Category Archives: Ranch Journal

Weaning

 

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We began weaning our first bunch of calves last week, three weeks earlier than normal, due to the lack of rain in March and April. From second-calf heifers sired by Vintage Angus bills, all of these calves are headed to Visalia Livestock Market on Tuesday. The whole bunch averages 600 lbs.

Though lighter than normal, there are some heifers we would have liked to keep for replacements, but our continuing drought conditions and uncertain feed and water resources make that option impractical. Whether Climate Change or other weather phenomenon, we have come to consider our circumstances to be the new normal for Sierra Nevada foothill ranches in California where cow numbers have been reduced by 40%.

After three years of drought, our springs which are dependent on the Sierra snowpack, and our stockwater ponds which are dependent on rain, are severely impacted, some dry already before summer’s begun. Each operation continues to adapt to diminishing resources as we try to hold our cow herds intact, having already culled deeply in 2013 and 2014.

As we head into our fourth year of drought, we’ve had to change our perspective, hoping to offset our smaller numbers with a good cattle market.

 

Flower Friday: Clarkia unguiculata

 

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Roadrunner Babies

 

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We found the Roadrunners’ nest on March 29th and have known the eggs had hatched for a couple of weeks, but the chicks have been too small to photograph until now. In the cactus along the driveway, I caught the pair off the nest this morning.

 

 

WPC: THE DANCE

 

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In the branding pen,
the steady dance of old hands
celebrating spring.

 

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Motion

 

GOOD RAIN

 

Dry grasses, weeds and wildflower leaves
turned brittle, blond and hollow-stemmed,
past help or hoping for a storm as we,

when the sky went gray for days: clouds
stacked, thunder clapped in the backcountry,
spilling little drops erasing tracks in dust

with damp, new air to breathe. Every creature
prayed—out of habit more than necessity,
to all our different gods—a great wanting

on the breeze, just to see it rain. Like true
love at the core of things, it came in sheets
of ecstasy—that full feeling of feeling good.

 

THORNY ORNAMENTS

 
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Christmas in April,
Wild Cucumber on a dead
Manzanita tree.

 

Echinopsis Oxygona

 

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A one-day bloom
as the hills turn brown again
around Mother’s Day.

 

 

Work of Art

 

NEW FRONTIERS

 

We are farming just beyond
your city’s limits to sustain growth
by building houses, irrigating fields

to feed you. We are drilling deeper
wells all around your sufficient
neighborhood mapped on asphalt.

Either side of the fuzzy border,
we get old, get tired of adapting
to mistakes—unlike bugs, we live

too long to develop genetics
our children’s children will need
in an unimaginable future.

History will say our families farmed
the San Joaquin for 200 years
before running out of water

fifty years from now—our thin dust
upon dry layers of earth stacked above
a depleting Pleistocene sea.

 

WATER & ELECTRICITY

 

Innocent enough: the service pole
holding two hundred and twenty volts
above the ground to the house,
end of the line for electric power
and all its surges, to be replaced
by men and three huge trucks
with hydraulic arms and augers.
That’s how comedies begin
in backyard pastures too dry to irrigate,
visits by servicemen scouting work orders,
asking if the dog bites: “Sometimes.”
The faucet crushed beneath a tire
while we were gone to Bakersfield
trading goosenecks before we wean—
the white geyser and phone call
asking where to turn the water off:
“The pump.” On, after an easy faucet fix
at dusk, but no water to the house,
you found the gate valve stripped,
one last twist that did not quell
the fountain wasting in a drought
with the gopher snake they killed.
Innocence, fear, the tracks were clear.
We cut and plumbed another gate valve,
used once and saved like farmers do,
you and I and the mosquitoes
on our bellies in the mud with wrenches
after the inch-and-a-half Dayton blew
three times under pressure. Face-to-face,
a wrench apiece, the coupler between us
the fourth time tightened to hold
forever in my mind, our wet and muddy
partnership, laughing: “Welcome home.”

 

THE TROUBLE WITH SHARING

 

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Hole in the orchard filled
with leaky water troughs
of asparagus rockets

breaking free. We felled
the cherry tree the borers killed,
corded-up for winter fires.

We shared the crop,
top branches first
we couldn’t reach until

word got out and left us
pits. Damn Orioles
and their bucket mouths.