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.