Author Archives: John

1016: First Calf


I’m a little disappointed with the photos above and had to revert to black & white because the ISO setting on my camera was set for moon shots (night shooting).

I had just fed these first-calf heifers and went to start the pump up the road for stockwater in another field, letting it run while I went down the road to move my water on the irrigated pasture when I noticed 1016 laid-out under a tree beginning labor. When I returned 45 minutes later, she had a little balloon of placenta showing beneath her tail as I went back up the road to turn the pump off. On the way back, I checked her and she was minutes from calving, grabbed my camera and joined her. These are 10 of 128 photos, all over-exposed, in about 30 minutes.

Normally the heifers go off by themselves to calve, but she was in a crowd. Normally they calve lying on the ground. She struggled quite awhile with the head out and the calf’s shoulders bound in her pelvis. Once by the shoulders, she thought she was done and stood up. When the calf hit the ground, its feet broke through the placenta but its head was still covered. I waited a couple of minutes to see what she would do. It had quit breathing by the time I pulled the placenta off the calf’s head. She, of course, ran off to the bunch, thinking I had done something to her. I pumped the calf’s chest once and it began to breathe again.

After I got out of the way, she came back to the calf, licking the daylights out of it while it tried to stand. It took awhile, but she finally let it suck. It’s got to be confusing for a first-calf heifer, despite their incredible instincts.

Stretching Four Bales

Angus Calf

Robbin and I made a quick trip yesterday to put out mineral, molasses tubs and to check the cows on Top in Greasy. A few days old, we were tickled to see this bull calf.

UNDER TOUGH OLD STARS

                                        In the shadow of bluffs
                                                            I came back to myself,
                                        To the real work, to
                                                            “What is to be done.”

                                – Gary Snyder (“I Went into the Maverick Bar”)

Little sermons to myself,
seldom sure, but ready
for a swim of details,
never twice the same—like
a trout facing upcanyon.

Every hoss has a hole
somewhere, a place for
training, for a rolling spur
or word to remind him
of the real work to be done.

Out here, we wear gruff
so well that we dismiss
any other way to dress,
as if survival was enough
to endorse our ignorance.

Out here, a man can forget
there is another world
he can’t escape—living
within him—a place to
write a poem to himself.

Blue

8:30 p.m. – August 31, 2012

Almost Gray

SPANISH FLAT

Midday August, we are disturbing
cows in brush shade rising from soft
hollows pawed in the live oak draws

to welcome brothers into their home
and leave the contemplation of life,
knocking in their bellies, behind

in the trees—to forget the inevitable
dreams of rain. Curious, they recognize
a new face, comfortably ignoring it

as we do one another visiting the familiar
over a quick count and a few flakes of hay.
Old men now looking over brittle ground

strewn with burnt, Blue Oak leaves and
early dark acorns, fractured yellow grasses
with each passing of hoof and wheel.

Good water here—this is his legacy,
his hold to the rock, his ready escape
from the urgencies of the valley

where cows come easily to greet us.
I need not see through his eyes beyond
this dry and brittle season, we feel it.

                                                    for Todd

LOSING GROUND

Not much different than cows
who think they pick their way
grazing where they want, we

welcome the visiting gods
with wagon loads of plans
to improve our farm ground,

shopping centers in alfalfa fields,
foothill cities where only leftovers
trickle down. We surrender

to the hard and lean times,
let them have their way
like the natives before us.

 

 

The long-awaited General Plan Update 2:00 p.m. today,
Tulare County Board of Supervisors.

Groundswell

Wagyu Calves continued…

Robbin and I fed and checked the first-calf heifers this morning to find three new calves, and unfortunately, a 4th born dead to what would have been a nice cow. The heifers are beginning to set up nurseries and segregate themselves from those that are farther off. Despite thinning the coyote population, we always feel better once the nurseries begin to develop.

AMBIGUOUS SOLACE

I keep all my shafts of light loosely wrapped
in tissue paper, dust motes swirling perpetually
in beams through cracked shingles on the shed

roof as we took turns urging invisible steeds
to new adventures, towards friends in town,
exchanging reins behind the empty tongue

of the manure spreader parked for decades,
just in case, beyond the barn and vineyard
canes waving at all time gone by before us.

Or through the stained glass high above
the carved oak pulpit in the adobe chapel
where I heard the call as a tiny particle

washed and floating in God’s eye, yet soon
forsaken once outside perfection. Or just before
she died, the pastel heavens streaking through

February clouds gathered before the dawn
upon the whole Kaweah watershed as folds
in her bedclothes—loosely wrapped and close

for times like this, saved to stave the hateful
rhetoric of prejudice and fears—as my ambiguous
solace from the obvious on election years.