Half full, half empty—
but differing perspectives
to prove fences work.
Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, fences, grass, grazing, weekly-photo-challenge
With an eye towards weaning our calves, last week’s tour of the Greasy watershed to check cattle and feed conditions was a pleasant surprise. Typically we begin weaning in mid-May when the grass turns. With less than 0.75” of rain in the last forty-five days, my expectations were minimal. But our upper country above 1,500 feet has fared substantially better than our lower foothills where only patches of green remain high on the north slopes.
Having reduced our cow numbers by 40% due to the ongoing drought, we have found a temporary equilibrium between grass and cattle without having to feed much hay last winter. But due to feed limitations, we were unable to keep any calves last season for replacement heifers. Assuming a return to more normal weather conditions, we will need to replace our older cows while also trying to add numbers to our cowherd. However many heifer calves we’re able to keep, won’t produce a calf to wean for two more years. Rebuilding a cowherd is a slow process. Certainly the three girls above will be candidates, but how many we’re able to keep remains to be seen.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged grass, Greasy Creek, Replacement Heifers, weaning
This ground recovers our presence
with leaves and weeds, most all
of our mistakes erode with flowers,
explode with colors leaving seed
as accomplishment sags like ridgelines
of old barns and brittle wire between
broken posts as we sink satisfied
into the soil rich with the work
of hands. Calloused hands, hands
a horseback that track our thoughts
when we were green and learning
to see and think the hard way.
As we breathe, all the chiseled chins
of the rough and gruff retreat
to live as monuments in rock piles
with the honesty of rattlesnakes—
an immortality stirred into the earth
that can’t be purchased, but is always
upon always like the layers of dirt
our future depends, rooted within.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged Blue Oak, dirt, Dry Creek, earth, grass, immortality, photographs, poetry, rain, weather, wildflowers, wildlife
Haven’t wondered about Heaven
since Sunday school’s cold
pearly gates and alabaster walls
seemed drab by comparison,
and the blinding shine of silver
and gold eternities much too bright
even for the pure. Out of dust
and dirt we rise, generations
personified in living colors.
We need not preach poetry
or pray for more than what’s
before us full with awe—
small enough to see through
purple stems of Wild Hyacinth
on green, on gray—I believe.
In the dark I hear the heartbeat
of another world on this planet
the newscasts miss, we overlook
amid conflicting calculations
with new angles on the numbers
to chart a course to reverse them—
eyes spinning within a slot machine.
Light applause on the roof
answers with one more encore
wrenched from early morning’s
black sky, each green blade,
thick as dog hair in these hills
puddled with brightly colored petals
already reaching for first light.
In the dark I hear the heartbeat
of wet ground growing stronger,
inhale its sweet breath
all-around me releasing life.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, grass, photographs, poetry, rain, water, weather, weekly-photo-challenge, Whitetip Clover, wildflowers
I used to think that inside the deep heart
of the world gone wild, that we all wanted,
craved, needed, or would acquiesce to,
a yet to be identified
common soul:
a ‘peace and love’ tranquility
where we all got along
with our dreams—
a musical, moaning chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’
that kept us busy feeling fine as frog hair,
trying harder to make life better for everyone.
But how could heaven’s everlasting light
be so great without a dark side, without the moon
rising in new places dressed in different phases
behind the skeletons of oak and tops of pine?
Rain and storm for free.
Life from dust, the miracle
of green reaching up
to seed itself
against adversity
should be enough to brave the skullduggery
of all the power-hungry opportunists that slink
and lurk in the shadows. And what of poetry
rooted in the illusion of pillowed clouds?
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged clouds, dark, grass, photographs, poetry, rain, seed, storm, the deep heart of the world gone wild, water, weather, wildlife
She breathes, her flesh
with hair enough to hold cattle
and rain to her breast
should it come hard and fast
to fill the canyons. Gray clouds
linger with nothing left
but to offer color and contrast
to these hills greening yet
in Christmas Day’s last light.
Black from the bottoms,
sunset’s shadow crawls
to an island lit with rosy hues
dotted with the dark silhouettes
of cows and calves grazing
the iridescence of fresh green.
She breathes, her flesh
with hair enough to hold us close
to her soft breast.
No father or mother left to leave
a Christmas gift under the tree—
even the child in us understands.
An ever-ready substitute, the old
Hereford bull plods along the fence
looking past the asphalt, gutturally
conversing with the neighbor’s
registered Angus mothers
while his younger brethren work
the steep brush and rock,
gather families in the wild
from last year’s seed.
Kept another year, just in case
someone gets hurt, we become
the extras for the gods—
walk the sidelines
lending words to the old songs
‘lest the world forgets
the melodies of Christmas
when it rains, or snows low
leaving only grass under trees.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Blue Oak, bulls, Calves, Christmas, cows, grass, Greasy Creek, old songs, photographs, poetry, rain, snow, Sulphur Peak, weather, writing
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Dry Creek, feed, grass, haiku, photographs, poetry, rain, red-stem filaree, Walt Whitman, water, weather
Robbin and I are trying to pace ourselves and grin our way through these dry times begun last grass season with less than ten inches of rain, about 60% of average. With only dry fuzz for forage, our cows are holding-up remarkably well as they calve, due in large part to the truckloads of hay we’ve provided since the middle of August.
We may be luckier than most, like the cattlemen on the Coast Range who’ve had to liquidate their cowherds after additional tough years for forage. In the next couple of weeks we’ll begin reducing our number of replacement heifers when we get them in for their round of shots before we put the Wagyu bulls out December 1st. Then onto the cow pastures to send the late-calvers to town.
It takes years to build a nice herd of young cows and only a couple of dry ones to undo decades of work. But trying to find a silver lining, we hope this culling process will ultimately improve the genetics of our cows into the future. Fortunately the market’s fairly strong and Congress has left Washington for home.