Rancho Bloomo

Here are a few shots of the ranch: 

 Here's the vines! I am amazed that they all started growing this spring! There was legitimate concern that some of them hadn't made it through the drought!

These are our germaniums that, despite neglect and drought, are still thriving! I hit them with a bit o' water from time to time along with a handful of 15-15-15 fertilizer. 

Looking back the other direction (north) 

The front of Rancho Relaxo. Next week, our groundsman will be whacking off the lower limbs of the trees so that we can see more of the place. 

Here's "Tojo" and "Wooly-Pulley" ready for duty. This morning was "dump run day" so we filled the trailer up to the gunwales, tarp'd it, then strapped it all down. I'll be tired for a couple of days. 

The largest of our apples trees that we planted four years ago. It produces little fruit and little growth. I think I'm going to invent a new species and call it an "apple-less bush". 

Another shot of the germaniums. I call them "cock-a-maim-iums" for some reason or another.

Connie's Pansies. They are thriving!  

Flowers are our friends!!

Pansies from the opposite direction

Tojo and Wooly Pulley

This is a 15 year old apple tree in the back yard. We do get apples by they are usually smallish and are not, by any means, in abundance.

This is looking north over in "Triple R" on "Mustang Drive". We're on our way home from a service call. 

Pleasant Oak Drive eastbound at Montgomery Ranch.

Pleasant Oak Drive still eastbound about 1/2 mile short of Lower Globe. Tom Maino's huge pond is on the immediate right. 

Lower Globe at Hwy 190 looking north. Notice anything unusual about these pics? Yep...they're all filled with GREEN!

 Clara Cluckenspiel. She's one of our larger Buff Orpingtons. Sorry for the lousy picture. I was testing a new camera (5 bucks at a yard sale!! Zowie!). It's a late model job but it has about the same performance as my Kodak CX-4300 from 2001. It's not bad in open sunlight and it makes for a great digital audio recorder!

Here's the clucking crew doing obeisance to  the "Flock Master". Naw....they're just gettin' down on the collards. 

Holy moly, Ravioli! It’s April! And…guess what? I finally did it; I took a day off…so’s I could get some work done around this place! Things were just getting too far behind and something drastic had to be done! 

One of the things accomplished was the removal of the dreadful eyesore that used to be our carport. It was a real mess and someone (guess who?) needed to pull a “Johnny Five” on it (“Disassemble!”). After a couple of cups of soul-stiffing java, the entire cover and skirting was deftly removed (ain’t I just a real professional puller-offer?). That took enough time and energy to earn the ol’ puller a nice lunch provided by my faithful side-cook, Connie the Canner. Speaking of energy, I’m still trying to figure out when I stopped being a “mover and shaker” and became a “crawler and a trembler”.

Then, a couple of days later (hey…I don’t get in a hurry around here. My hurry’er is stuck in low gear), I grabbed my trusty Craftsman 12 volt power drill and a nut driver and pulled the frame tubing apart. Once disassembled, it got stacked alongside the driveway until another opportune time arises (another day off, no doubt) and it can be hauled to storage (probably the pole barn). It was break time anyway.

Its removal will aid greatly in the old folks’ renormalization of the front of their home (pictures…some day). Local folks will soon think that humans have returned to their neighborhood and all will be well. The nightly parade of neighbors with pitchforks and torches won’t be missed. Of course, we’ll miss the myriad cars coming in from all over California to take pictures of what they thought was the filming of the disaster flick, “It Fell From Outer Space!”. They all thought that it was a real “Twitter” scoop, no doubt.  

Of course, most of y’all don’t believe in “UFO’s” and space aliens. My response it is, “Oh, really!” (no relation to O'Reilly). If we just look around for a second, we find ourselves eyebrow deep in proof that brain sucking aliens have already been here and gone! They strip-mined the entire planet leaving us with more-ons to rule over us less-ons (thank you, Smothers Brothers!) !  Proof positive!!

Moving along…..Princess Abbie Report: thanks to our ever vigilant (well…mostly vigilant…well…usually vigilant….uh….sometimes vigilant) short haired coon hound, we are never quite sure what to expect when she erupts into a fit of baying. The other day she treed the pickup….again. “OK”, says I. “It’s another rat and she wants to snatch it like she did the other one last year”. Never wanting to deny a good coon dog an opportunity to catch “something” (given the paucity of coons lately), I popped open the hood to see if a rat would show its head. Can you imagine how surprised Ol’ Rancho Ran was when, right there at the back corner of the engine compartment sat a …..bunny wabbit!! 

Of course, bunny wabbits don’t usually hang around for a cup of tea and a bit of jawing. That thing blasted right out of the compartment and away he went! Apparently, it was Abbie’s day off because she watched it as it bounded for freedom and from her unyielding mandible. Part of the matter was that she still had on her electric collar. However (there are just too many of those around here) and for reasons we’re still trying to figure out, she had earlier been sauntering around the entire neighborhood totally oblivious to the shock collar! One minute the collar seemed to be in control and in another, she is in control wandering off and getting into mischief (despite a new battery and the collar testing OK and after tightening her collar).

Then, a couple of days later, it must have been her day on because we heard her baying like there’s no tomorrow. Only this time she treed the refrigerator. The good news is that I just knew there wasn’t a bear hiding behind it. That meant there was no need to fetch my blunderbuss for protection.

Abbie just wouldn’t give it up so I started “shaking” the fridge (don’t try this at home…it takes too long to clean up frozen stuff that gets flung from the freezer). Then, I rocked it back on its side (ditto… you slow learners paying attention?). When that happened, the barking stopped and there was a flash of black and white that tore past the rear of the ice box (you old people still call them that, eh?). In the blink of an eye, she had a mouthful of the too-slow rat (probably so full of my rice that it could hardly waddle)! She garnered my fullest praise but still wouldn’t let me take her prize until she was through making sure it wasn’t moving. Then, it was mine to haul off (‘cause Connie …doesn’t….do….rats…at all…nowhere…. no how… no way…no day). Abbie -1; Rat – 0.

Chickening Report: my gals are pretty close to being up to speed on their production. We’re stalled around the 3 dozen per day mark. The thinking is that I need to count beaks and see just how many cluckadillos are still in the game. Between theft, natural attrition, and predation (Gus…..you ain’t my friend no more!), we only have a partial eqq squad doing all the work.

The obvious solution is to just get more layers. Actually, there’s not much of choice. Hens only stay in max production for a couple of years then they slow down and then aren’t worth the upkeep. We’ve had most of our clucks for two years so it’s time to start making some decisions. “Craig’s List” will likely have a listing for “free chickens” before too long.

In fact, we just lost one of our pretty buffs. She was the usual buff color but also had a gorgeous creamy white trim. She hadn’t been feeling well for a few days and would sit away from the crowd and was all puffed up. At first there was a concern about her being “egg bound”. That’s not a good thing but she didn’t seem to me like she was presenting the usual indications for having that issue. Nevertheless, being the good Flock Master (or Flock Monster, depending upon who you ask, I suppose) that I am, I checked.

Now, dealing with an egg bound hen is probably not for the faint of heart….or the non-bird brain….or even those who have a brain (note to you comedians [and you know who you are]: this is not a straight line). If you have no detestable fortitude, this job is not for you. You’d do well to grab a nearby bullet (I recommend the .357 hollow point if you don’t have a minnie ball handy – technically a Minié Ball, for you purists and lead lovers) and clinch it between your teeth prior to proceeding. Then, you grab your lubricant (just about anything short of Penns 10W-30W will work) and….go to work unplugging your hen. Side note: it helps to have long fingers, too, in case any of you guitar pickers and piano players want to raise chickens.

Anyway, after making sure that the egg canal isn’t obstructed (or, if it is, it is properly lubed so as to facilitate the….flow of production), you may take a break and pat yourself on the back for not…uh…chickening out (Heheh! I crack myself up!)…and for not violating the closest couple of acres by containing your temptation to hurl you Hostess Ho-Ho’s into the next county.

Of course there are bragging rights, too. I mean, just how many people can say that had been that intimate with a chicken factory without having their medals awarded to them posthumously? You are among the sweet elite.

Rancho Relaxo Update: it’s been tough on the rat population around here. Between them parking their furry carcasses in our car, van, and pickup, they occupied our garage and barn. That there, as they say in English, is not allowed at our place. Rats are not our friends. We’ve implemented the “Rancho Relaxo Rat Reduction Regimen” using products available from “Lowe’s” and “Home Depot” and information from “YouTube”. We’re so desperate around here that, if Granny Clampett was still alive, we would have checked with her for advice on how to win the war (we were gonna tell her they were Yankee rats!).

When I say “desperate”, it’s not a joke: imagine the look on our faces when we discovered that a rat (all by his lonesome) had eaten through the bottom of our (plastic) 5 gallon can of “Mazola Corn Oil”. It leaked out all over the floor of the garage and into the front driveway (this is a great time to say, “SWELL!”). Since I have no plans to cook anything on my garage floor, this is not a good thing.

Or, imagine how face-contorting is to find that the same critter had eaten into several (plastic) containers and sampled the goodies therein! The little furry bugger even gnawed holes in four of our (plastic) 2L water storage bottles which irrigated our concrete floor and making a mess. He even got into our rice and flour stores (plastic containers, of course)! Grrrrrr.  Our new motto is, “No more plastic! Glass is our friend!”.

The good news is he met his demise at the hands of some strategically-placed rat killer bait (bwahahahahahahahahaha!). We gave him an indecent and ignominious non-burial the other day. He got himself tossed into a trash bin out in the back forty (minus 38) so that the other critters couldn’t get him. Rancher -1; Rat – 0.

The chicken run/coop has a couple of large traps, too. Our pest control guy was most helpful in helping us with this effort. He advised that we aren’t the only ones suffering this plague and that we just need to stay on the offensive. The Ol’ Rancher still needs to get his wire mesh in place to block the holes in the coop. He hopes to get to it….soon. *SIGH*.

At least there’s a new roll of chicken wire on hand. And, I found my electric staple gun and it’s ready to rock. It just needs a user that’s also ready to do the same. “Rockin’ Ran” sorta has a ring to it, I suppose. But, it looks like my rocker may be missing on a few cylinders; in fact, it may be missing altogether. Let’s hope that it just needs a good tuneup.

We’ve had a blessed spring with lots and lots of wonderful rain. That also means that we’re still not quite ready for the searing Valley heat (we never are). It arrives like a hurricane of heat and smacks us in the face like a sledge hammer. You stand there suffering a sunburned face and swampy armpits when, two days prior, you had on a sweater.

We have plenty of irrigation water with which to keep Rancho Relaxo greened up, though. The temps around here will not tarry in the temperate territory for much longer.  We’ll be firing up Ol’ Swampy” and the A/C units and bracing for the onslaught of summer.

 Ol’ Ran, the music man, will get the opportunity to keep his bass guitar in tune. We’ll be pickin’ at the pot luck at “Mission Bell” trailer home park on the 10^th. Then, there’s a gig at “Centennial Park” (across from City Hall) on the 14th. That’s a fun run. I’ll be playing with “Duggin’s Citrus Express” (as usual). They’ve had that spot at least once per year for a few years now. The lead singer, Sooz, may be out of town visiting relatives in Spain (Spain…is really out of town, eh?). That means that Ol’ Ran will need to be the front man and lead singer.

Now, I’m not a “round mound of sound” like Kenny Price (Hee Haw Gospel Quartet and “I’ll Be Walkin’ On New Grass”) but I get by. The good news is that my vocal cords are (mostly) in tune and I’ll have my trusty song book with me. That’s so I don’t have to rely upon my memory for the words. There’s no way I’m going to depend upon such an unreliable body part. If we just mosey along and not get in hurry, we won’t reach the end of my song book prior to the end of the gig.

In my fervid search for something to do around here, there is a hope to grapple the revitalization and remodeling of the radio, rod, and reel revetment (commonly alluded to as my “radio shack”) located upstairs in the barn. Radio Ran really does adhere to the philosophy of “efficiency”. However, I’m pondering the matter at this point. There are too many things in my small shack!

Efficiency would seem to preclude gobs of radio gear and fishing gear gracing the place at the same time. It’s a tad irritating to have to move three tackle boxes and a store of bobbers and line to get to my soldering box or my stash of RF connectors/adapters or my electronics toolbox. A few months ago, I even had a difficult time trying test a couple of CB radios for a friend. There was too much fishing gear on my work table. Ugh! There was hardly room to breathe! Sheeese! It’s a good thing the little refrigerator was moved out!

The fishing rigs that I’ve already overhauled are sorted and are neatly placed in the rafters (I just love the word “neat”, don’t you?). But, there was only room for about a hundred of them so there’s no room left. There are probably 40 or more that need to be cleaned and serviced and several more yet that need to be rebuilt/repaired (and I just hauled two more home from a yard sale today). There are fifteen tackle boxes that need to be unloaded, cleaned and then refilled and a couple of large cardboard boxes of tackle that need to be divided up between surf, trout, and bass fishing too. What’s an aspiring fisherman dude to do?

Our bees are thriving (the one remaining box, that is). The “bloom” is happening so the little honey makers are rejoicing and being as busy as a bee can be (how much wood….). This may well be the first season that we can harvest any honey after  four years of little or no bloom. We let the bees survive on their efforts and tried to help them with some sugar water. 

There you have it, friends, family, folks, kith, kin, cool cats, and neighbors; that’s the latest from Rancho Relaxo where things can get…interesting and where…you just never know.

Rancho Marzo Bloomo

Getting ready for the Valentine's gig at Mission Bell in Porterville. 

Here's the "Bass Station". It's where Ol' Bro. Ran thumps his vintage Fender Precision bass guitar. The high-back stool is a real blessing since it means that the bass thumper doesn't have to stand up all the time. That's why my nickname is "Chief Sitting Bum".

My turn at the mic. I used to play for my supper all the time. Nowadays, I sometimes get to play for donuts and coffee and an occasional pot-luck. I love it, though, because of all the fellowship and good food! Food is my friend! It helps in keeping in practice, too. 

Here's the partial band. The drummer, Hank, and the steel guitar player, Jack, are taking a break. So, Randy, Sooz, and Jim are doing a three piece for a bit. 

You can tell it's been a long long day for Ol' Rancho Ran. When we kicked off, I was already at the end of a really hard and tiresome day. Thankfully, the gig was only a couple of hours long or they would have had to grab the Stokes. 

Here's the rest of the group except for the steel player , Jack Guthrie, who is off to the right side of the picture. 

Well! Would you look at the date! It’s March! MARCH! Doesn’t that just crack your dilithium crystals, Scotty?!! I suppose that I should caution y’all to “beware the Ides”. But, hey; Que sera sera (1956, for all you Doris Day fans…who doesn’t love Doris Day?!). It’s amazing how the unseen propulsion unit of time is so intricately woven into the Persian rug of life so that it hurls it forward at almost transonic speed. *SIGH*.

It’s that time again; time for the “Rancho Relaxo” update (or, as my dear friend and brother, Don Knight, says so succinctly, “Rancho Costa Mucho”). There’s always something going on around here. I want to say that there’s rarely a dull moment around this place. When the dull moments happen, they are greatly welcomed. We call those moments “days off” though they usually don’t last much longer than a good nap (naps are our friends). That’s not really a complaint. The complaint is that there isn’t enough time to get everything done in a timely manner (including naps). 

And, sometimes the elements are non-compliant in our attempts for peace.  It is the storm season, eh?

For instance, a fierce wind recently decided to add our carport to NASA’s High Altitude Research Program. We heard the wind howling that night and knew that things were going to change. We just didn’t know how large a change that would be. Given that this is “Rancho Relaxo”, we did know that things would be….interesting.

The next morning, we discovered that our carport had been lifted up (concrete anchors [8 x 30 lbs], 40 lbs of tubing, 40 lbs of covering, and all), flung against the basketball backboard (12’ high in case you want to know), and broke the backboard in half. Swell. Then, having soared over the top of the stuff that was parked under it, it was piled into a twisted heap onto the driveway. The previous October, we had just rebuilt the thing and put a new covering over it. Methinks that we’re going to just build one instead of trying to keep a flimsy one (read: “kite”) in place.

Not having a “tent”, of course, meant that the hammering rains had full access to the goods in storage. Two “swells” (with the second “swell” being larger than the first). Not much you can do with “dry things” that have been as well watered as a garden in Oregon. Time to clean up on aisle 4.

It took several days to be able to start heaving stuff into Wooly Pulley. That’s because it was already full of broken down cardboard boxes and ready for the dump run. So, after loading up more boxes to insure a full load, off to the dump we go. That took some real heaving as well. The good news is that cardboard is a “freebie” at the transfer station; otherwise it’s 20 bucks (freebies are our friends).

Now, I’m really not into heaving things even if it’s only light stuff (like, your beets). I prefer to leave them to professional heavers or young heavers who need a few bucks to be able to afford a new PS4 game station. Ah, but there weren’t any such creatures available…again (why do young people always disappear when someone mentions “work”?!) That left Ol’ Rancho Ran with yet another chore to do (I’m about ready to change the name of this place to “Rancho Sweato”…sheese).

To those of you who live in a real town, you may not know that our community dump (“transfer station”, actually), is only open on Fridays and Saturdays. Another “swell!”, anyone? That means that the mess couldn’t be hauled off for a few more days.

We got started loading but the haul had to be postponed prior to filling the trailer. Cousin Monty called from “Kaweah Delta Hospital” and needed us to come over. Given his near death experience, our priority was immediately shifted to “now!” and the half-filled trailer was moved to “later”. He’ll be fine for now but the ugly pile of soaked junk out front is very much an eyesore for another week (I’m running out of “swells”). If this mess doesn’t get cleaned up soon, the neighbors will think I’ve been lying about where I came from and ship me off on a pre-paid one-way trip to the Appalachian Mountains.

The trees are all in bloom now. My vines are not dressed (hope the neighbors are not prudes) and the trees are not pruned. Guess we’ll let nature take its course until next season. Not sure what we’re going to plant this season. Other than perhaps squash, it’s unlikely that it will be goodies that we have grown before. There should be ample sufficiency of tomatoes for now but a couple of plants may be warranted. Okra is my friend but we seem to have run out of the need to fry stuff around here. And, no one recalls the last time we made a soup or stew. Is there a synonym for “sigh”?

Princess Abby report: our slauffenhund is doing well after being “fixed” the other day. It was only ten bucks and a trip to town. Uh…but the appointment was at 6:45 AM, that is. 6:45 AM is fine in my tome except when you have to be someplace at that time. That means that, when you live in Springville (a small town that’s 15 miles from a not-quite real town which is 35 miles from the nearest real town), you have to greet the day at a double yawn-evoking 5 AM. 5 AM does not have a ring to it. 5 AM is not my friend.

Anyway…we packed the dog carrier into the back of the Coop deVille then packed Abby into the carrier. She hadn’t been off the property since we fetched her from Visalia (a real town) 2 years ago. I must say that I was a bit surprised that our little headstrong hund took to the trip as well as she did. I truly expected her to be a handful and thought she’d make it a grand event of barking practice and trying to jerk my arm off or the leash out of my hand. That was not the case. She was quite the lady that day….you just know I’m not telling the rest of the story yet, don’t you? You know that she is a little furry princess snot that changes the rules everywhere she goes; right?

Well….all was well when we first got there. Despite the line of pooches with their parents, Abby did little outside of putting her huntin’ instincts to work and sniffing the place out. She didn’t bark at all. That was a good thing. Good things are our friends but Princess Abby seemed to not remember that.

OK…first a bit of background info: the doggie patients all have to fast the previous 12 hours or so prior to the operation. We did that. Repeating….we did that. We made sure that our little love dog was in full compliance with the requirements of NPO. This is so there will be no messes of any kind after the surgery.

Moving along…..we hadn’t been in line more than a few minutes until I noticed a huge…huge…pile of steaming pooch pucky almost under my feet. That meant that the nearest dog was the culprit and we just know who that was, now, don’t we? I hadn’t seen a molten pile that big since she unloaded one on the stairs when she first got to Rancho Relaxo (this is a great place to park a “sigh” but I think I’m out of them). 

By the way, that was what led to her being an “outside” dog and not an “inside” dog. She refused to be tidy so we had options. I was hoping that the line would move along so that someone else’s doggie could take the blame. Dear Abby….we really need to talk.

We left our little coon-treeing pathway-defiling canine in the capable hands of the vet and his nice assistants (all “animal people”, of course) and headed for the nearest cup of coffee. After that, we had some shopping and chores to attend to for couple of hours while waiting for a call from the vet. They called us later and we were happy to return for her.

“That’s that”, as they say. We won’t be waking up to a preggie pooch again. Puppies (“poopies”, to be more accurate) are cute and cuddly but having them around all the time isn’t my cup of lapsang souchong.  Our princess was restricted to her cable for a week and we kept an eye on her for any post-surgery problems that could have arisen. But, no worries; she came through with flying colors. We no longer dread her blind dates. To quote my old friend, Tigger, “Fantastical!”.

Connie the Canner Report: what can you say when you have a wife that knows how to can and has made the transition to “farm wife” with aplomb (and with a plum)? She’s so good at it now that I bet she can can a ’57 Chevy. 

No; we don’t have garden stuff to can at the moment. But, she’s “oven canning” some things like flour, corn meal, oats, rice, pinto/navy beans et. al., and other such dry products like powdered milk. We hadn’t heard of this practice before but it’s turning out to be a really good thing and Connie is already a pro at it.

We had run into the issue of dry products like flour and powdered milk spoiling after only a year or so. After a year or so of storage, even pinto beans get dark and hard to the degree that they can’t be softened in a pressure cooker! So, after you lose large sacks of stuff, you start pondering ways to avoid such spoilage. Dry canning is one way to accomplish that.

We’re planning on obtaining a freeze drying unit when the money tree we planted bears much fruit. Those bloody things are expensive but they are incomparable for food preservation.

Chickening Report: great news! Our girls are ramping up production. They’re not quite up to prior standards but are working on it. They are faring well and get lots of greens, lots of scratch, and lots of lay pellets/crumble. They have been encouraged to enhance their production these past couple of months (I lied to them and told them that I was holding negotiations with the “Campbell Soup Company”).  The idea is to carefully balance the difficult task of being the Flock Master verses being the Flock Monster. So, far it seems to be working.

We lost another older hen that we’d had for a couple of years. She was already “elderly” when we got her. Not sure why we didn’t just plop her in a pot back then. Reckon it’s because it’s too much of a chore to deal with when you can buy an entire cleaned chicken for about four bucks.

It’s not the chore itself that’s an issue. It’s the time element. There’s simply not enough time to deal with readying a single chicken for dinner. One of these days I hope to have the time to do such things (meaning I need a flaming day off - I’d even settle for a non-flaming day off).

One reason I don’t mind cleaning a bird is that chicken guts make for great catfish bait. You simply park them in a jar and let them “season” for a week or so. You don’t want to let them rot; you merely want them to “ripen”. My….hold your nose, though! Wheeeeew! Channel cats and flathead cats think it’s Christmas when you toss a wad of ripe chicken guts their way! But, use with caution as you may have fewer neighbors as friends if you’re not mindful of how to handle such powerful bait.

And, that necessitates setting time aside to go fishing, eh? Think that’s going to happen any time soon? Me either. Then, we must consider that the cost of a pair of fishing licenses is approaching the hundred dollar mark ($94.02 – I remember when they were 7 dollars each!). So, I’m rather dissuaded from spending that much and only going fishing once or twice per year. That’s also probably why my boat has yet to see water. To quote my old friend Heap Big Chief Puking Buffalo, “UGH” (I think this was the other younger brother of Indian brave, “Soaring Eagle”, and older sister squaw, “Running Deer”, eh, Bill W. ?).

Spring time means “spring cleaning” for the coops (and that’s about as exciting as a strolling nude through a cactus patch). They’re in the process of being cleaned anyway due to the flood and such. But, a “deep cleaning” has become imperative and unavoidable. The cluck muck has to be hauled off and new deep litter has to be spread. The “Cluck Muck Squad” (of one….moi) will be busy for awhile.

 What is one to do when he has a henhouse full of chicken droppings? Well, my lightning-fast mind thought that we could just come up with a way to weaponize this stuff and sell it to the military. I’d be rich! I mean, what enemy wouldn’t run for the hills if a fleet of Lockheed C-130’s started unloading hundreds of tons of chicken squat on them?

It didn’t take long to realize that that thought had been carved from a large chuck of stupid. The logistics are bit formidable and I have such a small herd of hens that I doubt if I could fill just the front six feet of a Herky Bird. And, it would probably cost less to just shoot a cruise missile instead. So, out to the compost pile it goes where it will soon become a functioning component of the garden growth cycle.  

Being a chicken wrangler also means you’re a highly efficient adsorbent (a material that attracts things and collects them on its surface) to anything and everything ….everything….in a hen house. Rare is the day that, after chickening, I don’t look I’ve been hauled through a marsh bog. Connie can’t quite figure out just how a guy can get so dirty in such a short time! I suggested that she check with our lead layer, Clara Cluckenspiel, who would explain the matter at length (I also suggested that, if she’d quit laughing so loudly, she could hear my explanation a lot better).  I get my clothes washed a lot.

There you have it; the latest from one of the most interesting places within a few acres of normal. If you don’t touch that doohickey thingy that changes channels, you’ll be sure to get the next episode of “Rancho Relaxo”, the place where….you just never know. 

Rancho Mud Boggo

We have a slightly more than normal snow pack on them thar hills. This shot was taken at the intersection of Scranton and Newcomb out by the P'ville Municipal Airport and looking NE. We had just departed the airport where we had met with some friends at our hangar.

If you promise to read the intro to the previous ten editions of Rancho Relaxo, I promise not to use the next five minutes of your time complaining about how fast time flies or how busy I am…though I’m tempted to do so anyway…really tempted…really, really, really tempted…….It’s FEBRUARY already!! 8.33333333 percent of the year is already gone and I haven't finished January's work! AAAAUGH! Sorry.…couldn’t help myself. Reckon I should be elated that I’m so busy rather than having so much time on my hands that I could make soy sauce from scratch.

Now that the loud noises have subsided….here’s the Rancho Roundup:  it’s February and all is well here at the ranch. Well…sort of. We're still waiting for that blessed state of "normality" around here. That could require some patience. I suppose that having to wade out to the hen hootch to insure that the egg factory doesn’t die of starvation could be counted as a plaint of some sort. But, not so much for the Ol’ PMA Rancher who, despite the ankle-deep mud and flooded coop, looks for the positive in all things Sometimes it’s a chore but he's hopeful and has few complaints (though they seem to be loud ones when he does). 

After all, the aquatic event wasn’t like a hurricane had hit; it was just a lot of rain dumped in one particularly low spot (and due, of course, to the genius who built the coop on the lowest place on the property). Had we had to rebuild the place I would probably have squawked a bit.

One thing that came to light during the mess was the need to re-secure the chicken wire and other mesh wire that is supposed to protect the base area from rat intrusion. I’ll need to get a man right on that….whenever he has a day off.

Rancho “to do” list: muck out the chicken coop. To his great relief, snowbird, Maynard G. Krebbs, is out of town until at least spring and can’t help; prune trees and vines (shouldn’t take longer than few hundred days to do that); prep garden boxes by adding about 12” of new compost. A nice front loader would help but a couple of young dudes needing some money will have to suffice (until the money tree I planted bears fruit); purge the irrigation lines, prep the sprinklers, and ready them for summer use; ready the burn pile that has been ignored for the previous three years…or ignore it for at least one more year (If I don’t procrastinate, I can immediately put it off until later); the huge load of yard sale tailings stored in the carport has to be hauled off…anywhere...the dump...Kansas…Iraq...just so it’s gone; pick the oranges or have them picked (I vote for the latter); service farm vehicles for spring including battery charging; start all small motors and prep for use this summer; fix the only-used-once 3.5KW portable generator so that it starts (otherwise, it’s an 85 lb door stop….I already have plenty of those); prep the 850W generator for emergency use; prep and start the wood chipper; prep weed eaters for spring use (one is almost new and fails to start…it’s a “weed watcher” now. *SIGH*). Prep the 14’ aluminum fishing boat….for another year of storage; practice eye closing so I can ignore the barn for another year and hope that the Gypsies sneak it and clear the place out; find more free range chickens so that we won’t run out of chicken poop to step in. That’ll probably hold me for awhile and make sure that my…day off… doesn’t arrive any too soon.

Princess Abbie report: my, oh, my. Our beloved coon hound is really making a name for herself. I was sort of hoping that that name would be a favorable one. However, our handsome hyper hound seems to be rather easily led astray.

The other day she, gleefully and with open paws, welcomed the neighbor’s two dogs, a whippet and an Australian heeler. She usually does that anyway. But, in her wonderlust, she totally abandoned her responsibilities regarding her guard duties. She was plumb lost in cavorting with her friends; for our coon dog, that isn’t a good thing.

It began one morning when the Ol’ Wrangler Ran let his birds out for a splendid day of free ranging. He pulled that trick off without considering that there just may be a threat in the area (and smartly proving that he really wasn’t a quart low of stupid). Within a short time, Gus, the heeler, crossed the street and forgot that he was heeler and he became a chaser! In no time flat, Gus killed at least three of our birds. I have reason to believe that Abbie, presumed to be a dog that favors coons and not chickens, joined the fray and killed one of the birds. We had hens….e v e r y w h e r e….it was raining feathers.

Ordinarily, she just rousts the birds thinking that they’re tennis balls sent from God so she can have a rollicking good time of fetching them for us. Reckon being a “chicken keeper” is beneath a princess’ calling.  So, it was lockdown time for “Camp Leghorn” and time for Abbie to spend the rest of the day on the chain gang.

We happened to know Gus’ owner who just happened to live next door to his father-in-law who just happened to be the husband of the lady who owns the local “Hamburger Stand” (we call folks who own a burger stand, “good neighbors” and you know that we’re going to get to know them). The owner wasn’t home and neither was the father-in-law. But, we had the number of the lady at “The Hamburger Stand” (in beautiful downtown Springville) and called her up. She sent her husband and nice neighbor, Bill, right over.

Come to find out, he had recently dealt with Gus assassinating several of his free range chickens. So, he was rather sympathetic. In fact, he actually paid us for the dead birds and advised that Gus was probably going to be moving out of the neighborhood…soon. See ya, Gus!

We still intend on allowing the chickens more free range time. However, Abbie will have all temptation for feather fetching removed by being tethered to her palatial doggy house. That will leave our pretend layers to free range without being jacked up.

When it was all over, and despite the restriction, she still had that special bounce in her step and that “let’s all play!” look in her eyes. Not today, Abbie. It took three days to gather up all of our “missing in action birds” and aren’t really sure we aren’t still missing one or more.

Chickening report: well…as stated, it’s mighty wet out there. The front (newest) run was totally flooded while the second run was a bog. The coop itself was merely wet. It was the mud mush that made things…interesting. I have to wear my galoshes each trip out or risk having Connie call the fire department to unstick me from the mess. All of that mud also creates a bit of a hazard for the birds. I was concerned that, with so much of it, I’d step on one of my hens and not see her again until springtime. And, wait, folks; there’s more: we’re supposed to get more rain next week. So, Captain Cluck will have to spend more time chuckin’ cluck muck into his truck…YUK.

One of the casualties of the aforementioned feather wreck was our beloved free range rooster, Harvy Henbanger. He was the last of the four feral fowls that we got from a friend. He would faithfully stand watch all day long over the coop and wait until his girls were let out for awhile at dusk. That was his call to action and he was most diligent in his duty. He was a hoot to watch and was at least half the reason we watched "Chicken TV". He will be sorely missed. Connie will likely be cruising through “Craig’s List” to find some replacements (that would be free replacements, of course).

My friend, Eddie (KE6PK - from whom we got the previous batch), has more feral birds and needs fewer of them. When the weather warms up a bit, it’s likely that we’ll raid his place for more bug and grub getters.  

Due to the warmer weather, the lack of predation, the fact that I dropped the hint about really needing some "chicken noodle soup", or for whatever reason, some of our ladies have remembered that they are layers and not roosters. Egg production has increased back up to the two dozen or more per day (we got 30 today!). We’re not back up to the more than four dozen goal yet but we are hoping to re-attain that previous standard. They really need to start earning their scratch or we may be canning more chicken around here.

Connie the Canner report: as usual, her canning pots have yet to cool down. Those canning vessels are as hot as a space ship's rocket tubes that just landed on Mars (for all of you "X Minus One" fans out there). She just advised that she canned enough carrots to keep Bugs Bunny alive for a century. Carrots are our friends! I think we have more glass invested in canning jars than Schuller has in the “Crystal Cathedral”. But, the Minnicks will never go hungry, eh, Doc?

She was finally able to get all of the Christmas stuff stored in the barn from whence it came. It’ll be “Valentine’s Day” soon so there will be new decorations going up. Rancho Relaxo will once again be a bright and happy place to celebrate the holiday.

Since spring is right around the corner (have I mentioned how fast time flies?), I need to assemble her Schwinn Meridian trike so we can both go motoring around the place. My Meridian (aka the “Ranch Rocket”) is up and running great but needs to have the cobwebs blown out once in awhile so that it doesn’t get a severe case of ignor-itus and just up and rot. I suppose removing the inch-deep covering of “Springville insulation” would help, too.

There you have it: the latest from “Rancho Relaxo” where life is good (in between the “life is interesting” part), all the men  (that would be me) are strong (I created my own dictionary), and all the women (that would be Connie the Canner) are sweet (yes…I do listen to “Prairie Home Companion”), and all the children are above average (that would, of course, be the grandkiddies). Don’t touch that thing-a-ma-jig that changes the e-mail settings; things could get…even more interesting.  

Rancho Año Nuevo

Here are the garden boxes that Rancho Ran cleaned out. They will need to be tilled and a bunch of new compost added. The compost will, of course, come from the compost pile out back. We've named it, "Back 40 Compost". After all of the seasoning and a couple of dead chickens added to it, it should be pretty rich stuff by now. It just got a good stirring the other day when Rancho Ran used the Ranch Rhino to mix it up.

This is a shot of us heading southbound on Mooney Blvd in Visalia. It's just to let you know that we do get out of town once in awhile and that it does rain in our neck of the pavement. We had just knocked over "Home Town Buffet". That was so we could be in compliance with scripture where it says we are to "buffet the flesh" (the "Randy Revised Version" of the Bible).  About a mile further down is our destination: Costco. Costco is our friend. 

Well… here we are again, all you fans of fabulous and fatuous felicity (and who are commonly called “goofballs”…you know who you are). It’s a new year and the time when all of our molecules get excited about what it will bring.

Connie the Canner can’t wait to see what it will haul in for the old folks at “Rancho Relaxo” ( AKA the “Lazy R Ranch”… so, we’re not expecting any power tools). She’s already getting busy planning for spring cleaning (which, around here, is usually the month after winter begins). She already has packed two barns worth of “stuff” into the second story of the barn and is getting ready to add to it.

Rancho Ran, on the other hand, probably knows what it will bring and it isn’t likely going to be a…day off. Most likely, it means that a new year will bring about as much frost for his hair as there is lead in his pants. This is probably not a good thing (and the thought of which really does make his molecules move much more slowly). 

Y’all already know that a new year brings with it an older Randy. To me, a birthday is about as welcomed as a leaf blower during communion at an Episcopal church. However, to assuage the impact, I think I may have discovered that the uninterrupted celebration of birthdays is the key to longevity.  Nevertheless, I seem to have the attitude of the gent on whose tombstone is written: “I came into this world without being consulted and am leaving it without my consent”. I also heard a rumor that aging is a slow cure for fast-acting stupidity. May...it...be...so.

I have never given mental assent to (much less fully ascribe to) this dynamic of the deterioration of humans’ mental and physical wonderfulness as being imperative. It seems that humans have this interesting defense mechanism that says, “This can’t/won’t happen to me”. Ol’ Doctor Ran just calls it the “Reality Denial Syndrome”. The next thing you know, it has happened to me, too. *SIGH*.

I don’t plan on being dragged into...ahem…maturity…kicking and screaming. But, I may do a bit of carping and moaning. Why? Because the undermining of my physical prowess likely means that it may take more time to get things done around here. That, of course, leaves less time for a…day off… and that makes me want to up and heave a few dirt clods into the air.

Would you like to know the real kicker about being part of the “spit and whittle” crowd? You can no longer blame any of the stupid things you do on being a kid. Drat.

I’ve learned a few things about getting older. For instance, I’ve learned that cottage cheese is the breakfast of …ex-champions. And, I’ve learned that “growing old is not for the faint of heart” (attributed to Gloria Swanson, as I recall). I’ve cottoned to (an eliding contraction of the term “caught on to”) the thought that you really do need to pay attention to your diet.

Accordingly, at some point, yogurt will need to be added to the list of “things good for your health”. Ol’ Ran, the basic slow learner, has only recently come up to speed on this healthy, tasty, and utile food. We’re even pondering how to cook East Indian cuisine with it.

Lately, we’ve been strip mining our local “Grocery Outlet” store where they kick certain food items out the door just prior to their expiration date. Wouldn’t you know that yogurt is on that list!  Talk about a “bargain”! We’re picking up all kinds and brands of expensive yogurt for 17 cents per container! 17 cents (let’s hear it for 1960!!)!! The Rancho Van is always full of their less-than-a-buck goodies when we go to town!

I’ve been eating so much of it that Connie is starting to call me “Yogurt Daddy”…shortened, of course, to “Yogi D”. I can just see a new singing career blossoming! Eh? Beats working for a living!

¿Tenemos pollos? Well, we certainly do, farm fans! It’s time for the Chickening Report: dealing with our brooder brigade has been an interesting and very informative gig. We’re learning on the fly with something new jumping out at us on a daily basis and causing an occasional ground loop and a busted wing from time to time.

One new issue (and one that we thought we were ahead of) is predation. The best we can tell, rats are gaining entrance into our coop. Oh, great. It’s bad enough that we’re contending with egg sucking dogs but now we’re contending with egg sucking rats. It was also bad enough to find that they were dining on the wiring in the engine compartment of our van (“Good bye, Mr. Bill”. That would the 100 dollar bill for repairs, that is). I wouldn’t be surprised to find that they even eat bowling balls.

It didn’t take long to determine that three things had happened: one was that we should have used “half inch” chicken wire instead of the larger “one inch”. 1” doesn’t seem to be very large but we’re finding that it’s more than ample room for the rats around here. We just now found out that a rat doesn’t have shoulders so it can squeeze through a quarter-sized hole (0.955 in). How convenient.

Secondly, our 10’ x 10’ coop section isn’t secured on the inside at the eaves. That’s probably the least of the issues. In fact, it may not even be an issue but we’re checking it out. 

Thirdly, the new front chicken run wasn’t secured in at least one place (this despite emphatically advising the builder, Harold, the importance of securing the the entire area. *SIGH*) and this allowed a relatively huge 2” access point in one corner. These things left the coop accessible to several murine invaders who seem to love eggs for breakfast. ..and lunch…and dinner.

When there are predators present, chickens simply shut down egg production. That surely helps to explain why we have 70 chickens (20 were stolen…yes…there is now a lock on the door) and only a handful of eggs per day.

We’re making a list of supplies needed to affect the repairs and will execute the plan of attack when the weather cooperates with us. It should only take a few days of work to get the place secured.

You wouldn’t think that it would take that long. But, it appears that we’ll need to evacuate the litter, install the bottom screen, install the side screening (over the 1” chicken wire), and re-install the litter. This is not at all considering that we may have to relocate the brooder brigade during the overhaul. “Help, Mr. Wizard! I don’t want to be a chicken wrangler any longer!” “Drizzle, drazzle, druzzle, drome. Time for zis one to come home” (for all you Tooter Turtle fans out there).

All of this chickening stuff has given me cause to pause and ponder some things. For instance, when I was a teenager, I wanted to be like Captain Kirk from Star Trek. Instead, I ended up being Captain Cluck from Springville. Still, so far, nothing has converted me into being an ex-happy rancher.

Weather report: está lloviendo. It’s raining. It’s about time. Just when we were thinking that we’ll be stuck with “California gold” for the rest of our days, the weather broke and showed mercy by pouring a bit of moisture on us. That means the color green will be around for at least awhile.

I’d be obliged to know how many local people came from the southlands during winter time and saw this gorgeous green area and decided to move here. When summer hits and they and everything they own gets scorched, shrivels, or turns to brown dust, they go, “My GAWD! What have we done?!”.  They panic when their relatives refuse to visit because they don’t want to have to call a tow truck to unstick them from the melted pavement every time they stop their car. About the only positive thing they can say when folks call is that, “It only took twelve seconds for Fluffy to dry after her bath this week”. Just curious.

A couple of weeks ago, it rained a bit. This time, we actually got two pitiful bits. I haven’t seen the tally but I think we got more than ½”. OK. I already know that, in some places, that’s barely a warm up for a real storm. But, we have to settle for what we get. This is, after all, the “Land of Sunshine” and not the “Land of Soggy Bogs”.

Well…as my old friend, Joseph II, ruler of the Habsburg lands (actor Jeffrey Jones in the movie, “Amadeus"), says, “There you have it”, neighbor. That’s the latest from our miniscule geographical location on planet Earth.

We here at the ranch want to express our best wishes for all y’all for this shiny New Year. May it be an excellent year of prosperity and peace (despite the best efforts of the entire US and state governments to deprive us of both). Take care all you kith, kin, and kool kats (it’s a jungle out there!). 

Stay tuned for the next episode of the sub-exciting adventures of Rancho Ran and his side cook, Connie the Canner (brought to you, of course, by new and improved, “Rinso” laundry detergent).