Tag Archives: Dry Creek

HIS HERONS

 

Easter 2014

Easter 2014

 

After rain in spring, I see my father
standing among a half-dozen others
atop fresh mounds of dirt, hear him

praise the Great Blue Heron as the best
‘gopher-getter around’. As the creek
warms, he glides up canyon early,

spends his days wading shallows,
coasting home in the gloaming.
Punctual, you could set your watch

by his circles to work each day,
depending on season and crop.
When it all mattered too much,

he’d slip up the road to check
the feed and fences, the condition
of my cows grazing with his herons.

 

EMPTY PROMISES

 

March 10, 2014

March 10, 2014

 

Riding rafts of red above
clouds of dust,
we could breathe for a moment.

 

 

FIDDLENECK

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Looking back at tracks in the clouds,
you spring the gate closed—
trapped forever.

 

 

WPC(3) — “Serenity”

 

BLACK TAILED KITE

 

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Fence of my youth still standing
where birds of prey rest,
repair for soaring.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Serenity”

 

LEARNING TO FLY

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Of all the spontaneous art, none
more trustworthy, more enthralling
than the wild mirrors—of heart

and grace without guilt pulsing
to get free, rising with the ascension
of ducks from cattails, clear droplets

raining from webbed feet etched
to hang on white cloud walls
to draws us in—and then, like

windows out to where we might
want to be—like poetry, learning
to fly with words a little at a time.

 

LIKE OWLS

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of this dirt
we burrow deeper into our shells
waiting for a rain.

 

 

Wagyu X Branding 2015

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Maggie Loverin checks her pork loins adorned with grapefruit and oranges after we branded our Wagyu X calves yesterday, while the sun tried to break through the bad-air haze and remnants of Valley fog.

Noticeably quicker and more unpredictable to rope than our Angus calves, the Wagyu are a challenge to head and heel, real work for everyone. But we had a great day and ate well!

Well into our branding season now, we’re beginning to wear down a little, especially with the extra weight of wondering and worrying when it’s going to rain, repercussions of the drought still raw. One topic of conversation in the branding pen included the different kinds of bloat, fairly rare to most of us, but taking casualties in Antelope Valley, half-mile west of here.

All that methane gas that can’t escape inflates the cow and kills her usually leaving an orphan calf—a slurry of foamy gas in the cow’s rumen that can’t be released with an external needle or tube down her throat was news to us, that has come from our lush and washy feed in certain places on the flat ground, mostly filaree. We’ve had several of our cows blow up and subside on their own with a regular supplement of dry hay. There are also commercial free-choice products to prevent bloat that take time to incorporate into the cow’s system, but without assurance that everyone gets some.

How long this situation will last is unknown, but we know a rain would change things. With no likelihood for the rest of the month from any weather-predicting source, we get the work done in love with what we do.

 

IN A FOG

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But traces in quiet fog:
ridgeline of the barn roof,
cold parts of the corral

float in and out of gray
closing in upon our fire—
forms of horses look

for hazy movement
in this fuzzy moment
shut away from hills

and towns beyond, the world
and its miseries. All
we have accomplished near

at hand, close to fading
into nothingness
and I am relieved

of the weight of urgency—
perfectly helpless
to change a thing.

 

ECHINOPSIS AT DAWN

 

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Not a shadow without light,
brief morning flowers
from the blackest night.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Shadowed”

 

GLOAMING

 

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Lifting our eyes to Sulphur Peak,
long days hurry
into poetry.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Shadowed”