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.

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.

much too much

If the world was made of chocolate

but a river ran through it,

it would still be too much chocolate.

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.