Category Archives: Ranch Journal

Dawn on the Pasture

 

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When I arrived yesterday to change my irrigation water, a coyote was nonchalantly studying these cows and calves from just outside the fence. The cow beneath the Valley Oak was lying close to her calf, hours old. The cows, of course, knew he was there well before I did. Taking an indirect approach, coyotes will gradually work their way among the cattle acting preoccupied and harmless until they become familiar to a bunch, all the while looking for any weakness among the calves—hence the Trickster moniker.

We have completed our first month of calving and pleased with 50% of our calves on the ground, a bright spot in the middle of this drought, though our total cow numbers have been reduced by half these past four years. This is the third calf for this particular bunch of cows bred by Vintage Angus bulls.

 

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As the light turns softer and shadows longer, early mornings can be rewarding with lots of wildlife this time of year, especially where there is water. About twenty Canadian Geese are stripping the ripe seed of the water grass elsewhere in the pasture and our little bunch of wild turkeys, that are becoming used to me and the Kubota, are rummaging for bugs where I’ve completed my irrigation.

I take my camera, never knowing what I’ll see.

 

POSTCARD HOME

 

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Dear Dad, you never saw a drought like this,
four years running, so few cows left on the ranch—
nor I a war like yours: bait for Nazis in the Bulge.

The world has changed, the planet ever-changing:
ice caps melt, oceans rise, seasons out-of-sync
with what we know. New ground to graze

now that I am old. Nothing in the mountains
for bears to eat, they roll down ridges, track
dusty roads on the scent of fresh placentas,

lion pads everywhere you go. We cannot leave
this canyon, these calves, alone—all living
off this piece of ground that we are so bound.

 

American Coot

 

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Mud Hen

 

Autumnal Equinox 2015

 

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I don’t recall a more-welcome fall, this astronomical landmark when our daylight hours equal dark and night promises to last longer as we move towards the Winter Solstice. The sun slides south down the ridge, rising later, as sunset doesn’t hesitate, but literally falls into Antelope Valley just to the west of us.

We have endured the summer, we have endured four years of drought, as we enter that time of year when it might rain, bring green grass and fill the earth with moisture, bring water to our cattle. Wildlife walks with a different air, lingering longer in the morning. Coyotes and bobcats take their time as if they own this ground. Perhaps displaced by the Rough Fire, we’ve already seen more lions and bears than any year I can remember.

This is the time of year when our calves are born, the beginning of another cycle with the hope of rain, green grass, and fat calves, mornings and evenings by the fire. Just another day, but this is the one we have waited for.

 

GODS ONCE

 

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As always, we don’t know
what’s coming
or when, but we prepare

for rain and cold
with odds in our favor.
There is no election,

no debate, no polls.
The fickle gods
write their own rules

and grin like hell
when we object
to their unfairness.

We were gods once
when we were children
with scraps of wood

and leaves for sails
cheering ships
floating down a furrow.

 

Rough Fire: Evacuation Orders Lifted

 

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139,000+ acres
49% containment

 

IDES OF SEPTEMBER

 

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It is nothing, really, but a damp breeze
through the screen door rattling papers
on my desk, clearing the evidence

of last night’s flat bread from the kitchen
before returning to morning black—
light drops on a metal roof.

Fourth dry summer of drought,
it sweeps dust from my brain,
teases hair on my bare chest

as if I were wild, alive again—
as if we might escape this hell,
rinse the taste from our mouths.

Too early to storm, it is nothing, really,
but a damp breeze playing rain—
a few gods revisiting survivors

and the dead—playing with the possibility
of change. Once again, I am reminded
that nothing stays the same.

 

Miramonte

 

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The prospect of having to gather this country ahead of the Rough Fire is daunting.

 

Smoke in the Valley

 

7:20 a.m., Sept. 11, 2015

7:20 a.m., Sept. 11, 2015

Smoke continues to get worse throughout the Valley as the Rough Fire moves within a mile of the 2,000 year-old General Grant Tree and grove of giant Sequoias, also threatening the communities of Wilsonia and Pinehurst as it moves up the Mill Creek drainage, and towards the town of Dunlap on the western edge of the fire. Currently consuming 128,000 acres in the Kings River watershed with only 29% containment, the fire is expected to burn rapidly through the drought and pine beetle impacted timber today. Cost to date to fight the fire, that began with a single tree struck by lightening on July 31st, approaches $80 million. 2,570 personnel, 14 helicopters and 18 dozers battle the blaze in rough terrain.

Mandatory evacuation orders have kept Dry Creek Road busy. We helped haul four gooseneck loads of horses and mules from Miramonte yesterday, the last of the stock removed from the Cedar Grove Pack Station ahead of the fire that now burns upcanyon past Hotel Creek and towards Granite Lake. Park and pack station structures were saved.

 

Miramonte - 10:00 a.m., September 11, 2015

Miramonte – 10:00 a.m., September 11, 2015

Cooler weather is forecasted after today and into next week that should help firefighting efforts.

 

Rough Fire

 

OPENING

 

For a moment,
we succumb,
give in, yield

to our senses,
to the unknown—
forgetting everyone

we have been
or may ever be—
to let each second

wash over us
as we consume
each detail

that becomes
our flesh melting
into timelessness

gone beyond
any hope
to hold its shape,

waiting to explore
that prolonged moment
as if in the womb again.

 

 

Rough Fire