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Tag Archives: Poetry

Trailing the cows off the Routt Forest

Bubba and Eamon conferring with Leo

Trailing down, audibly OR The Silence of the Calf

Crunching as the calf dives into dry willows
“Quakey” aspens rustle up autumn, leaves flutter to the ground
“Hup, hup!” I holler, trying to spook the calf out of the willows
A thump on the ground as I dismount, followed by
more crunching as I thrash through the willows
A sigh as I realize the calf has somehow escaped me
“Hey there, pretty baby” as I push the filly aside
“Stand still, I said” to my mare as I mount
We sit very still, listening
to low bird song and the chuckle of aspen
but not the bawl of a calf
“Hey, you guys OK?”—our cowgirl come back to see what’s taking so long
“Holy cow, look at that!”
A smoke plume silently rises, signaling the faraway
crack and crash as molten trees succumb
as animals dash madly from the deadly flames of the Mullen Fire
Another sigh—of relief—that the blaze is far away
“That calf caught up”
“Oh good”
The quick clop of hooves as we trot up to the herd

“Come by! That’ll do!” Reluctantly the Border collie drops back
Mooing—meaning “get over here and stay by me”
Whinnying as the filly realizes her mom and I have moved to the lead
Clip-clopping as she races past the cows to catch up
They watch, knowingly
The distant rumble of cars, trucks, RV’s
The flash of my gloved hand
“Just go slowly. The cows will move. Watch the calves”
“Thank you”
Finally, the clank of chain and squeak of gate
as the cows and calves slip through
to green grass
The dark settles, birds silent

through the gate and off the Forest

headed down from the mountains

1 Comment

Posted by Ladder Ranch on October 2, 2021 in Animals, Cattle, Dogs, Family, Folks, Folks who help us out, Horses, Peruvian sheepherders, Poetry

Tags: Bubba, calves trail, cows, Eamon, Leo, Poetry, Routt Forest

Eruption

27 Sep

golden leaves
an eruption
molten lava
burns the eyes

orange searing,
so full, fulsome
can’t imagine more,
senses overflowing

perfect days
as ephemeral as
flowing rock
destined to cool

2 Comments

Posted by Ladder Ranch on September 27, 2021 in Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

Tags: fall colors, Poetry, Squaw Mountain

Solstice

21 Dec

Solstice sunrise

Solstice Sonnet

Season’s end draws, dims, slides down to the rest
of the year, where we await winter sleep,
Day’s end presents sundown, darkened nest
where quiet lures, lulls, to somnolent deep

and tempting dreams, where twilight dusk holds sway.
Dawn comes late, with sparking, shimmering freeze.
Solstice rays shoot beams, arrows into day–
Ancients rose, chanted, begged gods to be pleased

and halt sun’s chariot southering drift,
to change its course, to close its dogged lap.
Prayers intoned, begged for light’s return—strong, swift,
No more creeping darkness, to suck and sap

its sunlit balm. Now incline to summer–
swing past the solstice, past darkness’ slumber.

1 Comment

Posted by Ladder Ranch on December 21, 2020 in Events, Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

Tags: Flattop Mountain, Poetry, Sheep Mountain, Solstice, sonnet, sunrise

Middle Smylie haiku

08 Dec

Cows in Middle Smylie

December cows graze

on summer’s hay, fall’s stubble

awaiting winter

Sangre de Cristo–Summer of Fire

22 Aug

Red sunrise over Sheep Mountain

Sangre de Cristo,
blood red against the sky,
smoky crimson sunrise
illuminates the dry

and murky landscape,
grey haze that turns to pink,
and throws a rosy glow
to make night’s shadows sink.

Mountains rise ephemeral,
magic light against their rock,
a brief illumination
shows their beauty with a shock.

of this pink and hazy glow
wrought by fires in the south,
fire in the sky,
and fires bred by drought.

Flames that rise and roar
and eat all before their path,
nature and man’s doings
give way before their wrath.

We watch from distant fastness
as smoky fingers curl,
long tendrils reach with greed
to menace with their swirl,

and spread a grim grey threat
to make us tear and choke.
We wear a gauzy veil
of ash and haze and smoke.

It filters through our valleys
where grass stands stiff and dry,
where leaves hang low and thirsty
beneath this pall of sky.

Tales now come to haunt us
of flames that leave a stark
and ancient calling card,
borne aloft by wind and spark.

We watch and wait and fret
that such could be our fate,
while distant matches flare,
in a tinderbox, we wait.

Such thoughts all disappear
with wonder and with awe,
as sunrise works its alchemy,
paints the country with a raw

and glowing pinkwash,
with a brief and fleeting dye.
Sangre de Cristo,
blood red against the sky.

Red sunset over Battle Mountain

2 Comments

Posted by Ladder Ranch on August 22, 2020 in Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

Tags: Battle Mountain, fire, Poetry, Sheep Mountain, sunrise, sunset

Saint Francis of Ladder Ranch

07 Feb

Saint Francis of Ladder Ranch

Poor St. Francis,
he never knew such outrage in Italy:
Patron Saint of the Ladder Ranch,
animals, and the natural world.

His statue stands guard in our yard,
watching over birds, even the grouse,
the eagles, the robins, and it seems,
ravens, crows and magpies.

He looks out for cattle, sheep,
horses, dogs, and those wild critters.
our children.
He sees deer, elk, antelope.

St. Francis, please care for
the bats, the bees, and butterflies—
maybe not mosquitoes!
No patron saint for them.

So here stands his likeness,
concrete birds upon his fist.
In summer, actual bird poop
paints stigmata hands and feet.

But now, in the depths of winter,
in cold winds and drift
poor Francis stoically endures,
waist-deep in snow-white robes.

1 Comment

Posted by Ladder Ranch on February 7, 2020 in Animals, Nature and Wildlife, Poetry

Tags: Ladder Ranch, Poetry, Saint Francis, snow, winter

Hunting Season

05 Oct

   The forest is full
   of folks seeking solitude. . .
   the thrill of the hunt.

Blown In, Cyclone Rim

25 Feb

Blown in.

The County plows the road just far enough.

Ewes, lambs within,
stand with wooly backs to the wind,
withstanding the snow and blow.
We can get in behind the plows
with corn and hay, every few days.

Brave men, up from Peru,
Struggle through the snow
and spread the feed, while we venture
along roads, slick with ice, no visibility,
bringing food, wood, water, feed.

Antelope mill in ever larger herds,
hanging along the roads,
grass covered by endless drifts.
Winter, relentless in exacting its toll.
I hope they stay off the railroad tracks.

The BLM says move the sheep,
too many days along that plowed road,
huddled among the hard-drifted snowbanks.

Where?

How?

sorting the bucks

Guard dogs sleeping

1 Comment

Posted by Ladder Ranch on February 25, 2019 in Animals, Poetry, Sheep

Tags: Cyclone Rim, Poetry, sheep

Little Boy Blue in Nebraska

09 Mar

or…the heifer’s in the corn stalks

A Little Boy Blue come blow your horn,
The sheep’s in the meadow the cow’s in the corn.
But where’s the boy who looks after the sheep?
He’s under a haystack fast asleep.
Will you wake him? No, not I – for if I do, he’s sure to cry