Tag Archives: weather

SIGN 2012?

Posted on December 6, 2014 by | 3 comments

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Rare October Redbud bloom
summoned Monarchs,
began a two-year drought.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Gone, But Not Forgotten”

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal

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FARMING THE FUTURE

Posted on December 4, 2014 by | 2 comments

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The wells run deeper now
past the Pleistocene and into salt
at half a million bucks a pop
for the last of the water
as the Valley collapses
under the weight
of farming investors
for the moment
leaving Mom and Pop
and forty acres
high and dry
with one last roll
for agribusiness—
one last extraction
from a thirsty future.

No dirt farmers left
to turn the earth,
make sweet love
with furrows
and pruning sheers
for a crop to harvest,
wobbly wagon loads
to railroad towns
grown bright and urban
in a couple of lifetimes
farming the future.

 

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014

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LIKE IT

Posted on December 2, 2014 by | 2 comments

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Black, no stars—a mist before the storm
stacks-up against the Sierra Nevadas—
rises and rains just in time for grass
struggling with hard, thirsty clay.

We, too, have grown hard
with no deep moisture, roots dry
and brittle as the Live Oaks offering
boughs full of brown medallions.

The problem bears have moved
to town, followed the Kaweah
down into backyards and alleys,
packs of hungry coyotes behind them.

Slow and gentle would be best
for the red, south and west slopes,
any kind of puddles for the flats—
but whatever we get, we’ll like it ☺

 

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Ranch Journal: Having Fun (6 pix)

Posted on December 1, 2014 by | 7 comments

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With no worries about stockwater nor under the gun to feed cattle everyday, Robbin and I went to the Paregien Ranch Saturday to check on the bulls we put out Monday and to cut a Kubota load of stove wood ahead of the rain forecast for Tuesday and Wednesday.

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The grass is fading in places but the cows are holding up fairly well with growing demand from their calves. What feed we have lacks strength, but with our reduced numbers, the cows are staying full.

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We were a curiosity to a couple of bull calves, approaching three months old, as we cleaned up a dead tree near the solar pump that we installed this summer. Robbin took pictures while stacking the brush.

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Liking the smell and taste of the wood chips and sawdust, I was worried that they might try to lick the chain saw blade.

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Just checking on our cows and calves and cutting wood are the fun jobs we haven’t had the time or luxury to enjoy,

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and getting comfortable with relaxing seems to come in stages after virtually two years of feeding and trying to keep the nucleus of our cow herd intact. But we made real progress towards becoming human again over our fun-filled Thanksgiving weekend.

 

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THANKSGIVING 2014

Posted on November 28, 2014 by | 1 comment
December 8, 2010

December 8, 2010

 

The green struggles in the clay.
Sycamores stand half-dressed
beside an empty bed exposing
white limbs as the sun sets.
The shadow of the ridge behind us
becomes a long, dark stage
for a chorus line of dancing girls,
arms entwined, kicking high
at the gate as we leave home
for a fire upstream—turkey
trimmed with camaraderie.
No traffic on the road to see
these celebrations along the creek
as the canyon waits for rain.

 

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TUESDAY

Posted on November 25, 2014 by | 2 comments

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We could be cattle, days
with no names like ticks on a clock—
each dark silence, welcome escape
from two years of want,

or stampeded substitute gods
overrun with adulation,
bringing feed and water to
damned-near everything.

Only now, with well-timed rain
and drizzles freeing cotyledons
from the clay, watching the young
bulls get acquainted with cows,

do we forget the drought
to see our future grass
and heifer calves—sure
that tomorrow is Tuesday.

 

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DISCLAIMER

Posted on November 24, 2014 by | 6 comments

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I’m not a real photographer—
just trying to capture
real things differently

with a point & shoot
while working in weather
wearing good cameras down

to a bad investments—
small fortunes rendered
to useless cases.

No place for tripods
moving cattle, feeding hay—
no words to hold the wild

still. No time, dearly beloved,
when deep on the inside
of an unraveling ball of twine.

 

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RED BARN 2010

Posted on November 24, 2014 by | 1 comment

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Roof in the trees raised
by January wind and rain—
we tarped the hay.

 

 

WPC(3) — “Angular”

 

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HAWKEYE

Posted on November 23, 2014 by | 2 comments

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Good hooks and an eye
to hunt fish underwater
throughout the dry years.

 

 

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WEATHERMEN

Posted on November 18, 2014 by | Leave a comment

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Time for a shower,
a quarter, a tenth.

I have the next rain
at my fingertips—
                    the hunt and peck,
                    scroll of percentiles
                    dialed-in
                    hour by hour
of the good stuff I want—
that naked clay needs
to stay alive.

Nothing’s changed.
We all hang on a forecast—
                    cuss the messenger
                    who gets paid
                    when he’s wrong
                    or claims he’s right.
It is our nature
where a man’s word
is everything.

 

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