Category Archives: Ranch Journal

ROUTINES

 

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Hens of summer
from under cover
grazing irrigated green—

man,
bird,
and beast

making ample livings
at first light—
no need for greed.

 

Early Morning Shade

 

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Thirty days away from their third calf, these girls gathered in the shade are watching me change the irrigation water on the pasture. Bred to Vintage Angus bulls, we’re excited about their calves, though a bit dismayed that it’s that time of year again. On a normal year, they would be on dry feed in the hills, but with little water at the higher elevations, we’ve kept them closer to home.

 

Hopeless Oak

 

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On August 18, 2013, unusual high winds left this tree in a tangle of fallen limbs. DCJ file A landmark and reference point as we gather cattle, we sadly wrote it off as a permanent casualty of the weather, but despite the drought and its hopeless state, it perseveres and remains alive.

 

 

Weekly Photo Challenge (2): “Inspiration”

 

SUMMER HERON

 

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My shy fisherman
craves his place in time and space
just for reflection.

 

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Kestrel (Sparrow Hawk)

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I got out early this a.m. to feed the bulls and change my irrigation water, bringing my camera along to take advantage of the early fall light. A few good photographs to draw upon this coming week for the blog. The Sparrow Hawks were busy this morning, but tricky photographing. Automatic focus is a must as I tried to capture this one in hover mode with my 400 mm lens. I couldn’t help but think of our constant commenter and falconer, Richard, as I was photographing, and include these enlarged (and slightly fuzzy) photos for him.

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Weekly Photo Challenge (1): “Inspiration”

Blackberry Patch

 

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Under monsoonal cloud cover and smoke from a fire on the North Fork of the Kaweah yesterday, the girls and I picked wild blackberries this morning after we got our chores done.

LEARNING TO LIVE WITH HUMANS

 

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One hundred ten degrees,
a kestrel lights where water sprays
the onion bed and bathes—

then soon its mate,
or so it seems at a distance
in the fuzzy heat.

Now in the morning black
my desk lamp brings
gnats to the window glass,

and tree frogs on a slick,
perpendicular hunt, vying
for positioning, carefully

lifting one foot at a time.
I imagine now the herd
of tree frogs seeking cover

at the kestrels’ landing,
great hops into the thick
onion stems and berry vines

dripping with wonder:
new habits on a timer
every summer evening at six.

 

COLORS OF AUGUST 2015

 

Following an old hill track within dry
grasses and trees, dust worn thin,
soft and deep by pad and hoof,

dark shadows reach for shades of brown.
Once blond heads of wild oats bent
by breezes, now bleached by the sun,

hang empty and delicate on hollow stems
awaiting grazing or a rain to lay them down
atop the rosy clutch of fillaree

claiming ground in brittle curls beneath.
Blue Oaks gray with turquoise leaves,
leather-like among the naked skeletons

of grandfathers shedding limbs, lesions
of good hardwood, too heavy to support
without water on these battlefields,

the wounded and dead-standing, but
decomposing monuments to better centuries—
a range of color spreading into dying light.

 

TASTE OF PEACH

 

The Elberta ripens
thinned by ground squirrels—
dogs bark at night:
raccoons down from the hills.

I have lost my car again
trapped in another strange place
without friends, backtracking
in my dreams to rise

in the dark, fumble
for a light too bright
to find my way outside
to follow the dogs with a rifle

to the gate beside the peach tree.
No eyes burning in the black,
barking fades out of range,
I am now awake

and wonder what it takes
to save a peach,
or why we bother—
other than its taste.

 

GIANT

 

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Checking water, hillside springs
plumbed to troughs, a coyote pup,
on the lope and looking back

as if heading home, is common.
Beyond the den, this is his home,
this is his water—we are

unknown intruders, enigmas
making rounds in these hills,
following trails to waterholes

where wild waits
and congregates
as it shrinks into August.

With our eye, we measure
flow at the end of rusty pipe—
with our lungs, blow water

backwards to the spring box
to clear debris and sediment,
seldom clean. Yesterday,

I got to be giant
with two tree frogs dancing
on my tongue.