Calculating how much alfalfa to leave in a pasture, we have to include the growing appetites of calves. Though the Wagyu X calves above may not know the taste of green grass, they know the sound of the hay truck, as do the calves everywhere. Branding a little bunch in Greasy this morning, culling cows as we go.
Posted in Photographs
The Governor has come with a mouthful of marbles,
but no Demosthenes, cornered before cameras
after meeting big farmers in dark back rooms,
eyes shift through closed doors, see San Francisco,
Santa Cruz. ‘Moonbeam’ in the 70s when he ran
with Ronstadt, he’s still undecided. Driest year
on record yet, it’s about the water that isn’t—
and who gets it, if he declares a drought. Playing
politics: pleasing people like cattle—who gets hay
little water irrigates. I am but dust on the window screen
to Pine Street, Exeter, 1958 when I shook his father’s hand,
watched California meet the future with accomplishment.
This is not poetry, nor a cry-baby rant. This is drought
no matter what we declare or who says it—lean
times when Mother Nature makes all the rules.
Posted in Poems 2014
In the end, it will not matter
to these bare hills—the dust
we rose, the hay we fed
to cows, thin calves trailing
never knowing green. Or
the cacophony of pleas
to separate gods prolonged
in empty canyons echoing
hoarse and raspy songs.
A sick and starving coyote came
to the house, hairless as the hills,
to lie down in a damp spot,
too weak to leave without help.
In the end, it will not matter
to these bare hills, slowly
decomposing once again, if
we stay or go. It is the cows
we cared about, trusting souls
we owed, obliged to living
on next to nothing—even still
it will not matter to these hills.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Paregien Branding 2014
This gallery contains 13 photos.
Each branding at the Paregien Ranch always seems unique. In years past, we’ve been snowed on, rained on, and in fog so thick we could barely see across the pen, each documented in the archives of this blog. This year, … Continue reading
While gathering yesterday to brand this morning, another oak tree at 2,400 feet snags a mylar balloon from some Valley celebration. Offensive, blasphemous, the Sierra foothills are littered with them. There ought to be a law, but then again, our landscape is littered with too many of those as well. Miles from the asphalt, they decompose eventually, it just takes time. Happy 2014!
…and we sprawl with it
and hear another world for a minute
that is almost there.
– William Stafford (“Sending These Messages”)
Only the excited know the thrill—you tell us:
riding upon a Red Tail in the creek
hiding a kill beneath a skirt of feathers fanned
beside your horse’s shadow, looking past you,
looking up into an unseen rush of air,
louder over your shoulder, just before
the Golden Eagle lands and leaves
with the squirrel, as if you were not there.
But I can hear your squeals of disbelief
still echoing in the draws, well after
the meal was finished in a nearby oak tree.
We sprawl with it, over and over again,
share and stretch ourselves beyond this flesh—
become the eagle, become the hawk
and the sound of it is shrill.
for Jody
Posted in Photographs
No trace, no drizzling mist—
she will really have to rain
into the night into the dawn
into the draws into the creek
into a rising frothy broth for weeks
to address our growing list of jobs
unfurled, saved for a rainy day.
We’ve emptied the barn: ‘making
hay while the sun shines’ available
to hungry cattle far too long
to remember all the work postponed
to keep them alive—the basic
little jobs that maintain the machinery
runs smoothly, heart and mind
intact. But first, the oil and grease
to lubricate the old joints: time
to rejoice and celebrate, to marvel
with the miracle of a rainy day.
Posted in Poems 2013
Tenacious. Ingenious. Examples abound.
We’re preparing to brand calves Friday, despite our lack of any green, knowing that we’ll set our calves back to some degree, but also knowing that if we wait much longer to get started, by time we get all our pastures worked, some will weigh 500 lbs. and we’ll set them back anyway, rain or no rain.
On the bright side, moving ahead is a relief from our monotonous feeding routine that continues concurrently. Though energy wanes, tenacious, ingenious examples abound and we’re actually excited—looking forward to what we all need: a gathering of neighbors and a job to share.
