—Poems and Photos by Taylor Graham, Placerville, CA
SCATTER
I walked my dogs down gravel,
and along the frontage trail where fairy-lanterns
bloom in May, fragile as parchment.
Young dog Trek flushed a turkey—I yelled
unquotables after him as Turkey led Trek
over and over the hill out of sight.
I scanned my where-abouts. Turkeys
must have little vanity in their nesting, nor
wish to be cozy over their brood—
6 eggs together in the nest, a 7th
a bit apart; 2 more a ways down the trail,
and a 10th well beyond.
What instinct governs the hen turkey’s
housekeeping? What force secretly ferried
those eggs so far from their nest?
Trek returned to me, turkey egg
in his jaws unbroken, so gently
I couldn’t scold him.
END OF THE DIRT ROAD
Cause to celebrate, when the cement
mixer pulled away, grumbling
down the hill, headed back to town.
Second step in foundation of the house.
My hands felt raw clear up to the elbow
from trenching, with or without gloves.
The whole construction—systems
of power and plumbing not to mention
framing, walls, subfloor, roof—
all rather vague in my mind. Did I
dream a kitchen with refrigerator so far
from pavement? at least, a house
dwarfed by the principal spirit
of that place, a grand Ponderosa.
Such was the plan.
What I saw: the spirit of earth
leaving like an endangered species,
the Kingsnake slipping away.
FIELD NOTES FROM THE PRESERVE
Hike thru delphinium & checkerbloom, gum plant, purple needle grass. Triteleia in purple, white, pretty-face yellow. Hot-spot for plant diversity. We keep finding new things. Climate change, the unknown. Grassland w/ oak woods to east—honeysuckle & snakevine twining poison oak; to west, chaparral—chamise & ceanothus, toyon, white-leaf manzanita. Soaproot pollinated by nocturnal moths. Morning glory bright white against green mule-ears—lacy glint of gray-dead leaves; plant clumps extending 2000 years? My camera balks at recording so much time. 5 buzzards kettle the canyon. From the high point, a view over so much country. Underfoot, so many surprises.
flowers sun-bursting
over old leaf-skeletons—
silver net of time
LISTING THE RARE AND ENDANGERED
Pine Hill Preserve
Stebbins’ Morning-glory: in love with Wyethia
bolanderi, bright white face against vivid green
Pine Hill Ceanothus: rare endemic, expanding
its range, advancing low twig-tips rooting
in gabbro-soil
Red Hills Soaproot: a different soaproot grew
at our old place but I never caught it in bloom
Bolander’s Wyethia: not rare but to morning
glory. Those vibrant green leaves!
Wyethia reticulata, El Dorado Mule Ears: so
rare I missed it; note-book full, trick knee too
tricky
Must come back another day, another note-
book, same old knee
CELEBRATING MOTHER’S DAY
We parked in a turnout, shrugged on our packs
—everybody got enough water?—and slipped
around the locked green gate. Up the trail
with a stop midway to mark the sudden change:
woodland to chaparral; grassland stringer
in-between—note how wildflower meadow-wash
shifts yellow to purple as Spring moves on.
I paused on pretext of a photo; allowed the scene
to breathe itself in. Then, back on trail, hustling
to catch up, not to miss words on the way.
At the saddle, views in every direction; a bit
of wildfire history; how periodic burns help
the rare plants survive. We hiked back down.
Green gate and cars just out of sight. I stopped.
An edge of meadow seemed to blue in shade
of Quercus douglasii, blue oak; how it released
the breath it gave me. Our great green Mother.
THE AMGEN’S COMING!
In honor of the race, I mowed our right-of-way,
swinging my motor-scythe to visions of our little
county two-lane alive with bikes—
zinging skimming pulsing—world-class cyclists
burning a whole lot more body-fuel than
I ever could with my Stihl.
Tomorrow they’ll be spinning up Green Valley,
just yards from my still-unmowed pasture.
Visions help. Weed-eating gets tedious,
stopping to unwind spiral garlands of wild oat,
vetch, and clover from the trimmer-head.
But just now I found where the deer
bed down among grasses, between speeding
traffic and pasture fence;
also an old nursery-label for Arctostaphylos
uva-ursi Kinnikinnick. Never have I seen
the species here. Did someone hope to cover
this land in bearberry? Or, like the Amgen Tour,
just passing through?
CULTIVE TON JARDIN
This isn’t Pony Express Re-Ride, I know
the route and schedule. From Folsom, the race
takes Green Valley right past our front pasture,
on to Placerville before brutal ascents, 18,000 ft
of climb! to Tahoe.
My pasture needs mowing. Daypack
with iPad handy, I’m wielding my Stihl against
wild growth. Right on schedule, a brief WOOP!
Red-blue lights flashing, and the first of count-
less motorcycles, CHP, Sheriff cars.
I must look like an old-time
peasant mowing my pasture, pausing to watch
the cavalcade rushing past. Put down my
trimmer, grab my iPad.
No peasant—I’m war correspondent,
ready for the first wave of cyclists—aim, click!
Click click and they’re gone.
Another red-&-blue flashing
interlude. From his SUV a deputy waves, calls
“best seat in the house!” Finally, a very long
string of cyclists; trailed by endless support
vehicles, spare bicycles on roofs; medical;
motorcycles. What a parade!
All it lacked was the Pony Express.
What’s left are a few photos, a poem, and one
mowed swath inside the pasture fence.
I go back to my mowing. The grass stops
growing for no bicycle race.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toenails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own.
—Dylan Thomas
____________________
Our thanks to Taylor Graham for making our toenails twinkle today with her fine poems and photos! And remember that Poetry Unplugged meets today at Luna’s Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sacramento, with featured poets and open mic, 8pm. Scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info about this and other upcoming poetry events in our area—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa
Celebrate the bliss and the suffering that is poetry!
Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.