Category Archives: Photographs

Ranch Journal: 2015 Replacement Heifers

 

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Last Friday evening while congratulating ourselves with a cocktail, having finished gathering, weaning, shipping our calves and processing our replacement heifers, Robbin tactfully reminded me that one of the primary purposes of this blog is to keep track of what we do on this ranch–hence this Ranch Journal entry for July 2015.

Looking back to July 2014, we had no replacement heifers to process with so little feed, so we have to go back to July 20, 2013 to see if we are ahead or behind schedule. Less calves and replacement heifers to process after a dry spring this year combined with the late spring rains in 2013 probably account for the difference. But reading the entry for 2013, little else has changed with the drought. We’re now in maintenance mode: irrigating, light feeding, and regularly checking our dwindling stock water at the higher elevations.

Though all received a second round of vaccinations, including Bangs vaccine for Brucellosis, not all of the 75 heifers will make the team. We will cull 5-10 head before turning the Wagyu bulls out in mid-December, depending on how they look. We have moved our calving date back two weeks aiming for mid-September calves, hoping for a little cooler weather. Currently, our 7-weight steers bring the same money as 600 pounders, but with weak demand to turn out on mid-West grass. A later calving date would make them a little lighter and more attractive when we sell them. And we may wait until the 1st of January 2017 to turn our bulls out, as that would also allow our cows an extra month off without a calf, as we would still wean at the end of May. Time will tell, but that’s what we’re thinking now.

So it’s out early in the morning, shade up during the day when we can.

BRAND OF LIFE

 

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We ride for a brand
of life in open spaces
while the iron is hot.

 

 

WPC — “Symbol”

 

LEGACY

 

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1.
Never a straight line, we bend
with the channel of the creek
with or without water, jobs

shouting at every turn, begging
for attention. I love it now,
seasoned and with purpose,

place after place to pour my soul,
to get it right. Chances are
my fence repairs will outlast me,

gates will swing, troughs hold water
out of respect for the ground—
for the cattle and those around me.

2.
Never a straight line, cows cut trails
on perfect grades, leave soft dust
to plod tomorrow without thinking,

make beds in shade for generations
they will never know. In the end
it becomes our nature to make

living easier on the uneven,
on the unpredictable and the harsh
that will eventually absorb us.

Chances are, no one will notice,
no applause for our best effort—
only the knowing a job well done.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Doors”

 

BATTLE OF NATURES

 

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Admitting defeat
with no where to go but up
can be contagious.

 

Portraits (4) of a Roadrunner

 

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At my desk, a fluttering commotion outside the window. One of our several Roadrunners was trying to attack a metal silhouette of a crow on the window sill.

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In the two feet between us, a screen door and window glass.

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But a few of the many expressions of a Roadrunner…

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…that I thought I’d share.

 

July Garden 2015

 

We’re managing to keep up with garden production. Robbin has made several batches of pickles, some delicious dill, but mostly bread and butter pickles utilizing our new striped Armenians as well as our standard Armenians that are quite crunchy and striking in the same jar.

 

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She also adds some red onions to her pickles as we thin our new onion/raspberry bed.

 

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We are evolving to more container gardening, utilizing our many Rubbermaid water troughs that used to be guaranteed for life, but after three years the company reneged realizing that the plastic material couldn’t withstand the expansion and contraction with our weather nor the pressure of the cattle at water. They all leak.

 

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Our old protein supplement tubs for the cattle make good containers as well.

 

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It’s all about controlling the weeds. With weed cloth deteriorating in the sun, Robbin has tried to salvage a little more life out of it with a covering of decorative bark.

 

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And then the peppers that we barbecue with almost everything, but especially compliment a piece of beef.

 

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Indeed it is a lot of work, very little of which can I take credit.

 

DOORS

 

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Beyond each closed gate
another world wild within
the wire we have stretched.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Doors”

 

Fourth of July Fireworks

 

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We’ve been watching a pair of Roadrunners building a nest in a nearby cottonwood, what appear to be last May’s juveniles. Though we knew we had at least two hatches each year, we assumed both were from adult birds.

There is nothing scientific about our observations, no tags or names and we are not inclined to build blinds, put cameras on tripods and wait in 100 plus degrees to prove a point. Fortunately this was not a quick exercise, allowing time to go into the house last evening to get the camera with my 400 mm lens to catch this pair still engaged.

 

TEN LITTLE INDIANS

 

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You could hear them

from the squash and cucumbers,
from the tomatoes where the rattler
stretched upon damp dirt to cool his belly,
in that no man’s land of prickly pear
and grape canes claiming shade trees
on the periphery of ripening vegetables—

their incessant tittering within: military
training before their first tour of the garden
scouted at the peak of heat days before,
our lawn of weeds this side of roadrunners
nesting in the cottonwood under
the surveillance of a pair of crows.

The only green for miles of hard
baked clay and blond dry fuzz,
a microcosm of good wet years,
the wild moves in, gathers to include
us—horses, dogs and feral cats—
into a sustainable family.

Tree frogs on the move, hopping
sojourns at dusk and dawn bring
the King snake tracking Garter snakes
that ignore us, stay out from underfoot.
We have no choice but to share
our little space and water in a drought.

We will count the covey into the future,
measure training into evenings, watch
for Bobcats and Coopers Hawks on patrol.
No place for soft hearts, politics,
or too much attention—no one wants
or can afford to run for election.

 

HYBISCUS

 
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One load of pollen
on one busy bumblebee
for Flower Friday.