This gallery contains 21 photos.
© 2011 Dry Crik Journal
Robbin and I are finally home from Elko, taking the two-day, long way across the Great Basin to reflect and recuperate from too much fun with old and new friends – the special reunion that the Gathering has become beneath the multifaceted offerings on its many venues. When I first arrived in 1989, it was pretty much traditional recitations with very little contemporary expression – half-dozen books for sale – but there was an amazing ‘lost and found’ camaraderie that inspired us all and sparked similar gatherings all around a disjointed, cowboy West of those days.
Mediums of contemporary expression are as varied as technology will allow today, going well-beyond its poetic beginnings, an explosion of all kinds of art, music and video as Cowboy Poetry has evolved, trying, I think, to offer and reaffirm an ethic common to us all, apart from the uneasy business of media hysterics. Breakfast with the Hungarians Monday morning, before the Gathering got into full swing, confirmed to us that this ethic is not limited to the American West, or to the U.S., as we discussed the details of annual and perennial grasses via Agnes Kemecsei, the translator. Jammed around a table in a corner of the Stockman’s coffee shop, the air was thick – and I was reminded of that camaraderie back in 1989, that shared feeling of finding others whose livelihoods depended on grass, who also took care of livestock. It was a wonderful beginning to the Gathering for us.
The rest is, of course, a blur with too little sleep – serendipitous highlights and diversions – ample inspiration for another year to be sure.
Posted in Photographs
Tagged Elko, National Cowboy Poetry Gathering, NCPG, Western Folklife Center
Robbin and I are both relieved and pleased to have another bunch branded, thanks to our friends and neighbors. The cows and calves that we held in the Gathering Field in Greasy since last Thursday were branded on Monday, allowing us time to make sure we cleaned the pasture, plus help Tony Rabb brand his calves last Sunday. But too much time for the bulls, we arrived to fix fence before we started. The minor mix-ups and overcast day did not impair an efficient slow dance of only two ropers in the pen, bloomy calves stretched one at a time. Apart from the world down the hill, the low fog seemed to enhance this intimate and private spot at Earl McKee’s corrals.
Bob, Robbin, and I thank Clarence and Frances, Tony, Kenny and Virginia, Jody and young Sam, and especially the willingness of welcome youth – Spencer, Zach and Douglas – to go at our speed. It was a special day!
Posted in Photographs
It’s early morning dark, 48 degrees, the stars eclipsed by a tenacious, high fog as the tree frogs sing in a rivulet beside the house, from the hillside leaking last month’s rain. We branded calves yesterday at Tony Rabb’s and head up the hill this morning to mark a little bunch of our own. Our community of foothill ranches is branding madly, two or three, it seems, everyday, as good help gets thin.
Though the company of the little frogs croaking is pleasant, almost exhilarating, it sounds a bit too early for spring. All the more reason to get to work, when and where we can.
I’ve rode by this rock all my life, in all seasons, each time wondering when and how it found its balance.
Posted in Photographs
Because our count and fences are always suspect, Bob and I went back to the Top yesterday in the Kubota to make sure we got everything gathered Thursday, planning to brand on Monday. All we found were deer.
Posted in Photographs
We know how it goes
after a storm, sometimes
wet fog clings for days,
weighs on the mind
when we can’t see out –
can’t feel the sun move
within us. The first light
white will blind us,
before the colors come
reaching for blue, blue
sky and cumulus sailing
into shapes we recognize.
And so it goes from dark 
tempests and torrents,
before the lupine leafs
from bare sticks, before
its purple plumes wave
into the buzzing, warm
pulse that will fade
again with the sun – yet
no season, the same.
The gray fog and low clouds clinging to these saturated foothills finally gave way to a little sunshine yesterday. This shot of the snowpack in the Kaweahs was taken from a ridge below Sulphur Peak. I attempted the loop in Greasy to check the cows and calves and to make certain that our bulls were still home working, and to assess the condition of our roads. It’s WET, water running, dribbling, oozing everywhere. With an accumulation since December 15th, our rain gauge overflowed, holding 12 inches when completely full – a lot of rain for this country in a little over two weeks.
I ran into the creek at the bottom of Sulphur, a part of the flow diverted into the road up the draw by limbs, leaves and debris that I was able to remove with a shovel and chainsaw. Remarkable runoff when one considers that the last significant rain occurred a week ago.
All the stock ponds are full and running out their spillways. I couldn’t complete my loop because the pond at Grapevine was going over the dam/road, and I had to backtrack through Sulphur to get off the mountain. Despite the cold on the Kubota, it was exhilarating to see some sun and cattle.
(click photos to enlarge)
Posted in Photographs
Tagged Greasy Creek, Great Western Divide, Kaweah, rainfall, Sulphur Peak