swept away

My mind is shot.
I really can't remember how to do anything.

Certainly not post or paint or play.

I'm stunned by how thorough the flood damage 
and its permanence.

The studio and house here in Boulder 
are almost dried out but are still a mess.
The river up at the ranch has lost its way, 
and the power is still out.

Worst of all, 
our dear neighbor Paul's funeral is on Thursday.

Things will never be the same.

Though today is hard,
 I know tomorrow will be better.

perseverance

Remarkable.

Four weeks and four feet of snow this month 

have not deterred the osprey pair one bit.

Another foot fell like religion every Tuesday.

Every Wednesday, the birds wove

a new layer of sticks on top of the fresh snow.

Like religion.

Then one day, right in the midst of building their fourth taj,

you could see their moonstruck moment.

They sat like this for almost an hour,

sort of taking it all in.

She's on the left. 

They slept in the nest that night.

It got so I felt guilty for watching.

Today, they waited.

He threw some fish at her; 

she threw around some more lumber.

Because she can.

Meanwhile, I have a canvas

 testing my own perseverance.

Every once in a while, I throw something at it.

Because I can. 

 I don't know.

The longer it's on the easel,

the weirder it gets.

That used to be a whole ranch.

Now it's a nothing but a brick shithouse.

No taj there.

last call

Last Sunday dawned warm and golden
up at the ranch.

We grabbed our cameras

and went out into the first light.

It was spectacular.

By the end of the day,

the leaves had all blown away.

Tonight, snow will cover it all.

gone missing

At about the turn of the century (this century),

 "gone missing" suddenly appeared.

No doubt thanks to the media, 

it spread and stuck like a virus.

I assume it's somebody's colloquialism somewhere, 

but I had never heard it before.

As far as I knew, missing was missing. 

Period.

If you go somewhere to be missing,

 that's where you are.

Right?

Anyway, I found these random pictures today.

If I'm ever gone missing,

I've gone to the ranch.

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.

the devil's footprint

Recently, the dog and I were walking along the river

late one afternoon in a remote area of the ranch.

Dusk was quickly falling,

 and I knew we'd better head back down the canyon.

As we turned to go home, 

something on the ground caught my eye.

Tracks.

Animal tracks, I thought.

I leaned over to look closely and took some pictures.

These were like no tracks I had ever seen before.

Not cow.

Nor deer, nor elk.

Not even mountain goat.

They gave me the creeps, 

and we high-tailed it back home.

I can't find anything on Google, 

and until someone can tell me otherwise,

they look like the devil's footprint. 

hydrohypnotherapy

Oh, ARGH!

 The video won't upload.

Too bad.
You really shoulda seen it.

It's like totally hypnotizing.

Then you gotta pee.

the ranch ate my homework

I know I've been tardy about blogging,

but I've been torn

between the ranch, the studio and the garden.

Lately, the beautiful ranch has been winning.

Even the wisteria on the porch bloomed.

Oh my.

harrowing

Ranch life is tough.

Even the harrow eventually gives up.

dream house

Some people post a painting every day.

I seem to always post mine on Fridays.

Then it's back to the ranch to reload.

TGtomorrowIF.

one place or the other

Sometimes the choice is easy.

never say never

Today another 700+acre fire broke out, this time up north of the ranch. It's moving west/northwest and has burned some homes. The good news is that 8 miles of reservoir is in between the ranch and the fire. Also, because the Fourmile fire here in Boulder was a Type One wildfire, as is this one, all the bombers and hundreds of firefighters from around the country are already here and moved right in on this new fire. The wind isn't blowing as hard, but it remains very dry and the temps tomorrow will go up to 90. Oh jeez.

Fingers crossed...

hot rocks

These rocks sit on a sandstone table

on the deck up at the ranch.

They were all collected within a couple of square miles of the house. Click on them a couple of times to take a closer look. Seems some of them were pressed into layers by the weight of the world and some of them got blown out of a volcano.

On these hot days, I can relate to both.

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.  

buffalo roundup

The buffalo in the previous post deserve a better explanation. Yes, Ted Turner, they're technically bison, but for the sake of romance, we call them buffalo. The herd pictured was "born" on the next ranch upriver. Right next to the owner's house there's a big, beautiful metal-working studio and a forge. In a normal year, the river runs over the road in at least three places on the way up to their place, and they have to drive through the water to make it up there. The whole setup is built right on the floodplain, a pretty good idea on land which, in a drought, can be parched so dry that the river (if you've ever had a leak, you know water never gives up) has been known to actually run underground. At least you always know it's there. Needless to say, a forge can be fairly dangerous up there, especially in the dry times.

We love these rusty beasts, love that they're rusty instead of feisty. To be fair, buffalo aren't really feisty (well okay, maybe a little spookable). It's just that they tend to go where they want to go when they want to go there. Fences be damned. It's not that they don't respect a neighbor's fence; they just never see it, let alone feel it, no matter how snarly and barbed it is. But hey, if you were carrying all those tons of ungulate, you probably wouldn't either.