When They Start Shipping Cattle in the Fall

On my way to Elko yesterday morning,  the first day of autumn,  I experienced a perfect moment in northeastern Nevada time.   About a quarter of a mile away,  two riders were turning a small herd of cattle off Highway 226 and on to the Midas Road towards me.  I pulled my car to the side of the road as far as I could, rolled down the window, turned off the ignition, and sat back to enjoy the scene.

Being caught by a herd of cattle moving down the two-lane highway that cuts through the length of Independence Valley isn't as common as it used to be.  Most loading and hauling takes place on the ranches.  Since before Labor Day, I noticed cattle trucks on the Midas Road or speeding west down the Mountain City highway, destined for feedlots in central California.

The scene  on such a camera-ready Nevada morning was one to be savored.  The stand of cottonwoods on the east side of the road showed only a little yellow, but the willows, the rabbit brush, and various kinds of underbrush had turned from green and yellow to subtle variations of rust and gold.

I knew the riders were right to take their time.  Letting the cows go at their own pace was the quickest way to move them along.  Soon the herefords were close enough for me to see their collective stare, that typical bovine defense mechanism.  I could hear their snotty breathing and appreciate the healthy gloss of their black and brown backs as they picked up their pace and streamed by my car.

I was delighted to see that the riders were  Rhonda Van Norman and a young girl, both in stylish cowboy attire.  Rhonda, a dark-eyed, beautiful young woman, wore one of the  low-crowned gaucho hats that seem to be popular this year, white western shirt, levis, and short, fringed buckskin chaps.  The young women and their herd, a moving photo shoot for Western Horseman magazine, were taking their time going  down the isolated country road.

Rhonda smiled when she recognized me.

"Beautiful day," I said as she rode past.

"Couldn't be better," she replied.

A Few Thoughts about Turkeys

A procession of eleven turkeys stroll uphill with their peculiar gait, heads moving forward with each step, in a contrapuntal, jerky, maybe a little hip-hoppy motion.  Their heads peck the air in front of them.  The original Turkey Trot, what was that?  I'l bet it was a silly, ungainly dance.

Their dissonant proportions annoy me.  There is so little wildlife out here in the redwoods.   Turkeys. Their feathered, oval bodies would look better without snakey necks and stupid heads whose only purpose is to encapsulate their beady eyes.

Turkeys are easy for children to draw.

Turkeys seem like creatures on their way to being something else.  Give them a few million years.  Which way are they going?

I do like to watch them fly from  low branches of redwood trees on foggy winter mornings.  They are more to scale.   I  imagine a primitive forest, huge trees, huge birds.

What if?

What if?  What if something is better than nothing?  Or not.  What if I can't write or lose ten pounds and they seemed tied together and I can't figure it out.  What if I have all kinds of beginnings but can't seen to stay--here--for the middle or ending.  What if I have bought a piece of cyberspace.  No, it's free.  To talk to myself out loud--and at this age and stage.  This should be a younger me.  Okay.  Remember what Joan said, "Not by me."  Not by me.

Here's the story. She said, "When I go to Manhattan, I'm going to dye my hair purple and get a no-crotch stocking  (I'm not sure if I remember exactly what she said, but you get the gist. )   Here's the point.  Coming up.  I said...

I said, "Hasn't it been done."

She said, "Not by me."

Okay.  This is something.  From me.  Writingfromspace.