Category Archives: Ranch Journal

LIKE IT

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Black, no stars—a mist before the storm
stacks-up against the Sierra Nevadas—
rises and rains just in time for grass
struggling with hard, thirsty clay.

We, too, have grown hard
with no deep moisture, roots dry
and brittle as the Live Oaks offering
boughs full of brown medallions.

The problem bears have moved
to town, followed the Kaweah
down into backyards and alleys,
packs of hungry coyotes behind them.

Slow and gentle would be best
for the red, south and west slopes,
any kind of puddles for the flats—
but whatever we get, we’ll like it ☺

 

Ranch Journal: Having Fun (6 pix)

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With no worries about stockwater nor under the gun to feed cattle everyday, Robbin and I went to the Paregien Ranch Saturday to check on the bulls we put out Monday and to cut a Kubota load of stove wood ahead of the rain forecast for Tuesday and Wednesday.

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The grass is fading in places but the cows are holding up fairly well with growing demand from their calves. What feed we have lacks strength, but with our reduced numbers, the cows are staying full.

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We were a curiosity to a couple of bull calves, approaching three months old, as we cleaned up a dead tree near the solar pump that we installed this summer. Robbin took pictures while stacking the brush.

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Liking the smell and taste of the wood chips and sawdust, I was worried that they might try to lick the chain saw blade.

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Just checking on our cows and calves and cutting wood are the fun jobs we haven’t had the time or luxury to enjoy,

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and getting comfortable with relaxing seems to come in stages after virtually two years of feeding and trying to keep the nucleus of our cow herd intact. But we made real progress towards becoming human again over our fun-filled Thanksgiving weekend.

 

SAPSUCKER

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Coffee at dawn, drumming
the Honey Locust—
old men talk, listening.

 

 

THANKSGIVING 2014

December 8, 2010

December 8, 2010

 

The green struggles in the clay.
Sycamores stand half-dressed
beside an empty bed exposing
white limbs as the sun sets.
The shadow of the ridge behind us
becomes a long, dark stage
for a chorus line of dancing girls,
arms entwined, kicking high
at the gate as we leave home
for a fire upstream—turkey
trimmed with camaraderie.
No traffic on the road to see
these celebrations along the creek
as the canyon waits for rain.

 

RED BARN 2010

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Roof in the trees raised
by January wind and rain—
we tarped the hay.

 

 

WPC(3) — “Angular”

 

HAWKEYE

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Good hooks and an eye
to hunt fish underwater
throughout the dry years.

 

 

NEAR THE RIVER (RIPARIAN)

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Within the wild grapes and willows,
a world become tame
without humans.

 

 

WEATHERMEN

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Time for a shower,
a quarter, a tenth.

I have the next rain
at my fingertips—
                    the hunt and peck,
                    scroll of percentiles
                    dialed-in
                    hour by hour
of the good stuff I want—
that naked clay needs
to stay alive.

Nothing’s changed.
We all hang on a forecast—
                    cuss the messenger
                    who gets paid
                    when he’s wrong
                    or claims he’s right.
It is our nature
where a man’s word
is everything.

 

JUST BEGUN

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No small accomplishment
bringing life to this world—
a job just begun.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Achievement”

TRACE

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A taste of rain tinkling in the downspout
too light to hear upon the metal roof,
yet under this common wet covering

her scent mends everything
for the moment, for another beginning
and we inhale it—lungs full of new life.

And when we pray, it’s to the Goddess—
mother, lover—for our sustenance,
for the bloom and fruit of flesh renewed

as the damp earth exhales, breathes easily
to taste each lingering drop
that settles upon its petaled tongue.