Tag Archives: photography

Fire Season

 

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About 4:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon, an arsonist started a grass fire about a quarter-mile north of the house, 110°. After calling CalFire, I got to the head of the fire with the skid steer as the first engine arrived.

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Fortunately, the fire break we built in April kept the blaze along the road and off the hills, leaking only north and south. After unlocking the gate for the crew from Modoc County familiarizing themselves with the local terrain and responding to smoke, I returned south as Air Tac dumped Phoschex on both ends of the 3 acre blaze.

A wake-up call and good practice for us all as we enter fire season.

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Portraits of Girls

 

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Our solar pump is unable to keep up with the demand from our weaned heifers, so we’ve been having to pump water with a gas generator everyday as temperatures rise. While waiting for the tank to fill, I kept busy with my camera.

 

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ARTICHOKES

 

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The last artichokes,
unpicked for the bloom and seed,
beckon bumblebees.

 

Milkweed

 

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After most wildflowers have disappeared and the green grass fades to a brittle bronze, Milkweed becomes the sole attractant for bugs and pollinators, especially the ubiquitous Tarantula Hawks, flying low and slow on erratic, yet undeterred courses. We, and most other animals, move around them.

Unlikely partners yesterday while checking the stockwater and cows on the Paregien ranch, I caught this Tarantula Hawk and a butterfly I’ve never seen before. I Googled lots of black and red moths and butterflies without a match. Now, I wish I’d spent more time and taken some macro shots.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: “Partners”

 

SUMMER SOLSTICE

 

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Seventy-five days old
the last time a full moon moved
through the shortest night:

1948—I wake at two to see
wild oats blond on sloping walls
as the dogs bark in the distance

on coyote business, like always.
Dry years in the San Joaquin,
Dad shipped thin steers in the rain

when I was born, bought some more
to feed on green into July
I can’t imagine possible, but

we stayed the droughts, like always,
in a canyon I’ve never left
for long—nowhere calling,

no other place to claim my tears
of sweat and blood, sentiments scattered
on dry ground like leaves of poetry.

 

ODE TO THE BULLFROG

 

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It’s not a clean world
where frogs can live like kings
on their own island

apart from the main
stream, where stagnant
boils under the summer sun

with new life they trust
will keep them fed
tomorrow. So far

from our marsh
and mire beginnings,
we tidy up instead.

 

Morning Harvest

 

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It’s hard to like summer in the San Joaquin, but my friend Barry Iden suggested that the only good thing about it are the tomatoes, alluding to the fruit and vegetables from our gardens. But full-time jobs when I think about the man, and mostly woman-hours, spent to germinate, plant, irrigate, weed, thin and pick the assorted crops, when I think about the ground squirrels that denuded our apple and pear trees last year, the raccoon families feasting at night and the risk of rattlesnakes lounging in the garden’s damp lushness. If time and money were the only considerations, it might be more economic to shop in town. But last night’s sliced, vine ripe tomatoes with salt, pepper and volunteer basil are not available just anywhere.

With more than half of June thus far over 100° and less than a week away from Summer Solstice, we’re in production: raspberries, strawberries, early peaches and apricots, we’ve fed the neighbors who in turn bring part of their own harvests. And that too, the exchange of produce that brings us together, a throwback to the old ways that makes summer in the San Joaquin more than bearable, but enjoyable.

Last of our crop of weaned steer calves head to town this morning.

 

MHW 1287 RUGER 010

 

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Five years of service: docile daughters
who have daughters of their own
camouflaged in black with bone,

he’s left his stamp, gets along
without much help, keeps the peace
when all the bulls are grumbling

on vacation in the shade. Another world
within the one we own, he could be
human, but with a better disposition.

                                             for Loren Mrnak

 

TUITION

 

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Education was cheaper in the old days
when we memorized dates, declined verbs
and parsed sentences to pieces—

fell in and out of love like puppies
chasing the next pair of shoes
to try on, or not—that’s how we learned

about ourselves. All my teachers are gone,
or busy getting old, but their younger selves
reside in my brain, fuzzy faces reminding me

that honesty is terribly hard to come by.
Everything we need to know is almost free:
an easy payment plan as long as I remember.

 

Tall Feed

 

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Doctoring eyes again this a.m. in our last big bunch of weaned calves, a problem exacerbated by tall feed. Temperatures have been running over 100 degrees, the creek’s quit running, summer’s here.

We’ve another small bunch of calves yet to gather and wean and then we’ll be done with weaning. Dark mornings and high heat have tempered my posting here. Not much in the mood for poetry or photography, but nothing stays the same ( I hope).