Author Archives: John

Robbin looked up from her desk this morning to see two toms trailing four or five hens. New totems for us, an affirmation of sorts that we are not hampering the biodiversity of the place in which we live.

For what it’s worth: there seems to be more Owl’s Clover than in recent years, preferring, apparently, hard, dry times and the beaten track. Most all of the clovers are strong feed and doing well, but the cattle seem to leave Owl’s Clover, as well as most wildflowers, alone.

No butts or beer cans
                    behind the gate
                    behind the lock
                    behind the sign
beyond what you can see—
it is not perfect private property,
                    nor always.

A plane lands in the pasture
                    because it can
                    Sunday morning
                    playing early
                    while I’m working—
                    leaves tracks
                    in the dew.

I know their faces now,
                    say their names
                    hauling cattle,
                    crawling up and down
                    the mountain—
                    slow low range,
                    four wheel drive:

                    Brewer’s Lupine,
                    Goldfields,
                    Pipe Stem Clematis,
                    in new places.
                    Pale Owl’s Clover
                    everywhere
                    along the dirt road—
                    cold, dry year.

I am relieved, pleased
                    to see them return
                    despite the weather
                    despite the cattle
                    despite us

feeding weeds and grass to people.

                          And if God cares so wonderfully for flowers that are here today                           and gone tomorrow, won’t he more surely care for you?
                                                               Matthew 6:30 (New Living Translation)

Minature Lupine

After the last two strange little poems, I thought we were due for some photos. Perhaps it was Linda Hussa’s email that instilled the wonder and worry of an image of the Mercy Planes that fly low over their ranch house near Fort Bidwell, or at my desk this past week accounting to Uncle Sam. Words and math conflict in my head, come from different sides of the brain, for there are no shades of gray with numbers, no room for possibility or supposition.

As a special treat to myself and quite weary with spreadsheets, I took my camera and macro lens along to change my irrigation water yesterday afternoon until the light had all but disappeared. I’ve also included more photographs in ‘March Bloom 2013’ under the ‘Wildflowers’ tab above.

Bird’s Foot Trefoil

Johnny Tuck