DRY CRIK Journal

Posted by Robbin at 5:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The desk looks north – purple strays
trimmed pink at dawn, upcanyon
clouds stretch, touch, change shape

aloft over Rowell Meadow beyond
the silhouette of Redwood Mountain.
South wall solid, it cannot see down

canyon or out upon the farm ground
cut squarely by roads and dusty avenues
between orchards of orange trees –

it cannot see how the lights of all
the little tractor towns have grown
together to illuminate the night, but

it sees enough through paper stacked
from other worlds to hold this gaze and
pretend its limbs embrace the sky again.

Posted by John Dofflemyer at 7:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Having already picked and packed-off most of the plums and all of the apples and apricots from the fruit trees, I was awakened early this morning by the raccoons trying to pry the lid off the cat food. If I weren’t short of energy in this heat, I’d be on the warpath. Temperatures peaked at 114 last week, air heavy and short of oxygen, each step slow and deliberate.

Having just made the rounds of our foothill pastures to check the cows and stockwater, a couple of our springs and ponds have all but dried up. Normally we have enough water to get the cows through the late summer and fall months, but last winter’s short rainfall is beginning to manifest itself early, many young Blue Oaks turning yellow and shedding leaves – going dormant, I trust, rather than dying.

Robbin lost her devoted friend Trik in the interim between blog entries, her young dog succumbing to some sort of encephalomyelitis, a swelling within his head. Cause unknown, the prolonged wait for the results of the required rabies test did not lessen our anxiety.

We’ve not been on vacation – just another San Joaquin Valley summer baking our brains.

Posted by John Dofflemyer at 4:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)