RANCHO SE VENDE! SE VENDE! SE VENDE!

 

Abbie had one job and that was to keep the chickens off the back porch. She's asleep at the wheel and totally oblivious to the feathery trespasser. 

Here's Abbie guarding one of our tables

during our big clean up project after the 

mega yard sale

To the right, we see Abbie guarding our stuff. Well....sort of. 

It looks like Abbie stayed in one place too long and almost got herself sold! 

Here's Abbie again but she's shifted her beat over to where the large clothes rack is. 

To the right, Abbie is guarding the rear porch while testing her newly commandeered couch pillow. I tossed her blanket over it to make it more comfortable. 

We've seen Abbie using her "ear to the ground" guarding method before. But, this time she pulled an old lounge chair pad over and is employing it to help her man her post for longer periods of time while on duty. What a good guard dog. 

Here's dear Abbie guarding our trailer while we load things into it so we can haul it back to the hangar. She's always on duty. 

Some of our stuff the prior to the grand opening on Friday morning. We had 20 or so boxes that we didn't even get to unbox and display. 

To the right is more stuff....we had lots ands lots of stuff. 

We had stuff stuffed everywhere. Some of it is still in the same place until we can get the spizz to haul it back to the hangar. 

Here's our Camry after the "happy rain". It's all nice and clean again. The little car has 216K miles on her  but she's as mechanically solid as can be. I would trust her to take us anywhere in the country at a moment's notice and wouldn't even blink even if I had accidently left our "AAA" card at home. 

To the right is what the front of the rancho is 

supposed to look like. The canopy that had been hiding the entire front has been hewn back by the ol' lumber-jerk himself. That whack job took about four days to recover from. 

Here's Missy, the new doggie on the block. I think she's part border collie and part huskie. I really don't know. I just know that she disassembled my bales of hay. When was the last time you saw a pup do that?!

To the right is a shot of the driveway as we were in the process of setting up our tables. 

More tables. We actually only had half as many tables as were needed. We needed 15 more. 

Everything is tidy and ready for the big job of setting up for the sale. 

Well….things are moving along here at “Brown Acres” (the place I love to be). The problem is that they’re moving far too quickly for my slow mind and personal liking. It’s November, for Pete’s sake (whoever Pete is)! It’s only 48 days until Christmas and we’re not even quite ready for autumn yet! HECK! We’re not even ready for last autumn! Anyway, the key’s in the mailbox; come on in.

Yard sale. Big sale, big ache:  It takes a week to set up for the big event. It’s a full week of hauling stuff from our hangar at the airport (16 miles from home) and then everything has to be sorted, priced, and tabled (some of it was already priced). If you have several boxes of stuff, it’s no biggy. But, when you have 15-20 tables of goodies (i.e. trailer loads) and a huge rack of clothing, setting up is pretty rough on the old folks (especially loading and unloading those heavy long tables).

The Wednesday and Thursday prior to the opening on Friday is particularly brutal because all the rest of the event has to be prepared for, too. The pulled-pork and side dishes need to be prepped and all of the fixin’s and such need to be set out (crock pots are our friends!). Whatever other food for lunches has to be prepared and staged, and stuff that hasn’t already been priced must be priced at the last minute. And, coordinating the placement of the other sellers and addressing their needs is always a pressing matter. In all of that, “stuff” happens that tries to distract us from the goal of not having a lousy sale.

When the big day kicks off at 8:00 AM, there are three brutal 16-18 hour days of selling and babysitting stuff while continuing to set more stuff out. It’s a constant hustle and bustle from 5:30-6:00 AM until midnight. At the end of the day (about 9PM), you then have to try to accomplish the normal day’s needs and deeds prior to hitting the hay (e.g. house cleaning [after many folks have been coming in and out all day], washing dishes, checking the mail, answering voice mail, keeping up with business, prepping for the next day) and then (finally) showering and retiring. We usually don’t even remember our heads hitting the pillow. However, it’s not hard to remember trying to extricate ourselves from the sack the next morning (or even later in the morning if you get to bed after midnight).

When Sunday evening rolls around, we’re almost unable to function. On Monday morning, we can’t function at all until noon and even then it’s only to take care of immediate needs. You can bet that those needs get taken care of really slowly (“I’ll flip you to see who gets to crawl over to answer the phone”…you laugh). It’s a good thing the house didn’t catch fire because it would have taken three hours just to prepare to leave.

Then, there’s a week of teardown which is racking, packing, stacking, and stowing stuff and hauling it back to the hangar or to the Salvation Army. It’s exhausting by any means but how much mores so for the old people who are already wrecked? UGH. At least we can now afford a year’s supply of “Icy Hot” and “Ben Gay”.

This year has been quite different in that it’s been three weeks since the sale and we’re not even half way cleaned up. Between the rain, normal business and ministry, and being physically depleted, we just can’t get to it. What we’ll do is work at it a little at a time until it’s finished. It isn’t going anywhere and we aren’t either.

 “Oh, no! Don’t let the rain come down!” or “Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain”: It’s not that my roof has a hole in it and I might drown. In fact, thanks to a tornado that almost touched down next door to us (yes, we have tornadoes in CA), we had a new roof put on a few years ago and haven’t even had a leak. In fact number two, the entire region has been praying for rain during for our drought-plagued land. So, what’s all the hubbub, bub?

The big deal is that there are hundreds of unprotected items that will be destroyed if it rains. That means that we had to have large tarps at the ready or risk having a really lousy and mushy sales event. The good news was that there was no rain in the forecast. And, we all know that we can trust Leonard the Weather Dude, right? Not exactly. After a hard day of setting up and checking the weather report (with no chance of rain), and while getting ready to escape from our “work clothes” and get into our “comfies”, we got a text at 9:30 PM that would change everything to “Emergency Plan B”.

The text was from a neighbor advising that it was going to rain at about midnight. It was almost unbelievable! You can imagine the incredulous look we gave one another upon digesting that bit of news!

The two exhausted old sale’ers had to shift into higher gears (you could hear them grinding, believe you me) and hastened to grab the tarps and bungee cords. In hardly any time, we got with the program of tying everything down. Thankfully, due to the fact that Connie the Sale’r had plastic covers and tarps at the ready, it didn’t take but about 40 minutes to batten down the hatches. You probably don’t need much convincing to believe me when I tell you that we were moving slower than a three-legged turtle on a freshly waxed floor when the clock struck 12AM.

The next morning found everything wet but with most things protected. We didn’t lose anything important. About 6 or 7 years ago, we had a big wind blow through and take out two of our big pop-up canopies. This time wasn’t nearly as costly. C’est la vie.

The good news is that it was a “happy rain”. Usually, we get a “mad rain” which is just enough rain to make your car a rolling mud hole. This time, there was enough rain to actually wash the dirt off the van and make it look clean again. Happy rain!

There’s a mouse in the house! Or I scream for ice cream!: Fortunately, our mouse is Mickey Mouse (I learned to spell “M-i-c-k-e-y M-o-u-s-e” from watching the “Mickey Mouse Club” in 1958) which means that there’s no real vermin issue (other than outside where the fuzzers and gophers seem to rule).

We had recently picked up several Micky Mouse cookies and cream ice cream sandwiches from “Grocery Outlet”. They were three for a dollar and we got’em all! Lots of mice is nice! They’re the big ol’ fat ones, too! Since they are made by “Nestle’”, you just know that they’re scrump-dilly-umptious!

Since I own this joint, and since I’m the Grand Exhausted Poobah (and my momma ain’t lookin’), I took it upon myself as a very experienced ice cream eater to take one of these big babies for a test drive.  I started with the ears, of course, and worked my way down. My, but they were good!

 Speaking of eating:

The dog ate my homework…and my Crocs…and my hose nozzle…and my plastic garbage can…and…my patio blinds… and… my hay bales… and… the doggie pad in the doghouse and….she’s a “digger”…and…she seems to think that this is normal. Grrrrrrrr.

“Misty” is a beautiful name for a sweet-natured, pretty and intelligent, part Husky and part Border Collie pooch (at least that’s my opinion so far. I’m far from sure what she is). However, whereas, “Conan the Barbarian” and “Lara Croft Tomb Raider” have a nice ring to them, “Misty the Destroyer” …does not. It just has the wrong ring.  

To be able to cope with this lively, playful, cute, planet destroyer (I think she used to belong to Darth Vader), I have to rely on a couple of things (remembering that this is costly matter that needs to be resolved soon). One is that she’s a pup. Pups have a lot of spunk wandering around inside them and it’s always trying to find a way out. That she’s as boisterous as a small buoy during a big ocean squall is irrelevant; that’s understandable. A peppy puppy dog is a high-spirited dog that needs to do something….anything…to entertain itself or to campaign for attention. Abbie was much the same way until she grew out of it (or maybe it was at the threat of being swapped for a good sharp hunting knife: not sure).

The other thing is that this pooch is one sharp cookie. Though high-spirited like Abbie, this doggie doesn’t have the rebellious ‘tude that Abbie does. So, it appears that, if one is patient, she’ll be easy to train. She seems to be more than willing to take commands and that’s a good thing (or I will end up with a good sharp hunting knife).

Of course, it truly helps that she is soooo sweeeeet and just loves to soak up lovin’ of any kind and at any time. It’s unlikely that this lil’ doggy could get any sweeter even if you soaked her in a dump truck load of “C&H” pure cane sugar from Hawaii. She’s well worth the effort to patiently train her. I’m sure the rewards will be great.

Are we green yet, Abbie?: What with a new “baby” in the house, you always have to wonder just how the first child will react. Well, guess no more. Abbie is handling things fairly well but her jealousy isn’t hidden at all. On the one hand, she is very protective of me and heads Missy off at the pass if she tries to get too close to me. She is firm but not aggressive or hostile and ends up using whatever physical effort needed to direct Missy away from me. And, if I do start showing Missy attention, Abbie either barks and barks or sits and stares until she can’t stand it and pulls Missy away (which actually could be a presentation of jealousy, come to think about it).

Not to be outsmarted by a dog (I usually leave that to the chickens), I just lock Abbie on the back porch for a while and give Missy the attention she needs. She’s been in trouble no few times and has received the back porch confinement before. Though not happy, she just patiently settles in for the duration and waits it out.

Ally Cat? or We don’t need  no stinking big cat and we ain’t lion!: We don’t have an ally behind us be we do have lots of space for critters to wander through. That means that you just never know what’s gonna traipse through the back 40 until it gets your attention.

We’ve had coons, ‘possums, deer, coyotes, ground squirrels (aka fuzzers), gophers, stray cats, stray dogs, snakes, toads, and what all trespass on our property. But, sometimes some very interesting animals make their way here.

Some time ago (but longer than a blue moon), we had a bear meander into the next door neighbor’s yard. The next door neighbor to the west of them had a mountain lion snatch one of their goats. Well, a few nights ago, the cry of a mountain lion was heard out back. That truly got our attention. It’s one thing to hear the coyotes yip but to hear a big cat cry out is another.

For a couple of nights, until we were fairly sure that the big cat was gone, we made sure that our doggies were hooked up close to the house and that the chickens were all safely in the coop. After that, we turned them loose again to roam about as they pleased. But, you can bet that the trusty 5 shot 20GA Mossburg pump shotgun is handy (no real need for the artillery for now).   

 

Fixing a leak so you can take one or When it leaks, it pours:  

Drama never sleeps for long at the rancho. Thankfully, we’re not talkin’ about a body count but things do get…interesting around this place. 

The other day (when lots of things happen around here), there up and sprung a leak in the upstairs loo. Great. We’re still aching and haven’t even finished cleaning up after the yard sale and a major plumbing issue bulldozes its way into our otherwise only crazy busy work day. 

So, when any toilet has an issue around the ranch, there’s only one man to call: “Thunder Bucket Specialist First Class, Randy L. Minnick”. He’s up to the task seeing that he’s gone through this drill whole bunches of no few times. “Randy! Randy! He’s our man! If he can’t fix it, no one can!” Yeah.

After checking with Capt. Backup (my pal who has lots of parts and pieces for lots of things around here), all of the parts (lots of them) for a complete T-bucket rebuild were corralled and installed. Clink, clink, clack, clack, bend, bow, groan, twist, tighten, and flush. Check for leaks and we’re good to go. Thunder bucket Specialist: 1 - Thunder bucket: 0;

Ah, but you just know there’s more to this story. This is “Rancho Relax” where the curve balls just keep on comin’. The leak was larger and lasted longer than we had first thought. As you can imagine, it was very much a sucker punch when the ceiling of the first floor restroom started to sag over the top of the shower! Connie the Mopper was rather amazed (and not amused at all) when she watched the big bulge burst open and water gushed down.

Thankfully, all of the water was confined to the shower stall. However, the sheetrock on the ceiling and on one wall was a mess. Great. That part probably won’t be too big of a deal. The Ol’ Rancher has spent no little time in construction so, after grabbing a slice of sheetrock, some mud, and some tape, paint, and spray can texture, the place will look like new again.

The upstairs bathroom is a different gig because the vinyl flooring will need to come up, the floor will need to be thoroughly dried, and new flooring lain. There’s nothing complicated about the matter at all because all of it has been practiced prior to this small adventure.

However, the main man in charge of this project has made the decision that his days working so close to the ground or floor on his knees are pretty much over with. New tile panels will be purchased and an expert will be hired to finish up the project. Life goes on.

Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo: home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died): home of the Yo-Yo Twins, home of a retarded duck, home of Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells, where alliteration reigns supreme, where being modern is optional, where there are no slaves to fashion, where things can get...interesting, where it’s all news to me, and where...you just never know.

RANCHO NO BUENOS AIRES

   The formatting this month is terrible. I can't get it to do hardly anything that I want it to do. As usual, you may click on the pictures to enlarge them.

 

Above is the new addition to our ranch.
She’s an Australian Shephard and
her name is "Missy" (which really suits 
her to a tee). She is such a sweet and tame
pup that it's difficult to believe. She came
to us courtesy of a post on "Next Door". 
They said that she was a stray but I really
think that someone dumped her. It's hard 
to believe that someone would do that but 
certainly not to such a beautiful intelligent 
dog as this.  

Below, we see a shot looking east from Rancho Relaxo. On a good day, you can see "Black Mountain". It's 3 miles distant. The visibility on this day was about 1 mile. It has been worse. 

  

This is a shot of Schafer Dam/Success Lake taken from the viewpoint on Hwy 190.

This is a shot taken from the curve on 190 just east of "Success Market" and looking due north towards the dam. You cannot see it or the mountains. 

 

               Here's  a pretty pair. This is Speck and momma, 

               Wynona Wyandotte. She's growing like a weed!

Here's one of Connie the Canner's helpers. It's a big ol' 22 quart

pressure canner. If she needs something canned, this is the "go to" tool. Strangely, this thing doesn't have a name yet. 

Another really handy gadget to have around is her Vita-Mix mixer. There's just about nothing that this big baby can't handle. It can even make soup for you!  I think I'll whip up some Veeta-Vita-Vegge-Min! 

Well….it’s October. Doesn’t that just make you want to blow the sackbut for joy? It almost seems like Christmas is already here! I think I can prove it because, when we went to “Lowe’s” the other day, there were more Christmas items on display than spooky Halloween stuff. It’s difficult enough trying to handle the high velocity of time without them doing that to the old people! Enough already! It’s probably just as well that we move along lest my shrieking plaints escalate to the level that only dogs can hear. Today we BBQ; tomorrow we fry.

Hot doggies! My, but they’re good! – It’s a good bet that everyone’s favorite hot dogs are the ones cooked on an open grill on a sunny day (oh, pleeeeease don’t e-mail me to tell me that you think that those mooshy floppy boiled ones are your delight! I will lose hope in mankind!). That and apple pies are clear-cut “all American” items that we can all agree on. Sure: the ones at “Costco” are worth fighting a band of well-armed Hittites for. Of course, at my age, I’d prefer that they were armed with rubber band guns and club-shaped marshmallows. In any case, for this red, white, and blue California native, the hot-off-the-grill doggie is the top dog.

So, when the urge hit for a “dog fest”, and not wanting to wait for the “Brinkman” briquette burner to come to life, the ol’ griller dude headed for the big forlorn “Weber” propane cooker. I say forlorn because it had last been used sometime in the spring when the weather finally turned nice. The polite metal cooker sat quietly in the corner of the patio  hiding under a dust cover.

But, there was a problem. When the cover was removed, it was a sight to behold. After months of not being used (and noting that someone had forgotten to clean it after the previous use), it was an unqualified mess. Great. It immediately became apparent that lunch was going to be a bit late that day. The time card was punched and it was off to work we go. 

Every removable part was pulled, every swinging part opened, and the cleaning process began. It was not a pretty sight. It took a second to realize that the grill hadn’t been cleaned for a long time prior to its last use. Swell. Reckon the rancho ramrod will need to be confronted about such laziness.

The heavy artillery had to be fetched so the grease and grime could be blown off. Weapons included 409, Cinch, and SOS pads; a water hose was at the ready. The grill plates weren’t horrid, though: just terrible. But, the interior of the wondrous cooking device was yuckier than had ever been seen so the war was on.

 After flinging and flailing and scrubbing and rubbing, the stainless steel “Weber” was sparkling clean again but the ol’ g’rilla was a mess! I looked like I had just overhauled the 425 hp “Cat” engine from a 379 “Peterbilt”.

It was time for a test drive so the propane tank was turned on and the fires were lit. After a few minutes to let the grill get hot, the patiently waiting all beef franks were tossed on the barbie. After they plumped up and were sizzling, they were mated with fresh buns and condiments and to town we went! My, but they were good!

Eggplant city: My eggplants finally made it to harvest. It’s about time. The original eggplant starts were planted in March. Of the original two, only one remains and it has yet to produce anything but large pretty flowers. Five more were planted but only four bloomed and only one has produce fruit so far. There were only two medium sized eggplants at first but two more came along a week later. There are 6 more remaining on the other plants that are catching up and they should ripen in a couple of weeks. The weather will be fine for growing for another month or so. The Parmesan cheese is ready as is the Persian/Iranian eggplant stew recipe.

Estate Sale or Treasures R Us: It’s difficult for some folks to believe just how many treasures the old “sale’ers” are finding.  We went to another estate sale a couple of weeks ago and made out like bandits! It really isn’t boasting or bragging since we can hardly believe it, either! We went to the same sale on Saturday and Sunday and hauled home two van loads of really good nice stuff for…30 dollars...total. If I’m-a lyin’, I’m-a dyin’! Connie sorted her loot which contained all kinds of fabric and “home things” while my trove was all “guy stuff”.

One item was a vintage "Heathkit" Condenser Checker. The item was spruced up a bit and posted on eBay. It sold a week later for 50 bucks!  Another was a vintage "Hallicrafters" electronic code keyer. It sold a week later for 20 bucks! We haven’t had time to do anything with any of the other  goodies but we are already way ahead of the game!

The Big Annual Yard sale!: Our huge October yard sale is just around the corner. It is a monumental sale which requires monumental effort. All of the effort doesn’t necessarily equate to a monumental return on the investment, though. Nevertheless, we are looking forward to the camaraderie with our fellow “sale’ers” who always help to make it a great affair.

The three day event always has us enjoying a pulled pork lunch on one or more of the days and a large pot of chili or such on the last day. Someone usually brings an extra pot of this or that and we’ve even had grilled hot links! Connie the side kook usually has a potato salad on the side, too. No one…no one… leaves hungry. Stay tuned for updates. Some of the updates may appear on FB. 

Connie the Flour Girl: the other day (when lots of things happen around here), we stumbled into another “deal of the day” closeout at a local food mart. They had several 5lb bags of flour for .99 cents. We grabbed most of them and rejoiced at our find. Then, a week later, the remainder of the bags were marked down to .67! So, we got all of them. That's a lot of flour (80lbs)!

So, just what do you do with that much white stuff? You can’t just bake a hundred loaves of bread unless you are going to open a new bakery in town. You could, I suppose, fire up the griddle and make a thousand tortillas and sell them from the back of your van at the Wal-Mart parking lot (I think tamales are better sellers, though). Leave it to Connie the Canner to know exactly what to do. You  simply “dry can” it.

Dry canning is a bit different than regular canning and it’s also easier. You fill your quart jars with flour then, without the lid, you cook them in the oven for an hour. After an hour, you pull them out, put the lid on and wait for the lids to “pop”. However, with this many bags to contend with, she stored them in food grade 5 gallon buckets with oxygen absorbers on top. If times get rough, we will likely never run out of biscuits, pancakes, bread, cakes, or cookies. That'll work for me!

Buttering Up: But, she wasn’t quite done with the caning duties by any means. We stumbled into another “dancing in the aisle” closeout right after the other great deal. “Grocery Outlet” had butter on sale/closeout for…get this…1.49lb! In only a few minutes, they didn’t have to worry about what to do with any leftover butter because we had it all!

This is where Connie the Canner shines. She knows how to can butter, too!! Yep! It’s actually fairly simple and not all that time consuming. The idea is to melt the butter slowly and let it almost simmer for a while. The next step is to scrape the schmutz off the top. Afterwards, you pour it into a jar and heat it in the oven. When hot, you remove them and screw the lids on. After they cool, you store them. When you open them for use, you shake or stir the jar to mix the milk solids with the oil (e-mail her for the details: connieminnick@springvillewireless.com).

You may note that this is similar to making Indian “ghee”. However, the difference is that, with ghee, you actually remove the milk solids. It will remain good for long periods of time that way.

If you think that she’s through canning, guess again. We found yet another super deal at “Grocery Outlet”! They closed out a bunch of cylindrical boxes of “McCanne’s” imported Irish style steel cut oat meal. At .67 per box, this was a deal that was just too good to pass up. So, wearing our best happy faces, we gathered all that they had and hauled them home, too. The back end of the Coop de Ville was riding low that day!

Same question: what do you with all that oatmeal? Sure, it’s great for breakfast but not for 365 consecutive days. I love the stuff but, at some point, you’ll need to toss Ol’ Ran a real bacon and eggs breakfast or his ‘mood minder mechanism’ would likely break (you wouldn’t want that to happen, now, would you?). Answer: you make oat flour, that’s what.

So, Connie made oat flour with her genuine Model 3600 “Vita-Mix” mixer (sorry. It’s not for sale). That is one useful and powerful gadget, if you ask me! There’s not much that hefty stainless steel brute can’t do and it’ll do it with aplomb and without breakin’ a sweat! She made quick work of the several boxes of oats but left one box for us for breakfast cereal (bless her darlin’ heart).

For storage, a couple of 5 gallon buckets were employed and using the same procedure as she had done with the wheat flour. She can now add oat flour to her wheat flour and get creative with her bread making. Sounds good to me! Show me the buns!

She’s known for being a great canner but she is also Connie the Baker and is fabulous in that area, too! When she bakes bread or other goodies (her cookies are outrageously good), you can’t help but wonder if the baking fairy has slipped in and helped her!

Ash Wed…Thurs...Fri…Sat…Sun: We’ve been hammered by the smoke from two local fires in the nearby Sierra Nevada Mountains. One is the “Windy” fire (at about 10 miles SE) which has encroached upon the “Sequoia National Forest” and which has burned about 40 giant Sequoia trees. The other is the “KNP Complex” (at about 23 miles NNE and in the “Kings Canyon National Forest” which is the home of the nationally renowned “General Sherman” and “General Grant” giant Sequoias). Depending upon which way the wind blows, we get the fire and ash from one or the other forest fires (and can even get it from both!). It’s almost depressing to walk out to an ash-covered car and watch as more ash falls on it.

Breathing the smoke and having ash fall all over the place gets old rather quickly. Folks with existing respiratory issues are suffering greatly. The good news is that we have a 60% chance of rain this Friday (tomorrow). Yes…folks have been praying for rain. Thank you ALL!

Abbie the blunder dog: Given her track record, we can come to no other conclusion than that our high-spirited love doggie is not a guard dog; she is a watch dog. One of the simple chores she’s been tasked with is keeping the hens off the back porch. It’s not a lot to ask but she doesn’t seem to take the matter seriously. A couple of the working girls take delight in laying eggs in Connie’s planter boxes (why should they lay their huevos in one of the 36 discrete boxes in the coop?). Much to our chagrin, she will park on her doggie pad on the back patio and just watch while the girls wander about looking for a place to make a mess prior to laying their egg. If she wasn't such a good dog otherwise, I'd hock her doggie treats. 

New dog on the block (on the back porch, actually): A neighbor down the way (but not as far as an axel greasin’) recently posted a picture of a pretty black and white female Australian Shephard stray. She related that the dog was about a year and a half old and really sweet but that it needed a home since their family had a full share of pets. I advised the nice lady that, if she didn’t hear from anyone soon, call or text me and I would be glad to have the dog.

A couple of days later, she called and said that I could come get the dog. We were there in about 15 minutes because we were coming back from P’ville and were almost home. Sure enough, the pup was as sweet as a bucket of “Ho Ho’s”! You couldn’t help but fall in love with this pooch in a nanosecond. I did just that.

Amazingly, whereas Abbie won’t go near a car, when we put this little cutie in the Camry, she made herself at home! She remained quiet the short ride home and never so much as complained as we began the integration process into her new digs.

What with her being so obviously sweet, we figured that she would be the “beta female” and Abbie would be the “alpha female”. That was the case, indeed. The two met and did their “meet the new doggie thing” for a while (you don’t really want me to go into details, right?) and played around a bit and got used to each other. All was well. In no time, and after a good meal, our new girl dog made herself at home.

Ah, but wouldn’t you know; she commandeered Abbie’s well-broken in patio pad. Abbie was only a little short of being beside herself to see that her highness’ nap pad had been hijacked by a newbie. She danced around and about and barked for a while as the intruder rested comfortably and being almost unaware of her exceptions. Thankfully, nothing became of the matter. It didn’t take long until they were both enjoying some romping in the back yard and the matter was forgotten.

While all of this was transpiring, the two old ranchers were pondering what to name our nameless newcomer. The goofy names I came up with just didn’t have a ring to them (it’s difficult being an old Luddite). However, Connie nailed it within a short time: “Missy”. Yep! That’s old fashioned enough for around the old folks home and will fit nicely with our other love dog, “Abbie”. So, Missy it is.

It’ll take a while to train her to be a “chicken dog”. In fact, we just found out the hard way that we need to make it a priority. She slipped her collar and began an investigative tour of the ranch. It didn’t take long for her to bump into some of those feathered “playthings” we have free ranging here. In no time flat, and just like Abbie when she was a pup, Missy had a mouthful of feathers. Thankfully, a friend was working on his truck right next to the event and stopped the dog’s playtime. The  traumatized hen disappeared for a while but was discovered doing well at the nightly hen count. All feathers were present and accounted for.

To confirm our suspicions that she's an Australian Shephard, she not only looks like one, she has  heterochromia. One eye is blue and the other is brown and that's a common trait for them. Want to know a secret? I've wanted an Australian Shephard for many years after finding out how smart they are. They're a pretty doggie, too!  

12.30 or It’s in the bag: One of the benefits of traveling out of town is getting to eat at a new restaurant or at least find a place that we haven’t been to in a while. That’s what happened the other day when we went back to Fresno for a follow up appointment concerning Connie’s wrecked wrist (she’s healing up well).

After the appointment and after not really coming to a consensus as to which eatery we should bless with our money, we decided to just do what we did the previous time: wander about until something struck our fancy. That’s exactly what happened.

As we drove southbound on Blackstone, we stumbled right into an “Arbies”. Bingo! Our previous encounter with “Arbies” was a couple of years ago when we were travelling back from Bakersfield. It sits quietly on the 2600 block of N. BuckOwens Blvd and awaits folks like us who don’t get to satisfy their beef sandwich cravings very often (or often enough).

Wouldn’t you know they had a “two-fer” sale! After paying the $12.30 tab, we ate ours there then hauled a couple of others home to another “Arbies” fan in Porterville, my mother. She was delighted to see them despite the fact that we got home later than expected and too late for dinner that evening. So, after lavishing them with “horsey sauce”, she savored them the next day (microwave ovens are our friends!).

Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo: home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died): home of the Yo-Yo Twins, home of a retarded duck, home of Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells, where alliteration reigns supreme, where being modern is optional, where there are no slaves to fashion, where things can get...interesting, where it’s all news to me, and where...you just never know. 

 

 

 

RANCHO HARVESTO

 YOU MAY CLICK ON THE PICTURES TO ENLARGE THEM

Our birds are producers. and have consistently provided us with plenty of eggs. However, some time ago, the production was quite a bit lower. We just couldn't figure out why. Finally, Connie was on the front porch straightening out a large basket of fake flowers when she noticed something out of place. This pic reveals just exactly where our dirty birdies were laying their eggs. 

       Here's momma and Speck

     

Here's a dirty birdy who is getting her feet cooled off on a hot day. Smart bird, eh?

To the right is a tray of fresh Mexican "bolillos" which are a simple but tasty bread roll. These things are great and they are cheap! At 3 for a buck, they are regulars at the rancho. Fresh bread is our friend! 

This is Limburger cheese! In 1964, I watched the "Three Stooges" eat some of this of this stuff and wondered what was so good about it. After reading about it, it seemed that some folks loved it while others didn't. I found a small brick of it at a local "Grocery Outlet" so I sprang for the modest price and hauled it home. Know what? Despite the fact that it is somewhat smelly (but not stinky....well....OK....maybe a little stinky) and made from roughly the same related fungus found in your armpits (which left me wondering just who and how they accidently created this cheese), it was rather a good cheese. I like it!     

After chopping up a hose in the grass last month, it became apparent that the ol' lawn tractor driver needed help in paying attention. Here's one solution to the issue: a florescent hose. You can see the contrast without any problem at all. I bet I can even see it at night (uh....no grass mowing is allowed at night around here)! 

To the right is an example of "mad rain". A couple of days ago and unexpectedly, a summer storm blew in and dropped 6" of rain. Well, not really. It's just that 6" was the measurement between drops (thank you, Michael D. for the way to accurately measure our rain!). It was just enough rain to make a mudhole of your car if it is sitting under a tree. The Coop de Ville was sitting under a tree and was turned into a muddy mess. It made me mad. Hence the term "mad rain". 

This is a shot of the all-too-familiar sky when there are fires raging in the region. The smell of smoke permeates everything and gets old really quickly. Folks got tired of not seeing blue when they looked up during the day. 
A couple of days ago, lightning started yet another fire "up the hill" from here and we can see the huge plume of smoke. So far it hasn't filled the sky with smoke at our place.

"Roady's" is a towing and car repair shop based in Springville. You can see that someone likes the movie, "Cars" and got creative. 

 

Well, September has rolled around again but it didn’t have to arrive on an SST! Dang! There is such a thing as “time travel” and it travels at supersonic speed!!  There are only 114 days until Christmas! To tell the truth, I don’t want a Shih Tzu.

It’s that time again:  time for the Rancho Relaxo Report for September. Lots of things have been happening around here. Some have been good while others have not been so good. On the whole, we are still quite blessed in that we have need of nothing and are over fed. Life’s good!

The wrist thing: a couple of weeks ago, we went back to Fresno (a real city) to see the doctor for a follow-up exam for Connie’s wrist. The surgeon advised that her wrist was healed and that she should continue working on range of motion exercises and to do as much with her hand as it could tolerate. That was great news so she’s now without the wrist brace that she was bound to for these many days.

While in town, we drove around awhile so Ol’ Ran could reconnoiter his old stomping grounds and see the changes. My! There were a ton of changes!  Large empty fields are now populated with housing tracts and even large commercial buildings! Most of the well-known (at the time I lived there) restaurants and businesses were long gone. The buildings were now hosting new places to eat or had been repurposed for another function. Even the places where I had worked were long gone.

We had skipped lunch in anticipation of finding a new and different eatery. In Fresno, you can throw a rock and hit a great place to eat (though you’ll probably have to purchase a new window before they allow you in if you do have an urge to practice your rock tossing).

We had no particular plan in mind but thought to just wander around until something popped up and tempted us. That's exactly what happened. Before long (which was great because we used up all the mileage from our scant breakfast), we happened upon a "Popeye's" restaurant. The next thing you know is we're chowing down on their magnificent chicken sandwich, some popcorn shrimp, and a bucket o' fries! What a feast!

The nearest "Popeye's" to us is in Tulare so we plan on going over there again whenever the next feast season rolls around. 

Rancho Jardin Report or Squash me, please: One of our greatest gardening delights is to harvest our zucchinis. It’s super to have them freshly sautéed with onions, garlic, and whatever comes to mind at the time (love me some 'shrooms, too).

Likewise, they taste oh, so good in a chicken or vegetable soup accompanied by a large chunk of Connie the Baker’s fresh, hot, homebrewed, bread. My, but that’s good! Another plus is that Connie the Canner gets to can a bunch of these for the winter when hot soups and stews are really our dearest of friends. It’s something we look forward to each and every harvest time.

Alas, it was not to be this year. Of the six zucchini plants that we started with, only one survived and even it was somehow compromise. To tell the truth, it was really screwy.

Part of the issue was the bloody California Pocket Gophers who are mighty sneaky and sly about robbing from old peoples’ gardens; merciless critters they are!  These little subterranean buggers lurk underneath your crops like a German U-Boat waits under the North Atlantic for an enemy merchant ship that’s bringing supplies to a hungry England.

They then eat the roots off the respective plant and, the next thing you know, the plant is dead despite ample water and no other obvious signs of a threat. If that doesn’t just bang your banjo, they will just beaver off the plant stem at ground level severing it’s life line to the life-giving dirt. That’s what happened to our zukes and our eggplants.

One zuke did finally flourish. It was the largest and most beautiful zucchini plant that I have ever seen. Strangely, this happy healthy plant only produced four fruit. that's it; just two small and two large ones. Sheese. There was enough to grate then freeze some and the rest was sautéed. Weird.

Of the four original eggplants we started, only one survived but has yet to produce fruit after six months. Weird x 2. So, four more were planted and three of them are thriving. No idea what happened to the fourth one. At least two of these plants have fruit hanging on them so far. It will soon be a good day to make eggplant parmesan. 

The green bean crop this year’s was also a bust. We planted twice as many as last year and only got four quarts for canning. Contrast that to the fact that we got at least ten quarts with half as many plants last season. That was another strange thing because all of the plants were flourishing and had flowered. What’s incomprehensible is that we have our own large hive of bees out in the back 40 and other pollinators abound. Weird x 3.

The strangeness doesn’t stop there, however. There was no need to plant more than a couple of the zapolla squash this year because their fruit weighs as much or more than a pumpkin. And, being squash, they are naturally hearty and robust. Not this time. It took a couple of attempts to finally get a solitary plant to grow. But, even though it has been growing, flowering prolifically, and has been healthy, it has, after five months, only produced one medium sized fruit…and it died on the vine! Large yellow flowers abound as do the pollinators yet no other fruit is in evidence. “Brown thumbs of America unite!”.

There is a bit of brighter news about this matter, though. The zapolla puts down runners that take root every few feet. Since there has been sufficient blooming, there should be at least a few 40 pounders arriving by Christmas....of 2025. *SIGH*. 

There’s a tad more of squashy news. Though the winter squash didn’t arrive like “Gangbusters” (a radio drama circa 1940-41), we did get a few acorn squash and several spaghetti squash. That was enough for Connie the Canner to actually can some of it and to brew up a big pot of spaghetti squash soup! We grabbed a few fresh Mexican bolillo rolls and some fresh butter and went to town!

Our okra was also a huge disappointment on at least the same scale. We planted twelve okra plants seven of which survived. That many plants should have produced enough okra to share with the entire neighborhood and then some. However, we filled four sandwich bags full and that was the end of that. Okra plants are usually nice and tall but none of these ever got higher than about 2.5 feet! That’s strange x 4.

Our bell pepper plants were the tallest we’ve ever seen but they only produced a few smallish fruit. The two tomatillos bloomed with many blossoms but produced no fruit. One is just now starting to produce small fruit so we shall see.

The tomato plants were mixed, this time around (about half beefsteak and half Romas). We only ended up with two solid Roma plants and they did produce well. The “Beefsteak” tomatoes were another story. The gophers took out all six of those and we didn’t see a single tomato.

Next year, we are going to plant everything in new garden boxes and in wire baskets which should end the garden grief forever. This compost/soil has been used for the previous five or six years and has some sort of fungus in it that killed off some of the squash and tomatoes (and probably some other plants, as well). It’ll be a big project because all of the soil will need to be removed, new boxes constructed, then fresh dirt/soil/compost replaced. A nice winter project for the Ol’ Rancher, eh?

Rancho Hondo or The Little ATV That Couldn’t: Our little Honda FourTrax has been a real blessing around the ranch since it was given to us by one of our clients. It allows the ol’ rancher dude to do a lot more work in a lot less time than usual. It even has a small trailer that hauls all kinds of things from trash barrels to tree trimmings.

It has given us no real grief and starts on the first crank. But, not long ago (but longer than the other day when lots of things happen around here), she just wouldn’t fire up. Gas was checked, the correct gas valve position was assured, the battery was charged, but she just wouldn’t start. That meant that a lot of work just wasn’t going to get done and things would get further behind than they already are. Bummer.

A mechanic friend looked at it and he had no success, either. It looked like a lost cause for at least a month. There was no way that the little four-wheel mule was going to be hauled to Visalia to be worked on. The last contact I had with them convinced me that it would cost a fortune for them to do very little work. The fuel petcock was faulty so the little quad wouldn’t start. They advised that it would cost about two hundred dollars for them to replace it. That would be after it was hauled over there. It’s not a big hit but it’s still a ten dollar turnaround and the time to deal with it is even more costly.

After researching the matter, a fuel petcock was ordered for less than twenty dollars (including shipping). It only required a couple of metric wrenches and 20 minutes and the thing was installed. So, there was no way that the Honda shop was going to be involved with this matter.

After all of the attempts by a couple of others, the issue was finally resolved; it was the spark plug. That’s all it was! After buying another one for less than four dollars, the little machine kicked over on the first crank and was back in service. Reckon I should have found a real mechanic in the first place.

"Chinese, please!" or "Yes, I want noodles with that!": We finally got another of our Chinese restaurants open. It’s the “New China” buffet and it is the preferred buffet for our group of noodle eaters. So, it was incumbent upon us to give our support so they can remain in business and we can remain in noodles  The other Chinese buffet, “L&D Chinese Buffet” is open but "New China" is the preferred place. 

Of course, we had to include our 93 year old momma bear in the group lest she die of the dreaded “Chinese food depravation syndrome” (something which is not allowed in our family). She and we were delighted to see that they had all of the same goodies as they had in the pre-panic days. Particularly satisfying was the deep-fried battered shrimp (much to my chagrin, they were out of the deep-fried breaded butterflied shrimp). The three of us could hardly walk when we left but it was a most pleasant dining experience.

The only disappointment was that the price had gone up two bucks since our last trip there pre-clamp down.  The price of rice, beans, and gas has all gone up, too. Such is life in the big city, I suppose.

Cleanup on Aisle 2 or Bug-fest at Rancho Relaxo: Once in a while, the Ol’ Rancher will shuffle the garbage barrels around and allow the ravenous raptors a chance to display their rapid-fire pecking skills. So, the other day (when lots of things happen around here) was “barrel day”. One by one the barrels were snatched up and away which allowed the bugs to scatter. They didn’t have a chance. The gals gathered on them and it was “game over”!  What a hoot to see them charge after the light-panicked bugs while not caring at all that they are slamming full speed into one another. Barrel after barrel was lifted out the way to the delight of the ever-hungry egg factories whom are ever so efficient into turning the extra protein into delicious eggs. No mas cucarachas.  

The New Hatchling: Our brooding hen, Wynona Wyandotte, faithfully sat on a dozen eggs for the requisite 21 days and finally did get results. There were high hopes around that ranch that we would be able to replace the birds that were lost to the coyotes. In reality, she just got a single result because only one egg hatched. Dang.

As an aside, it appears to me that Roo, the big beautiful classic “red rooster”, just isn’t doing his job correctly. Now, tell me; just exactly how do you screw that up, anyway? His legs are not short and he doesn’t seem to wobble. His “hen grip” with his beak is superb and the gals are not running away when he’s on the job. “Hey, Roo! What’s up with that?”.

Granted, he isn’t quite as frisky as our other rooster, Harvey Henbanger, who was a sight to behold. Every day he was like a kid on his first trip to Disneyland and covered as much ground as did the grass.

Anyway, the baby chick couldn’t be cuter. It’s so funny to watch the little critter trying to keep up with its momma. He speeds along at what looks like a hundred miles per hour but is so little that it seems impossible for him to go that fast!  He is so tiny, in fact, that we just call him, “Speck” until we can determine which gender he is. But, it won’t be teeny much longer because he’s growing like a weed.

Up a tree or Hand Me Down the Pruners: After waiting several months for a winning lottery ticket, it dawned on the Ol’ Pruner that he was going to have to trim and prune the trees himself (instead of hiring someone). After that revelation, he said to his self, “Self, next time try buying a ticket”.

A day was chosen at random on which to execute the plan to whack the trees into submission so that our humble home no longer looked like the Adam’s family estate (we’re not always tidy but at least we’re lazy).

To aid in the project, there was a new long-handled pruning saw and a new long handle pruner/lopper on hand. That helps in keeping the tree canopy up so that we can park the van under it without wrecking the top or pulling the ham antenna off. And, it helps to keep leaves out of people’s eyes and limbs high enough so that the tall among us don’t smack into them (which was one of the reasons the decision was made to whack them in the first place. Wanna see the bump on my noggin?).

As mentioned earlier, another helpful tool is “Hondo” the Honda ATV that has a small trailer hooked up so that it can haul trimmings to the brush pile in the back 40. It makes big jobs look easy. Just load the trailer and away we go.

Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo: home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died): home of the Yo-Yo Twins, home of a retarded duck, home of Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells, where alliteration reigns supreme, where being modern is optional, where there are no slaves to fashion, where things can get...interesting, where it’s all news to me, and where...you just never know.   

AUGUSTO CON GUSTO

 I've gotta tell yuh, when I saw this chunk of orange sitting where "Coleman's" used to sit, I was rather miffed. One of the last tangible connections to a lot of great memories disappeared overnight. Sure, I know that the only thing that is consistent in life is "change". But, I don't have to like it. There was no opportunity to experience one last steak sandwich and batch of hot fries. I'll be bummed for awhile then I'll get over it.

NOTE: click on the pics to enlarge them

This big beauty is the Peruvian zapolla squash plant. It has taken over the south half of the #3 garden box. Its fruit can weigh more than 25 kilos each! We won't want for squash around here any time soon! That's especially when you consider the other dozen squash varieties that are planted. Squashies are our friends! 

Speaking of "friends", this is my newly found friend, Mr. King Snake. The little guy got all caught up in the bird netting near the garden boxes and got himself wound up in it and couldn't escape. Thankfully, Abbie the coon, 'possum, fuzzer/squirrel, frog, lizard, gopher, chicken, snake dog was on the alert and directed my attention to it before it just up and died (like the rattlesnake did not long ago). It took about 15 minutes to untangle the gorgeous brown and white reptile but it was worth it. He was set free out in the "back 40". 

This is interesting. This is the first year that this little peach tree got serious about granting a real harvest of fruit. Then, to spite me, it loaded one limb so heavily that it snapped. if that doesn't make you walk like an Egyptian, the Stellar Jays have damaged and otherwise wrecked at least half the good fruit. Though they are still ripening, the peaches are soft enough for the birds to peck into and ruin. We'll still get a handful of peaches....I hope. 

This is what happens when you don't pay attention at Rancho Relaxo. It's especially true when you have, for whatever reason, a yard full of deep grass (or, in our case, deep green leafy stuff consisting of thousands of varieties of vegetation some of which is probably lawn grass). This is the big "Craftsman" GT3000 getting jacked up so the Ol' Rancher  (who had nothing else to do on this 100 degree day) could untangle and detach his bloody garden hose from the mower blades. Way....to....go....Ran. 

Here's your heavy lifting helicopter for the day. This big baby worked for at least three days hauling water from the lake and local ponds to the fire up  the hill on Bear Creek Road east of SCICON. This is the venerable Sikorsky CH-54/S-64. 

To the right is the restaurant at the "Central Fish Market" at 1535 Kern St in Fresno. We went there for lunch after getting Connie the Canner's wrist fixed at the "Sierra Orthopedic Center". I've been dining here for decades because it's one of the best Japanese food places in town and it has its own atmosphere that makes it special. What makes it noteworthy on this day is that no one is here! It's the first time ever (since 1983) that I've been there and had the place to myself. I didn't think anyone would believe me because the place is always bustling with customers. So, I took a picture (several, actually) as proof

Well, we do call them "dirty birdies for a reason; they take dirt baths. Under one of our plum trees near garden box #1, is one of wallows they haunt. You can see one of the Wyandottes, one of the Rhode Island Reds, two Barred Rocks, "Roo", the Rhode Island Red rooster, and lil' Chick-a-Dee (in the right foreground). She catches on quickly and takes to the dirt like a pro.  

This particular dirty birdie is on Connie the Canner's black list and may want to duck because she's also on Connie the Cooker's menu. The dumb cluck excavated most of the planter's contents including the geraniums. If that isn't enough to starch your booties, she also whacked another large potted plant nearby this one. Connie shooed her away. We're pretty sure she said, "Cluck you!" when she left. If she does that again, there'll be an extra four pounds of fresh protein added to our diet. 

Chick-a-Dee is now on her own. Broody Mae stopped being a mother hen a few days ago so she's taking care of herself. She's a bit skittish still because she's the smallest of the herd and can't stand up against the big biddies. Oh, but she will, in time. It's amazing to see how big she has gotten in so short a time. We fully expect her to follow the big girls into the coop at night but, until then, she's sleeping in the apple tree. 

Here's faithful watch hound, Abbie, practicing her ear-to-the- concrete "listening for the enemy" posture. No enemy has ever snuck up on Rancho Relaxo. 

Here she is once again practicing her famous security protocol. 

Here she is again but wallowing in the chicken's dirt bath digs. Our hope is that she isn't going to identify as a chicken. We could probably use the eggs but this really won't work for me. 

This is Abbie again but hiding in the tall grass and under a large zapolla squash plant. You know, she may actually be getting some idea of how security works. If she stays still, she's almost undetectable. No bad guys can fool my pooch! She's alert and ready (and staying cool in the shade while she's at it). 

Well! Besa mi mucho! It’s August…already! It’s only 145 days until Christmas! Can’t we just reopen the roller rinks?!

All is still well here at the rancho. Oh, yes; things are still “moving along” here at a brisk pace. Our pace doesn’t seem to be subject to wind or weather. If it picks up any more, we’ll need to wear jetpacks on our backs! Wahoo!

The good news is, excepting Connie the Canner’s broken wrist and some minor issues with gophers and such, we are really blessed and things are peaceful here. She has a follow up appointment in about a month then another surgery scheduled in about six months. The wound is healing well and the swelling has gone down significantly though not as much as we had hoped. Range of motion is still limited but she's doing hand exercises which help maintain mobility. 

She's able to do light-to-medium house work and I help with the heavier stuff, of course. It's surprising to see how much she has recovered and how much she can do.  

Dishing the Dirt or Dust on the Saddle: if there’s one thing that our region has in abundance of, it’s dirt and dust. There’s so much of it that we’ve started calling the thick layer of dust found on the entirety of our computers, cars, cats, and canines, “Springville insulation”.

Now, computer dudes have never cottoned to having dust in their habitat. That’s largely because it’s unsightly and unhealthy and because computers are really expensive air filters that collect an unbelievable amount of dust (and cat hair, human hair, dog hair, and, if one is available, Yeti hair).

So, you can imagine what was going through the Ol’ Grand Exhausted ‘Puter Poobah’s mind when he started noticing that his shop wasn’t going to pass the “white glove” test any time soon! There was dust everywhere! This is a significant revelation because there are two large healthy “Honeywell” air purifiers on top of one of my large computer stations. They are on duty 24/7 and are supposed to be on top of dust suppression around here and have been doing a great job so far. The placement is purposely up high for efficiency sake.  

A quick consultation with Connie the Housekeeper was in order. She looked into my pretty brown eyes (she says I have pretty brown eyes) and said, “Did you clean the filters?”. My response was immediate: “Er…uh….I uh….well, uh …no, uh. I didn’t”. Being merciful and not wanting me to run out of stumbling while mentally searching for a good lie to use as an excuse, she asked, “When was the last time you cleaned them?”. My response was immediate: “Er…uh….I uh….well, uh…I don’t recall”. Well, there you have it. There was no guessing what (unexpected) project would be eating up the next hour of my precious time.

The big 33 gallon “Craftsman” air compressor in the barn was kicked on and the air hose and the long barreled nozzle were attached (in the heat). The two big dust and lint collectors were hauled out onto the back porch (in the heat) where they were disassembled and the filters removed. Holy moly!! Those things were filled to the brim with dirt and the pre-filter sponge covers were completely caked!! They must have been ignored much longer than had been thought (which makes sense given that the Ol’ Rancher has a masters degree in ignoring things).

After being blasted clean (in the heat), they were reassembled (in the heat) and replaced on their high station in the shop (in the cool). They are no longer dust shifters; they are dust filters. You can bet that ramped up the rancher’s mood a notch or two.

The astute will notice that none of this took an hour. However, after disconnecting, hauling, disassembling, cleaning, re-hauling, reassembling, and re-stationing them (while mostly in the heat), it took the remainder of time for the ol’ compressor jockey to recover from the abuse.

!@#$%^& or &^%$#@!: Once in awhile "stupid" will walk onto the ranch and grab ahold of the first person it sees. This time, it was Ol' Ran the Lawn Mower Man. He’s the guy who is experienced driving everything from a lawn tractor to the nimble John Deere 860 and 860A self-loading scrapers and the big Westinghouse LeTourneau WABCO 222F and 222G 22 yard self-loading scrapers.

After making a (too quick) pass around the yard to curl a hose and check for small sticks, small stones, and small children (the grass was pretty high that day), Ol' Ran kicked the tires and lit the fires on the big healthy 26HP Kohler powered “Craftsman” GT3000 lawn tractor. About three-fourths of the way around the yard on the first pass, the big tractor stumbled, started groaning and making ugly noises, then stopped dead in its tracks all in about 3 seconds. My lightning-fast mind said, "Well, this can't be good".

It didn't even take a full dismount to see a hint of light blue hiding deep in the grass. It was.... the other hose. I wondered what happened to it and now I know. It had been lurking in the deep grass until it could spring up and wrap itself around two of the three blades on the mower. That left me with the large chore of clearing up the tangle (large chores are not my friends when it's 103 degrees outside).

The tractor had to be jacked up and the hose had to be unwound. After about 20 minutes in the blazing sun, the hose was freed from the blades. Of course, the 50' hose had been whacked and shortened by about four feet. The cut loose section just needs to be spliced back to the main hose. Thanks, Ran. *SIGH*

ECHO Model SRM-266 or Eatin’ weeds on purpose: Some time ago (but longer the other day and longer than not long ago), the big rancho ECHO weed eater bit the dust (when it should have been eating weeds). Its operator was been able to get by using alternative means until he could no longer find an excuse to not buy another one.

After deciding it was time, the Ol’ Rancher and his side kook moseyed on down to Porterville Agri-Home to talk the owner/manager/friend, Corie, into selling us another one. Since the homework on which one to purchase had already been completed, it was a piece of cake to convince her of the one we wanted and to assure her that the ink was dry on our cash. She pulled it off the wall rack and had one of the mechanics give it a “first run” for us as we handed over the bills. In no time at all we were headed back to the rancho to put the new power tool to work.

When we got home, it was put straight to work despite the mid-day heat. The ECHO worked so well that it was difficult to stop. So, the old farmhand didn’t stop but just keep on knocking down the weeds until the front yard no longer looked like it had been leased by the Adams Family.

The yard looked great but there was a ton of muscles that were screaming and rebelling the next day. The sting of the sunburn on my face helped to distract me from the pain.

 Okra: it’s what’s for dinner or “Pass me the okra and nobody gets hurt!”: Our okra is finally starting to bless us with the rewards of our labors. After a few cuttings, there was enough of a harvest to whomp up a mess of fried okra so it was added to the evening meal.

After coating it with cornmeal, it was promptly tossed into a skillet with a couple of tablespoons of melted bacon grease in it. Let me tell you, neighbor! That there is some good eatin’! This is one okra lover that can hardly wait until the next harvest comes around so that he can do it again…and again! Okra is my friend!

If you decide to try this at home, remember to just use cornmeal (no flour; nein; nyet; nada) and to always use lard or bacon grease if you want the authentic “Okie” okra flavor and want the okra to “speak to you” (speak to your tongue, actually). If you really want to knock your culinary socks off, add a skillet full of fried “taters” to the meal (if you use potatoes, I will hunt you down and ‘splain the difference!). And, if your main dish is beans and bacon or beans and ham hocks, you will smile so much that, if you weren’t stop-drilled at the ears, you’d smile the top of your head off!

Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo: home of Rancho Ran, the world's foremost authority (the previous one died): home of the Yo-Yo Twins, home of a retarded duck, home of Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells, where alliteration reigns supreme, where being modern is optional, where there are no slaves to fashion, where things can get...interesting, where it’s all news to me, and where...you just never know.