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.

Rancho Tierra Del Fuego!

There are a couple of pictures that I came by that are from
Cal Fire and this is one of them. No exact location given.

This is the second of the pictures from Cal Fire.

 This shot was taken last Tuesday and from approx. Road 256 and Ave 194 (east of Strathmore).

Same shot same time but out in the open.

 Second day of the fire taken from Rancho Relaxo.

Eastbound on Hwy 190 at the River Island Golf Course. Black Mountain is dead ahead but you can't see it for the smoke.

We're almost back at the ranch (large white mailbox on the left). Black Mountain is dead ahead.

You can see the fire at the top of Black Mountain. The pic was taken while stopped in front of the rodeo grounds.

This is looking north from Sequoia Dawn. The sun is having a difficult time making it through the smoke.

Same shot as above only zoomed in.

This is Black Mountain seen from eastbound on Hwy 190 approaching the golf course. Much of the area smoke has lifted and now you can see the fire on top.

It’s September!!! If that doesn’t just hose your begonias! If not, I bet it makes you Cuckoo for Coco Puffs. Anyway, let’s get on with this posting before another month passes from all the bellyaching.

Wildfire report: you know things are going to be…interesting…when you are on your way home and you can see flames at the top of the mountains a few miles east! From what we can tell, a couple of hooligans stole a car, set it on fire, then pushed it off a cliff a few miles above Springville. That little stunt seems to be the newest craze in outdoing other stupid criminals. It occurred at 2:30AM and started a fire on Highway 190 where there is an abundance of both cliffs and bone dry dead shrubs and trees that had perished in the recent three year drought. Not sure how long it took to be noticed but, given the light traffic at that time of the morning that far up the hill, I suspect that it didn’t give our fire fighters much of a chance at containment at all.  

Smoke: at first there was smoke and it was annoying. The next day, however, the wind seemed to keep it at bay so things weren’t too bad but still weren’t optimal.  We could see the smoke cloud in the distance but took no thought about the fact that it could actually head our direction.  After all, Cal Fire was on duty and hard at it. The next day was worse but still manageable. Today, the fire is ZERO contained (update: 10% containment) and is not only over the mountain, the smoke is horrendous! We can hardly see across the street for the smoke!! We had wondered why the big air attack tankers weren’t flying then it became obvious: you can’t fly in a mountainous area when you can’t see the mountains (I catch on really quickly, eh?).

The fire has quickly gone uphill (east) but it has not forgotten to head south and west (where we are).  The folks within a couple of miles of us probably need not worry but you can bet that no one will be caught napping any time soon. Here’s the latest from Cal-Fire:

https://inciweb.nwcg.gov/incident/5548/

There are mandatory evacuations from Balch Park Road at Highway 190 (at the north edge of Springville) and from Highway 190 eastward (again, from the edge of Springville). The evacuation included Bear Creek Road as well. A dear friend of mine lives there and had to evacuate and it caused her to miss the class reunion that we just had.

The air tankers and helicopters have been flying when they can. Methinks that Cal Fire’s resources are stretched, though, since there is another fire south of us and others in the LA area and then at the north end of the state. We did have a heavy hauling C-130 here but it seems that the big jet air tanker was pulled from our job to fight elsewhere. Oh, well.

Check with the above link for updates. I’d love to maintain updates but am so far behind I’ll likely not be through until Christmas (*SIGH*).

Chickenin’ Report: Hey! Hey! Hey! We have tres nuevo pollo peepers! Friend and Brother, Brian Johnson, once again managed to snag three new one or two day old chicks for us! We made haste over there to get them and now have them…in the kitchen. Ah, yes. That would be the same kitchen that  Connie the Canner advised that there would be no more chickening in her kitchen. Silly her. Just like the last time Brian gave us those cute, cuddly, peeping poopers, she just couldn’t help herself. Her mothering (chickening?) instincts kicked in and she embraced the little fuzzy critters and adopted them as her own. The long haul in raising chicks to hen-dom is upon us.

The Ol’ Flock Master had to have a long talk with his girls the other day. The huevos harvest has been far too modest as of late; it’s almost as though someone has ripped off most of my hens and replaced them with roosters.

Now, honestly, my “Cluck Speak” isn’t really dialed in. And, I’m guessing that most of you have yet to download the “Star Trek Universal Translator” software from “Amazon.com” (it’s a bit spendy so I understand). So, I’ll just translate the best that I can so you can get the gist of the pep talk.

It went something like this: “Ladies, you have my heart-felt thanks for your not-so-recent four-dozen-per-day egg production. But, girls, girls, girls, our numbers have dropped so low that a kindergartner has fingers left over after counting all the eggs! However, though the temperature is hot enough to fry chicken….OOPS!! Sorry, girls!! ….hot enough to reduce your motivation somewhat, something is wrong here. Production has dropped off like someone has welded your tubes shut! There are a whole lot of you and a hole where a lot of eggs need to be. Are you dealing on the side? I mean, just how hard is this gig, anyway?

Plus, you get plenty of fresh clean water, the best of scratch, crumble, tons of greens, and you even get to free range! When it’s a real scorcher out there, I even turn on the misters for you. And, don’t you remember the serenades in the evening times? OK! OK! I know I didn’t bring my guitar; sorry about that. But, I am…I am… trying! So, how about some help here, ladies! This is as close to Chicken Nirvana as I can get it for now!” If there is any compassion in a chicken’s DNA, that should work.

Sure hope I don’t have to resort to contacting the Kool Klucks Klan chicken rock band for entertainment.  Perhaps dancing chickens produce more eggs. I dunno. Maybe I could paint the coop in mod colors and such and they would think they are in Hawaii or Cabo San Lucas. All that stuff could get expensive and the efficacy thereof is in question. Or, perhaps I could get a deal from Colonel Sanders. Naw. I would just give them away. Reckon I’m just an old softy. Some folks are brave hearts. Me? I’m just a big ol’ puff heart. My side cook thinks I can be callous at times, though (especially when it comes to fuzzers), and calls me “Captain Hoof Hearted”. Oh, well.

What happens when you mix grandkids with chickens? Well…you just never know. The second week of the month, the Howden family (six of the eight of them) came over for a visit. Of course, when you are from the LA area, seeing a ranch is part of the wonderment of life for young’uns and that day was no exception. The highlight was our pecking crew who were out free ranging in the back. So, out back we went to watch “Chicken TV”. They all had a great time of chickenin’ and watching the feathery flocking friends foraging for goodies. 

Some of the braver ones wanted to hold one of the pullets so I grabbed one from the pullet pen where we keep our three latest layers-to-be. Of course, the chicken wiggled and when a chicken wiggles when it is being held by a four year old, the child thinks he's being attacked by a grizzly and flings it far from him. That was OK with the chicken who wanted to practice free ranging anyway. After being passed around between kids and being daintily mauled, we put our little pullet back in her cage. She won't remember a thing. 

All the kiddies and oldies had a great time. Then it was “huggies all around” and away they went back to the big city. I have little doubt that they'll be back for more chickening. 

You may want to note that we recently re-introduced a rooster into the fleet of three-toed fertilizer spreaders. He is proving that he is a real “take charge” sort of rooster. Though quite young, he seems to have his vocation dialed in and makes for a super peace keeper amongst the rowdy Rhode Island Reds. I’ve yet to hang a moniker on him but it shouldn’t take long.

I wish I hadn’t gotten rid of Kenny Leghorn but, c’est la vie. Likewise, our feral roosters were doing a great job until Gus, the Australian Heeler, played fetch with them. Lessons learned.

Abbie the Princess Coon Dog: yep…she done did it again; she treed yet another coon! On Tuesday night, at about 10:30 PM (thankfully, not at 12:30 AM), we heard our semi-precious (too many time outs) precocious pooch giving her baying instincts a workout. Thanks to her highly refined “CDNDS” (“Coon Dog Nasal Detection System”), we knew that she was on high alert. Out comes the big tactical flashlight (why did I almost write testicle flashlight?) and out the back door the Ol’ Rancher went with his torch ablaze.

Our coon doggie was at the base of the goodly sized Mulberry tree in the back by the barn and whatever was up there was sure getting a good bawling out! A quick flash with my night light that can light up an entire neighborhood and bingo! There was a real live masked bandit parked in our tree. Now, I don’t about you but, it’s been awhile since I’ve needed a new coonskin cap (and they probably aren’t selling too well on eBay right now anyway). Plus, you can’t be a good neighbor if you are firing your .30 cal hunting rifle at that time of night. Since I do want to be a good neighbor, and since I don’t need a cap, and since the coon was smaller and not a “keeper”, I decided to just let Abbie wear herself out and let the coon go. That’s probably what happened since the coon was gone the next day and Abbie napped a lot.

Fuzzer Report: as learned in the previous episode, the fuzzers around here are gettin’ mighty brave. The other day one of them took a bet that he couldn’t sneak up to within about 25 yards of the house. Little did the mangy varmint know that I was waiting with my Ruger Model 10-22 “Critter Git’er”; it was locked and loaded. Ol’ Dead Eye nailed the varmint on the first go around. .22 cal bullets are only about 3 cents each but I’m sorta frugal, don’tcha know. I truly hope that he had pre-paid the bet because it will help pay for his funeral expenses.

In only a few minutes, another fat fuzzer sat preening himself at about 50 yards out. Obviously, he had no fear of sitting still out in the open: silly him. It took a second quick shot but the total funeral bill was doubled rather quickly. The colony would do well to opt for some life insurance because there’s a new varmint hating attitude in town and it belongs to me. Fuzzer Fury Ran – 2 – Mangy Varmints – 0.

If that doesn’t just make you do the “Truffle Shuffle” (all you “Goonies” fans out there….FYI: I met the guy that owned that house. My neighbor was his girlfriend when I lived in Longview, WA), a few days later, two rather brave brown buggers entered the kill zone of my back yard. They had hoped to cop a meal with our chickens who have been tasked with keeping the back yard free of food (and, boy! Are they good at it!). Brown muncher number one creeped over to a large patch of fresh greens that I had tossed out for my girls. Lo and behold if he didn’t present himself fully lengthwise (the largest target area available). Slowly I turned….step by step….and raised the Ruger “Fuzzer Buster” to bear; in only a moment, the fuzzer buffet was closed. The Ol’ Rancher was mighty proud of himself but was he about to get a pleasant surprise.

After a few minutes of collating pictures for the recent class reunion, it was time for another break. Hey! I’m not working for the union. I can break when I please! Besides, in the old days I was concerned about how big my boogaloo was (after all; Wolfman Jack was always asking us that question). Nowadays, I’m concerned about the size of my bladder. Break time! So, there!

Moving along….it just so happens that, on my way to the elimination station, I glanced out the window only find a second really stupid furry glutton grazing on my hens’ greens. The “Fuzzer Buster” was at hand (as always) so….slowly I turned….step by step….I plumb snuck up on the little thief and took aim: no more unwelcomed guests at the buffet. Wheeew! Two pelts in one day! It’s a dadgum shame that there isn’t a bounty on these things. I could make a lot of gas money in my spare time……oh.

Connie the Canner and the Ol’ Rancher attended his 50^th class reunion on the 2^nd of this month. I must say that it was a nice time and was a very enjoyable experience. Can’t say that that’s what I expected. I guess I really didn’t know what to expect other than trying to figure out who all the old people were. Come to find out, that’s what everyone else thought too.

It was great getting to see the old gang again. There wasn’t enough time to really sit and visit and get caught up on everything with everybody. So, everyone settled for hitting the highlights and latest updates on things. I took lots of pictures but may not get many posted for now. That may have to wait until the next posting. Not….enough….time.

Everything else is…moving along…and on an even keel. We do have an issue with flooding in the coop but, so far, it’s manageable. The neighbors seem to think that flooding their back yard will make their rocks grow or something. They have a few woodsy trees and shrubs but nothing that warrants two days of flood irrigation. Ugh. I keep my wading boots on all of the time when outside.

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.