After peeking beneath the eve,
the sun dives south beyond the ridge
near the Solstice. Time’s quick departure
into darkness begs moments stolen
around a fire, glass of wine,
2-for-the-price-one thin tri-tips
browning above hardy Manzanita coals
flicking blue and yellow tongues
into our eyes to clear them—
like standing in a gate opened
to a pasture of possibilities
yet ungrazed at this late date.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022, Ranch Journal
Tagged basic elements, camaraderie, clarity, family, photography, poetry
Inside, the basic tools,
wrenches, pliers and ratchets
under the back seat
to take things apart
and put back together
fixed, or so we hope
when working on ourselves—
but only if we know
how things work.
Posted in Poems 2022
Tagged be prepared, comfort, experience, Good Boy Scout, introspection, master of none, poetry, repairs, self help, tools
A mile from any cattle
a gang of three bulls
unloaded at work
on Friday, cows
strung out on hay
before it rained
and muddied roads
to not haul them,
were sparring on Saturday,
bawling and plowing
the new green brown
while the cows
rode one another.
Witness for over fifty years
I have my theories
where there is no proof,
I leap to speculation
like Sherlock Holmes
just for the entertainment.
The girls and babies
have climbed the mountain
for the new green
protected by old feed
to grow taller,
and the boys too cavalier
or lazy to follow after
their nine-month vacation
on alfalfa.
We breed for almost everything
these days: birth weights
and scrotal circumference,
marbling and tenderness,
weaning weights and dollars
(gentle purebred generations
of artificial insemination)
for everything but sex drive.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022, Ranch Journal
Tagged artificial insemination, bulls, photography, poetry, sex drive
The Shy Goddess has come and gone after a 2+”, 6-day slow rain from the 2nd to the 7th https://drycrikjournal.com/journal-2022-23/, only to return Saturday with another inch, enough to push Dry Creek down canyon. Quite a welcome sight, water in the creek, sycamores afire and green; the way it ought to be!
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek flow, green feed, photography, rain, Ranch Journal, shy goddess, sycamores
Damp and cold, her breath
slips through the door cracked
to push the smell of smoke
through the house while it rains
lightly. I steal deep breaths,
pretend I’m young again
before I light another.
Though I miss the real storms,
the overbearing trepidation
that escapes its banks to flood
with heroic tales and wonder
when its over, I am now lifted
out of time on her breath,
this gentle rain, hillsides
running green—reborn again.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022, Ranch Journal
Tagged breath, Drought, photography, poetry, rain, shy goddess, time, weather
It’s quiet now, she’s come and gone
without a sound, spent the night
without a word as we slept
deeply by the fire. She kept it dark
without the stars, hid the pregnant moon
that shed the rain lightly through the clouds.
We don’t know her name, shy goddess—
but we will leave the light on
with pomegranate jelly at the door.
– – – – –
0.63″ plus bugs
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022, Ranch Journal
Tagged clouds, Drought, moon, photography, poetry, pomegranate jelly, rain, rain gauge, stars, weather
An ever-play movie,
road in the distance
following the creek
wet or dry
up or down
a stream of SUVs
at 60 spaced militarily
from So Cal
to Christian camps
above Eshom
remembering Loren
on an ox cart load
of carp to dry
for the summer
CalFire trucks
twice a day
cattle neighbors,
goosenecks,
loads of hay
Badger locals
on shoulders parked
for first or last
cell phone service
sprinkled with tentative tourists
and strings of Harleys
roaring for or from
a burger at the Mountain House.
We believe we can read
everybody’s business
long distance.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022, Ranch Journal
Tagged Badger, body language, Cal Fire, carp, cell phone stops, Christian Camps, Dry Creek Road, entertainment, Eshom, Harleys, Loren Fredricks, photography, poetry, traffic
Lesley Fry Photo
Spectacular weather yesterday on the Paregien ranch. Above 2,000 feet in elevation and twenty 4 x 4 minutes from the asphalt, it is a magic place rich with native and anecdotal history. Currently, the feed is short but still greening since the 1.45” we got on the 6th, 7th and 8th of this month. The cattle have left the flats for the slopes and ridges where the new grass is growing faster, protected from frost by the remnants of old feed. Early last week the prognosticators canceled today’s rain, but have now forecast a significant amount for Thursday into the weekend. (We’ll see.)
While pumping water, looking for the neighbor’s errant bull and measuring the corrals for a much-needed makeover, Robbin and I spent the morning with the Fry/Fox family cutting Manzanita and Live Oak deadfall for our woodstove because of my tendonitis. With our many hands, what fun we had!
It’s been several months since I carelessly cut a tree in the road that knocked me down, damaging the rotator cuff of my right shoulder. And about a month since compensating for it to pop a tendon, sounding like a gun shot, in my left forearm. Enlisted now in medical protocol and procedures, it’s taken a couple of weeks to confirm the damage with an MRI. Apparently surgery and long recovery is my best option. I see the Dr. again in 4 weeks, meanwhile I’m supposed to do nothing.
I am amused that only children and seniors measure their age in half-years, kids because they want to be older, and seniors, I suppose, eager to numerically reassure themselves of their existence. I’m 74 ½ and need to act my age. My life, our life, on this ranch has always been physical and it’s been too easy for me to forget I’m no longer fifty or sixty building fence or bucking hay. But to have our good friends and neighbors volunteer to help us get some firewood in was truly a wonderful gift on a beautiful day. Thank you Chuck and Lesley Fry, Katy and Cody Hanson, and Allie and Shawn Fox. You guys are the best!
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged age, firewood, Live Oak, Manzanita, medical procedures, neighbors, photography, rain, tendonitis, weather
A pause like prayer,
a nod to the gods holding
the wild together.
Posted in Haiku 2022, Photographs, Poems 2022
Tagged haiku, photography, poetry, Thanksgiving, Tom Turkey, wild
I crave the quiet intimacy of creeks
that feed the bigger rivers
roaring in the granite gorges
or widespread in redundant riffles
with nothing to say. I rather fish
dark cutbanks and water skeeter
eddies frothed below white dogwoods
arching over High Sierra leaks, eclipsing
all but mottled light as I move upstream—
each small pool a unique realm
for browns and rainbows
grazing transparent skirts.
Now that I know I won’t go back,
it is not an appetite for trout
that consumes sweet memories.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022
Tagged fishing, High Sierra creeks, memories, mountains, photography, poetry, trout
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