Tag Archives: Cowboy Celtic

Picnic

 

 

We’ve been sharing ranch life with our dear Canadian friends Denise Withnell and David Wilke from Cowboy Celtic for the past few days, exhausted as they head home to Victoria. Like kids, we’ve been having way too much fun while getting very little work done. Taking them on a tour of the Paregien ranch to put out salt and mineral while assessing the practicality of branding our bull calves, we found roads still too wet in places for a pickup or gooseneck.

 

 

With two saved from oak tree entanglements, they had to endure my rant about why mylar balloons ought to be illegal.

 

 

Thank you, dear friends for helping to prove that you’re never too old for a picnic.

 

ERRANT BULL

 

img_1490

 

The wire goes cold.
Red tail-hair hangs by a barb in a tangle.
Horned-bull bellowing in the flats
among the heifers close to the Solstice
half-moon waning—mark it somewhere
                    on a mind wall,
                    potential trouble in a poem
                    filed in cyberspace.

The wire goes cold.
A trumpet blares from my buttoned pocket,
beneath a zippered vest and heavy Carhartt
look-a-like advertising Purina Hi-Pro,
coils and split-reins in a gloved left hand,
small loop in the right with a flying U ready
to remind the bull he’s half-way home
and it won’t stop bugling
                    as if nearby
                    the cavalry
                    was just over the rise.

The wire goes cold.
We text and vox from the ridgetops,
from what our eyes have gathered
from the ranch. No emergency—
Cowboy Celtic wants to Facetime.
As we push the heifers another field away,
                    I call them back
                    and we yak
                    and they ride with me,
                    see green country
                    and cattle to the gate
                    just above the ears
                    of my horse.

 

THROUGH STRINGS

image

 

Not wind through willow limbs that sing of rooted past,
but our first tunes, drummed upon catgut strings, cast
beyond early stirrings searching words to fit a melody
of earthly work, we find a moment’s worth of immortality.

 

Traveling with the Band

image

 

image

 

image

 

image

 

image

 

image

 

image