Rancho Augusto

I truly don't mean to complain. But.....HOLY MOLY! If this keeps up, we may not have to use the dehydrators! 

Yes! We have lots of 'maters. We have lots of 'maters today! In fact, we have lots of okra, too! Okra and 'maters are our friends!

Abbie is a "coon hound". However, in the absence of a few coons, she just pays attention to the dove that is nesting in the flower planter over her head. Lovie Dovie hijacks one of Connie's planters three or four times per spring and hatches out her pair of cute baby doves. 

 These are the last of Lovie Dovie's brood. Look at the magnificent camouflage! You have to look closely even when it's from only two feet away! 

Here's the original! They're almost invisible!

You, of course, have heard about "cool cats". But, you probably haven't heard about a "cool chick". This is Maddie, the very intelligent araucana hen. She's parked under the mister that was added to the run. She's sopped and lovin' it! Who woulda thunk? Last evening, there were six other hens keeping cool with her. 

Well....it's August.....already! Doesn't that just make you want to buy a Mercury and cruise it up and down the road?! I'm not through with July's work yet, for corn flakes! Oh, well. I'll just have to take a day off so I can get some work done around here.

All is well here at Rancho Relaxo. However, recently, the Ol' Rancher wasn't well at all for about a week. For the first time in about eleven or so years, I found myself experiencing all of the uncomfortable symptoms of the stomach flu. I'll spare you the gory details and let Google help you in case you have yet to be informed about it. Let's just say that it wasn't a pretty sight.  Whatever that thing was took the knot plumb out of my clove-hitch. It left me too weak to wrestle a marshmallow out of a cup of hot chocolate.

Connie was able to keep me alive through the ordeal and made sure that  I drank a ton of "Powerade" and fruit juices (given that I had no appetite). Otherwise, my electrolytes would have been out of whack and I would have been dehydrated due to a massive loss of fluid. I think I used up a month's worth of flushing in one week! I'd have been a real mess and would likely have ended up in the hospital (a place for which I have no particular fondness).

She really was the hero of the hour and still managed to maintain her sense of humor in an attempt to keep me cheered. She then courageously carried the ball for the entire ranch for an entire week. My hat is off to her (plus she got my dirty laundry too!).

Just for the record, I'm swearing off getting sick. It was one way to get out of having to be a farm dude for awhile. But, it is a waste of my time, saps my energy, and makes me feel yukkie.  I'd rather suck snot out of a dead man than do that again.

Speaking of Connie the Canner, she has been just as busy with me back in the saddle as when I was out of it. It has been almost non-stop canning around here. If not canning, then she is dehydrating veggies and fruit. I saw a lot of apples and tomatoes being sliced and dried. She has even been canning hamburger! Yep! We are almost out of room in the freezer so she looked it up on the Internet and found out how to do it. It works great! I hadn't thought about it until then! And, between our own nectarines and folks giving us other peaches, she canned several quarts for the winter. Peachy keen, eh (I know. I know)?

If that doesn't inflate your Kumhos, we just bartered for a gorgeous like-new 5 tray dehydrator recently.  One of our clients needed their laptop straightened up so the Computer Dude fixed it. In trade, we ended up with an "American Harvest" multi-temp dehydrator for our supply of "tools". It was exactly like a couple of those that we already have. All the trays are the same which gives us some options when we dehydrate stuff. Just prior to getting it, I had to replace the thermistor in one of the other ones. The part was quite inexpensive and it only took a few minutes to solder it in place. So, don't toss our your dehydrator just because it stops running. You can get it back in service for about 50 cents, a thirty watt soldering iron, and a few minutes of time.

Edible Acres Harvest Report: we've got goodies! The okra is thriving and we've already started giving some away to those good folks who love a mess of that wonderful fried stuff. Since okra is one of those "forever plants"  that just keeps on giving, we'll probably still be giving some away at Christmas! And, that's after we can a bunch of it! That is an amazing vegetable! It grows so fast that you have to harvest it almost every single day! That means I'll be looking forward to a big batch of gumbo soon, too! I've got some shrimp in the freezer waiting to be tossed into the mix! Hooo! Doggies! My, but that's good eatin'! 

Coon Dog Report: things got "interesting" here the other night at about 9:30 PM or so. Abby, was barking her little doggie brains out on the back patio. Now, she's been known to do such activities but not on the back patio. So, as you can imagine, she had my attention when I turned on the lights and noticed that she had treed my BBQ grill. Since there were only a few inches gap under my grill, my lightning-fast mind knew there wasn't a bear under there (what a relief!). That was a good thing since I hadn't even bothered to grab any armament other than my flashlight. Of course, smaller doesn't necessarily mean less dangerous. Abby (a.k.a. "the Nose") treed a rattlesnake on the front driveway not long ago. That meant that Ol' Ran needed to be mindful of his steps when a huntin' dog is making loud noises.

I started moving the BBQ grill and when I did, a "thing" darted out onto the patio and into the back yard. Fortunately, I was able to out pace the thing, got in front of it, and gave it quick kick backwards thereby arresting its flight to safety. It curled up and lay motionless. In a flash, my flashlight revealed that I had overpowered a small 'possum (a fella is pretty confident when he is 200 times as massive as his opponent). It was now motionless and playing....'possum (but you knew that).

I called for Abby for assistance and she came a-runnin' lickity split (roughly the equivalent of half the speed of sound) and ran right on past and headed to the other side of the yard looking for the thing. So, I called again and again she whizzed right on by looking somewhere else for something. *SIGH* Finally, I called her to me and she noticed the 'possum on the ground. She snatched the thing up in her mouth but, as you can guess, it played dead so Abby tired of that game in about ten seconds. She parked the little critter in the dirt and moseyed off. I could tell that this girl dog was going to need some help getting her huntin' skills sharpened up.  It was left up to me to dispatch the predator that, if allowed to mature, would have had a voracious appetite for ...chicken dinners. So, a few ounces of dead 'possum is worth a few pounds of live chickens.

It must be that time of the year for 'possums since we found another one trapped at the bottom of one of our barrels that we use to contain our coop cleanings. It had fallen in and had starved to death. More chickens saved.

Well, guess what, neighbor? I also found out that "Rancho Relaxo" isn't limited to just one "interesting" event per week. Just a few days later, Princess Abby let out barking and baying for a really long time....late at night, of course. So, Ol' Ran grabbed his trusty tactical flashlight (the one that lights up the entire bloody neighborhood) and trudged out to see what was upsetting my pooch.

Abby was trying to climb one of the tall trees between our house and the neighbor's home. I had heard that "Walker Treeing Coon Hounds" were called "climbers" so I guess I believe them now! When a coon dog trees, don't bother to guess if there's something there; just shine the light upwards and find out what it is! "It" was a big ol' wide-eyed coon! He was up about 20' or so and parked on a limb at the trunk. Abby had finally lived up to her breeding! You may remember that she cornered her first big ol' coon out in the carport a year ago. But, this was the first time she had "treed" (nobody wants a "Walker Cornering Coon Hound", don'tcha know). 

So, a plan of action was needed and there were decisions to make. I can't say that I wasn't tempted to go get "Ol' Bess", the SKS rifle. At that time of night, such a thought only lasted a few seconds. Can you imagine what would happen if you discharged a .30 caliber hunting rifle late at night and only 35 feet from your neighbor's bedroom?! Your good neighbors would become bad neighbors in a heartbeat.

The next thought was to just use the Ruger 10-22 .22 caliber semi-auto rifle. That way, the neighbors would only jump halfway out of their night clothes instead of all of the way (I am soooo thoughtful, eh?). Well....that thought, too, was short lived. That left me with prospect of just letting Abby bay all night long thereby insuring that the neighbors only lost sleep instead of their jammies. That was a prospect with which I could live. Besides, I really didn't need a new coonskin cap. Maybe when the fashion cycle comes back around.

It was my bedtime anyway so I was hoping against hope that Abby would get disinterested after awhile and just go park in her "Abby place" on the back patio. That means that everyone would still get some sleep. That was a real leap of faith because coon dogs don't normally give up on anything. They just don't quit. I seriously figured that the coon would need to make that limb his permanent dwelling place. No part of me believed that Abby would lose interest in a live coon. But, he wasn't there the next morning and Abby wasn't talkin'. Maybe she went to sleep on the job or the coon bought her off (maybe the coon found my stash of doggie treats on the patio....uh-huh). Thankfully, and for whatever reason, Abby appeared to lose interest and that was the end of the matter. Go figure.

News flash: there was third "interesting" event at the ranch a few days later! Abby was doing her nightly patrol and started barking....at midnight (nocturnal critters, don'tcha know). After several minutes of intense barking and at about the time I was going to grab my torch, she went silent. "That'll work" says I to myself. But, that really didn't make sense until.....this terribly familiar ...odor....began wafting its way into the bedroom. Do you know where I'm heading with this narrative? You are correct; it was the only-too-familiar scent of an offended skunk. Only this time, it wasn't like a dead skunk in the middle of the road. It was like an angry skunk in the middle of the bedroom! Uuuuuuuuuuuh! Connie nearly fainted while I nearly gagged. Due to the eye-tearing intensity, we figured that Pepe Le Pew was probably marching across our front porch campaigning for the removal of our guard dog. 

Once again I snatched the uber-light and went out to see if my coon dog was OK and if she needed to be quarantined for awhile (like...maybe for a month and maybe in China). When I called, she came zipping around the corner and was about to (lovingly) fling herself upon my body parts. I wasn't relishing the thought of having to follow Abby into quarantine so I gritted my teeth, stepped back to halt her advance, and held my hand down to grab her collar. So far, so good. After a few moments, there was no swooning and I was still standing upright and without additional body odor. Time to give thanks! 

Wait, folks! There's more! I really wish that I could say that Rancho Relaxo is an uneventful place. But, that would be like believing a politician when they open their mouth. It just isn't so. The other night at about 1:30 AM (waaaay too early in the morning for "interesting" things to occur), I was rudely awakened by a ladies voice saying, "Low voltage! Low voltage!". Though somewhat groggy, it didn't take but a moment to realized what had happened and that "Rosy the Robot" wasn't standing at my bedside (you old people remember the "Jetsons"). I had left one of my walkie squawkie radios on and had left it on the night stand next to the bed (the other radios were charging). When the bias voltage got too low, it automatically advised that the voltage was low so that the dummy user would recharge it or replace the battery. I just turned the thing off until later that morning then stuck on the charger. Note to self: pay attention, Ran. You'll get more sleep that way.

Chickening Report from Cluck Central: I'm still trying to figure out why chickens are so good at turning their chicken coop and chicken run into a pig sty. We rake and clean continually and make sure that they have plenty of fresh water and lots and lots of good food (chicken chow, don'tcha  know). We always speak to them kindly (never curse your chickens, I always say) and we speak in specific terms so they remember that they are chickens and not pigs. We call them using the time tested method: "Here, chick, chick, chick!" and not "Here, pig, pig, pig!". There are even signs hanging on the walls that say as much. Maybe we're asking a bit too much since we're getting nowhere with that method. I'd like to figure out how we end up raising intelligence-free chickens. In the meantime, hand me another rake. 

Having chickens on the brain (and in the coop) means that you have lots of chicken recipes on hand. I think I quit counting at about 300 including the more than 150 cookbooks we have on the shelf). Connie cooked a swell almond crusted chicken the other night. And, we use chicken in soups, sandwiches, and such all of the time (it tastes better when it's on sale, too!). But, I wanted to try something different. After reading about it recently, I want to try "chicken fricassee" pretty soon. It's a simple enough recipe for a simple enough ranch hand. However, it sounds a little "hoity toity" for the likes of a couple of old folks like us. So, we're just going to call it "frickin' chicken" which has more of a country ring to it.

We lost one of our pullets a few days ago. She was noticeably out of sorts for a few days prior so we pulled her out of the cage and put her in the hutch by herself. When there was no improvement after a couple of days, we brought her into the house to try to nurse her back to health. Sadly, she only lasted a day and a half. We're not sure what happened and it isn't likely that we will ever know. So goes life at Rancho Relaxo. We will likely get a few more pullets in the near future anyway. If not, maybe in the spring. 

Thinking that the pullets were mature enough to be introduced to the rest of the coop group, we freed them from their cage. That experiment was a complete failure because the Chickenistas would have none of it. They refused to allow the almost-hens to integrate and immediately began abusing them. One of the pullets was so stressed that she stuck her head behind a sack of scratch and wouldn't budge (and you thought only ostriches did that). The others were holed up behind the door of the first run.

As an aside: the two runs have a door between them because we left the door on the original run. That comes in handy when we want to clean the front run or vice versa. We can herd the birds into one or the other run as needed for cleaning and such.

So, the Ol' Chicken Wrangler snatched them up and put them back in their cage where it's safe. They're doing fine now. I'll try again in a couple of weeks. If we keep feeding them, we're confident that they will grow.

We're also experimenting with a water mister. It consists of a small plastic water line with a few button misters on it. We're hoping it will help keep our hens from croaking in the heat (it was 108 degrees today). It seems to work but not all that well because we have ponding under one of the misters. Plus, there seems to be a bit of a cross breeze that shoves the mist away from the chickens. If I can't get this one dialed in , I have another longer one that may work. We'll see. Anything to keep us from having fried chickens. 

So, there you have it, the latest from Rancho Relaxo. Don't touch that URL; things could get...interesting. 

Rancho Julio

Are we spoiled yet? Miss Peep was invited to a special place on Connie's shoulder. However, she seems to have allowed her instincts to override her etiquette and went for the "king of the hill". Notice that Connie is a step ahead of the presumptuous creature and is protected from any consequences thereof.

Here's Phil the Silky. He is the "mini-me" of Kenny Leghorn. He's such a hoot! He's a half-pint rooster dealing with full-quart hens!

This is "Sweetie", the little Araucana pullet that grandson, Cade, named and then helped to nurse back to health. She has just been re-introduced back into the hutch but she and the others have since been moved to the larger "ad-seg" cage for awhile. When the little birds can fend for themselves against the Hooligan Hen Gang, we'll introduce them into the general population.

I was honored to be asked to sing and play music with "Duggin's Citrus Express Band" at a local car show. It had been since the first of the year that I've had the chance to twang a strang. The rust dust was a bit thick but everything seemed to turn out alright. This is Miss Connie availing herself of the slight bit of shade that was in such lack that day. She has really good ears and said I did fine. My sincerest of thanks to Jim and Sooz for letting me be a part of a really good time!

These green bell peppers are already on the counter and one of them is already in the alimentary canal! Our peppers are prospering and, soon, the big Anaheim's will be ready for a mess of chile rellanos. Sign me up!

 These big red beauties have been harvested. Connie may can some but some will end up sauces and salsas. The difference is in the spicing, I should suppose, given that the two words have the same meaning. We'll make it work, eh?

 These are some signs we found that help make the Henhouse Hilton the perfect place to park our peckers.

This is our "dirty dog". She had just gone one-on-one with the "Evil Water Snake" and was soaked from her nose to the tip of her tail. What did she do? She rolled three times in the dirt so that she wouldn't miss a clean spot! This is why we let her maintain her title "Princess" but also let her abdicate her (clean) throne and our (clean) house so she could be a "farm dog".

 It's JULY!! This year is half over! Doesn't that just make your chewing gum lose its flavor on the bedpost overnight?! I'm not quite speechless so it's best that I continue on to other topics so this post doesn't resemble one for "Randy's Rant Roost"! 

Let's start with "chickening": "chickening" is anything you do that pertains to chickens. If you are feeding them, you're chickening. If you're tending the bird herd, you're chickening. If you're collecting cackle fruit, you're chickening. If you're stepping in chicken doo, it's all part of the chickening experience. You simply haven't lived unless you've done some chickening. 

Some of our current chickening is adding chickens to the coop. The 8 pullets are not quite ready to be released into the "general population". They are sort of "ad-seg" for now so that the larger hens don't assassinate them just for grins (it's their day off and they're bored, I guess). We had to pull two of them and let them take up camp in Connie's kitchen to recover from stress and injury. 

You may recall that we named the all white one, "Peep" (shortened from "Miss Pecky McPeep Peep"), but there was another one that needed attention. It had inadvertently been released from the hutch when Connie was feeding and watering them. A few days later, we found it hiding in the dark in the corner of the coop. She was in stress shock from the bullying and was dehydrated. So, Connie put her in a tub with a screen across it and began to nurse it back to health ("Connie the Chicken Nurse"...has sort of a ring to it, eh?). That process was aided by grandson, Cade, who named the little pullet, "Sweetie". I'm starting to think that we don't actually run a chicken ranch but a vacation spa for hens. 

Anyway....she was nursed back to health but was not re-introduced into the company of the felonious feather faction. Rather, we put her and her six sisters into the large "isolation ward" with a few other birds. It gives them more space and the other birds in there are, by-and-large, tamer and will let them integrate with little social friction. We just don't need a cabal insisting on mixing feathers and fighting. All looks well so far.

Kenny Leghorn is absent from the rancho. We figured he wasn't necessary for the production of eggs. So, despite the fact that we enjoy his crowing and strutting, we found him a new home. A young man from Porterville was happy to pay us ten bucks for our young and healthy rooster. He will be missed but we don't see a need to pay him for performing a bit of  hen oversight (actually, he was a bit more involved than just oversight) and an occasional cacophonous musical production. 

In his place is "Phil" the beautiful all white bantam silky who is the "Mini-Me" for Kenny. It's sort of funny to watch a bantam rooster try to run herd over hens that are larger than he is. He's definitely out of his league. He, along with a gorgeous Rhode Island Red hen (Maude) and a gorgeous Araucana hen (Mattie), were gifts from long-time (I think 53 years can be considered a "long time") friend and brother, Rob Tyrrell and his wife, Sharon. The three  birds are the sweetest and calmest that I've ever seen and we're glad to have them aboard. 

Chickening is new to us. As with any other new subject, you are forced to learn many new things "on the fly". Like: did you know that chickens are wired to explode on contact? Oh, yes. It's absolutely true. When cornered, a chicken will assail its assailant (how a stupid chicken knows that a good defense is a good offense is beyond me). It explodes on the enemy in a flinging fiery fury with feathers and feet slashing in all directions like a 3-D CAD drawing! The enemy, now blinded by a hurtling transonic mass of lethal feathers, reflexively retreats in stunned silence. The bloodied foe is left plucking feathers from his hair, eyes, nose, ears, and the inside of his skull as the chicken sprints to freedom while mocking him all the while. He has just been soundly beaten by a 5 pound adversary with the IQ of handful of snot.

Edible Acres report: the first of our produce is starting to arrive. We're garnering some green tomatoes for a special southern fried treat. It's been awhile so it's time for fried green tomatoes! If you think that there won't be some pinto beans with bacon and fried taters with that, think again as this old son of an Okie is not about to waste such an excellent opportunity to put on a full scale feast!

The okra is also ready to cut (another feast awaiting) and the first of the bell peppers are already on the counter ready for canning, drying,  or to be transformed into a fajita or spaghetti dish. Some of the plumb harvest was put to fruit leather. It was a light harvest this year for some reason. The kobacha (Japanese pumpkin) are ready for canning. The squash are running late this year and we've lost a few plants. The 'zukes are struggling but the yellow-necks are moving along albeit slowly. They are in the #4 garden box which is now marked to get an overhaul this winter.

The grapes are struggling as well. It would seem that they didn't get enough water though the ol' rancher did focus on keeping them wet. Maybe he needs to overhaul his focuser.

The oranges are pitiful this year because of the drought. They were watered enough to keep them alive but that's about all. We lost a few trees and that is lamentable. Our oranges are usually beautiful and are as sweet as candy. I miss that.

The apples are coming along fairly well. I'm still not sure why my apple trees are midgets when there is no recollection of having planted midget trees. A couple of them are loaded with small green apples while another of the same variety (50 feet away) has ...none. One of the new Granny Smith trees died. Still not sure what happened but it up and croaked. At least the Bartlett pear is alive (though struggling). Maybe if I planted them in real dirt next time instead of the rock and sand in the front yard, eh?

Surprise! Surprise!! Surprise! (best Gomer Pyle accent): once in awhile, you need a good surprise in your life. Well, that's exactly what happened to dear Connie recently. Seems someone enlisted a co-conspirator to pull off a surprise for Side Cook Connie. The someone was Connie's daughter, Brandi, who lives in Washington state. She had conjured up the idea to fly down here so that her mother could spend some quality time with her grandson, Cade. Of course, the co-conspirator is no surprise. It was the Ol' Ranch Hand himself.

The ruse was simple and believable enough; we would go see dear friend and sister, Dottie Swadley, in Fresno on a particular Tuesday in June. It at made sense because we hadn't seen Dottie in 3 years or so and we needed to do so.

So, we did that; on "D-Day", we headed out for Fresno and met Dottie at "George's" Armenian restaurant on North Blackstone for lunch. My!! Did we have a great meal and the fellowship was grand!! I had the lamb kabob meal with sarma and all the trimmings. Sarma is Armenian-style stuffed grape leaves and is not to be confused with the Arabian shawarma which is similar to a Gyro. Connie had their fancy schmancy hamburger and enjoyed it immensely. We all vowed to do this again.

After about two-and-a-half hours, and after hugs all around, we departed for a tour of Fresno. I had long wanted to show Connie my old stomping grounds. After living there for fifteen  years, the place was rather familiar. But, after not having lived there for so long, mucho many things had changed! Fresno had been built up all the way to the San Joaquin River and there were things that I wanted to see!

After a couple of hours of being amazed at the changes, I headed towards FAT (that would be the "Fresno Air Terminal" for all you comedians out there) to see how it had changed as well. After a couple of laps around the place, we stopped at "Mazzei's Flying Service". I had flown with them a few times long ago and wanted to let them know that I would be returning for instruction.

Then, much to Connie's amazement, we headed to the main terminal to "see how things had changed there too". The timing was absolutely concurrent with the flight schedule so we waltzed around taking pictures. Connie later advised that she knew that I was the only person on the earth who would take time to check out an airport terminal. So, she thought little about us traipsing around the place and snapping away with the cell phone camera.

Well, out of nowhere (for Connie; I had seen Brandi and Cade coming down the arrival area), Connie heard her name being called (the grandkids call her "Honey"). She looked at me and was about to say, "Hey. Someone else's grandkids call them 'Honey'" when Cade embraced her from behind! She was in shock! She thought that we had stumbled into Brandi and Cade as they were travelling somewhere else! It was a hoot!! It took a few moments for her to catch on to the plan but she was overjoyed to be the recipient of such a surprise. It was a true "blubbery moment".

That was on a Tuesday so we had the next few days for quality time with them. During those days, Cade became an egg gatherer, a genuine chicken sitter, and a tractor driver. He ran the drag scraper around the back and helped smooth things out (a chore that was long overdue). The next time he comes down, perhaps we can enhance his firearms training. I'd like to see him be proficient in using small arms for hunting and self defense. We don't have an arsenal but we do have a few weapons that will cover those lessons.

Such lessons were invaluable during my life. I learned as a lad about Cade's age how to safely handle and use small arms. I hunted squirrels with my granddad and rabbits with my father. Later, elk were in my sights. The use of the venerable .410 shotgun, .22 pistol, and .22 rifle was to come in handy years later. There was no balking, fidgeting, or fake confidence when it was time for firearms qualifications at the Police Training Institute at the University of Illinois - Champaign/Urbana. Using the larger caliber .38 special and larger bore 12 gauge shotgun came quite naturally. They just made a louder noise and kicked a bit harder. 

I love the kick of the .308, the 30-06, and the .243, too. I've not yet taken my 7.62 x 39 (same round as the AK-47) SKS rifle out for a stroll yet. But, when deer season comes around, I may do that. So far, I'm waiting for the deer to track me down. They may have to wait for my next...day off.

On Saturday, we boarded the Camry and headed back to FAT so they could catch their flight. It was hugs and tears all around then they boarded the magic carpet and flew home. It was a beautiful and memorable time. 

Princes Abby report: Miss Abby is something else. She tackles the "Evil Water Stream" and gets totally soaked (I envy her, actually, since I probably need to help her defeat that thing so I can get wet and comfortable during the ...ahem...dog days....of summer). Then, she promptly does a series of horizontal aileron rolls in the ...dirt! Now, I can see that happening if she happened to be a chicken. My chickens regularly take a "dirt bath" and wallow in the dirt like a duck wallows in a pond. But, Abby is a canine (the ones without feathers) and needs to be a "clean doggie" not a dirty one. I'd send her to obedience school but I have this sneaking suspicion that they don't take coon dog curs without a huge deposit. I'll see if I can get my good friend Pavlov to help.

Well, neighbors, that's what's happening around Rancho Relaxo for now. Hang around and don't touch that URL thingy. Things could get ....interesting.... and you'll miss the "Harvest Edition". Later, all you taters, skaters, gators, and baiters.