Out of the southwest, wind
down the dry draw damp—
dust devils dance across
ground grown bare by cows
meeting near the water trough
with the run and buck of calves
finding all four legs to stir
hope for nothing certain:
this first chance of rain.
Time may seem to fly
now that we are older,
or plodding slower shade
to shade with less idleness
to fill with complaint—summer
long and hot, but shorter than
our partnership with drought.
Weekly Photo Challenge: ‘local’
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, Drought, photography, poetry, rain, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
I would like to say that thinking
like cattle is preferable to humans
who need immediate answers
and science to prove them right,
whose urgency demands action
and reaction until the herd’s
thundering hooves stampede
the earth into atomic dust.
Cattle would not press any matter
enough to destroy themselves,
but rather play domestic than wild
given time to weigh your wishes.
Making sense of them you must
be cordial, shed your fear and anger—
try to remember the Golden Rule.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, photography, poetry
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, photography, twins, Wordless Wednesday
He wears his father’s stamp
at five weeks, biggest bull calf
in a family of cows and babies
ready to hold his herd against
anyone of any breed
at first light crawling out
from under the black screeches
and howls of darkness beyond
the moving shadows of a half-moon.
We are born with it, you know—
instinct deep within the soft marrow
of our bones living with wild
uncertainty until our fathers
return home. And we will follow,
watch and try to help them work
all day long, learn what we have yet
to grow into—and sleep bone-weary
with pastoral dreams of peace.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016, Ranch Journal
Tagged bull calves, cows, photography, poetry
We come naked and wet
into a place knowing nothing,
blood stirring cooler
under rough tongues,
familiar reverberations
of outside sounds
clearing our coats of afterbirth,
cleansing the scent that draws
the cleanup crews on this earth
hungry for work, before
we ever nurse, before
we stand and step
up to the plate, fill ourselves
and face new lessons
best we can. Slowly we learn
to keep the faith
and our opinions
to ourselves.
It was chilly this morning when Robbin and I left to look at the calves on the Paregien Ranch, going up Ridenhour Canyon along the way. Though we employ a few select Hereford bulls for heterosis that have added frame, durability and a calmer disposition to our cowherd, we typically don’t have too many straight Hereford calves. At 30 days old, we caught this bull calf posing in the canyon’s early light as if he was aspiring to become an FFA/4H show calf.
Since we posted a photograph with his mother at five days old, I thought it appropriate to include a photo of his father, Ruger 119 from Mrnak Herefords West, ready to go to work for his fifth year on this ranch.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged bulls, Calves, cows, Hereford, Mrnak Herefords West, photography
1.
I am lost in a blond pasture
of cows with calves,
lone silhouettes under oaks
stressed by years of drought—
or nurseries: black lumps
around a cow—
the expectant gathered
under sycamores watching
babies steal the show.
2.
Hanging in the leaves,
estrogen
rubs off on me
each pair bonding
differently—
love’s rough tongue
or murmuring song,
some taught to follow
the swing of an udder.
3.
Closer with each visit
we become family
with gesture and tone—
all the poetry
unnecessary
from now on.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, photography, poetry
She was not thrilled to have twin Angus calves, but we’ve been watching 3024 since they were born ten days ago, having gone so far as to make arrangements for bottle feeding one of them if necessary. As it turns out, the calf on the left was the one roused by two coyotes in our post of September 17th, when hours old and left in the middle of the pasture. It’s not unusual for a cow with twins to abandon the weakest, but now this cow seems to have acquiesced to her plight, both calves healthy and much stronger than they were. Whether she is keeping better track of them both, or the weaker calf is keeping better track of her is another question. She has plenty of milk and if she can raise them both, she’ll do a better job than we can do.
All this time, decades of learning and relearning
reapplied to new devices designed to save time—
to bank, spend or squander somewhere in the future
with no guarantees made selfish sense, a singular
detachment from the congested urgencies swirling
like autumn’s colored leaves in a quest of rest
and peace. How he craved the storm’s building
energies, the dark electricity thundering rain
to erase time’s tracks, that might freeze the moment
into days and weeks. Old flesh come alive
with the prospect of starting over again, cotyledons
of grass for cows and calves—a refreshed relief.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016, Ranch Journal
Terri Drewry photo
Long shadows on blond feed tall,
standing skeletons of oaks from drought,
the gray cow caught talking with an iPhone
to her new, silver-belly calf.
No audio, too far to catch the vocabulary
lesson, the inflection of each murmur
into song, the guttural beginnings of all words—
a universal language of basic sounds
with deep meanings that defy time
and cultures, that survive the latest plague
of progress and the genius of science—
no better teacher than a mother cow.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016, Ranch Journal
Tagged Blue Oak, Calves, cows, Drought, Paregien Ranch, photography, poetry
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