I have cut myself away
from the entangled coils
of ship and state
drawn more to songs
among the cactus cuckoos
at first light of dawn—
tossed across the pasture
deep-throated news
I can depend on
while a lone quail hollers
to awaken coveys
like children for school.
But I still don’t trust
the cry-baby whines
of our arrogant Ring Neck’s.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Tagged news media, photography, poetry, politics, quail, Ring Neck Dove, Roadrunners
It sounds like MASH as helicopters fly over the house, back and forth to Lake Kaweah, to address 8 fires set this a.m. between 6:30 and 6:45. All but a couple of fires in rough terrain are contained. Three weeks ago we had 4 sets. Every year we blade about 3 miles of firebreak between us and the road with our skid steers. Additionally fixed wing aircraft and a DC 10 jet, 2 dozers, and about 50 engines and water tenders are on the job as I write.
The spring rains brought good feed and fuel for fire that has attracted our society’s deranged, whether gang initiations or other odd and complex maladies. Needless to say, we’ll keep our eyes peeled.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged arson, CalFire, CDF, Fire, fire bugs, fire insurance, photography
April calves load easy here
for unknown destinations
looking back to say goodbye
to someone lost
in the muddled moment’s
brain fog.
Old between brothers,
we remember stories
the other’s forgot—
a thrill on spry legs
to dance through time
as if young all over again.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Called too soon, persistence rooted
where peaceful dreams beneath their leaves
spilled downhill at dawn—a slow awakening
like death in reverse, never thinking
of other ways to pass the time. Weathered
skeletons of young Blue Oaks cling
to where their acorns fell to rest
before the wet and stormy springs
kept a chance of an idyllic life alive.
Truth is: no right or wrong of it—
no philosophy to make fit
what we’ll not need to understand.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023
Tagged Acorns, Blue Oaks, death, death in reverse, Drought, life, photography, poetry, rain, water, weather
Black backs
through summer light
across the road beside the creek
grazing green
upon a highwater sand bank
deposited by atmospheric rivers.
Black backs
of virgin children, our future
breathes in 105 heat.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, future, photography, poetry, rain, Replacement Heifers, weather
I don’t recall Dry Creek ever flowing into August, as springs continue to feed this morning’s 9 cfs (cubic feet/second). March’s atmospheric river estimated 8,000 cfs, that scoured the channel and undermined the gauging station, left few places to cross the resultant boulder fields and cutbanks. Only now, as our cattle work winds down, do we have time to address some of the impacts of last spring’s rains.
Both for vehicles and cattle, I had to move our crossing downstream. Moving the big rocks was rough work for the skid steer, but I had all the materials I needed in the high water drifts of sand and gravel to smooth the crossing this morning—less than a three hour job. On the way to the corrals, hoof action of our replacement heifers will smooth it a little more.
We’re looking forward to September when the cows begin to calve, another month of a hundred degree weather that often extends into October, but the hot summer days are getting shorter.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Atmospheric Rivers, CREEK CROSSING, heat, photography, rain, skid steer, summer, temperatures, weather
It’s a dirty trick
not to bring ‘hello hay’
by flake or bale,
to show empty-handed
with a cluttered mind
from another world.
If I had the time
I’d stay the day among them,
forget myself
and lie down and learn
to chew my cud
without thinking.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Tagged another world, cows, cuds, photography, poetry, sentient, time
We train our young replacement heifers to be gentle and to follow the Kubota or feed truck when we feed so when they go up the hill in the next year or two, we can gather them and their calves easily. Having been through the same process, their mothers and grandmothers have imprinted this same calmness on their calves.
Due to the atmospheric rivers, we were unable to see our cattle for 3 months, but the calves gentled down quickly in the weaning pen on alfalfa hay. Now weaned about 30 days, they’ve been turned out along the creek on native feed and a little extra green due to the spring rains. We’ve been supplementing them once-a -week. While I was photographing the floods’ ensuing boulder fields and patches of cockleburs, they heard the Kubota and followed me, on the march, towards the feed ground, hoping it was the right day.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged attitude, Dry Creek, photography, rain, Replacement Heifers, weaning, weather
One by one off trucks,
hooked or boomed into the barn
banked for the unknown.
Sweaty, sleeveless shirt, Dusty
Bohannon, until he died, unloaded
thousands of bob-tailed trucks
before the booms pitched bales inside,
before the squeezes stacked dumps up
for unknown winter times
like grounded vermin store
in tunneled chambers, or cackling birds
in fenceposts pecked with holes.
Posted in Haiku 2023, Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Acorns, Drought, photography, poetry, rain, weather, winter
The magic remains along the creek
spread wide with naked cobbles pressed
together, exposed by flooding sheets
that ripped its sandy banks before
leaving the channel changed—
a landscape rearranged for the moment!
A summer gurgle, herons and egrets come
to wade abandoned pools of pollywogs
shrinking into moss-covered gravel.
Green cockleburs rise-up from ribbons
of sand, high-water veins bleached white
until colored or carried away with the burrs.
The truth is endless here—it will keep
saying the same thing in different ways
well after we are gone.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Atmospheric Rivers, cobbles, cockleburs, photography, poetry, rain, truth, water, weather
