After 15 or 20 minutes, I went back out to the Cosmos.

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He was still busy on the glass when I returned.

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Whether moisture or coolness, Robbin decided to let him have an ice cube from her glass.

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Whereupon he spent another five minutes or so, until he had his fill, then stumbled off and collapsed. We thought we’d killed him.

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But alas, he rallied, crawled across the table, fell off the edge onto our 2” x 6” deck, then crawled off between a crack—much better, we assume, for the experience.

Mothers to Be

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These girls, bred to Wagyu bulls from Snake River Farms in Idaho, will be two years old this fall and are, on average, 60-90 days away from having their first calf. Feeling full, they have retired to the shade by early morning. No longer big calves, they are becoming cows, aware of something inside them, and will continue to be slightly restless and uncomfortable until the calf is born. Each first-calf heifer handles this new state of being a little differently as instinct overcomes confusion to varying degrees.

Because of the drought, they have access to the irrigated pasture where we normally run our weaned heifer calves, but we kept no replacement heifer calves this year due our shortage of feed and the time required—nine month gestation and another nine before a calf is weaned—to generate any income. We are looking forward to these girls becoming exceptional mothers.

 

 

WPC (3) — “Contrasts”

Summer Tomatoes

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WPC (2) — “Contrasts”

 

CAMOUFLAGE IN GREEN

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Other worlds underfoot
within our own
become delightful details

in a forest for greenhorns
to explore new territory,
to learn fresh songs,

dance steps and innovative
ways of reckoning
that becomes instinct

beneath the surface
of these grasses grazed.
I am the intruder opening

an alfalfa valve, turning
water loose to run
across a thirsty pasture,

as one of its wet souls
leaps and startles me—
then freezes and stays.

 

Happy Birthday, Babe!!

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Windmill Spring

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I was doing some preliminary work for the installation of a solar pump in an abandoned well yesterday, after which I checked the water at Windmill Spring. No windmill anymore, it still carries the name and the only reliable water we have at the Paregien Ranch this year. It’s fed from a spring box and fills a series of troughs.

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These girls had just watered before I arrived, having seen them earlier in the day about a mile away as I was putting out protein supplement tubs.

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When I got to the spring, this girl was watering at the last trough, constructed of redwood well-before my time.

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Water is scarce and everyone knows where it is. I could have taken wildlife photos all afternoon.

SO FAR TO GO

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Summer months in the dry, dust
stirred by tiny birds, by the invisible
kiss of a breeze’s caress—so far

to go for water. Cows will lie down
and die when its gone, trusting spirits
and disassembled bones left for years

near waterholes to remind of empty eyes
gathered to wait in the shade for a drink—
nightmares that lurk on the edge of sleep,

ever ready, July through September.
So far to go, a day and a night at a time,
they take no holiday until it rains.

 

 

Riding Drag

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WPC (1) — “Contrasts”