Tag Archives: rain

Ranch Journal: November 8, 2015

Posted on November 9, 2015 by | 13 comments

 

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A crisp and beautiful Sunday ahead of a storm, Robbin and I checked the cows and calves in Greasy, as well as the condition of our grass and water after the 1.5” of rain last week. We hauled a Kubota-load of extra hay up the hill for the cows in Section 17, most all with early calves.

 

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Not all came in to hay: 6 cows choosing to stay atop the ridge, telling us what we came to find out. A few cows with larger calves show normal stress, but it’s a great start to a new season.

Though numbers are down substantially, cows were scattered everywhere we went, our stockwater ponds all holding some water now. With over 4 inches of rain to date, almost half of the rainfall we got during the whole of the 2013-14 season, and over a third of last season by the first week in November, we’re in disbelief, happy and relived.

 

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POT OF GOLD

Posted on November 5, 2015 by | 9 comments

 

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No longer children
chasing rainbows,
we want to believe

the drought is over—
look to the mountains
to shield our souls

from insistent cities
and a world at war.
Like native Yokuts

we want to believe
the ground can hold us
before we leave.

               ~

 

A trace of rain up-canyon yesterday afternoon as I looked up from my desk, inside after an 1.5” of rain, sorting poetry for another collection—working title: “The Best of the Dry Years”, 2013, 2014, 2015. A formidable task, like sorting 90 head from 900, it will take many more rainy days to complete.

The photo has that postcard-look of not quite real, a reminder of what a little rain can bring. Yet, I harbor some skepticism, not ready to say the drought is over, to set ourselves up for disappointment. But it sure feels good, nonetheless.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge(3): “Treat”

 

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THE FUZZY FACTS

Posted on November 4, 2015 by | 3 comments

 

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Rumors take wings,
names and places change,
swirl up and down canyons

like sycamore leaves
before the dark clouds come
to settle things for awhile.

Mouths full of dust,
we didn’t talk much
in the dry years

looking out and up
when we weren’t scratching
for grass and water.

Since she’s returned with rain,
the hills grin green
and reach to embrace us,

calling cows and calves
to the ridge tops.
The phone rings from town:

“was it a lion or bear
killed five or seven horses
on Cottonwood or Dry Creek?

I hear the Fish and Game…”
trails off in monotone.
All I know: it wasn’t here.

 

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FOR RAIN

Posted on November 3, 2015 by | 2 comments

 

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Look to the sky:
bare oaks branched
upon uneven ridgelines
filigreed against
the promise beyond.

In the shadows
faces forgotten
re-inspect the man
I cannot change
from this distance.

Black and white,
dark and light
contrast youth
with age. The trail
is never straight

up the mountain—
granite rip-rap
and switchbacks
beside cold creeks
swept into rivers.

I believe the gods
ignore the pleas
of certain men,
prayers of the sure
and careless.

Look to the sky
for the wet gray rain
to wash this moment
before we start over
and over again.

 

 

1.45″

 

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ARMADA ROUGE

Posted on November 2, 2015 by | 3 comments

 

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First sign of a convoy at dawn
scout the sky eastward, small raft
of red on blue, I photograph

a promise of rain—then check
the Internet to bolster old saws
for shepherds and sailors

at the mercy of fickle gods
of weather and wonder
if our lover has returned—

how long will she stay?
Kindling split, we will be warm,
ignite the fire, cut wood and

carry ashes out until spring.
We are ready and prepared
to say goodbye to drought.

 

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A Real Treat

Posted on October 31, 2015 by | 2 comments

 

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Enough rain to give the grass a good start in most places, we’re still feeding hay, a treat for these second calvers close to the house. We were especially glad to see this calf on the ground, its mother spending most of the month of August uncomfortably in pain, having difficulty walking with slow, short strides to hay and the water trough. A week or two before it was born, the calf must have shifted within her, as she began getting around again as if nothing was ever wrong.

Ambushed by her calf while on the alfalfa yesterday, this mottled-face Hereford is becoming a little rough-haired, showing the effects of raising a calf. If the calf were thin, we might be concerned and increase the hay, but right now she’s giving all to her calf, taking better care of it than herself—the kind of mothers we want.

The bare south and west slopes struggle as they have dried out since our first good rain on the 18th, but all the weathermen promise another good storm for Monday and Tuesday. With a little luck, we’re near the end of feeding hay as the cows move up into the hills for fresh green grass—a real treat for everyone.

 

Weekly Photo Challenge (1): “Treat”

 

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LIFELINE

Posted on October 30, 2015 by | 2 comments

 

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After the first inch rain
I work the road
with big Cat loader tires—
three towed behind

            four wheel drive
            low range crawl
            smoothing ruts
            like icing a cake

keeping gutters clean
and runoff into draws.

Outside, inside
down the middle
two round trips
four miles clay, rock
and some d.g.—
plenty time to think
and look for life:

            quail, hawk
            deer and bear,
            somewhere cattle

this fresh day.

Through the open window
scent of milk and cud
in the flats—

            little bunch:
            cows and calves
            upwind.

I’ve grown wild
since college and the Sixties:

            hauling hay loads up,
            goosenecks gathered
            with fat calves down
            the mountain—

our dirt road lifeline.

 

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Changes

Posted on October 27, 2015 by | 17 comments

 

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We are savoring the seasonal changes since the spectacular light show and rain on the 18th. The grass grows quickly in places with temperatures in the low 80s during the day and 50s at night. With softer ground and cooler weather, the cows have moved up the hill and to the ridges for fresh green grass, leaving their calves behind in the flats where we’ve been feeding hay since they were born.

Expecting dinner, there was quite a bit of confusion among the calves Sunday evening when the cows weren’t home on time, still high on the hill filling up before dark. Despite their instinctual training to stay where they last sucked, the calves went looking for their mothers in the only geography they knew. Robbin and I couldn’t contain our laughter as the chorus of plaintive bawls on either side of the house became overly urgent and dramatic—and just as humorous when the worried cows returned to finally find and chastise their offspring in strident tones.

Now a month or so old and growing, the calves have become more independent, running and bucking ahead of the plodding cows to the water trough at dawn, butting heads as they emulate their mothers, some of whom have begun to cycle. A sign of good health, it will be six weeks yet before we put the bulls out.

After four years of drought and a long hot summer, we welcome the changes, and as always this time of year, we wait for a little moisture to freshen-up the new grass on our bare west and south slopes as the clay dries out without the protection of old feed. I had to cut a load of dead Manzanita yesterday to celebrate all these welcome changes.

 

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AFTER THE STORM

Posted on October 21, 2015 by | 2 comments

 

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The birds sleep later now,
new guests in boughs without nests,
overwintering—coyotes and bobcats

hunt late in the morning chill
as we wait for sun
to break the ridge line,

eager and easy into the day
now that it’s rained
enough to start the grass,

settle four years’ dust—
cotyledons claim puddle mud,
arms open to new light.

 

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WRITING A STORM

Posted on October 18, 2015 by | 6 comments

 

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Metal roof
machine gun fire,
strobe lightening
and rolling thunder:

cracks rip black
with jagged light,
redbud silhouettes
dance with the dark

               like the Fillmore,
               like the Shrine—
               endless bass
               rocks the canyon,

canons bark with flame
and the war goes on and on.

               Moist breath,
               eager heart electrified
               not to be contained
               within old skin.

               On stage:
                              the Doors
                              Janis Joplin wild with
                              Jimi Hendrix crescendos.

Last flashes break with dawn.
Inch-seventeen all in the ground—
she hasn’t lost her touch
with how to make it rain.

 

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