Early morning gather,
we occupy the foreground
close to corrals, the road,
a truck—short April grass.
Sort cows from calves—
weigh, wean and load
for fifty years since
they dammed the Kaweah
with another layer of man
we no longer notice
as we adapt like livestock
to the landscape.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, first-calf heifers, Kaweah River, photographs, poetry, shipping cattle, Terminus Dam, Wagyu X, weather
Near the Solstice,
my irrigation water languishes,
lollygags in the pasture
of short-cropped green
and a few too many cows—
soaking and absorbed
fifty yards shy
of the wilting end
to my temporary world.
Fifty years ago,
my mother’s father
curtly admonished me,
forever instilled
that nothing is permanent.
After a dark night
of chasing dreams,
I wonder if death
is nothing—
nothing more
than a good sleep
while the water runs
to pasture’s end.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged death, Dry Creek, irrigation, nothing, permanent, photographs, poetry, water, weather
We are gnats on the elephant
dependent on weather
and her mastodonian nature:
a flick of an ear or a downpour.
She has taught us to be adaptable,
to stay humble, to turn tragedies
to opportunities and despite
our good luck, revel quietly
upon our small part of her dusty
hide. And she accepts us—as long as
we remain less irritating than those
on the rest of her landscape.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Greasy corrals, Greasy Creek, photographs, poetry, rain, Sulphur Peak, weather
One hundred degree cows
come close, feed on one side,
lawn on the other.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, feed, garden, haiku, photographs, poetry, Wagyu X mothers, water, weather, weeds
Dawn bears down early,
sears flesh exposed,
blinds eye and mind
into a fuzzy daze,
fiery-white as hell
must be. We plod
slowly with heads bowed
to mantras of water
keeping the living alive.
Like cattle, we bed with
welcome breezes moving
shade to shade.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, San Joaquin Valley, Sulphur Peak, summer, sunrise, weather
I’ve little time for wonder—
warm days plod circles,
wear dust tracks in thin dry grass
we follow like cow trails
without endings,
without looking beyond them.
There is no adventure,
no endorphin rush,
no epiphany other than
one more summer
to endure, to survive
like lichen on rock.
We’ve had a busy week gathering and hauling the calves from the Paregien Ranch to the weaning pens where we’ll ship them to the Visalia Livestock Market on Tuesday for Wednesday’s auction. A short week’s wean instead of our normal 45-day+ wean for the Internet auction. Though a 100 lbs. lighter than normal due to poor feed conditions, the 90 head of mixed calves averaged 530 lbs. after an hour’s gooseneck haul down from 2,000 foot elevation on a 104° day. We expect to get some of the shrink back on good alfalfa while they emotionally adjust to not having the security of mother by their side.
All things considered, we’re very pleased with these calves.
Nobody keeps record temperatures in Lemon Cove, but yesterday’s 101° in Fresno broke the high set in 1927. It was 104° on Dry Creek as we hauled gooseneck loads of weaned calves, gathered the 101° day before, off the Paregein Ranch—three two-hour, four-wheel drive round trips off the mountain. In addition to the calves, we hauled 20% of the cows down to go to town as we prepare for summer with little feed. With less than 8” of rain, our rainy season is over until October, capping a second year of drought. With no snowpack or surface water runoff in California, hay prices are already escalating.
The first few days of 100° heat are hard on people and livestock physically, but we all get out a little earlier in the morning and finish what we didn’t get done in the evening. The most noticeable impact of the heat is to our temperaments, not near as pretty as this white geranium, happy as long as it gets water.
Posted in Photographs
Tagged Drought, flower-friday, garden, heat, Paregien Ranch, photographs, weather, white geranium
Above the mountains, one
last brew rises to hold the day,
make night rain.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Great Western Divide, haiku, photographs, poetry, weather
drycrikjournal 