A few blue clouds float
upon a light gray sky
above Barnaphy after
the surprise last gasp
of a cut-off low
cruising south to flood
California’s coast—
a warm forty hundredths here
brings a tinge of green.
Sycamores like torches afire,
not quite ready to undress
their long white limbs
intertwined, plump Rockettes,
our native chorus line
burns along the creek.
The cattle stay high,
all but a hopeful clutch
spurn the feed grounds.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, Fire, photography, poetry, rain, sycamores, weather, Winter Solstice
The poem has been ricocheting inside my head as we reconstructed a portion of the Paregien corrals last week to accommodate a calf table to brand our calves. Roads impassable for a crew, we were unable to brand our calves last year due to last winter’s Atmospheric Rivers, so we borrowed a calf table to try.
I grew up with a calf table, pushing calves up the chute at six or seven to my Dad and one other man to cut, brand and vaccinate. Part of the poem is how I’ve come full circle in a 70-year span, with lots of branding pen bravado in between. There is no substitute to be a horseback and roping calves to brand, but I’ve outlived my dependable horses and my hands have slowed with age.
Part of the poem would be my excitement as a boy to be asked to help brand, even though my shins would be kicked with calf shit up the front of my pants. Details like my Dad’s red bone Case carbon steel stockman’s he constantly sharpened on a small whetstone that he carried in his pocket. The one he thought he left at the corrals after cleaning it, only to find it on the running board of the old International pickup after driving 20 miles to the corrals and back.
Thanks to the Fry family for their essential help with the reconstruction, and with yesterday’s branding—just before, we hope, will be our first taste of El Niño.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged branding, calf table, El Niño, photography, Pregien Ranch, rain, weather
Once again
storm forecasts
have driven our rain away.
Stovewood stacked
against
dry cold fronts
like woodpeckers
stash acorns
for a rainy day.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged Beaver moon, photography, poetry, rain, weather
Might as well consult the stars
than to foretell the weather’s future
on the whims of giddy goddesses,
gossamer waves blazing above
these palomino hills—cow trail dust
rising before the sycamores turn
to shed their autumn clothing
while shepherds and sailors await
a certain weather change.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged goddessess, photography, poetry, rain, red sky, weather, weathermen
Red wave at dawn,
upcanyon forecast north
before the storms,
the rapid fire
atmospheric rivers,
before El Niño
or whatever clever
weathermen
tag as fresh nomenclature,
acronyms, fodder
for the inner ear to file
and the mind to find.
Red wave at dawn,
upcanyon forecast north
before the storms.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry
Tagged Atmospheric River, El Nino, photography, poetry, rain, weather
Dew dampened dust, softened wild oat stems,
petrichor on a downcanyon breeze at four
in the black morning that smells like rain
just around the corner in October. I check
the 10-day forecast, craving a storm like always,
but content to paint the gray, slow drip
off roof and limb. Nothing but hurricanes
busy elsewhere as the planet goes to hell
as if the very End were near, knocking
on the door to who knows what
or which tragic prediction or wretched
explosion will engulf and fling
our fractured souls to the solar burn pile.
Dew dampened dust, softened wild oat stems,
petrichor on a downcanyon breeze.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged community, forecast, petrichor, photography, poetry, rain, very END, weather
With all the hoopla surrounding Climate Change and the approaching El Niño, suddenly the world is focused on the weather and a myriad of conflicting scientific observations and conclusions, heretofore ignored by most in the past. But for those of us involved in grazing livestock and dependent on the bounties of Mother Nature, October is the beginning of our rainy season as we try to look ahead into our futures.
Historically, “The Old Farmer’s Almanac” has offered as accurate a forecast as any:
PACIFIC SOUTHWEST
November 2023
4° below average
Precipitation 5” (1” below average)
December 2023
4° below average
Precipitation 3” (4” below average)
January 2024
3° below average
Precipitation 5” (1” below average)
February 2024
2° above average
Precipitation 6.5” (2” above average)
March 2024
3° above average
Precipitation 1.5” (2.5” below average)
April 2024
2° above average
Precipitation 5” (1.5” above average)
May 2024
2° above average
Precipitation 0.5” (1.5” below average)
June 2024
1° below average
Precipitation 0.05” (1” below average)
For what it’s worth, the rain total comes to 27”, well above our 15” average. We’ll just have to wait and see.
Posted in Ranch Journal
Tagged climate change, Drought, Dry Creek, El Niño, forecast, Old Farmer's Almanac, rain, weather
No point waiting for a rain to start the green
until October, and even then it’s blasphemy
to pray or say the word out loud to anyone—
especially with El Niño mapped and gathering
off shore, lapping Jeffer’s granite with warm waves
of poetry—just load and feed the hay like always.
No point worrying about the news a thousand miles away
or all the hobgoblins waiting in ambush down the road
littered with deceptions and diversions, lust and greed
to greet you—just load and feed the hay like always.
Posted in POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, El Nino, feed hay, news, photography, poetry, politics, rain, weather
The acrid smell of battle
in the disturbed ground:
Turkey Mullein vs. Vinegarweed
claiming more territory
to choke out grasses—
that knee-high cling and tell
where you’ve been
and your approach to life.
After a good wet spring,
I smell my father here,
twenty-five years
after his departure
and remember
his lace-up Chippawas
busting clods behind a plow.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged chippawa boots, father, photography, poetry, rain, Turkey Mullein, vinegarweed, weather
We could blame last spring’s atmospheric rivers, double our average rainfall for the season that kept us from branding our calves on the Paregien Ranch. Our heifer calves were exposed to our slick bull calves until we weaned in May, possibly bred that would miss our calving target date of October. A February calf instead would jeopardize the heifer and eliminate her from our replacement bunch.
When we vaccinated the heifers for clostridial, respiratory and Brucellosis diseases in June, we also injected them with Lutalyse to abort any short-term fetuses. Lutalyse is commonly used to synchronize heat cycles, especially when groups of cattle are to be artificially inseminated.
We’ve had an abundance of strong feed this summer, helping to keep our heifers in shape and cycling when we turn our low-birth weight bulls out in the middle of December. And as expected, they have been cycling, bulling, practicing all at once—a bovine orgy, a virtual humpfest.
Unfortunately, one heifer was crippled in the raucous activity, unable to put any weight on her right hind leg. We hauled water and hay to her for three days before walking her into the pen by the house. Shortly thereafter, she (Thelma) attracted a friend (Louise) who spent days and nights for week with her on the other side of the fence while the rest of the heifers were off grazing.
After two weeks, Thelma is much better now, and taking full strides. Louise was back again last evening to check on her friend. The bond is obvious. They may be twins, as we had several sets, but more than likely they were just raised together. Whether or not Thelma recovers well enough to make the replacement bunch remains to be seen. But either way, blame it on climate change and too much rain.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged breeding, bulling, cripple, heat cycles, humpfest, photographs, rain, Replacement Heifers, weather
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