9islands

“The thing you remember most about feedlots is the smell – the smell way before seeing the actual cattle, usually Holstein crosses huddled in tight listless bands on top of mounds of their own dung. You imagine them sensing death – their future as frozen hamburger patties – but I could be giving them a prescience they don’t possess. Mornings in the San Joaquin always carry a mist. Its origins are mysterious because there is hardly any moisture to speak of. No water except for the placid irrigation ditches: the giant rainbirds dripping; white transportable Plasticine pipes at the edge of rows of lettuce. We used to call it ‘Tule Fog’ when we worked alfalfa, loading trucks with square bales in the summer.”

Sam Shepard, The One Inside, p. 148