Busy in the kitchen, second-to-last day of Winter 2017, awaiting Linda’s arrival for her Last Spring Break.

Next day, last of winter,

having recently discovered we own a half share of the “upper eighty” with Dave

we went up under overcast skies for a look.  The eighty, which Dave bought along with the land down here in 1994, has a somewhat miraculous spring on it.

As seller John Casey said, “There’s a lot of water in the Buffalo Hills, Dave” …so Dave got first refusals on everything in sight as

vast views abound and after Casey passed an even more elevated

spring with even vaster views came into his possession [along with much else, to the considerable consternation of John’s executor, who’d anticipated grabbing everything in-house and wholesale for his buddies].

We took a look at that one, too, which

overlooked the hanging playa where we’d left the truck.

Said little playa was colonized by bushes during the drought but being early in the season a good and bugless time was had by all.

Then

down to doze and whatnot.

Monday, first day of Spring, began o-cast and dark but

with midday sunshine leaves began Unfurling Visibly in Real Time.

Nothing here stays the same for long as

night rains made morning walking mighty muddy

and

afternoon brought massive showers while I was in the repo putting up 2011,

the Year of the Least Watercolors, but abandoned the effort [63 triptychs take a lot of tacks] for other pursuits until eventually the sun, as they say, burst through.

Wednesday the surviving fishes came out to investigate the intermittent input to their pond after the low restored the artesian flow, Finnegan most persistently

whilst shepherds got their trailer stuck at Wall Canyon first thing…

but managed to extricate, move out and sneak the sheep south by lunchtime…or so we thought.

The watercolor installation [Year of the Least being Most Likely to Fit] was finally completed.

At sunset, without a sheep in sight, a pickup dropped off a pack of vocal dogs

so maybe they’re sequestered up Wall Canyon somewhere; sun set.

On the morning walk, Thursday already,

the sheep were plainly evident, southbound.  First band of the season headed for shearing at Espil’s before lambing…a hard life, that of a sheep, having to walk all the way up from Lovelock just to get fleeced and turned loose, naked, onto the desert.

After a last breakfast on the porch L., nearing the end of that Last Spring Break,

took off on down the road

leaving us here in the mud for another two days.

Dogs ‘n’ all.

 

M

 

…