Category Archives: Ranch Journal

Replacement Heifers

 
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With an eye towards weaning our calves, last week’s tour of the Greasy watershed to check cattle and feed conditions was a pleasant surprise. Typically we begin weaning in mid-May when the grass turns. With less than 0.75” of rain in the last forty-five days, my expectations were minimal. But our upper country above 1,500 feet has fared substantially better than our lower foothills where only patches of green remain high on the north slopes.

Having reduced our cow numbers by 40% due to the ongoing drought, we have found a temporary equilibrium between grass and cattle without having to feed much hay last winter. But due to feed limitations, we were unable to keep any calves last season for replacement heifers. Assuming a return to more normal weather conditions, we will need to replace our older cows while also trying to add numbers to our cowherd. However many heifer calves we’re able to keep, won’t produce a calf to wean for two more years. Rebuilding a cowherd is a slow process. Certainly the three girls above will be candidates, but how many we’re able to keep remains to be seen.

 

OTHER INTERESTED PARTIES

 

I think no more or less of you
than when you lived
alone hoarding memories,

long life collecting guns
and knives in the Berkeley hills.
Only with plastic yellow ribbon

stretched across Tanglewood
can we share a last laugh:
bomb squad extricating

your volatile black powder,
old ammunition and grenades
from the backyard bunker,

neighbors at windows, and you
gleefully grinning down upon
the commotion you’ve stirred.

Stanford, Harvard law, Bohemian
Club, without issue you enjoyed
the luxury of eccentricities

far from your mother’s dirt—
or her father’s, the Judge
in the barn with his jug.

All we really wanted
were the stories, first cousins
once removed in life and death.

 

Killdeer Update

 

 

Keeping track of our cattle is never perfect, but keeping track of the Killdeer, even for a short time, requires so much assumption and speculation that it verges on fiction. Nevertheless, our Killdeer, defending the eggs in her nest, disappeared with her babies for the creek last week. Due to the drought and a creek that hasn’t run much for the past three years, we’ve had only one Killdeer nesting in our gravel driveway so far this spring.

Robbin noted that one of our pair of crows was carrying what appeared to be the white fluff of a Killdeer chick back to their nest earlier this week. We know how it goes, everyone is someone’s breakfast. But yesterday, crossing the remaining puddles in the creek, we found two chicks and an attentive, adult Killdeer in the cobbles and grass.

Getting two out of four to the creek, 200 yards and across the road, is a good percentage when one considers the gopher snake on the prowl for eggs, the crows and a variety of other predators. It’s a leap to assume this is the same Killdeer, but with no others around our driveway to the house, not as far as you might think.

 

SHE

 

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It was good to see her,
visiting like a sister
forty days late
with much on her mind.

Never aging and beautiful,
she spent the afternoon
outside in the gray—
left a rainbow behind.

 

JUST A THOUGHT

 

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Never really green with grass,
the south slopes tried to hide the clay,
standing naked in underwear

these past three years. Too late for rain,
precursor clouds let their shadows run
up canyon walls on gusts that stir

our dry flesh, that lift the hair—
each excited follicle reaching
to dance with the thought of rain.

 

Wind Gust—Macro-Monday, Weekly-Photo-Challenge: “Blur”

 

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Easter on Dry Creek is normally green and verdant with skiffs of popcorn flowers and patches of poppies on the hillsides. A month ago, I hoped for a long spring and time to photograph this year’s wildflowers with an eye for their expression as life forms, the evolved complexities of each species’ pollination structure, background lines and colors, etc., etc., but Robbin and I have spent the last three days preparing and planting our summer garden instead. C’est la vie!

 

 

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HOW MANY MOONS?

 
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If we measured life
in moons misused and wasted,
how many left full?

 

 

                              And as the moon rises he sits by his fire
                              Thinking about women and glasses of beer
                              And closing his eyes as the dogies retire
                              He sings out a song which is soft but it’s clear
                              As if maybe someone could hear…

                                        – James Taylor (“Sweet Baby James”)

 

APRIL 2, 2015

 

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Thirty days ago we hoped
for a better spring,
for clouds to rain us
back to normal
as we looked down
Ridenhour Canyon
to Dry Creek Road—
to the orchards
of Lemon Cove.

Hills now brittle and brown,
last year’s dead oak skeletons
have company, naked
as the Kaweahs—tilted
granite rock without snow.

Corporate Ag without water
drills wells to hell—
spending billions
into the Pleistocene
to hasten the conclusion
of farming the San Joaquin.

We had hoped for a better spring,
another month of rain and green,
creeks and rivers overflowing,
flooding Valley towns.

 

APRIL FOOLS

 

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We have come the long way,
rode uneven ground together
ever since that first day

bringing cattle off the mountain,
you there, at the corrals:
Craig’s branding at the cabin.

I could only see pieces of you
busy outside, between the boards,
as we parted cows from calves.

Or was it when he died young,
all consoling one another?
Perhaps the Belle Point cows,

my mixed and colored herd,
fat calves grazing spring,
let you let me touch your hand.

We were friends a long time
before our pillow talk of trust
and honesty, before all this

circling home and horse barn,
our ever-changing garden,
black first-calf heifers at the fence

looking in as we look out
at what we’ve done as one
the long way ‘round.

 

Killdeer Nesting

 

 

Not far from the Roadrunner’s cactus nest, a Killdeer is also sitting on eggs. The shoulder of our gravel driveway usually offers three or four Killdeer a good place to hide and incubate their eggs. To keep from running over them, we’ve been known to place a rock close to the nest. Once hatched, the Killdeer takes her babies to the creek about 200 yards away. But barely running this year and last, we’ve only this one Killdeer nesting.

I had hoped to get photos of her broken wing act, her ploy to lure the dogs away. But she stood her ground yesterday to protect her nest.