In the beginning,
my poetry focused on the solid touchstones and familiar landscapes of
home during the turbulent 60s, as I clung to the ranch and its
practical lifestyle. Early on, the ranch and I were one, despite the
conflicts and legal battles over and upon this piece of ground at the
confluence of Dry Creek and the Kaweah River.
After the historic
flood in 1955, I remember loud and heated conversations between my
father and grandfather as they discussed the condemnation action by
the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to build a dam across the Kaweah
River that took some of our best grazing ground for the earthen core
of the dam as well as the riparian along the river required for the
dam and subsequent lake. Dad and Granddad persevered however, to have
some of that original take revested back to the family. Nevertheless,
many cultural treasures, deemed insignificant in those days, were
lost.
By the mid-70s, the
family was engaged in a bitter partition action that not only divided
the ranch but the family as well. The better part of the 70s was
spent with litigation and acrimony, and after all the appeals were
heard our family fight had set precedent for Partition Law in the
State of California. But no one wins in a partition action—only the
attorneys benefit. Comprised of countless proceedings and legal
harassments, I don’t believe my father ever forgot or forgave the loss
of family and grazing ground.
photo by Robbin Dofflemyer
Once divided, a
creekside parcel of the ranch was sold for in-stream mining in 1990,
at which time my thirteen-year battle with a rock and gravel operation
began. Not only did the operation destroy Dry Creek road, the canyon’s
peace and tranquility, but it changed the course of Dry Creek through
the ranch, up and downstream of the operation. The original permit
also allowed the removal of a portion of one of the largest Sycamore
Alluvial Woodlands (SAW) in the world, clearing 142 sycamore trees, some three
to four hundred years old. Within the framework of the California
Environmental Quality Act (CEQA), I spent many nights petitioning
State and local monitoring agencies, as well as environmental
organizations, as I sought help. Though my legal appeals were
ultimately denied at the Fifth District Court, ours was the first CEQA
litigation in Tulare County since the State law was enacted in 1971.
Seemingly futile at the time, the united opposition of our Dry Creek
community has since empowered and awakened local people and agencies
to their rights and responsibilities. In 2003, the mining operation
went bankrupt. I lobbied successfully to have the 150-acre property
donated to the Sequoia Riverlands Trust for reclamation.
After my father’s
death, I managed to consolidate my mother’s interests into some
additional grazing ground contiguous to the ranch, essentially
repairing much of the economic damage resulting from the partition
action years before. Robbin and I, tired of fighting, thought
we needed some practical assistance and expertise so that we could
concentrate on raising cattle. Concurrent with the last gasp of the
rock and gravel operation on Dry Creek, we explored a conservation
easement for the next three years—my hope for an outside partner to
participate in our defense against certain and continued litigation,
for the timely protection of this piece of ground over which so many
legal battles had already been fought. But ironically, agreeing to a conservation easement
proved unworkable.
Fortunately, I have
been blessed with partners to share the ranch with, especially my wife
Robbin, in addition to good friends and neighbors, cowmen and
horsemen, real characters shaped by this unforgiving landscape—good
men and women who have instilled the value of humor and observation
that has shaped me.
My writing now has
evolved into a pleasant habit that helps me sort and incorporate all
the odd and wonderful realities of this uncertain way of life. It
continues to be an exciting "search and listen" for fresh words
grounded in this place, a satisfying exercise that might even be
artful or applicable beyond this ranch, this lifestyle and this
fleeting moment in time.
The
poems in John Dofflemyer's tenth collection, Poems from
