Gadzooks! We've got zukes! These are our two (yes, only two!) zucchini plants! We just started harvesting a couple of days ago. How or why the gophers didn't take them out is beyond me but I'm exceedingly glad that they didn't! They did get more than half of the tomato plants (about ten) and most of my potato crop. The potatoes were a lark anyway and an experiment to see what would happen if I planted them instead of just tossing them in the compost pile (they started sprouting).
Once in awhile, things can happen that can blow your ever lovin' mind. I was at the back end of the barn at the corner and picked up a coil of wire. The barn door was open (at an angle) since I had been going in and out all morning. Without so much as a thought, I tossed the coil of (useful) wire up toward the front so I could take it inside and park it with my wire collection in there. It hit the door and slid in behind one of the vertical brace bars!
I may just leave it there in case I need to be
amazed at some point in the future.
Well….it’s
August and it’s a “no frost” zone….again.
Doesn’t that just freezer burn your leftover turkey? I’d rather wrestle
Darth Vader for his helmet than endure another blistering summer. At least
we’re not dealing with a drought attack….so far.
Rancho
Report: things are moving along here at the homestead. Not a lot other than a
bunch of things have happened since the previous report.
For
instance, “Muley”, the big 26 hp Craftsman lawn and garden tractor, decided to
throw a shoe. The PTO clutch up and quite in the middle of very good mow job
being performed by the Ol’ Rancher. Imagine the look on the guy’s face when, in
the middle of a very deep cut of grass in the front yard (and only half done),
the clutch up and let go! The blades stopped spinning and no grass was
being mown. No, the mild mannered rancher didn’t curse the thing. But, it
didn’t get invited to the next BBQ either.
We have options (and options are our
friends); the rig will be taken down to “Porterville Agri-Home” for a good fixin’
along with the “Troy Bilt” 4.5 hp power pressure washer that hates me and
won’t start. I need that big baby to be able to reach higher places that my
other lower powered washer can’t get to.
UPDATE: I
did look under the mower while I was loading it onto the trailer. It appears
that there is a dead rabbit stuck in the belts (is this not the place where
things get “interesting"? ). So, it may not be the PTO clutch after all.
Not long ago
(when lots of things happen around here), I shot a wabbit because they were
starting to proliferate at an alarming rate (who woulda thunk?). I gave the
wabbit to Abbie since she has been so faithful and could surely use a nice dead
wabbit for purposes of her chosing. Apparently, she chose to eat part of it and haul the
remainder to front yard where it immediately got lost in the tall grass. Can
you see where this is heading?
So, I still took the tractor down to Agri-Home
to get my mower to mow again. I can actually fix the thing but I can’t get
under it or park it high enough to get under it; it's twice the weight of the previous mower and I'm not about to attempt to set a "dead lift" record for old people. They have a nice ramp and lift
to work with.
By the way,
these folks know their stuff and provide excellent service. I went to high
school with the GM’s brother so we get along fabulously. I figure another trip
or two there and we’ll dang near be related.
Ol’ Swampy
is cruising along like a champ. We get the maximum cooling that you can expect
from such a creature. If you have an evaporative cooler that has been matched
for the task to which it is assigned, there’s about 15 degrees or so of temperature
difference between inside and outside air even when the outside
air temperature hits the 100 degree mark. We’re getting a solid
20 degrees below OAT.
Coupled with
a few fans to stir the air around a bit, we stay comfortable (and you know that comfort is our friend at this
ranch!). If it gets too near the hubs of Hell around here, we just switch on
“Ol’ Frosty”, the big wattage hungry A/C unit, and tame things back down to a “no
sweat level”. Suffering is not allowed
on my watch.
Dear friend
and brother, Phil Wasson in Torrance, helped bring Rancho Ran somewhat further
into the 21st century, bless his heart. I trust that you don’t mind
me bragging on the caliber of some of my friends, but concerning Brother Phil,
I must do so.
He just
happens to be one of the sharper tacks in the box and is someone who stays on
top of things. My bet is that he’s so well informed that Jeopardy contestants
make way for him! That’s not a joke. This man is unreal! It’s not just that
he’s a walking encyclopedia. No, sir! He’s the kind of intellect that writes
the programming for talking dolls and toys! He is an information sponge the
likes that I’ve never seen! When I grow up, I want to be more like him!
On our
recent trip to SOCAL, we had the opportunity to stop in and visit with him.
What a great event that was! Not only was Phil there, but two other talented intellects,
Monte Julian and Michael Laube were there!
While I
didn’t know anyone but Phil, Connie knew Michael from decades ago when they
attended the same church! What a hoot! Of course, they had a great time of
filling in the blanks and chatting about old times. It was a major blast to get
to know these men and you can bet that we will do it again.
To make a
long story longer, not long ago, Phil had mentioned Amazon’s “Blue Dot Echo”
device that was capable of voice recognition and could retrieve a myriad of
things from the Internet. Because it was a staple at his home, he felt it would
be a real asset at the old folk’s home and that we should have one. Would you
believe, I balked at the chance (even though it was on sale and ….sales are my
friends)?!
I had read a
few things about it and had a few YouTube videos that had “Blue Dot Echo” ads
plastered on it. But, though I’m an old “Starfleet Academy” cadet who loves
sci-fi, it didn’t quite gel with me. I guess it’s just more comfortable to look
up the spot price of silver online than to ask a disembodied voice for an
answer. Maybe I’m holding out for a Jedi light sabre. Reckon old people don’t
like change.
Anyway, before
we departed for home, Phil demonstrated his Echo which blew us away! We even had
the next day’s weather forecast for Springville in seconds! The thing was
answering questions and gaining access to podcasts and such! Wild! Then, he
handed us a spanking new “Amazon Blue Dot Echo”! How awesome is that?! It was
time to experiment!
After
huggies all around, we departed with the amazing little device. Once home, it
was initialized and put to the test. It connected to the home network without
any issues. To quote Jackie Gleason….”And, awaaaaay we go!”.
After
tinkering with it for a goodly while, I tried some sleep sounds and came up
with “Thunderstorms”. That one is now a favorite! At beddy-by time, I call out,
“Alexa. Play thunderstorms” and get this wonderful rain storm with thunder in
the background. Ahhhhhhhh. How sweet it is (Gleason was just so cool)!
So, that’s
the partial story of how I got dragged further into the 21st
century. Another part is when I got a “real” computer in 2000. But, that’s a
story for a different post. I may even post how I almost didn’t get dragged out
of the 20th century!
My greatest
of thanks to Phil who helped me get out of an unnecessary deep rut! Progress is
being made! I may even trade in my flip-phone (the dumb one) for a new smart
iPhone or such! Zowie!
The Chickenin’
Report: it’s time for the news from “The Cackle Hatchery” (better known as “The
Dirty Bird Factory”) and there are some
updates.
In the last issue,
a big healthy-but-loud-proud-and-aggressive “blue Polish crested” rooster
became part of the herd of beaks. His former name was unacceptable (I mean, who
wants a rooster named “Steven Tyler”?) so we started trolling for names.
The winner
was none other than Connie’s daughter, Brandi Peterson, who has sense enough to
live in Washington State (I’ve lived there so I know whereof I speak). After
learning about our chicken crisis of sorts, she suggested that the feisty little
big guy should be given the moniker, “Cluck Norris”. There was no
way I could disagree. So, “Cluck Norris”, it is.
Cluck had to
sit a spell in a quarantine coop for a week or so prior to us allowing him to
run with the other birds. It usually takes at least that long for a chicken to
forget where he came from and get acclimated to the new digs. It helped having
four hens to watch over, too. What rooster worth his scratch will up and
abandon a harem of hens? He took to his appointed task with all alacrity and
even followed them into the coop that night. He hasn’t missed a night making it
back in.
Of course,
he’s still new and getting used to having a big, bad, overweight, middle aged,
chicken sitter to contend with. He’s still used to being the supreme authority
in charge of the yard. That was about to change.
I have to
hand it to our goofy looking fowl. He truly knows his rooster stuff and isn’t
afraid to flaunt it. However, he seems to be more into himself than the girls.
Ol’ Pedro and Wing Low used to give the girls no rest at all but Cluck just
wanders around crowing (he may be related to Warren Beatty). I’m hoping the
plot will thicken with this chicken ‘cause I’d love to see what kind of weird
offspring he produces.
Being in a
new yard and all, I expected him to be a tad bellicose. I wasn’t disappointed.
When I made my appearance in the back yard to attend the garden boxes, the
rowdy rooster charged me within a couple of minutes. Though this critter is
Polish, you would think that he was Japanese. He came at me like a Kamikaze
pilot! Thankfully, I was armed with some heft and know how to use it.
Now, let it
be known that I ain’t afeared of no critter that’s only about 1/37th
of my fightin’ weight. I was more afraid of hurting myself laughing than being
attacked by a large ego encased in a bundle of feathers.
But, oh, what
he show he gave! It was great! He ran full apace straight into my outstretched
foot. Boom! No score! That caused him to hurl himself back into the air and
flail around because there was nothing really to hit.
First rule
of warfare: never underestimate your foe. Uh, what happens to you if you are 225
pounds of over confidence engaged in battle and think that you are invincible?
Right. You get whacked! The little cluck with lots of pluck wouldn’t give up
and made a mad dash for a “close in” fight. I did, after all, have a three foot
reach on the little feather bin. There were no options for him; he had to come
in tight. He deftly and swiftly dodged my imposing outstretched foot and launched
himself against my other leg.
Surely,
everyone knows about “cockfights” and how roosters have large….think “really
big”….spurs on their legs with which to gore an opponent. The miniature Samurai
thrust his swords at my leg and drew first blood! Second rule of warfare: don’t
wear shorts in combat (especially a cockfight). *SIGH*. I had to hand it to the
little guy. He was a worthy opponent. There isn’t another time that I can recall
giggling while losing blood.
Thankfully,
I wasn’t much concerned about the wounds. I’ve been hurt worse opening a can of
tuna. The scratches would add to the long list of “character marks” I had
accrued through my decades of life on planet Earth. I’m sure that the blood
loss wasn't sufficient enough to even stain old aunt Freda’s fresh Sunday hanky.
Still, this
wasn’t a fair fight by any stretch of the imagination (not that you could tell
the proud shaggy-headed strutter that….the chicken, not me). After a few times
of losing (now that his opponent was paying attention), Cluck settled down and
realized that I won the first round and gave up the fight. He marched off in a
huff and far from being ready to sign a peace treaty.
After a few
more brief rounds of losing (including a couple of sneak attacks from the
rear…no dummy, that bird), our newly incorporated fowl now knows who the stud
duck at the ranch is. He is minding his P’s and Q’s and no longer attacks the
huge opponent. But, I don’t show off by deliberately provoking him or purposely
invading his crowing space.
Connie the
Canner is not his friend and is still a bit uncomfortable with him and doesn’t
trust him. She is considering packing heat with her when she goes outside (think
BB gun). She is (rightly) concerned that, though he knows that I’m the boss, he
may attack someone else. So, his mugshot is on “Craig’s List” and he will be
going to a new home for the more-than-reasonable price of 20 bucks (which will
buy us at least two non-combative pullets).
Princess
Abbie Report: the “snout with no doubt” is faithfully executing her duties
around here. She hasn’t performed a significant capture or kill lately but that
doesn’t mean that she isn’t paying attention. The corner reefer has been treed
a couple of times but nothing came of it. I’m not sure why since her abilities
are nonpareil and there’s no snot in that snout. Oh, well. Mysteries abound at
this ranch.
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 the air smells like a giant hot loaf of bread, where things can get…interesting,
and where… you just never know.
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