RANCHO CRISPO
Click on the pics to enlarge them
This is Missy saying, "I just wanted you to see how pretty I am and to show you my beautiful heterochromic eyes!". I had hoped to use the electric fence to keep her contained so she could roam about the yard but things are just not working out as hoped. Trying to fit her with the collar is like trying to put a bicycle inner tube on a gallon of galloping pudding. We need to let our flock of feathers free range and can't do that until she gets the message that "free range" doesn't mean "free lunch". That's not likely to happen soon.
Here's another shot of the new baby birdies. I'm heap proud of Feral Fawcett. She's a great momma bird. This is her third batch of fluff balls. I pity the person, pullet, or pompous pollo that tries to mess with her chicks! It wouldn't be pretty!
This is the weather forecast for this week. The updated versions shows the highest temp to be 112 to maybe even 113. I've seen these temps before but wasn't looking forward to seething them again.
"Uh...look....I've been up all night guarding this place. I've chased off two cats, one coon, and a MiG 21. Unless you have a doggie treat or want to lay some lovin' and scratchin' on me, keep it down!".
It’s September! How’d that happen?! That can’t be right! I’m not through with spring cleaning yet!! OK….I’ll hush up my mug and move along. *SIGH*.
I’ll take door number three, Monty!
Fun fact: a flat wooden spatula is called a “flatula”. Every kitchen needs at least one of these, don’tcha think?! In fact, I may opt for a franchise so I can sell these babies.
Well….here we are in the “…berrrrrr” months. The problem is that the temps are still scorching along like they’re being preheated by a propane torch.
I really liked living in Idaho where it was 42 degrees and raining on the Fourth of July and and there was frost on the pumpkin at the end of September. Around here, on average, we don’t dip below 95 degrees until the third week in September. Since it’s 108 degrees outside today with more of the same for a few days, it may take a tad longer for us to drop to even that mark. Our lows are in the upper 70's.
Jungle Jive - Things are still humming along around here. Some of it is “ho-humming” but, it’s humming nonetheless. For instance, the front yard has regained its ability to completely hide a herd of local mountain lions and a wild turkey or two. I’m almost afraid to tackle the mess because there may be something lurking out there than I can’t out run. I’m just not in the mood to get eaten by something I disagreed with.
All of the motorized farm equipment is fueled and ready but it’s difficult to face the day when I have to put them to use. The first rattle will be made by the big Echo weed whacker. The grass (which is starting to look a lot like Buffalo Grass from the Kansas Prairie) is too high to cut without using the whacker first. Add to that the fact that, even in the morning, it’s pretty warm. It was 77 degrees for a low the other day: not at all inviting.
Rancho Seco - It’s been a scramble to keep things hydrated, too. We’ve lost most of our orange production and may have lost half the trees. The small avocado tree almost bit the dust (literally) but I think it’s salvageable. Ditto the small plum tree start. The asparagus ranch (all three square feet of it) may petrify soon. Not sure that I care since it’s mostly an ornamental experiment anyway. The two pomegranate trees are quite hardy and seem to have a tap root that reaches down close to the water table. They keep getting overlooked but they are still alive. A hose was finally tossed on one of them and second one is next.
Special attention was given to the 15 grape vines our front, though. But, I almost forgot about the four vines on the pump house. Those may have to be replanted. We’ll see. It’s been a hassle since I didn’t get a single bunch of grapes this year due to the birds and such. My huge grape bunches simply disappeared in a flash. Nothing was left…nothing. Bummer.
Can it! - Connie the Canner has been in 8th over gearing (she uses a 13 speed transmission, don'tcha know) getting ready for the winter months. She’s putting away hamburger and even bell peppers: all of this without neglecting the rest of the rancho chores and trabajo. I’m not sure how she does it.
What really helps is that she picked up hundreds (!) of canning lids at “Falling Prices” for pennies on the dollar. She got a couple of hundred lids one time for about a dollar (4 packages of 50 at .25 each). On our last outing there, she picked up a lot of rings, too. She was stoked!
Beans! Beans! The Musical Fruit! or Don't Let the Wind Catch You Crying –
One of the canning sprees lately has been to can pinto beans and ham hocks. The hocks were on a special sale at “Grocery Outlet” so we loaded up on what was left of them. The sale price was 1.69lb while the regular price is twice that and expected to be almost double that again when the new “anti-eating” laws go into effect.
This is to say that we live in nutty California where the card carrying communist governor, Gavin “Gruesome” Newsom, has passed legislation where, if you don’t treat your hogs like they are your grandchildren (including gifts for Christmas), you can’t sell them in California. Bacon prices have nearly doubled and are headed north from there. I suspect bacon will be at 10 dollars per 12 oz. package (13.33lb) within a year (mark it down).
The pinto beans were already on hand (man does not live by bread alone; he has to have pinto beans….trust me!) so everything just fell right in place for the chief cook and canner.
After rinsing and “picking” the beans, they were cooked to perfection in the big “Power Pressure Cooker” (which can be, and was, used as a crock pot). From there, she fired up Big Bertha, the big 22 quart pressure cooker, and had at it.
Wouldn’t you know that a couple of the jars didn’t seal properly so somebody needed to rescue the beans before they perished from neglect. And, you just know who stepped up to the plate (bowl, actually) and volunteered to remove any concern about those poor beans and tasty ham hocks going to waste. God forbid that I should permit this to trouble the canner lady.
So, that’s what we had for dinner that night. Had it not been for the fact that the Ol’ Rancher is on a casual diet, there would have been a pile of fried taters (we're talking about one that was difficult to see over the top of) to dig into, too!
Alas, a man has to know his limitations (I learned that from Clint Eastwood in 1973). I settled for a handful of buttered sourdough bread. This is true “comfort food” and I felt really comforted that night.
Of course, there is another concern. There’s no such thing as “windless lentils”. Not all beans are the same, of course, but all pintos are notoriously windy. This is especially true when they are mixed with a goodly portion of pork.
And, it is why lots of folks eschew this tasty staple of life. It’s understandable. I mean, just who purposely wants to hear a tuba playing the William Tell Overture at midnight? Who wants to risk having to hunt for their covers in the morning? Something had to be done!
“Beano” to the rescue - Yes, folks, the night was saved by our friend, “Mr. Beano”. In case you hadn’t heard the good news, “Beano” is a special enzyme that takes the wind out of the sail of any pinto bean ever made. You just add a few drops to your bowl and you can breathe easy (and without a Mil. Spec. gas mask).
The next go around will likely be beans and bacon or white beans and ham. In any case, “Mr. Beano” will have a special place at our table.
Clucking Crew - The chickens are doing marvelously well and are laying regularly (it may have something to do with the fact that I advised them that I would let Missy be their new chicken sitter if they didn’t straighten up and lay right). That’s good news because we have gotten used to having fresh eggs around here. There is a world of difference between store-bought and home grown egg, let me tell you!
The other day (when lots of things happen around here), the water mister finally got overhauled and was working nominally. It was repositioned so that the slight cross breeze would direct the mist onto the chickens and not out the other side. The idea was to avoid having baked chickens at the end of the day.
That part is actually working but (….yeah…another but…) can you guess what happened when the Ol’ Rancher forgot to turn the water off for the night? Hooooooo…..boy. The next morning, when it was time to feed my dirty birdies, there was a nice mud hole waiting for me to slip and slide in. Great. The water didn’t get turned on again for a couple of days so the “Happy Hen Inn” could dry out. Thankfully, no chickens croaked because of that faux pas.
Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo: home of Rancho Ran, the world's least-most greatest authority: home of the Yo-Yo twins and home of a retarded duck: home of Connie the Canner, the world's greatest side-kook and CEE (Chief of Everything Else): where the air smells and where alliteration reigns supreme: where being modern is optional and where there are no slaves to fashion: where the eggs are always mostly fresh: where things can get...interesting: where it's all news to me and where...you just never know.
