Rancho Quake-O

 Everybody, into the pool! The Howdens were slightly delayed in their move to Houston so that allowed them to come up for another visit! Connie made sure that we had a wading pool available on the patio so the kiddies could get wet and beat the heat (Ol' Ran just parked in front of the A/C unit and stayed dry).
This is Cozette, helping Warner and Kuyper while Moira is the bottom left. Baby boy Becker is being buoyed by big brother, Thatcher.

Connie the Canner is in the background and doing lifeguard duty. Thatcher is bottom left while Liesl, the second eldest child, is on the right. Mom, Trixie, is at the bottom.

Miss Moira is all wet! They all had a great time of it! There was lots of great food and lots of great fellowship for three days. To say that we'll miss the kids is an understatement.

Hello dolly! This is one of our much-used
dollies here at the ranch. It has two new solid "never-go-flat" tires (on sale at "Tractor Supply"). No more having to stuff "green snot" into the tubes!  Love it!

Talkin' 'bout my generation! This is the rancho stand-by 3.5KW generator. It recently needed a carb overhaul. She runs great so it'll be ready for the next local chili cook-off. Of course, the ol' rancher will need a...day off so he can  do that.
We actually entered a chili cook-off about 6 or so years ago and the generator came in handy! No, we didn't win but it was fun. Our chili was number two.

This is a small portion of the plums we have. Plum good!

Here's a shot of our girls doing what they do best. They're the Pullet Pecking Posse.

This little cutie is a "Golden Lace Wing Wyandotte". She'll sit on my leg/lap and will let me hold her. Wyandottes are just plain gorgeous birds. We may add a silver lace wing to our bird herd at some point.

Well! It’s August….2019! Doesn’t that just make you want to put the lime in the coconut and drink’em both down? Moving along…..

A whole lot of shakin’ goin’ on: one evening in July, Connie the Canner and the Ol’ Rancher were wending their way back home via one of our favorite supermarkets. We hadn’t been in there very long and were casually shopping when the floor began to do the hootchie kootchie , things around us started making noises, and stuff started falling onto the cement floor.

This not being his first quake, and since he was still able to maintain his footing because nothing was assailing him from above, the old dude just paused and took it all in. Some of the glass items met their demise on the floor while metal goods just clanged away and were sprawled about the place.

Connie had just simultaneously opened the door to one of the dairy cases with another shopper when the milk started shaking (there goes another good straight line). She glanced at him as he mouthed, “earthquake”. She quickly nodded in hearty agreement. Neither of them panicked or ran so all was well at the diary case.

The store manager was heard over the intercom advising that everyone should exit the store. Since the quake was over, we, in a most unhurried way, strolled out the door with a few of the others. Some stayed indoors. In only about a minute, everyone was back inside furiously texting the rest of the world about their latest adventure in California (as was yours truly).

Though we took a pretty good hit, we knew that, wherever the epicenter was, folks got jostled far worse. After catching the news on the Internet, we found that the quake's epicenter was Ridgecrest and registered 7.1 on the Richter Scale (doesn’t this make them Quakers or Shakers?). Ridgecrest is only about 80 air miles from us so that’s why we were tossed about as much as we were. 

There has been a myriad aftershocks so who knows what will happen next. 

Thar she blows!: not long ago (when lots of things happen around here), we had to rent a car because the Coop de Ville blew a heater hose. It could have been a lot worse had we not been close enough to make it the local AM/PM where we had access to lots of cold drinks and such. A quick call to AAA, a fifteen minute wait, and we were hauled to our preferred fix-it shop. A short time later, we are renting a car.

The Camry needed shocks and wasn’t safe to drive (it’s back from the mechanic’s place now). So, we rented a new Chevy Malibu from “Enterprise” (which was the only rent-a-car establishment in the almost-a-real-town of Hooterville, CA).

The sleek, shiny, sporty, black, beauty actually wormed its way a couple of inches into this “Ford Man’s” lil’ ol’ heart. The ol’ steam-powered Luddite Rancher had to admit that he was warming up to modern, fancy streamlined, transportation. But, it offered a couple of curve balls which could lead to a “swing and a miss” if not alert and conscious enough. Lots of “not alert and conscious enough” seems to be happening around here for some reason. I wonder if it’s age related (to quote my old friend, Lurch…."Uuuuuuuuuh").

For one thing, it had a set of large fobs that opened the doors and opened the trunk of the car. But…there…were…no…keys. OK, fine. But, I don’t think they should do that to old people. We want keys! Keys open things and cars are things! They start things and cars are things! Keys are our friends!

Anyone want to tell the big, tall, old, dude how he plans on starting the thing? Is this a hot-wiring contest or something? Did they hide the crank? Are the new cars now using old methods like magnitos that don’t need a key (think lawn mower)? 

When I got into the car, it had a large "Start" button. That’s a good start (sorry…couldn’t help my cornball self); but, don’t you have to turn things on before you can start them?! I have to do that with the Coop de Ville and every car I’ve owned for the previous fifty years! You have to do it in airplanes, for corn flakes (master switch, mag switch, then starter)! I don’t have to do that with the Kitchen Aide mixer but….a car?! I just looked at it like a four year old and almost didn't know what to do with it!

Hoping that there wasn’t a hidden magic master switch or a multi-function fob, the Ol’ Rancher took a leap of faith and depressed the big reddish button (and depressed was what he would have been if it hadn’t started). To his delight, and with a sigh of relief, the Malibu’s smooth-running six-cylinder engine instantly sprang to life. The old folks were good to go so they could prowl around showing off their shiny ride! Score one for "common conditioning". 

Whooo, buddy! Right from the git-go this little black cutie started slipping deeper under my hide. She was sleek and she was as peppy as a coon dog puppy. Man! Talk about “get up and go”! It made the Coop de Ville look like a Volkswagen with a personal problem! And, she handled like a dream and accelerated like a bullet!

Connie, the non-sports car enthusiast in the family, not wanting be jostled about until her molars and spine cried out for relief, felt it prudent that the old guy didn’t try to act like a young guy. That is to say she recommended that he shouldn’t try to prove the manufacturer’s advertised performance specs, confirm the cornering limits, or check out the seat belt’s restraining capabilities. Good idea, Hon (nothing like a prudent wife to help a guy behave, eh?).

Ah, but the old blood was starting feel like young blood again. I mean, after all, Ol’ Rapid Ran once owned (in his fearless, courageous, and foolish days) a drop-dead gorgeous, fire engine red, sexy, ’67 Ford Fairlane GT. She was equipped with beautiful white bucket seats and sported a big 390 CID engine cranking out 320 hp (and…yes…I am still kicking myself for trading it in for a 6 cylinder Mavrick "Grabber"). All of that muscle was coupled to a 4-speed tranny and it could (and did) shift from third to fourth at….105 mph! The blood temperature was rising as thoughts from the past roared up, flooded my memory, and fogged my eyeballs. 
  

On one occasion, at 4AM on the Illinois 20 Bypass in Rockford, young Randy decided to see just what his big, bad, boogey machine would do if he shoved the foot feed to the floorboard and held it there for a spell. Frankly, it was a bit hairy! After shifting from third to fourth at over 100 mph and giving the gas pedal no slack, I watched as the clock was still climbing north from 130 mph! That's all, folks! I lifted the pedal from the metal and let her cool down. That's the first and last time I've gone that fast without having a Cessna strapped to my fanny.  

I still cringe when I think that I did that while running bias-ply tires. Had one of those rubber coated chunks of fiber separated, they would still be looking for pieces of me and the car from Rockford to Cherry Valley to this day.

In any case, just because I didn’t fully check out the Malibu doesn’t mean that I couldn’t, was afraid to, or wasn’t tempted. Wisdom prevailed….this time.

Yes! I want fries with that!: on our recent trip to Torrance, we had the pleasure of having din din at really cool place called the “Island’s Restaurant”. It’s a fancy burger joint, to be sure, and you just know that burgers are our friends! Not unexpectedly, we had to wait awhile for the no-few hungry burger lovers to sate their hunger, tidy up, then head out leaving their booth for us. That truly is “life in the big city”. 

The burger was great but what had me by the nose, pallet, teeth, and tongue was the heap o’ fries that they served… in a big ol’ basket...which was conveniently placed near Ol’ Fang, the French fry connoisseur! Whooo, doggies! When Connie asked if I could smell them, I said, “Oh, yeah…all the way to the back of my skull!”. Needless to say, the old fries lover  got his fill that evening. 

Just pullet: our fourteen almost-layers-but-still-cacklers are going great. You should see them! They are big, beautiful, and healthy pullets to be proud of! With this bunch of feathers, time was taken to coddle them a bit. They are much tamer than the previous batch of beaks. The Ol’ Feather Farmer doesn’t care much for spooky chickens.

I’m getting back in the swing of speaking Chickenese, too. That seems to go a long way with keeping them at ease (I wasn’t as rusty as I thought I was). Most are amenable to being held and will follow me around like I was their momma (type casting for a dumb cluck, I should suppose). It shouldn’t take long to get back to being the “Flockmeister” (or flock-monster depending upon who you talk to).

Anyway, the ol' hen herder also gets to wear his “chooze” (chicken coop shoes) when wending his way about the coop. You are probably hearing a bit of a Spanish accent but I do live in California (eh, simpaticos y los buenos?). They are in such ratty condition that there’s little that can be done to make them worse (even in a chicken coop). 

For whatever the dynamics, the “chickening” routine and other discomfort zones are returning. But, it is different now because we have fewer birds and they aren't laying yet. Once a birdbrain, always a bird brain, I suppose.

Chooze update: the old ratty chooze have been ditched for a nice pair of “Crocs”. I just received three nice pairs of “Crocs” so one of them will be used as coop shoes and garden sloshers (or, “gasloshers” as I like to say).

Good gravy!: life is just a culinary bummer if you don’t add a batch of biscuits and gravy to your life once in a while. So, the other day, in full bummer avoidance mode, Connie, the “Good Gravy Grannie”, made life way better for the ol’ rancher. She fired up the skillet and oven and brewed up some fresh hot biscuits and bacon gravy. Add to that some good ol’ creamy butter and you can see why there was a post-prandial smile on Rancho Ran’s greasy mug! 

Any day of the week a plate of biscuits and gravy will keep your backbone and belly button from bumpin’! You can bet that he’ll soon be back for more of that southern goodness!

Taking a leek: Ol’ Chef Ran has wanted to scratch build a pot of potato and leek soup for probably twenty years. But, he just didn’t seem to get around to it. So, since there was a bunch of ripe leeks in the garden, spuds in the pantry, and other spices, ingredients, and tools on hand, he grabbed the leeks, snatched his apron, and went to work!

It wasn’t really that big of a deal since there are only a few ingredients and spices. The leeks were prepped, the spuds were peeled and chopped up, and the garlic was diced up. The half-and-half was readied, the chicken stock prepped, and the parsley was hauled out. All but the parsley was plopped into a pan with chicken stock in it. After bringing to a boil then simmering until the spuds were soft, the soup was allowed to cool a bit. Then it was tossed into the food processor where it was pulsed a few times. The result was some really good highfalutin non-Okie soup (the Ol’ Rancher being a good CIO – California Improved Okie, don’tcha know)!

There was enough to share with my mother who loves potato and leek soup, too. I’m sorry that I’ve overlooked this recipe for so long; amends will be made to my tongue and stomach.

Mas verdes buenas: everyone knows that there’s only two things that money can’t buy and that’s true love and home grown tomatoes (thank you Guy Clark!). So, while his apron was still hot, Ol’ Chef Boy How-Dee decided to whomp up a big ol’ beef stew and use some of those big red beauties he had just picked!

Connie the Canner (ever alert to the potential for aberrant behavior of her hubby boy in the kitchen) noted that it was a bit warm for a hot stew. Well….yeah. I guess there’s no harm in using facts around here especially since it was about 102 outside. 

Somehow that message didn’t get to my tummy and its amazing appetite. In response, it seemed appropriate to ply her with such reasoning as the need to use up a bunch of fresh home grown tomatoes. After all, who wants their maters moldering on the counter and their celery melting in the fridge? And, it just seemed reasonable to grab a chunk of chuck roast and lighten the load on the freezer, too. With an almost hidden grin and a slight rolling of the eyeballs, she acquiesced to my “kitchen logic” (bless her heart). 

Well, you can probably imagine the next move altogether. Right! Out came the big bad beautiful “Power Pressure Pot” (the cooker formerly known as the “Power Pressure Cooker”). The ol’ 6’ 2” 220 pound apron hanger and bottle throttler grabbed his favorite sharp kitchen whacker and went to work on a new culinary creation!

When the steam had settled, what came out was what most everyone calls a “beef stew”. But, I just called it “Rancho Ran’s DGS” (translation: “Rancho Ran’s Darn Good Stew”). It just seemed to taste better with that appellation for some reason. And, the heat didn’t seem to affect our appetites. Amazing.

For the next feast we’ll be using some of Connie’s freshly made spaghetti sauce! You can only imagine how good fresh home-made spaghetti sauce is when it is made with tomatoes you grew yourself! Doggies! That stuff is good!

Plum full: the plums trees around this area are ripening up and there are plums galore! We have three loaded trees so have more than enough for ourselves and plenty to share.

Well, so does everyone else! One dear neighbor, Joyce, has a tree that is so loaded with huge ripening plums that the limbs are starting to break! So, she called to ask if we would come over and help ourselves to a bunch of them. We most gladly did that, of course. Then, a few days later after others had taken some, the tree was still over-burdened so she called again. We came again and hauled of a bunch more! How cool is that?!

Of course, a lot of them were found at church on Sunday and were shared with others. Everyone was plum full!

Maggots, anyone?: I thought not. Maggots are about as welcomed as a cactus at a nudist colony. However, you may be surprised to know that such weird things can help out a lot around a chicken ranch. 

Here’s the background story: we have a compost pile out in the “back not-even-40” by the orange trees. But, we keep compost storage barrels near the chicken coop so we don’t have to walk so far (you do remember that old folks are running the ranch, right?). The barrels are filled then they are hauled to the big pile. Note that all of the compost is vegetable matter which, by and large, eliminates any offensive odor.  

Recently, we tossed in a bunch of various and sundry melon rinds, wilted fridge tailings and such. They were mostly furry, green, lab experiments. Who knows; we could have the next big penicillin breakthrough!

What happened next was a big first here at the ranch. The other day (when lots of things happen around here), after the veggies had melted into a black tar-like goo (thanks to our hot summer days), the Ol’ Rancher was about to toss more gunk on top of the goo. Much to his surprise, he noticed that there were “things” moving about in the big metal can. You should have seen the immense gladness that descended upon on him when he saw that there were thousands upon thousands of squiggly maggots all alive and well in his  compost barrel! In no time at all, huge wads of big ol’ fat maggots were being hoisted up and hauled to the hungry hen horde!

The girls got to work quicker than a vegan can drop-kick a ham! They were pecking so fast it was amazing! Not one of the little buggers got away. Those feathery gals were merciless at gobbling up their free protein (free protein is our friend!). It was great!  

An attempt will be made to maintain the maggot culture to see if we can continue collecting these unbecoming freebees.

On top of Ol’ Swampy: Ol’ Swampy is sure earning its oats this year. Summer has finally pounced on us and the old swamp monster was ready to put the kybosh on it. It was 105 degrees the other day (when lots of things happen around here). But, when we got back from Hooterville, it was a comfortable 79 degrees at Rancho Relaxo (aka Casa Go Pee Pee)!  A couple of hours later, the temp had only raised one degree! Most swamp coolers can be counted on to keep the temperature differential at about 15 degrees. However, Ol’ Swampy was keeping it at 25 degrees difference! Love my swamp cooler!

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) and Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-cook): where the air smells like your grandma’s kitchen (or like my maternal Grandma Kitchen): where things can get...interesting, and where...you just never know.