winter life

At this time of year,

when the days are cold and short

 and the shadows are long,

the ranch quietly sustains its own way of life.

Wildlife silently crosses the land.

The horses live in their own society.

And while some cows are dying,
 others are calving.

In the presence of Winter,

life goes on.

spring-loaded

For the past month, our weather has been spring-loaded.

Temperatures have ranged from below 30 to over 80

and enough snow, rain and hail has fallen

to take us from drought to flood.

Through it all, a robin built her nest next to the house

and laid her eggs.

She carefully rolls them every 40 minutes,

while fending off marauding squirrels and jays.

The eggs have begun to hatch.

Thunder and lightning crash, and the wind rocks the cradle.

Hail hurls stones at her until, to my amazement,

her mate swoops in, lands on her and

spreads his wings to protect her and the nest.

It's brutal out there, and the drama is wrenching.

It's just one family of robins,

but they're playing out the game of life.

The rule is:

robins live to make baby robins.

beach life

Teach these guys to surf,

and life on the beach will never be the same.

face plant

Last weekend, the weather at the ranch was beautiful,

cold and clear.

The dog and I took a walk up the mountain.

How blithe.

As part of my continuing education, called Life, on our way back down the ranch road, my shoelace lassoed a spike on the cattle guard, and I crashed and burned. Did a total face plant down onto the metal bars. Somehow, my Kryptonite sunglasses protected my face. Mostly. I sat for a bit, resumed breathing and took inventory; there was enough blood for good drama, but that was all.

When I got back down to the house, I put my feet up and iced my face. To pass the time, I got out my iPhone and went into the Pollock Zone. That app is a remarkable anesthetic; does wonders for pain and plane rides. I did this wry self-portrait. It's the only image you'll ever see. Take my word for it, it's a fair rendition of the wreckage.

Considering I should be dead, my fat lip was a miracle.

excuses

WAIT!

Please don't throw me out of your Rolodex!

I'm still here!

I know it's presumptuous of me,

but I really think cranking out stuff

for the sake of occupying my place in the blogosphere

is counter-intuitive.

It's just that lately life happens faster than art does.

That's the bald-faced truth of it.

I know... most of my teachers didn't swallow that one either.

Good thing, cuz it's a black-hearted lie.

What really happened is...

I got an iPhone 4, and it swallowed me whole.

Hook, line and sinker.

.

Uh-oh, a large red ERROR has taken over this post.

Its footnote warns,

"Could not contact Blogger."

I suppose I should be grateful.

Life could be worse.

You could be one of my toes.

I jammed the big one on an uneven sidewalk;

I should sue the city.

I dropped a bottle on the middle one;

I should sue Pellegrino.

I should watch my step.

waiting for spring

Up at the ranch last weekend, I took some pictures, quick, before spring springs. I love the way its winter-bare bones look. Before the cottonwoods and willows leaf out, the view goes further up the river and deeper into the trees. It's always a peaceful place, but for this moment before the trees and the river fill up with birds and critters, it seems suspended in a quiet waiting. When the snow melts and higher water comes to the river, everything living thing follows, and life gets loud.

The ranch is right at the foot of the mountains and is surrounded by protected land. Wildlife enjoys that protection and is abundant. Everybody's there and everybody's welcome. Some are shy, and some have no shame. For example, this very impressive 16-inch pile of plum pits begs the ago-old question, "Does a bear shit in the woods?" 

The answer is, "No, he shits anywhere he wants to, including in our yard." 

Here are some observations: 1) this scat is old and has had all winter to decompose, meaning it was much bigger last fall and its producer is a big bear, and 2) the white tape is the high-voltage electric fence. It's about four feet off the ground and packs enough of a wallop to keep the one-ton cows and their piles away from the house. It didn't seem to impress the bear at all. I mean, did he even notice it?

Now that spring is here, that big ol' bear is waking up. 

He'll be back.  

dog park

I didn't know this swinging mutt personally, but I did know and love Max, a dear friend from here in the hood. They both prove there's more to life than just the old scratch and sniff.  

cold moon

When I left the studio last night, the full moon was rising. The frigid ten degrees and still air hung my breath in a solid cloud before me. It has to be the Cold Moon, I thought. I grabbed my camera and began shooting. The exposures seemed longer than life itself, and I fought to catch the moments between breaths, shivers, and heartbeats. It became a true out-of-body experience. I passed those little eternities wondering why I was there without a coat, yet warm nonetheless. I knew there had to be a reason beyond the moon's obvious beauty. 

Happy birthday, Loriann!    

ghost dog

This painting came out of, well, I won't say nowhere. But I can say that this one came out of itself. That highlight in the eye showed up while I reloaded my brush; I saw it just in time to stop painting. To be honest, I'm afraid knowing when to stop doesn't happen nearly as often as it coulda/woulda/shouda, but when it does, it's a real thrill. It's as good as making the right mark.

Though I swear there is no velvet Elvis in my past, sometimes I like to mix color with a metallic iridescent. In this case, yellow oxide and some sienna with metallic gold. The resulting light shift gives it some life, some movement. And makes it almost impossible to photograph. "Almost" means I'm still trying.

Sounds like life.

holy boomerang!

Alleys are a walk through the backside of a town. It's a tour of things people don't want out front on the porch but generally don't mind allowing in their backyards. I've always been an alley-rat; no matter where in the world I am, it's what I want to see. Others can have the tourist Meccas. I prefer the souks out back, where the trash cans are lined up like ninepins (unless the racketycoons have been bowling for garbage the night before), and occasional treasures teeter on the edge of belonging. Whenever in whichever town, this is where the dog and I walk.

Along with its other face, Boulder's backside has undergone an, excuse the expression, dramatic shift. Some say good; I say not so good. During the past decade+ of mobiling upward, its trash has evolved from something typically smelly, to something to actually be considered, if not downright desirable. Why, it's a regular Ali Baba's cave out there.

So when I found the boomerang, the dog reminded me, "Life is about learning, grasshoppah. Rub the lamp."
How To Throw A Boomerang

running backwards

For me, blogging is running backwards in wet sand. I fall down and I can't get up. It's not blogging that boggles me; it's computers. Okay, it's both. For whatever reason(s), I just don't seem to be able to even want to compute.

For now, I'm going back to the studio to do what I know how to do. Life is short, and I sure don't want to spend it hassling with computers. I'd much rather do what feels right, so I'm going paint. Period. To me, doing both is like patting my head and rubbing my belly. I'll figure out another way besides blogging to show my art. A yard sale comes to mind. That's not to say I won't use this blog as a place to post occasional blurbs, scrawls and brilliant bon mots.

I admire those of you who can do it all. Keep it up. Meanwhile, I'll be in the studio with all the dogs and their brilliant knowses.