Category Archives: Photographs

Our Future

 

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According to my records, we’ve only had two days since the Solstice under 100°, but the mornings have been fairly cool from first light until 9:00 a.m. This morning was no exception, simply a beautiful Sabbath.

We’ve kept our replacement heifers close to the corrals since they were weaned in May and June, waiting for their Bangs vaccination for Brucellosis and second round of shots, deworming and fly control that has entailed pumping water daily. We’ve had a lot of eye problems due to foxtails and some foot rot due to bacteria encouraged by the wet spring. Having them close by has helped us gather for doctoring.

We think this year’s heifers are exceptional, both in genetics and temperament. They have gotten to know the Kubota since they were calves, and then again when it brought hay everyday to the weaning pen. So we utilize the Kubota when we gather—they come to it naturally.

Saturday, after Friday’s processing, I led the bunch off the dry feed and irrigated pasture, fed some hay, ready to open them to 300 more acres of dry feed and another source of water, our irrigation pond. By this morning, they were exploring the shore of the pond when I arrived to see how they were doing. Naturally, they all gravitated to the Kubota to discover tall, untouched green feed in the spillway of the pond where excess water flows back into the Kaweah River.

Followers of this blog know it’s all about the girls, our prejudice for females—after all we are a cow/calf outfit. Though we were quite pleased with our steers, it’s not about bragging rights as to how big or nice they were in the sales ring—just an annual dividend, they pay our bills. It’s about the girls, two-thirds of which, with a little luck, will be with us for ten years. They become our future.

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WOE BE TO INTRUDERS

 

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Clinging to a willow branch
above the cattails, singing
across the pond at dawn,

this world is small enough
for herons and mud hens,
a loan goose and bullfrogs—

all the drama necessary
for a rich full life
of trying to get along.

 

OSPREY

 

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The poles were new
after the Flood of ‘55
serving granddad’s pump

in the river,
serving cross-arms,
serving Osprey

nests of sticks
shorting-out
and burning-up

into a hard rain
of spring, 2010.
Platforms now above

the wires, they watch
from a distance
of distrust.

 

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Wordless Wednesday: Deacon in the Garden

 

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TURKEY VULTURE

 

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Busy with cleanup,
little time to say hello
or come much closer.

 

Nameless

 

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While waiting for the water tank to fill yesterday morning, I took the big lens to the stockwater pond that is receding to see if I might get some clearer photos of the birds I posted on July 1, still unable to identify them.

 

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Rather drab birds except for the pair of white tail feathers, about 10-12″ long overall. They have been circling the shore of the pond looking for grasshoppers in the water that they have flushed from the surrounding grasses. They are busy birds with rather large feet, somewhat comical to watch.

 

TWO BLACK VIRGINS

 

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Coming through the dry
blond stems of wild oats,
late spring rains

in their eyes, two black
virgins weave their way
to water as they discover

the near reaches of womanhood
that simmer within—come
to a boil from time to time.

And they are beautiful,
and innocent—just unable
to see what’s ahead.

 

RIPE

 

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Through distant time and space
the child comes along just to see
how things turned out—

expectations shed like clothes,
courses changed as we ricochet,
learn the hard way.

I will never have those eyes again,
never yearn to star in dreams
that now surround me—

come alive with color and texture
as momentum slows, ready now
to make the most of it.

 

STRIPED ARMENIANS

 

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Fences down, cattle wild,
my father warned, ‘Don’t
let the ranch run you—’

when it was like slaying
a dragon or stealing a ride
to dream of such control.

Armloads of cucumbers
like firewood to the kitchen
for pickling after boxes

of vegetables to give away
each morning, we could say
the same about your garden—

knowing that acreage
has nothing to do
with the life we choose.

 

SLOW DANCE OF SUMMER

 

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The difference between 105 and 110 degrees
is fifteen hundred gallons more each day
for a hundred head of heifers

five degrees
thirty minutes
one pint of gasoline

to keep them happy
and alive, without worry
about water—

about engine, pump or pipeline.
Grazing to and from the shade,
our twilit landscape in motion,

we know this slow dance
of summer, this plodding grace
of man and beast.