Poems by Gowan Batist

Fire Season

by Gowan Batist

From Canary Summer 2020

Gowan lives beside the Pacific Ocean south of Noyo where she co-owns and manages Fortunate Farm, located in Jug Handle State Natural Reserve. There she helps raise sheep and chickens, grows vegetables and flowers for sale at a farmstand and farmers' market, and offers yoga, camping and a wild and scenic wedding venue.

The biggest, boldest lion I've ever seen is with us, and the community needs to be watchful. This is the dry time of year, the hungry time. The kittens are gone and made a racket on their way out. The deer are wary. The mothers are depleted and bold from desperation.

We lost two animals in two days. Due to dogs and humans, neither fed the lion. Each failed attempt ratchets her urgency higher. Yesterday morning before dawn, she came back three times to try to reclaim the doeling she had killed. Three humans and three dogs yelled and drummed at her and she stood her ground, less than 20 feet away. I spent time staring into her eyes as the sun rose, holding her gaze with my flashlight. In the grey daylight she was finally chased away by a horn blast and charge of dogs and beating drums.

She came back and killed again yesterday afternoon, in a quick dash, but was prevented from eating by the dogs. Last night a big group of community came to walk the sheep to a smaller, closer enclosure with a very hot charge. I slept in my sweet friend’s car next to the fence, Jay joining me around midnight when he got home.

At about 5 am she charged the fence enclosure. I was sleeping next to it and blasted the horn, and the dogs went after her. They returned much later tired but unhurt. The sheep rushed back into the enclosure I rebuilt while Jay stood guard over me.

We're in a primal tension pattern. Each waiting for the other to misstep. And all the while I'm praying to her. Tired mama. Old lion. Don't learn this. We won't shoot you but neighbors might. Save your energy for deer. You are welcome here but these sheep are not your food. I don't begrudge them to you, but learning to hunt them spells death for you. You are beautiful. It's an honor to see you.

This morning we will skin Snowdrop and save her glorious fleece. I was with her when she was born. Her only food was the grass of this place, and back into it she will go. May all balance be restored, may the lions be healthy, may we all be safe, may our lives and deaths be appropriate and respectful.