Rancho Radio Swampo

Here's Grandma Connie with two grandkinders Moira Alise  and shiny-new Warner Phillip. They are the two youngest of the Howden's 6 youngin's. Their mother home schools them and they are every one brighter than the average search light and that's not a joke or an exaggeration.

Here's some of the "Poop Coop Group" featuring the "Peck-Apart-Pullets". We're up to almost two dozen eggs per day now and that number should double soon! Let's see....where did I put that omelet recipe book? We have Barred Rocks, Polish, Rhode Island Reds, Sex-links, Buff Orpingtons, Leghorns, Araucanas, and a lone Silky (and would be looking for a partridge if there were a pear tree nearby). There's been some chatter about bringing aboard some Guinea fowls but that could happen later if and when we let the critters free range. 

Chickens are really goofy creatures. Here are a couple of the Rhode Island Red pullets wallowing in a shallow bowl area they scratched out. They're taking a "dirt bath" by slinging dirt up on top of themselves and enjoying it (which leads one to call them "dirty birds").

OK...before someone accuses Ol' Ran of smoking some of the green zucchini leaves from his garden boxes because of the goofy title, I need to 'splain some things. But, before I do, I need to advise that I was going to complain how fast the time was blitzing by and that the year is already half over. But, I can't do that now. That's because that happened last month!  So, time has flown by so quickly that I missed the half way mark for the year. How revolting. 

Anyway, let's start with the "swamp" part of what's happening at the ranch. We had a major stoppage in our septic system. "No biggy", says I. I've handled such things prior to this time and managed to save the day without having to call the "Rooto-Rooter" dude. Ol' Ran grabbed his trusty garden hose and the expandable line bladders and went to work....and work I did. After quite awhile, the line was finally cleared. That was a mighty fine thing since it was midnight at the oasis and we had already sent the camels to bed. The farm hands were mighty bushed from a long and busy day.

Alas, the self high-fiving bliss didn't last long at all. A few days later the Clog from the Black Lagoon was back for a rematch and, with a vengeance, was looking to exact a costly payback. Little did I know just how much lighter my bank account would be after his second defeat.

Connie and I had dashed the 3.5 miles to beautiful downtown Springville to drop off the mail and pick up some chicken feed. I doubt if we were gone more than about 30 minutes. Imagine our surprise when we entered the rear door of the house and encountered at least an inch of water! My lightning-fast mind said, "This could get interesting". Needless to say, the rest of the day's scheduled and unscheduled festivities were immediately cancelled and put on hold for the duration.

We mulled the matter over and after extrapolating the "givens" (including the given that I didn't have the time, gumption, or spizzerinctum to mess with this any longer), I called for help. Thankfully, Mr. Rooter-Tooter was "Johnny-on-the-spot" and was there within a couple of hours.

The septic tank had been pumped out about 5 years ago so we were thinking that just the two of us couldn't have filled it up again even if giving it our best shot. However, the symptoms were screaming at me that it was full again and that there was a better-than-average chance that the 4" line was compromised in some way.

After Mr. Tooter and the Sucking Crew (they do music gigs at night) finished their toiling (better them than me! I'm not into toiling nowadays), they confirmed my diagnosis. We now had an empty 1,500 gallon septic tank and a routed-out-but-still-broken pipe that will need to be fixed at some point.

Considering that the ack-ack hit from the invoice froze my diaphragm (which made me hypoxic and slightly exopthalmic), I may come out of my anti-toiling mode and just dig a hole and fix the dang thang (sheeeese. That almost sounds Vietamese.....like....I'm on my way to Dang Thang for a hot bowl of Pho). I can do it for about 40 bucks and a pound of sweat whereas the pros want 160 dollars. Prior to parting with any more moolah, I'm going to give it the ol' Jack Benny for now (i. e."I'm thinking. I'm thinking"). Fie on you, evil Clog!

Let's talk about the "Rancho Radio" part now: most folks know that Ol' Rancho Ran is a "hamster". That, of course, means he is a licensed amateur radio operator/Ham and has been for mucho años. And, there is a nice "ham shack" in the upper forward part of the barn waiting to be used for this purpose. However, though blessed with a gift of gab, he hasn't had a transceiver to throw words at. That has recently changed.

In Ham radio, there are different bands on which one may blabberate or on which to use CW (morse code). Some are HF (high frequency), VHF (very high frequency), and UHF (ultra-high frequency). I have a couple of dual-band VHF/UHF HT's (handy talkies) but haven't used them hardly at all.

This preface is so you can understand that my new gear plus my existing HT's will cover all the Ham bands! With the Ham rigs, SW (short wave) equipment, a couple of CB radios to cover the 11 meter band, and my ICOM IC-R7000 VHF/UHF receiver (receives up to 2.0ghz), I can go just about anywhere on the spectrum for a peek. 

Now the good part; a friend of mine who owns a hanger just two doors to the north of ours recently passed (we're not to the good part yet). He was a Ham radio operator and had all kinds of equipment. The guy was a retired professional avionics technician and had all the best gear available. Not long after he died, his nephew contacted me regarding his uncle's equipment. Connie and I met him a few days later at the hanger and was I shocked!

When we drove up, there was a huge display of transceivers, test equipment, cables, wires, microphones, RTTY gear, several mobile Ham antennas, watt meters, two ICOM automatic antenna tuners, power supplies, and boxes and boxes of what all! 

A transceiver that I've wanted for a long time was there in the midst; it was an ICOM 706 MKIIG. Just one Icom IC-706 MKIIG transceiver sold new for 1,200 dollars! But, wait! There were two of them sitting there! I almost needed to tidy my didy! Added to that, there was an ICOM IC-735 HF transceiver to boot! 

Also parked in the crowd of equipment was a little Yaesu FT-814A that sells new for about 650 dollars. It's a QRP (low power) rig that has an output of only a watt more than a CB radio (5W vs 4W for CB). All in all, there were seven transceivers in the lot! 

Not everyone knows that Ol' Ran the Ham is a "QWERP TWERP" which is a "QRP" (low power) nerd that thinks that any power over 10 watts is too much. I started with low power early on before the ink was even dry on my new Ham ticket. I built and operated 10MW and 100MW transmitters (9 volt) and used them to communicate all over town. Later, in 1978, I had a Heathkit HW-7 QRP transceiver that ran about 2.5 watts output on 40 meters and a bit less on 15 and 20 meters. I let that little cutie get away from me and I regret it to this day. The little 2 watt NorCal NC-40 QRP transceiver I just got in the new lot of radios helped to take away some of the sting, though. 

The gentleman advised that he really didn't want to mess with having to sell everything separately and shot us a price for the whole shootin' match. I almost fell over when he quoted a price that was less than one new radio! Of course, the answer was "Yes!".

Long story longer: after we loaded everything up in the van I uninstalled the second 706 MKII from his uncle's 1956 Thunderbird. It was great just to get to sit in one again. I hadn't sat in one since 1967 when I got to drive my friend, Eric's, '56 T-Bird. The battery was dead so I didn't get to hear it growl. Perhaps at a later date they'll fire that baby up and that hefty high-compression, short-stroke 292CID  V-8 can pump some memories into my brain.  "I am T-Bird. Hear me roar!".

Now, all that the Ol' Ham Hand has to do is string up an antenna, hook up a transceiver to a power supply and an antenna (not yet functional), spin the knobs on my antenna tuner, and get to talkin' or tappin'. There should be a window of opportunity to do that on my ....next day off.

There were 4 really nice automatic code keyers in the deal but I really prefer the semi-automatic keyers. Not sure why. Guess it's because I had a couple of them and got used to using them. At least one of the keyers is a collectible since only 400 of them were ever made. They're also vintage. I'll likely sell one and pick up a "bug" keyer. We'll see.

Time for some chicken checkin': 

It's probably not possible to explain to someone why you would have an affinity for a stupid, feathery, fertilizer-producing, omnivore that lives to lay eggs, make loud screeching noises (B'GAAAK!!), chases coop-mates around trying to snatch their food from their mouths, and such. Maybe it's a cry for help but.....I love chickens! Can't you hear it now? "Hi. My name is Randy and I'm a bird brain" "Hi, Randy". *SIGH*. 

Perhaps it's "Kenny Leghorn", the rooster, crowing early in the morning that endears me to farm living with its attendant critters. In any case, if it is a malady, I really don't want the cure. It's just a hoot to watch the birdies flock around the goodies you toss to them and see them shred the stuff like a new "Kitchen Aid" food processor. Maybe it's the gathering of the eggs and thinking that every day is Easter. After all, our hens lay blue, green, light brown, dark brown, and white eggs.

These well-fed healthy feathered friends are all happy as a preacher with a new microphone and seem to be rather tame at this point. They certainly aren't afraid of us at all and even eat out of our hands. Some even approach you and demand food from you!  You haven't lived until you've been mugged by a Buff Orpington.

"Kenny Leghorn" is the ruler of the roost. He sort of slipped in and we've let him stay around at least for now despite the fact that we gave away three other roosters. Our neighbor, Ken, advised that he loves to hear the rooster crow in the mornings. So, we named after Ken and let him take over the roost! We're not sure how long this will last given that there was absolutely no intent of selling fertilized eggs or raising baby chicks. The last thing on our minds was having a herd of mother cluckers running loose around here with their brood of coyote bait following after them. We'll see.

As a quick aside, Lovey Dovey just raised two more chicks in the flower basket on our front porch. They flew off yesterday to join the rest of the local coo'ers and just before I could get a nice picture of them (I did get one but I used the cell phone and the pic was lousy). It's really neat to hear the doves in the morning and evening times. Lovey Dovey and her mate have been around here for probably 5 years or so. It's great!

We have to wear old rubber shoes when in the coop. At first they were "chicken coop shoes". Then they were "coop shoes". Now, they are just "chooze" which is a combination of the others and bearing a humorous exonym inference.  

And, you really don't want to wear your "chooze" into the house (at least not while Connie is looking). The penalty for this particular "Thou Shalt Not!" is severe. Let's just say that the "good news" is that there is a 15 minute intermission during the flogging so that Connie can use the rest room. This is one of the times when you really have to pay attention.

The Princess Abbie report:

What can you say when your pretty, once well-kempt, princess coonhound turns into a dirty dog? There's probably no happier or healthier pooch that ever chased its tail than our girl-pup. But, she's a dirt lover! It's almost like she's getting some coaching from Maggie on this little trick. Maggie's full-time job was resisting baths and staying dirty. Abbie is quickly learning to do much the same (though she does love water). It's not uncommon for her to show up at the door covered with grass and dirt! What are we going to do? Are we going to shampoo and shine her up just to watch her do a hog wallow within 30 seconds? Not today. We're just going to let her abdicate her throne and be a "farm dog". She'll remain as happy as a frog in a new pond (she'll need to lose the pink collar, though).

She has this "thing" with streaming water that is wild to watch. I'm not sure what she's thinking but she attacks streaming water with all of her might! I tried taking a video of her doing battle with the hose but the audio was muted somehow. I'll try again later. It's something else to watch her leaping and snappping at the water!

Whatever her antics and whatever her state of cleanliness, she's still our darlin' doggy. You could say she's 5 pounds of sweetness and love poured into a 3 pound sack and is a real keeper.

Well, farm fans, it's that time of night that I need to hurry off to bed before I turn into an overweight, middle-aged, furry pumpkin in public (at least not without a support group at hand). Remember: stay tuned and don't touch that round knob that changes channels. Things could get....interesting.