Writing poetry in the dark
before moving cows
and fresh calves
to better pasture,
I ask about the weather
on TV I’ve missed
over a weekend of
making more from less water
while you’ve planted seeds
for a fall garden—more
hopeful than ever before.
You say, ‘More of the same
for the next few days, cooler.’
Two years of dust and drought
have worn us down to basic stuff—
and we like what we see
in one another.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, garden, photographs, poetry, water, weather
Newborn calves are vulnerable to a variety of predators, so cows instinctively consume the afterbirth after cleaning up the calf as it struggles to stand and nurse. After resting briefly, the calf above (middle) is finding its wobbly legs to nurse again as its concerned mother (2110) looks on. This second-calf mother finds little privacy near our irrigated pasture, as two other curious calves become part of the drama in the Valley Oak shade.
We are extremely pleased with so many early calves on the ground after two dry years of little feed. Calving forty days now, about 60% of our younger cows and 50% of our older cows have calves at their sides. The calves seem bigger and healthier this year that we attribute to all the loads of hay, fed last August through April, while the cows raised last year’s calf. Additionally, when we weaned those calves last May, we sent the marginal and late calving cows to town, reducing our cowherd substantially. In this respect, our cowherd as a whole has benefitted from the drought. Whether or not we can make the reduced numbers work economically remains to be seen, dependent mostly on the weather and our coming grass year.
Clouds and a slight chance of rain are predicted for the middle of next week, but probably not enough to start the grass. Our own thirty-day forecast indicates that we have a fair chance of rain on the 19th and a better chance of rain on the 28th.
Meanwhile, we’re still feeding somewhere everyday, trying to keep the cows in shape to raise their calves and cycle when we put the bulls out in December, hopefully on some green grass that we can’t quite imagine anymore.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, coyote, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, predators, rain, weather
iPhone photo: Terri Drewry
Calving since the 1st of September, we’re always pleased, and relieved, to see our first-calf heifers forming nurseries rather than hiding their calves singly as easier prey to coyotes. I find the babysitter selection process interesting. Oftentimes it seems that the cow with the youngest calf gets the duty because her calf needs the most attention, so while she’s at it, she just as well take care of the other calves at the same time while the other mothers graze. Yesterday, while feeding the heifers with Wagyu X calves, 1038 was under a sycamore tree with a few calves while the others were lined-out on the alfalfa. For whatever reason, she was off her feed and subsequently got the call. Sympathetically, her calf is licking her head.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged bovine babysitters, Calves, cows, Dry Creek, photographs, Teri Drewry, Wagyu X
7:40 p.m. PDT, September 23, 2014
A little hair here and there
burns across the canyon,
a darkening charred shadow
rising in a wake of even light,
summer days and nights
behind us, behind the ridge
that stands between us
and Antelope Valley, Wuknaw
spilling into the fringed
and frayed urgency beyond.
We have a glass, of course,
discussing cattle—instead of
people—measure likelihoods
for feed and water ready
with another plan, if need be.
Light a cigarette, fill another
glass reflecting decades
of canyons worn upon our faces.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, water, weather, Wuknaw
Born contortionists, both man
and beast, we all find ways
to reach an itch.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Calves, Greasy Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry
Robbin and I made the rounds with hay yesterday, photographically documenting feed and water conditions as we went—both in short supply from Dry Creek to Greasy Creek. Fed three times a week, the first calf heifers plodding through the dust above is a common sight.
Miraculously, the stock water pond at Spanish Flats is holding.
With reduced numbers in Greasy, we’ve been feeding about 20 lbs./cow once a week for past six weeks.
The cows have been calving for the past thirty days on bare ground everywhere.
In the past, I’ve critically referred to the pond at Railroad Spring as my one extravagance because of its size, but much smaller, it would be dry this year. Full, it looks like this.
The cows look good, calves healthy, but we could use a rain anytime.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, Greasy Creek, photographs, rain, water, weather
In the dark, waiting once again
with calves for dry green hay,
listening for the diesel engine
climbing at an idle in the canyon
far below, they dream of grass,
tall thick blades caressing legs,
briskets and bellies, udders
full, the sweet scent of cuds
swirling in waves of plenty—
but we can’t see beyond
the dry and dusty moment:
down limbs beneath skeletons
of oak trees given up
their last leaves with rising
dust trails of quail, families
leaving in a cloud for thin cover.
Cut deep and soft, cow track
highways all lead to water,
meander on efficient grades up
and over short-cropped ridges—
naked waves in shades of brown.
Posted in Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, Greasy Creek, poetry, water, weather, wildlife
Looking into the bigger picture,
who are these beasts
with a kind eye?
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Calves, Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, Snake River Farms, Wagyu X
The air smells damp at first light
beyond the jagged silhouette of ridges
that frame my mind—no straight lines,
no ‘only’ connections between heaven
and earth as I glance up in disbelief
inhaling dark moisture around me.
First dew after a drought confounds
the senses armed for more hot and dry
and I want out—out of summer
and into pastures with the heifers
nursing their first calves. I follow
fresh coyote tracks in last night’s dust
to an isolated draw for yesterday’s newborn,
watching for motion among the boulders
and Blue Oaks that haven’t moved
in my lifetime, where the spring went dry
two weeks after we drilled our well
deep into the hardrock to artesian
a half-mile away. We had to trench
a pipeline back to the trough
from the pump—no straight lines
above or under this old ground
holding us together best it can—
and there I find them: fine.
We are tough enough to submit
to long days beneath a blazing sun,
wear mental armor, gnash our teeth
into lockjawed grins to get by, but
searching, ever-searching for new sign:
fresh proof that nothing stays the same.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, coyote, dew, Drought, Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
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