Category Archives: Farming

The Creek Spring

Love held too long inside, like water stored too long in an old barrel, becomes something other than what was given. Something not to be shared. We are meant to be springs, not cisterns. Continue reading

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Burn Pile

Five days later, the stump is still burning,
a slow smoldering of substance
still enough like wood to hold fire. Continue reading

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Scattered Showers

For a while the wind stirred the dance of branches, a swishing and swaying of muted greens seen through the screen of the second story window. It seemed we would surely have rain but none came. The storm slid further to the north and east and we found not the least traces of darkened earth or gravel, not even a gathering on the windshields of the car and truck parked outside. Continue reading

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Summer Snow

These almost-lighter-than-air seeds of the cottonwood tree drift away, showing no sign of breeze. For four days or longer, there has been no stirring of the air, no fluttering of leaves. The seeds slide slowly to the earth in the oppressive heat, catch against an edge of turf, old posts or planks, whatever disrupts the smooth edge of the earth.

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A Very Convenient Truth

I pretty much knew as soon as I walked up to the sabino gelding that he would be going home with us. It wasn’t that he indeed looked very much like the pictures Shelley had posted on Craigslist but that certainly didn’t hurt. Continue reading

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Later than Expected

Well, I’d have to say the man sounded like he knew where he lived and the best way for me to get there from where I was. Sounded like he knew. As it turned out, I’m a bit less convinced of that now than I was yesterday evening.

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Adjustment

We could hear Tango still whinnying as the truck and trailer disappeared around the curve a quarter-mile away. Continue reading

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Extending the Pasture

We work along the eastern edge, cutting back the branches and bushes that have pushed out into the field. With one horse and good rains, this small pasture would be large enough. But in the strange dry and chill of … Continue reading

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Spring Floods

The river runs heavy,

dark and angry along the levee, Continue reading

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A Quiet Praise

White stems of frost mark the whiskers of the horse around his nose where moist breath has frozen to the nearest available condensing point. He nickers as I walk along the snow-crusted grass path to the shed.

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