National Cowboy Poetry Gathering

Steve took this photo at the TS Ranch, originally settled by William Dunphy around 1870; the ranch is now owned by the Newmont Mining Corporation and is one of the largest private holdings in Nevada. Steve and I had the chance to visit during our trip to Elko for the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering. It was as educational as it was fun, and we'd do it again in a minute.

Ranch manager Dan Gralian said the TS is a "totally buckaroo outfit," meaning it follows cowboy and buckaroo traditions. One of those traditions is known as "off the rope," whereby buckaroos select the horse they'll ride for the day from a semi-circle of horses which have lined up inside a corral along a rope -- rears facing the center of the corral, noses facing the rope -- and the horse is then roped and given to the cowboy.

The buckaroos pictured above demonstrated the technique for us. I was curious if working horses look forward to cutting cattle in the same way that working dogs look forward to cutting sheep, so I asked one of the buckaroos. He smiled and said, "Not so much." He also said he'd once worked at a ranch where the horses sort of adopted a group sway, so they'd be harder to rope.

I don't care who you are -- that's just funny.

Country at Conaway

Steve and I took Country to the Conaway Ranch last Thursday, where he kicked up his heels and frolicked in the marsh. We really laughed, watching him bolt into the water, then make his sweeping circle of perhaps 12-15 yards before returning to the shore. He must have done this 20 times, occasionally pausing to snatch up a mouthful of weeds, or to listen to ducks calling in the distance.

It was his first visit to the marsh, and for a pup just six months old, he did very well.

Can't wait for him to meet his cousin, Miley Meredith. More adventures to come!

New Photos From An Old Friend

Two great photos by former classmate, Ted Ganiats, who went to high school with Steve and me. Ted snapped the bald eagle shot on November 16 in Blaine, Washington, from the fifth story of a condo, while the brown pelis were photographed at Padre Island, in Texas. (Ted says they were fighting over a fish that was thrown to them.)

Thanks for sharing, Ted!

Maya's Duck-Hunting Debut

Steve took Maya duck hunting yesterday -- here they are in the blind, showcasing their booty (for readers under 30, that means "loot").

Both of our daughters have been exposed to hunting, having been raised on or near wildlife refuges, where seasonal hunts are a part of rural life. Yet it wasn't until recently that Maya expressed interest in giving it a try, and as it happens she's a pretty good shot. To my surprise, she came home with a green-winged teal, which she planned to prepare using a favorite Cal Fish & Game recipe.

That evening, when Steve was recounting the pointers he'd given Maya, I asked what he'd learned from her. He said she has a cool head and performs well under pressure, and that she's coordinated and good with machinery (skills I assure you she did not inherit from her hot-headed klutz of a mom!).

I confess I never thought I'd have a daughter who was interested in hunting, as I was so opposed to it myself in my younger days. But I've come to understand hunting's appeal -- the challenges it affords, the education it provides, and the appreciation it bestows. For that, I'm grateful -- although I'll also confess birdwatching's my bag, so I'll stick with binoculars.

At the Zoo by Simon and Garfunkel

From "The Essential Simon and Garfunkel"

Someone told me it’s all happening at the zoo.
I do believe it, I do believe it's true.

It's a light and tumble journey from the East Side to the park,
just a fine and fancy ramble to the zoo.

But you can take the crosstown bus if it's raining or it's cold,
and the animals will love it if you do.

Somethin' tells me it's all happening at the zoo.

I do believe it, I do believe it’s true.

The monkeys stand for honesty, giraffes are insincere,
and the elephants are kindly but they're dumb.

Orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages,
and the zookeeper is very fond of rum.

Zebras are reactionaries, antelopes are missionaries,
pigeons plot in secrecy, and hamsters turn on frequently.

What a gas! You gotta come and see at the zoo.

Photo from the Folsom City Zoo Sanctuary

Five Stars for Paris Trout

Just finished Pete Dexter's PARIS TROUT, and enjoyed it thoroughly. I'd seen the movie years ago and had forgotten about it until reading on John Lescroart's website that he loved the book, which got me thinking about it.

The story is set in Cotton Point, Georgia, just after World War II, and features as its protagonist a middle-aged tyrant, Paris Trout, and his tormented wife, Hanna. Paris and Buster Devonne, a former policeman, soon become embroiled in the murder of the young Rosie Sayers, and that's when the novel takes off, weaving throughout the next three hundred pages the challenges presented to Paris's defense attorney, Harry Seagraves, and Hanna's divorce lawyer, Carl Bonner -- not to mention Hanna herself.

Dexter's writing is supple and appealing, as he captures so eloquently the voice of the South. Here is a sample:

The lady knelt to pick up the things on the floor. Rosie would have helped, but there was a counter between them, and she knew without being told to stay on her own side. Even if they were in the same mess, white people would think she was stealing.

The lady came back up slowly, flushed and serious. Rosie heard her bones pop. "Now, she said, "where were we?"

"I ain't moved," Rosie said, and showed the lady her hands.

The lady did not look at her hands. She smiled, so small it might have been something that hurt. "That's an expression," she said. "It means, What were we doing."

To my surprise, Dexter also wrote DEADWOOD, which I picked up at Border's a few days ago. If it's half as good as PARIS TROUT, that's saying quite a lot.

Good Readin'

Reading Pete Dexter's PARIS TROUT. Hoo-ey. Delish. (More soon!)

Who Loves Short-Shorts? Ray Bradbury!

Watched two documentaries this week; the first on John Steinbeck, who, at one point in his career considered giving it all up due to competition from -- Ta-da! -- TV. (Seems not much has changed in the last sixty years.) I hadn't realized how severely the critics lambasted him, or how much this stung his psyche. Every time he received a scathing review of a new book, he hightailed it to Mexico. Smart man.

Second documentary featured Ray Bradbury, who appeared throughout much of the interview in a white shirt, necktie, white jacket and what looked like gym shorts. When he discusses an experience he once had with the director John Huston, he becomes quite emotional -- almost tearing up. Apparently, Huston was unkind to him during the writing of the Moby Dick screenplay in 1956, a cruelty he hasn't yet forgotten.

These documentaries were a mere 45 minutes each, and well worth the time. Hemingway's en route! (As is Robert Redford; couldn't resist.)

Spotted Towhee in Treetops

Steve took this shot of a spotted towhee (formerly known as the rufous-sided towhee) within walking distance of our house. These birds are fun to watch, as they use a 2-footed scratching maneuver (kicking up a lot of loose debris) while seeking food on the ground.

Steve likes the little acorn caps to the left of the towhee's ear.

I Hereby Resolve to Take a Deep Breath

What is your New Year's resolution? Lose weight? Quit smoking? Cut out white bread and chocolate and Japanese rice candy?

Okay, maybe you're fine on that count, but no doubt there is room for improvement somewhere. In my case I'll work on changing my mindset, as so much of my angst revolves around writing: what has sold and what has not, and if it hasn't, what the hell is my problem?

I let all that worry get in the way of some nice successes this year, dismissing the things I'd done right, throwing myself a pity party and believing, for a time, there wasn't a chance I'd make it. I spent three months waffling -- write a third novel, let it go, write a third novel, let it go -- until a friend mentioned she rarely worries about such things, but allows the notion to arrive at will, accepting stories the way they come, rather than forcing them to fit some role.

The timing must have been just right, because I actually heard her -- listened to what she was saying.

I know acceptance will take practice, but here is how I'll begin: inhale and hold my breath, then count to three and concentrate, just let the anxiety go.