Behind the smoke, the KNP Complex, last Thursday’s lightning strikes that sparked the Colony and Paradise Fires in Sequoia National Park threaten both the Giant Sequoias and the community of Three Rivers. #tularecountysheriff https://news.yahoo.com/knp-complex-fire-threatening-sequoia-220907319.html?fr=yhssrp_catchall
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Evacuations, Giant Sequoias, KNP Complex, Three Rivers, wildfires
After the lightning
igniting fires, after the storm,
a new day dawns
with hope
and a hint of change
from the blistering summer heat
with the equinox knocking
at the door, I think
of all the jobs earmarked
for years—our growing list
of work we’ve saved
for rainy days.
The prognosticators
are unusually quiet,
don’t dare say
when to expect a rain.
I keep adding to a list
that will outlive me.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged clouds, dawn, fires, lightning, rainy day jobs
Out of the blue
the space between us
rings like a bell
as I become
a curious diversion
for two young bucks
oblivious to the perils
of the outside world
swirling around us all.
How I envy such innocence,
rejuvenated for a moment—
yet I lay down to look
through dry stems of feed,
my horns lost in branches,
almost unseen.
Out of the Gulf to rest upon the spine
of the Sierras, run aground on the Kaweahs,
animal shapes spill overboard
after marking months of blazing days
since April showers, we watch clouds
and wonder if it rained on Arizona friends,
or if it’s pouring now on the Kings
or in the Roaring River Canyon, Rowell
Meadow darkened beneath them.
Despite hot monsoon gusts that lift
and twist the dust across the pasture,
pregnant cows sequestered to the shade,
we dare to breathe relief as the sun slides
south—split redwood and Manzanita
waiting ready near the woodstove.
Dust trails behind
plodding black cows off the hills
to water, bellies stretched with calf,
while we drink coffee—
and we are proud of these cows
who grazed uphill to bed
while we drank Tangueray and tonic,
slice of grapefruit instead of lime.
An acquired taste, raising cattle
through years of drought—
a bittersweet love affair
with the ground that sustains us.
We know her every crease
and wrinkle, and which leak water—
all of her magic spots
forever branded in our brains.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Robbin brought in and armload of (4) Striped Armenian Cucumbers early this morning that neither the rabbits nor squirrels have bothered this summer. More work, of course. This will be her umpteenth batch of crunchy dill pickles. The Bombay bottle has found a second life, filled with citronella now to deter the flies.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Bombay, flies, pickles, Striped Armenian Cucumbers
Our country is dry and short. We’ve pulled the bulls off the irrigated pasture to make room for our bred heifers due to begin calving by the middle of September. We will have to feed the bulls in this pasture where Allie and Terri were driving a few to water last week. Even though we’ve sold 25% of our cows, we continue to step up the amount of hay we’re feeding with no idea of when it will end or whether it will pay for itself in the long run. But if we have to sell more cows, we just don’t want them to be thin.
Cooper’s Hawk
under a rainbird’s shower,
yellow eyes
mermaid and frog
before taking a drink
at the ‘sip and dip’.
Too hot to hurry
in the heat
we all grow tame.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged Cooper's Hawk, Drought, water, wild
Four-thirty and it’s cooled down
from 115—black cows are leaving
sycamore shade for the water trough,
>
plodding several hundred yards of hard clay
and short blond fuzz to drink,
not like last night’s forceful mob,
>
but one-by-one, the order established
over years of living together—uphill
two hundred more to shady Blue Oaks
>
to gather and decide which way to go.
The heat has slowed their rhythm
only slightly, they are bound to graze
>
what’s left on the slopes behind us:
take the steep trail to the top of the ridge
or the long pull only part-way to the sky.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2021, Ranch Journal
Tagged bovine democracy, cow, grazing, habits, politics
Pulling the first of 12 joints of 20’ pipe plus the pump this morning after losing water last evening. We weaned our last bunch of calves Thursday when we hauled them out of Greasy, and were celebrating our good fortune until the pump quit. Fortunately, Willits Equipment had time and personnel to replace the pump and control box by 1:00 this afternoon. This well also serves our house.
Just one of the joys of rural living, but we wouldn’t trade it for the alternative.
drycrikjournal 