Rancho el otoño

Here's our little birdie buddies enjoying their first day outside in the orange coop.

Here's "Miss Peep". What a pretty birdie!! If you remember, she's the little presumptuous pullet who was standing on Connie's head in one of the previous postings.

Here are the first chicks hatched here at the ranch! You can see that two of them are related to Pedro. They are really pretty birds.

Here's "Duggin's Citrus Express" setting up for a private Thanksgiving gig. You can seem my vintage Fender "Precision" bass in the foreground. It was a nice time but the gals all thought it was a tad cool.

Ol' Singin' Ran at the private gig. I don't get a chance to wear a hat very often and this is the first time to wear my new black hat! Ain't she a beaut?!

Here's the band with leader, "Soozie Singer", belting out a tune. Talk about a "feed"!! They had grilled tri-tip steak and grilled chicken and all of the fixin's to boot!! By the time we kicked off the music, it was nap time!! We survived to play and sing another day. I've been singin' for my supper for a long long time. As long as they keep feedin' me, I'll keep pickin' and grinnin'.

Here's our pretty little burg in the fall time.

I grew up here and swam and fished a lot in the Tule River to the right of this picture and just down the hill a couple of blocks.

Great Caesar’s ghost! It’s December! Boy! Doesn’t that just put snot in your pocket?! It seems like months are arriving on a weekly basis. *SIGH*

Rancho report: can you smell…BBQ (assuming that you can already spell it)? I finally broke down and lit the fire under my grill. Though it was “Black Friday” (which of itself is a grand reason to hook it up so you don’t get mistaken as one of the mindless hordes mobbing the shopping centers), it was still used under duress. You see, in California, if you don’t fire up your grill at least twice per year, they throw you in jail for being stupid without a license (I’d rather go to jail for aggravated moping than for that and I’m too cheap to pay the fee for the license anyway). 

As my ol’ grand pappy used to say, “If you’re going to do something, do it up right”, so I did just that. I broke out the bacon, the Ball Park franks, a chuck steak, hamburger patties, and set of pork short ribs and torched off the grill. Then I lined the top shelf of the rig with a row of spuds. Smoke was blowin’ in no time! The way I figured it, no one would have to do much prep work for meals for a few days. We’ll just be “heat n’ eat”.

You probably already know me well enough to know that the bacon didn’t make it to the table. It never does. You may just as well climb Mount Kilimanjaro as try to protect a pile of grilled bacon from Ol’ Ran’s fangs. I think Connie stood waaaaay back when she saw me breakin’ out the pork because I didn’t see her for a while. It probably wasn’t safe what with the slingin’ of grill tools, gnashing of teeth, flingin’ elbows and grease, and what all.

Few things can force a pallet into ecstasy like grilled bacon. I’ve been doing that for years prior the Internet making this discovery (you know, the old click bait title, “You will never eat bacon the same way again after you tried this weird trick!”). The first pound never made into the kitchen and the succeeding pounds haven't made it since. I suspect that I will only behave myself if we have company.

If you ever want to treat yourself or someone special to a marvelously delicious chunk of flavor, it’s easy. Just grill up a pound of thick-sliced bacon (I recommend grilling two pounds and you’ll know why after you do it….and you’ll be sorry if you don’t). You’ll need to use one of those dollar store round or square/rectangular mesh grilling trays, though. It beats fetching your slices back up from the bottom (though it is worth the effort).

And, you’ll need to babysit it as well since it cooks fairly quickly but it’s worth every second of the wait. If you don’t, you risk turning a beautiful soul-pampering banquet into a pile of greasy charcoal fit for the chickens (who will love you forever). Once you’ve sampled this special treat, think it not strange that your tongue will slap your face silly trying to get more!

Connie, ever the one for moderation, sampled a taste and enjoyed it. I explained in great detail that, if she wanted any more, she should weigh in now or there simply wouldn’t be enough left to feed a starving bot fly. She snoozed and she loozed. I stuffed myself with all of it and ended up with a wonderfully greasy smile on my mug. Never a bacon monger, she stuck with the grilled hamburgers.

Wrestling the white elephant: well….it wasn’t exactly an elephant. But, it was exactly white. To make a long story longer: everyone knows about “Murphey’s Law”, right? But, not many folks know about “Mrs. McGillicuddy's Law” that states: “When you are exhausted and don’t have the strength to suck the guts out of a Fig Newton, something major will happen that requires you to expend the strength of three wrestlers one of which will be either Hulk Hogan, Sting, or Wahoo McDaniel”.

Just as the Ol’ Rancher was settling in for the evening, Connie voiced a somewhat urgent request over the walkie squawky radio. Her Maytag washer was coming on then stopping. She would start it and it would run for a few seconds and then shut down with a certain error message being presented. Great. It had been a long day and there was no way that the “Computer Dude” was ready to doff his garb and slip into a “Washer Repair Dude” costume and save the day (I lost the cape anyway).

Connie the Canner, who was already wearing her “Washer Woman” outfit, urgently (and I think somewhat balefully) said, “I can’t finish my laundry!”. Well….it was the maid’s day off so we just couldn’t let that happen, now could we? To save time, I forewent the save-the-day apparel and just dug into the job wearing my “work clothes” (you know: the plaid Wal-Mart bed pants and a T-shirt).

You would think that disassembling a Maytag washer would be a rather daunting task. However, Once you’ve pulled every….single….piece….of hardware out of a Toshiba laptop and replaced every…single…one…of them, you’re ready for brain surgery without fainting or Google’ing.

 I pulled apart the control unit at the top and checked all of the wiring and hosed the area with my trusty dust blaster can of compressed air. After re-assembling it, I pulled the back panel off and poked around in there. After that, the agitator was unbuttoned and hoisted off and, lo and behold! There sat someone’s coin collection! Once those little pests were removed everything was glued back together and the machine was back to nominal operation. Hopefully, the Maytag repairman will be lonely for a long long time.

Chickenin’ Report: no mas Pedro. One of the things Ol’ Rancho Ran has discovered about chickenin’ is that you just can’t outwit a stupid chicken. I had high hopes for Pedro but he just didn’t get the memo that it isn’t safe for a chicken to spend the night outside of the coop unless they are sporting an AR-15 or a bodyguard. He had neither so he ended up being forcefully invited to dinner.

One of the recent changes made was to round up the stray chickens at night so Abbie could be let free to run. I put the shock collar on her and set her free. The idea was that she would be loosed from her cable so that she can bark at the moon and whatever spooks she desired in the front or back yards.

Knowing that my dog is the consummate huntin’ dawg, I policed the entire area around the periphery where she would be guarding (at night) looking for a low-lying pile of feathers. None were found. But, the next morning, our little hard-headed (read: stupid) Pedro was found.

Actually, I should say most of his larger parts were located. Some were not. It is highly likely that Pedro, not having graduated at the head of his class, sauntered into Abbie’s beat while she lay in wait for him to get close enough for an ambush (I’ve seen her do exactly that in the past). Then, POW! Instant chicken dinner! Pedro was no more. Abbie was gnawing on most of him when I got there in the morning. *SIGH*.

The good news is that there are a couple of new chickens that look almost exactly like Pedro. So, one of them will be named “Pedro Dos” and the other “Poncho” (or “Ponchita” if it turns out that it’s a pullet).

When you hang around Rancho Relaxo long enough, you learn that there is almost always some circus act happening at any given time. That’s what happened recently when a small cricket was rounded up and tossed into the tub with the seven small chicks. The cricket hit the floor and the fertilizer hit the ventilator! You could instantly tell that this was not going to go the full twelve rounds. One of the chicks snatched that thing before he could get his bearings. The chick ran with his booty and, when he did, the other chicks turned into line backers and the game was on. Wait until you see seven chicks sprinting all over the place just like the Keystone Cops and ricocheting off both ends of a plastic tub at mach one! It was hard to contain the laughter so I didn’t.  Chicks – 1; Cricket – 0.

The next day we had another circus act similar to the first one. When it was time to empty the compost barrels (next to the coop), I knew there would be all kinds of bugs hiding there. After a few “Here, chick, chick, chick’s”, the first barrel was rolled back. You should have seen the bugs scatter and the chickens go wild! They were scratching and flinging dirt and gravel everywhere! The bugs didn’t stand a chance. For a couple of minutes, it was almost a “hard hat and safety glasses” area. My girls mercilessly and indiscriminately harvested the insects. There was no place to hide since the chickens got their scratch on and ferreted all of them out. That same thing happened with the next two barrels until the bug fest was over with and our hens were satisfied happy hunters.

One and only one pullet was released from the in-coop cage to see if they are ready for the real world. She was accepted without much ado other than the usual “pecking order” being continually being re-established. The little bird is pretty quick on its toes and managed to stay out of major tiffs with the older biddies. Soon, she’ll be close to the top of the game and ready to bully other birds. Unlike one of the previous pullets, she came back in to the coop at dusk without issues.

Update: since the little bird did fare well, two other little ones were let out to fend for themselves. There are yet two slightly smaller all-white birds (though the same age) that will be cut loose in a few days when the time is right. So far, so good. Update: the other birds were set free and they are doing great and are coming back into the coop at night and I don’t have to hunt them down! Am I happy about that? Is the Cookie Monster fast friends with Famous Amos?!

The other older pullet still tries to stay out of the coop at night. I just wait for darkness and then pluck her from her roost next to the coop and plop her in with the others. She’s your basic slow learner, I guess. Update: she just started going into the coop at night. Update: she parked outside again tonight. This is the last night for free ranging so she and the others won’t be let out much until warmer weather. No more chicken hunting.

There are two other smaller white birds that need to obey the rules and come home at night. When the coop dries out in a few days (another story for another time...*SIGH*), my big beautiful biddies that are all fattened up for the winter, will be locked in and no longer allowed to free range. Then, I can trap the little guys and put them in with the other birds. Next spring (or at least in a few weeks), they will be allowed to free range again and we’ll see if they will return to their coop at night.  I’ll need to snatch one of them from its perch in the tree out back. The other one is probably nearby but she’s playing hide-and-seek for now.

Update: With all of the clucking but no laying happening, there was a temptation to think that we now had a magpie farm. What we did was to do a test run by keeping them in the coop for a couple of days to see if it would make a difference. In only a couple of days, a few of our girls started working again and we had a half a dozen eggs each of the two days. There is much hope that that number will increase to four dozen or more per day. I had to let them back out, though, due to another flood in the coop. Like I said, that tale will be preserved for a later date.

Connie’s kitchen smells like a chicken coop so, the other day, the little chicks got their first day in the sunlight. That’s one of the reasons we have the orange coop; it’s so we would have options (options are our friends). They loved it and we loved it that they loved it. It’s all about love around here so that works for us.

Today they even got to sample chicken scratch in addition to their normal chick starter crumble feed. Since they can get to some grit, they can digest the scratch. Yes, perhaps we can re-start the dormant fermented scratch regimen again for the little ones. How soon? Probably as soon as we can get a …..day off to deal with it, I suppose.

If you are solely relying on regular TV for entertainment, I truly feel sorry for you! You simply must switch to “Chicken TV”! There’s nothing like watching chicks to brighten your day. For instance, toss some slices of unused toast or bread out in the middle of some chickens. You are about to experience a hoot and holler!  It’s particularly peaceful in the late afternoon prior to them getting ready to retire. Not sure why but it seems to work that way.

Turkey Day at the Ranch: boy! Did we do a whole lot of nothing on Thanksgiving day! We had already had turkey at the church potluck so were content with not having any more that day. So, we just lolled around and rested a bit. We still had the usual chores but we went absolutely nowhere! You’d have thought that someone had padlocked the doors! We loved it!

Not stuffing yourself also means that there’s no post prandial fatigue with which to deal. We didn’t end up with a stuffed turkey (hmmmmm…wonder just how should we interpret that?). This is good, at least for me, since a turkey feast usually acts just like Kryptonite does for Superman when I’m full.

Rat and Other Varmint Patrol Report: well…something must be working. The rat population has dwindled down to a very wonderfully few of the buggers. I think it was the poison bait that did the trick. In any case, they are not swarming the coop as they once did. I’ll be elated when the last of them has left the property.

The pocket gophers have not taken over yet but they a starting to feel so comfortable here that their putting up “room for rent” signs around their holes. We’re hoping the neighbor’s gophers don’t notice.

When I was a teenager (boy! Has that been awhile!),  I worked in an orange grove in Strathmore for the airport manager, Vernon Baird (I was practicing to be an ol’ rancher some day and didn’t know it). He poured gasoline into the gopher holes then stuffed newspaper in the hole. It seemed to work but I hadn’t remembered it until now. Since gas has been right cheap lately (note: CA just added a dollar per gallon tax!!) and since the Ol’ Rancher is rather concerned about the matter, that tactic was implemented. So far, it seems to be effective. If it does work, I’ll re-fuel and start in on the front yard.

However, I’ve had about as much luck diminishing the fuzzer population as a one-eyed one-armed Eskimo hunting for seals. One hope is try the gas attack used on the gophers. However, their holes are usually too large to stuff with anything smaller than a twin bed mattress. Well, OK….maybe not quite that large. But, they are fairly big and Ol’ Ran will be looking for options (have I mentioned that options are my friends?).

I can boast of taking one brown pelt the other day. On a whim, I grabbed the ol’ “Critter Gitter” Ruger 10/22 and eased out the back door onto the patio. To my great delight, I spotted a mangy varmint primping in the shade of my pole barn. The top rail of our patio enclosure is where Connie the Canner mounts her flower boxes and guess what? They make for a great gun rest! How convenient, eh? Slowly I turned, step by step, and eased the Ruger onto one of the boxes and took careful aim (my un-careful aiming has not done well for me so far).

When I eased into the 2.5 pound trigger pull (yep. It has the kit) the .22 caliber 38gr copper-plated bullet was launched out of the end of the barrel at a satisfying 1260 fpm. In only 0.15 seconds, the fat, dumb, and happy preening rodent was lying flat on the ground. Ah, but I saw him moving. So, to end the threat of being faked out (oh yes! They do that!) and me being made a mockery of (again), I launched two more rounds his way and he stopped his moving. But, I thought I saw him twitching. So, I launched a couple of more hollow points at him. Then, I was pretty sure he made a quivering motion and that meant two more slugs were tossed his way. Reckon he was dead.

The way I figure (Jethro Bodine taught me how to figure and do a bit of ciphering), it was well worth the 40 cents worth of ammo to rid Rancho Relaxo of at least one brown bane and purchase a small slice of victory (I’d have spent a lot more to save face, don’tcha know).

There you have it: another episode of what’s happening at Rancho Relaxo, home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died), Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-cook), where things can get…interesting, and where… you just never know.

Rancho Se Vende Mucho Mas y Mas

 We're getting ready for the the big annual yard sale that we hold during the "Springville Apple Festival".

Along with the stuff on the tables above, we have these, too. It's about a tenth of what we usually haul out for sale.

 To the left, you see one of our other participants getting her goodies ready. She did really well again this year.

Another view but from the opposite end of the driveway. You can see "Tojo" the pickup in the far background. It's a mighty handy gadget to have at a yard sale.

To the right, we see the post sale mess that we usually have to deal with. No biggy though; we just took our time and got it all cleaned up. 

Take a look at this nice clean yard and then compare it with the pics below.

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A "just because" pic. This is our porch swing which is sometimes the viewpoint for "Chicken TV" if the Squawk Squad is around in front.

The resting garden boxes. We'll prepare them for action next spring.

Some of our girls basking in the shade.

We get some really pretty sunsets at times.

Here is the front yard and it's fully populated.

Lots of stuff....everywhere.

More lots of stuff.

Getting ready for the kickoff.

Susan Newsome getting ready! She's a pro!

Leanne Chapman had the most stuff and she sold a great deal of it!

What do you do when your above ground pool liner gets leaky? You take the poles and make a clothes rack out it! That was a "Connie Idea" and it has worked marvelously for the previous 5 years!

These here are a bunch of pichers (sic)

Another picher.....

Lots of'em....

 Never seen so many of 'em....

  

 Never run out of'em........

 

Wheeeew!! The end of pichers......

Here's one of our latest rooster additions. I'm not sure why but I've been calling him, Pedro. I think he is the offspring of an escaped fighting game cock. We could have some really weird looking chickens around here before too long.

And, tossed in for good measure, a "sign of the times" courtesy of our local Wal-Mart.

Well! Kiss my glockenspiel! It’s November!!! I can hardly believe this flogginshmoggin! .8333% of the year is gonzo! Oh, well…..may as well just tighten my schlunkendorfer and get used to it. *SIGH*

Well…we did it again! The big annual “Apple Festival” yard sale is a done deal. Everyone had a great and peaceful time of selling and...... eating! Most of the setup was done on Wednesday and Thursday and we were all ready to go on Friday morning at 8AM. From that moment on, there was no lack of foot traffic.

In fact, we even had considerable foot traffic late in the day on Sunday! That’s not common of us. We stay open until almost dark anyway and people do stop and they do buy stuff. But, this time, lots of people were still milling about, shopping, and importantly, buying.

Connie and I had far fewer tables set up this time. We just simply couldn’t get everything out on display that we had hoped. Perhaps we can do so next year (which will be here only too soon, I should suppose). All things tallied, we actually suffered far less stress than usual but were still utterly exhausted by Sunday evening. It takes about a week to totally clean up and re-pack and haul stuff to the Salvation Army or such. A lot of the stuff will be stored in our hangar for now.

Every year we, as the hosts, get first crack at things for sale and this year was no different. What was different was that we didn’t need our pickup in which to haul things off. A couple of years ago, prior to the opening bell, we spent more than 100 bucks on some really nice goodies! My thought was that it couldn’t have happened to nicer folks. But, that’s just my opinion, eh?

Comida: we had food, too! On Friday, we had chicken salad sandwiches with sides of baked beans, potato salad, and chips, then cake and cookies as dessert. On Saturday, we had pulled pork sandwiches, grilled hot links and hot dog buns, chips, sides of potato salad and baked beans with cake and cookies as dessert. On Sunday, there was hot chicken and dumplings, all of the above as leftovers, and hardly anything left over! What little there was leftover, the nice folks left for us to finish! I reckon skinny people are not allowed to live at Rancho Relaxo. Pity.

It’ll take a while to recover but we’ll soon be making ready for next year’s event. This thing has taken on a life of its own and we may one day just be managers or coordinators. After that, we may ultimately be found as sightseers and shoppers. Who knows?

Cut it out, Ran: when, in the course of human events (like running a ranch), there comes a time when you have to entrust someone with a sharp object. Well, when you entrust certain people (like, say, Rancho Ran, who purposely doesn't chew gum if he's doing anything other than sitting down) with a new machete, you just never know what will happen. But, you can guess that it will be….interesting.

Certain things have to be done from time to time when you live on a ranch. One of those things is that you need to whack and cut things. About a week or so ago, along came this out-of-date papaya. To make all those wonderful black seeds more easily accessible for my Squawkin’ Squadron, it needed to be hacked in half. So…..Ol’ Ran just happened to have a brand spanking new $6.99 machete (a half-price closeout from “Tractor Supply”....closeouts are my friends) that needed a good breakin’ in.

What was amazing was that the dad-blamed thing was sharp (cheap machetes aren’t supposed to be sharp)! The papaya got whacked but so did my finger! Swell. Blood began to gush (I much prefer that my blood seep or trickle if there’s extra-venous flow at all). I don’t recall how many languages I employed to curse my stupidity but I have a strange feeling that it wasn’t a few.

Of course, it wasn’t my first time to see blood gushing from my body. Heck; I’m an expert by now (if you ask right polite, I’ll show you my batch of scars and stitches....sorry, I have no etchings or tattoos). I knew by the acute sting that it was a deep wound but I also knew that it was a clean incision. That meant that it wouldn’t take all that long to heal. Most likely, it'll probably take about as long as it would take to stop kicking myself for not paying attention. I'm going to try to miss the next shipment of stupid. 

It was a rather messy event, though. There was blood everywhere but on the saddle (all you Tex Ritter fans). I mean, there was blood on my hand, my arm, on my shirt, on the patio gate, all over the patio, the back security door, the back door, on the kitchen floor and then on and in the kitchen sink. By the time I got a compress on it, Connie thought that I had amputated my left leg. I told her, “Silly girl. If I had done that, I would have needed two compresses”.    

Being the farm gal that she is, rather than faint (guess she figured that, if I was making noise, I was probably OK), she helped me get things under control and made sure that there was an ample application of “Triple Antibiotic” (Wal-Mart, of course) to insure a sterile environment.

Despite things looking like a chainsaw massacre flick, the wound is healing well. It’s healing by secondary intent since I didn’t want to pay a couple of thousand dollars to rent a doctor for fifteen minutes, an ER for four hours or more, and to a own few stitches for a week. It will add a nice scar to my collection, though. Note to self: pay attention!

Princess Abbie Report: *SIGH*…on second thought….make that a pair of *SIGHS*. Just what do you do with a coon hound that wants to roust your chickens…..all…..day….long? You’d think that she’d be used to them invading her airspace and just make good friends of them. But, no; not my little doggie. She prefers perceiving the cluster of clucks as aliens from space or maybe opossums from the swamp. She stays jacked up all day long “protecting” her space with her hyper-coon-dogged-ness.

Granted, there’s not a lot for a chained up pooch to do all day. But, when I put her shock collar on and let her roam, she started corralling hens and making chewable Nerf balls out of them. That won’t work. I ended up with a crippled Rhode Island Red because of it so I’ll be looking for options on what to do about her freedom. 

The electric collar is set pretty tight but she can still go around front and closely by the sides of the house. I may just move her dog house out front and just let her bark and keep us up all night. I think I'll get Connie's vote, eh? Any bets on which way she'll vote? 

Of course, it’s only partly her fault. The stupid chickens get in her ranging area and she bounces them like a Jap Zero. I really don’t think she means to harm them. It’s just that they are just sooooooooo much fun to catch and play with.

You should have seen one hen who decided that she wasn’t going to be bullied! Abbie and the biddy were in a standoff with Abbie barking wildly at her. The hen actually did a banzai charge at Abbie which caught her off guard and she flinched backward. What a hoot! Abbie regained her regal composure and leaped back at the aggressor and the hen jumped out of the way only to re-attack and be repulsed again! After that attack, the hen beat a hasty retreat only to have Abbie grab a mouthful of her tail feathers. Not sure why, but the hen managed to slip out of the jaws that usually win tug of wars with Buicks and did so with all of her feathers intact. 

Varmint Report: we’re moving along in the rat suppression program. In fact, I just killed one tonight. I’m not a true hero, though. He was feeling mighty ill from eating some of the poison in the trap on the back porch. He was moving about one inch per hour when Connie found him and apprised me of his intrusion upon her domain. I grabbed the CO2 pistol and put him and Connie out of their respective misery. Connie the Canner doesn't do rats and believes that the only good rat is a dead rat; I obliged her post haste.

A couple of weeks ago, I covered the entire protected trash area with rat poison and it seems to be working. I’ve only seen a few rats in the coop since then but still pack my CO2 pistol just in case I need to expend 20 BB's and not hit anything. 

The next regimen will be flooding the fuzzer colonies with poison grain. If I have time, I may flood the holes with gasoline then stuff newspaper in the holes (probably a good idea to wear fire-retardant clothing to protect the retard who can't properly use a machete). 

I learned that trick from a retired commercial pilot who owned an orange orchard in Strathmore. I was his “go-fer” (you just know I had to do that) and helped him to employ his game plan (I don't recall anyone being blown up). I tried it in a hole next to the house and it seems to have worked. 

A plan that has been proven to work is parking all day in a hunting blind of some kind and bring a rifle of some sort to the game. One friend knocked off more than 30 fuzzers in one day using that method. Another friend advised that a friend of his whacked more than 20 with his pellet rifle as the squirrels sauntered within range. Sounds good to me! I just need.....a day off so I can get to whackin'! 

Chickenin' Report: Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep! That's how many new chicks we have! We had just parked our latest batch of rapidly growing chicks in the cage in the coop when friend and brother, Brian, called to advise that their neighbor caught more chicks. Of course, they're as cute as the previous bunch of fluff balls. 

Connie had remarked that she was glad that her dining room was chick free but now she's a "chicken granny" again. As usual, she just loves the little critters and can't wait to see what colors they will be when they fledge (other than the black ones). 

It won't be all that long and they'll be outside with the others and cranking out huevos like champions. Perhaps they'll teach the others since they aren't in production mode for now.  

There you have it: another episode of what’s happening at Rancho Relaxo, home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died), Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-cook), where things can get…interesting, and where… you just never know.

Rancho Smoke and Stuff

Left and below are shots of Princess Abbie experimenting with a new fuzzer detection system. Seems she's stumbled upon a here-to-fore unknown ability to sense minute vibrations and tremors in the ground with her back so no fuzzers can sneak up on her from any direction! Looks like she is fine tuning that skill to perfection. Notice that she's making sure that she can detect movement even on concrete! Amazing. You just know that she wouldn't want to be derelict in her watchdog duties.

This is "Hank" (so far) the rooster who is obviously riding herd on "his" girls. He's doing a great job of keeping them "entertained" but methinks that another rooster is needed. His harem is just too large even for his huge ego.

Here's some of the girls taking a dirt bath with which to get...clean. Sorta makes you glad you aren't a chicken, eh?

This is a "just because" picture. We were visiting someone at Sierra View Hospital and noticed this view. It was just one of those gorgeous days that begged for a picture to be taken. I obliged.

The next few pics show the various stages of the recent fire and includes shots from different vantage points. This one is from our back yard. You can't see the mountains which are only a couple of miles distant. Lots of folks had stuffed up heads and watery eyes. Everyone's clothes smelled like smoke. Ugh.

From the Wal-Mart parking lot in Porterville (almost 20 miles distant).

Another shot from our back yard (same day).

Downtown Springville on the main drag and looking over the top of the old "Gibson's Texaco Station".

Also downtown but at Bridge and Hwy 190. The fire station is just off to the right a short ways. Looking north  (magnetic north not true north) .

Looking south on Hwy 190 just north of the Post Office.

Lots of smoke, eh?

Gifford's Market in the background.

Looking east from Hwy 190 at Lower Globe Road. Black Mountain is on fire. 











Black Mountain again from Hwy 190 at the Golf Course.

Rancho Report: the fire is contained! The “Pier Fire” has been contained. There’s bit of smoke from a few “hot spots” yet but all is well in them thar hills! It is with great pleasure that there have been no reports of serious injury or losses, too! It’s a good thing, too, because folks around these parts were tired of sneezing, having watery eyes, and stuffed up heads.

We did lose the Wishon Power Plant and that’s probably because it was at the point of origin of the fire. Most likely, the fire was already out of control and already burning the place down by the time it was reported. Not sure of any kind of time line as to when it may be returned to service. 

Our kudos and great thanks to the firefighters who waged a month-long battle against this monster and won. We cannot thank them enough. As the firefighters changed shift, the local folks and the entire elementary school turned out for a flag and sign waving session  to express the community's gratitude for their tireless and super-human efforts to protect us. The fire was limited to 35K acres and there were no major losses. 

We’re getting our duck in a row for the big yard sale that is just around the corner. It’s difficult for the old people who live here at the ranch to believe that the “Apple Festival” is bearing down upon us! There is a lot of prep that goes into the event but most of it seems to get done. Each year it seems as though there is less and less energy available with which to tote those barges and lift those bails (for all you Paul Robeson fans out there). Perhaps in a few years, we’ll only conduct half a yard sale. *SIGH*.

There may not be as many venders this year as some folks because their “git up and go” has done “got up and went”. It takes a lot (and do mean a lot) of work to haul stuff hither and yon. And then, if it doesn’t sell, haul it back to yon and hither.

In other words, all is moving along fairly well here at the happy homestead…..sorta. Seems that the feat of existing on planet earth is met with stiff resistance from time to time.

Thankfully, we have such comforting amenities as …butter. Yep; butter. We were in the local (read: Porterville since Springville isn’t a real town yet) “Grocery Outlet” the other day. When we got there, we were fairly certain that a few good deals would present themselves because they always do. My mother had advised us that butter was on sale but, at the price she quoted, it was unlikely that there would be so much as a smear of the stuff to put on a single colonel of popcorn by the time we got there.

My! Were we surprised when we walked back to the dairy section!! I can only suppose that there aren’t that many fans of real butter around because we stumbled into thirty pounds (no typo here!) of real butter all hunkered down and just ready to be tossed into a shopping cart! Oh, it wasn’t merely butter, it was “Land O’ Lakes” butter which happens to be the premier butter around these parts! What’s that you say? How much per pound? Thank you for asking! We got eight four-packs at FOUR POUNDS for 2.27 (about 57 cents per pound)! Yes!! It was one day from the expiration date! Guess what? We didn’t care because Connie the Canner is also “Connie the Freezer Lady”!! It just so happened that we had a hole in our freezer that just exactly accommodated the entire stack!

That also means that, in addition to burning a few extra bagels and English mufflers (sic) for breakfast , Ol’ Tinkerin’ Ran will try making some “ghee”! Ghee is not merely drawn butter. It is that, to be sure, but it is further kept hot (but not boiling) until all of the butterfat and such is completely removed. The result is a centuries-old style cooking oil that preserves well and which adds a distinct flavor to (usually) Indian cuisine. My recipe list is quivering in anticipation.

Got beans? Yep! We surely have those too! Like my old grand pappy used to say, “Man does not live by bread alone. He has to have a pot of beans, too!”. Ol’ Rancho Ran can live without a lot of things but frijoles is just not one of them.

It went like this: the other day the Ol’ Rancher was smitten with a yen for a pot of beans and bacon. Now, it’s probably well known to most that he is rather…ahem…convenience oriented… and loves to employ whatever “devices of efficiency” that may be available. In the case of beans, he has a remarkable tool with which to convert these hard legumes into a tender bowl of pure pleasure. That would be the “Power Pressure Cooker XL 10 Qt” (159.95 @ Amazon.com). Talk about a labor-saving device! It can turn a rocking chair into a noon lunch in only a couple of hours! Wheew!

Anyway, now that I’m finished bragging, I tossed in four cups of dried pintos (do rinse and sort them first unless you like pressure-cooked dirt clods for dinner), a half-pound of really good smoked bacon, and about a tablespoon of salt. Now, it just doesn’t get much simpler than that, neighbor! 

I thickened them by mashing some of the beans to help make a nice “bean liquor”.  Connie grabbed a big baked potato that we had on hand from the potluck at church the day prior, mashed it between two plates, then fried it up good! Oh, my! It just doesn't get much better than that! I dug in! To quote Uncle Jed Clampet, “Whooooo, doggies!” 

Unfortunately, there seems be a downside attached to certain upsides. In this case our culinary delight was encumbered by a steep downside: we are sometimes concerned about having to track our sheets down the next morning. In fact, our nightly prayers may include a request that their retrieval not include a ladder or an embarrassing trip to the neighbor’s house. Reckon that this batch tasty bites may have been defanged somewhere down the line since our bedclothes were found intact and in place the next morning. The next round will be soon.

Fuzzer Supression Update: well, they’re still here. The mangy varmints are laying siege to my ranch (and everyone else’s ranch within about 300 miles that I can tell). The war is afoot and it includes slinging a lot of lead.

The other day was a “TWO-FER” day. One critter was must have accidently gotten into the neighbor’s happy hemp farm and had lunch there (a bold and unfounded assertion on my part, to be sure). He arrogantly got so close that the error in my scope sighting wasn’t going to make a difference. And, it didn’t. Ol’ Ran lowered the boom with his Ruger “Critter Git’R” and that was all she wrote.

Much to my amazement, as I was getting ready to park the Ruger, I spotted another one up close and was able to make sure that he didn’t attend his next family renuion. Ruger Ran (has kind of a ring to it, eh?)  – 2;  Mocking fuzzers – 0

In all honesty, I must report that there have been a couple of occasions where it seemed that I could have done better had I just thrown the rifle at them. Not sure why I couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn but there are a few brown fuzzers that will have a free time of it until I can regain my sighting or senses…or both. I guess that, when winter besets us and there’s nothing else to do (oh…sure, Ran!), I’ll just sight the thing in again and return it to its tack driving self. I’ve regularly drilled fuzzers at 150 yards when it was sighted in. Hope reigns supreme.

Chickenin’ Report: Geepers! Creepers! Where’d you get those peepers ?! We’ve got peeping chicks! A few weeks ago, friend and brother, Brian Johnson, and his wife, Angel, gave us two new chicks. Then, just a few days ago, he gave us a cute little white pullet. And now, “something new has been added” (for all you “Old Gold” fans out there)!

Connie the Canner, who was manning the post of “Washer Woman” for the day (she later switched to the role of “Head Cook and Feeder Bowl Washer” that evening), was hangin’ out der vashin’ on a bright, sunny, and mild afternoon. She kept hearing chirping noises coming from somewhere. After a few minutes and a quick check around the back yard, she determined that they were coming from inside the cute chicken house that friend and brother, Rob Tyrrell and wife, Sharon, had given us (along with its three feathery occupants). Lo and behold! She discovered that one of the little brown hens had hatched some chicks!

That, of course, meant that she had to call the flock master in for some help and advice. A quick call on the Baofeng UV-5R handy talkie radio (affectionately called the “Flungdung 5") and Ol’ Rancho Ran, with no time to change into his “Chicken Man” costume (which would have been nice because it has such a really cool matching cape), was on the scene to take charge.

I had checked inside the little chicken hootch the day prior and saw the brown brooder sitting on perhaps ten eggs. As far as I was concerned, the little bird was probably wasting her time given that we hadn’t given the least thought to breeding chickens much less attempting to do so. Breeding chicken is a chore and we have ample sufficiency of those around here. So, it’ll be the usual chickenin’ for the time being.

But now, what before my pretty brown eyes (my wife says I have pretty brown eyes) should appear but four less-than-a-day-old darling itty bitty tiny chicks! They were hardly more than egg yolks with legs. They were skittering about as though I was a huge white ogre or something. But, I managed to out maneuver them and snatched them up so that no other huge white ogre would chick-nap them and so no small grey black-masked omnivore would scarf them up for lunch.

Leaving our chirp twerps and their mother without a protective cage in an environment filled with a plethora of quite hungry carnivores didn’t sit well with us. The consensus was that they needed to be protected and kept warm (the temps just dropped down to Autumn levels at night).

So, you know ‘zactly what we did….again. We hauled their tiny little fuzzy carcasses into Granny’s kitchen. They were immediately given residence in a tub next to the tub where the other two chicks are being raised. Can’t you just see that on the menu? “Tub O’ Chicken”.

Chickenin’ Lesson: chickens are remorseless gluttons. If you throw food, they will come a’runnin’ at flank speed. Not only that, they’ll chase you down if they if they so much as think you have one small grain of rice in your hand! They automatically switch into a DNA-programmed maniacal mode and will mug you for it while fighting off the rest of the flock of ravenous fowls who are trying to do the same thing! Half of the hens will end up looking like participants at a Filipino cock fight! What a free-for-all! Defending yourself against a dumb cluck is one thing; but, being in the middle of about 70 chickens who think they’re sharks is when things get….interesting. A guy has to watch his step around perennially -hungry chickens, don’tcha know.

And, they will not stop eating until the last chunk of cracked corn or stale bread has disappeared. In fact, if the last morsel has yet to disappear and there’s still a mound of scratch there, they will have a colonel in their beak when they squawk their last cluck as their crop explodes (“The rooster has exploded, madam”…for all you “Fresno the Miniseries” fans out there). For a lack of a better term, I call it “suicidal eating”.  I’ve heard of “stuffed chicken breasts” and such but this really takes the “Hot Wings Special”.

Anyway, I’ve narrowed down the names for “Rooster Doe” (who is just “Hank” for now) to just two. I’ll either call him “Joe Cockerel” or “Big Bad Benny Biddy Banger”. Both have a real ring to them. I’m a real sucker for alliteration so I’m leaning towards “Benny”. We’ll see. Most likely, Connie the Canner will invoke a here-to-fore unknown ordinance against being stupid in public and just whack me with something long, large, and not quite soft. I may have to settle for something less artistic like, “Fearless Freddie Flocker”…uh…no. How about, “LugNut Leghorn”?  I may have to just settle for something simple like, “Little White Stupid Chicken” or maybe, “Plucky Clucky”.

After all of the experience of the previous two years, I’m still not sure we have a handle on the arcane art of “chickening”. But, we’re certainly making progress. If nothing else, I will probably end up with an honorary degree in “Chicken Psychology”. Just what I always wanted. 

There you have it: another episode of what’s happening at Rancho Relaxo, home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died), Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-cook), where things can get…interesting, and where… you just never know.