I am lost to the race, off course
to pause among the tree frogs
headed home to flower pots
after a night on the window glass
below the porch light
ambushing moths. Or the quail
bailing from the grapefruit tree
at first light to awakening titters
before scanning for hawks.
There is no itch for riches
or the prizes advertised
at the Finish Line.
Posted in Deck Poems, Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Tagged Finish Line, photography, poetry, quail, the race, tree frogs
Dew dampened dust, softened wild oat stems,
petrichor on a downcanyon breeze at four
in the black morning that smells like rain
just around the corner in October. I check
the 10-day forecast, craving a storm like always,
but content to paint the gray, slow drip
off roof and limb. Nothing but hurricanes
busy elsewhere as the planet goes to hell
as if the very End were near, knocking
on the door to who knows what
or which tragic prediction or wretched
explosion will engulf and fling
our fractured souls to the solar burn pile.
Dew dampened dust, softened wild oat stems,
petrichor on a downcanyon breeze.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged community, forecast, petrichor, photography, poetry, rain, very END, weather
songs that
without an us there’s no reason for a me.
– George Perreault “walking the dry ditch”)
Coyotes touching bases across the canyon’s canyons
shatters distance within the black, primal intonations
that combat loneliness and comfort the flesh.
The dogs have learned to howl with lyrics of their own
to claim their space, protect their home. Each octave
of our quartet has a name in the dark.
Today, there’s no excuse to be without music,
to swim away with joy and pain from phones
that lift us, that practice and test ascension
for when the time comes. How I admire
and envy its makers, how I sing along
as if no other reason for a me.
The acrid smell of battle
in the disturbed ground:
Turkey Mullein vs. Vinegarweed
claiming more territory
to choke out grasses—
that knee-high cling and tell
where you’ve been
and your approach to life.
After a good wet spring,
I smell my father here,
twenty-five years
after his departure
and remember
his lace-up Chippawas
busting clods behind a plow.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged chippawa boots, father, photography, poetry, rain, Turkey Mullein, vinegarweed, weather
I’m watching black heifers
on dry blond grass
mill around water, salt and mineral —
slow motion contentment,
they have begun
to move like cows,
bodies thickening,
they plod deliberately
towards the open gate
to the near hills where
tall feed waves
for their attention.
I imagine turning the virgin
bulls out in ninety days,
the teenage antics,
the final settling of the seed
and the cash-flow we’ll surely need
twenty-one months from now.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged autumnal equinox, first-calf heifers, photography, poetry
We could blame last spring’s atmospheric rivers, double our average rainfall for the season that kept us from branding our calves on the Paregien Ranch. Our heifer calves were exposed to our slick bull calves until we weaned in May, possibly bred that would miss our calving target date of October. A February calf instead would jeopardize the heifer and eliminate her from our replacement bunch.
When we vaccinated the heifers for clostridial, respiratory and Brucellosis diseases in June, we also injected them with Lutalyse to abort any short-term fetuses. Lutalyse is commonly used to synchronize heat cycles, especially when groups of cattle are to be artificially inseminated.
We’ve had an abundance of strong feed this summer, helping to keep our heifers in shape and cycling when we turn our low-birth weight bulls out in the middle of December. And as expected, they have been cycling, bulling, practicing all at once—a bovine orgy, a virtual humpfest.
Unfortunately, one heifer was crippled in the raucous activity, unable to put any weight on her right hind leg. We hauled water and hay to her for three days before walking her into the pen by the house. Shortly thereafter, she (Thelma) attracted a friend (Louise) who spent days and nights for week with her on the other side of the fence while the rest of the heifers were off grazing.
After two weeks, Thelma is much better now, and taking full strides. Louise was back again last evening to check on her friend. The bond is obvious. They may be twins, as we had several sets, but more than likely they were just raised together. Whether or not Thelma recovers well enough to make the replacement bunch remains to be seen. But either way, blame it on climate change and too much rain.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged breeding, bulling, cripple, heat cycles, humpfest, photographs, rain, Replacement Heifers, weather
Black morning’s fresh
downcanyon breath
primes old flesh
to ride first light
as it breaks the ridge
like yesterday’s charge
easy and alive in my mind.
All the good horses gone,
I’m ready for a stranger
that can walk out,
hold a cow and wink
through loose tethers—
actually believing
it could be hours away.
Only this time
we’ll do it better.
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
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