Tag Archives: weather

OCTOBER 2014, GREASY COVE

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You ask me now,
in this moment, waited
for my full attention

                         which I have refused,
                         too preoccupied with each rich
                         moment-at-hand.

My patient other voice,
ever-reasonable and calm,
ready for a pause

to pose the obvious, weigh
the load and look
at the short end of my string.

But I am busy listening
to my call carry across Greasy,
to cows bailing off the far ridge

leaving dust trails in trees,
to the diesel’s purr
beside me, promising hay.

To their slow plod up—
they trust that we
will do as we say.

 

 

SLOW BURN

7:40 p.m. PST, September 23, 2014

7:40 p.m. PDT, September 23, 2014

 

A little hair here and there
burns across the canyon,
a darkening charred shadow

rising in a wake of even light,
summer days and nights
behind us, behind the ridge

that stands between us
and Antelope Valley, Wuknaw
spilling into the fringed

and frayed urgency beyond.
We have a glass, of course,
discussing cattle—instead of

people—measure likelihoods
for feed and water ready
with another plan, if need be.

Light a cigarette, fill another
glass reflecting decades
of canyons worn upon our faces.

 

 

Tarantula in the Shower

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Our weather has been delightful this past week since it tried to rain, three days of clouds stacked against the Sierras, some thick and dark shrouding our bare foothills but bringing little moisture. For two months we’ve been discussing signs of an early fall, though not convinced that the sycamores may be turning early due to the drought or that Dry Creek ran only 30 days last season, peaking a 12 cfs on April 27th, not enough to contribute to the Kaweah River three miles downstream.

Moods have lifted with the change in temperature as we look for signs of encouragement. The Rock Wrens are back, debugging the window screens. The first Pin Tails and Mallards have arrived on our irrigation ponds. Quail and Bobcats move closer to the house. It’s a perfect time of year for the outdoor shower as the sun dips behind the ridge leaving a wild assortment of yellows between the long shadows of our fruit trees.

And the Tarantulas are moving, beginning to dodge traffic on Dry Creek Road. They have become totems of sorts to most ranchers, precursors to rain. Short of reverence, we reserve a special place for them on our list of wild things, swerve around them on the road. Even shower with them, if need be, rather than disturb them.

Naked before her, I found it interesting with my eyes closed, rinsing the shampoo lather from my hair, that I worried more about stepping on her than any other contact, as if she could leave her perch beneath the soap dish and get underfoot in just a few seconds of my not-seeing. Thinking, I suspect, she was hidden, she didn’t budge, and after the stress of two dry years, none of us is looking for trouble these days.

October 1, 2014 — Ranch Journal

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Robbin and I made the rounds with hay yesterday, photographically documenting feed and water conditions as we went—both in short supply from Dry Creek to Greasy Creek. Fed three times a week, the first calf heifers plodding through the dust above is a common sight.

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Miraculously, the stock water pond at Spanish Flats is holding.

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With reduced numbers in Greasy, we’ve been feeding about 20 lbs./cow once a week for past six weeks.

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The cows have been calving for the past thirty days on bare ground everywhere.

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In the past, I’ve critically referred to the pond at Railroad Spring as my one extravagance because of its size, but much smaller, it would be dry this year. Full, it looks like this.

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The cows look good, calves healthy, but we could use a rain anytime.

 

 

NAKED WAVES

In the dark, waiting once again
with calves for dry green hay,
listening for the diesel engine

climbing at an idle in the canyon
far below, they dream of grass,
tall thick blades caressing legs,

briskets and bellies, udders
full, the sweet scent of cuds
swirling in waves of plenty—

but we can’t see beyond
the dry and dusty moment:
down limbs beneath skeletons

of oak trees given up
their last leaves with rising
dust trails of quail, families

leaving in a cloud for thin cover.
Cut deep and soft, cow track
highways all lead to water,

meander on efficient grades up
and over short-cropped ridges—
naked waves in shades of brown.

 

IN THE CLOUDS

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Down the Sierra’s spine,
they sneak-in and loom,
cumulus over the ridgeline.

No storm clouds, but friendly.
We know now we’ll never be
the same, never assume

green feed and water
always. We will pray
in our own way, kneel

before the cotyledons
breaking through the clay,
stare rain in the eyes.

And when the chant of pagans
sing, we will make love within
soft petals of wildflowers.

 

 

EQUINOX 2014

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The air smells damp at first light
beyond the jagged silhouette of ridges
that frame my mind—no straight lines,
no ‘only’ connections between heaven
and earth as I glance up in disbelief
inhaling dark moisture around me.

First dew after a drought confounds
the senses armed for more hot and dry
and I want out—out of summer
and into pastures with the heifers
nursing their first calves. I follow
fresh coyote tracks in last night’s dust

to an isolated draw for yesterday’s newborn,
watching for motion among the boulders
and Blue Oaks that haven’t moved
in my lifetime, where the spring went dry
two weeks after we drilled our well
deep into the hardrock to artesian

a half-mile away. We had to trench
a pipeline back to the trough
from the pump—no straight lines
above or under this old ground
holding us together best it can—
and there I find them: fine.

We are tough enough to submit
to long days beneath a blazing sun,
wear mental armor, gnash our teeth
into lockjawed grins to get by, but
searching, ever-searching for new sign:
fresh proof that nothing stays the same.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Endurance”

ENDURANCE

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In dry times, we plod
a little deeper within
our hearts with each step.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Endurance”

Feeding Again

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Psychologically, it’s not been difficult to get back into the feeding routine again, having fed continuously from August to April last season with little rain and less grass. And physically, I’m still in fair shape, but after forty-five years of bucking bales, I tend to roll them, rather than muscle them into place on the feed truck. And due to two years of drought, there’s 40% less cows to feed now.

As they begin to calve and have two mouths to feed, it’s essential that the cows are in good shape so that they will be cycling when we put the bulls out on the 1st of December. We ended last season with more dry feed in our upper granite country than in the clay, but still not enough to sustain a cow with a calf very long without hay. If a cow gets thin going into winter when she burns more calories, it takes more hay to get her to cycle than if we had fed her earlier.

Nobody’s starving, but after the last two years, just the sound of the diesel engine brings them to the feed truck. It was a little cooler yesterday, about 85° when we headed up into Greasy Creek, feeding the girls in Belle Point along the way. By the time we got to Greasy Cove the cows were shaded-up on the edge of a near-empty Lake Kaweah, about the only water they have to drink. We can’t take the hay to them, so they have to chug up the hill out of lake bottom to get hay. We didn’t have all the cattle, but left enough on the ground that the rest will get some.

Despite cooler nights and shorter days, stockwater is still an issue as the pond at Ragle Springs is now dry, though the spring is running enough to support a few head. We’re watching the weather hopefully, knowing that we will need near-perfect conditions get a decent feed year: early slow rains to get the grass started well-enough to hold moisture and keep our dry slopes from washing away.

WEEDS

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A place to hide in weeds
with rain—a closer look
at one another.