RANCHO MIO MAYO

Greetings and welcome to the "Rancho Relaxo" blog for May. This month's issue isn't so late as the previous one. That doesn't mean that things aren't hectic around here. We're busier than the first hog at the trough! The Ol' Rooster and Ol' Hen just wanted to share what's happening here at our humble rancho nestled in the rapidly deteriorating glory of our beautiful foothills in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Our regal flower blooms have dropped off but our bees are still busy bees (but the heavy lifting is over with). We'll check our boxes for honey when we can get to it. Thanks for dropping in at the Rancho Relaxo global headquarters.

 

Note: click on the pictures to enlarge them.

This is Connie the Baker's rendition of Carmel Nut Coffee Cake. All it took for me to be addicted to these things was one bite! 

If you want to be a hero at the next family reunion or potluck, here's the recipe. You won't be disappointed! 

This is rather noteworthy to those who don't live in the southwest. It's an entire row of 5 shelves (with an end cap of 7 shelves) devoted solely to tortillas. We keep both corn and flour tortillas on hand. Tortillas are our friends! 

Don't buy it!! This is Fuzzy Dog who wants you to think that he's a cute, little, humble, patient, and well-mannered, and obedient pooch! It's an act and it's all nonsense! He is a boisterous, bouncing, presumptuous,

always hungry (despite there being no lack of calories tossed his way), attention hogging, wayfaring (but held in check with an electric collar), nosy, ornery, too smart for his own good, doggy! But......I love this little knuckle-headed canine clown. He's a hoot! Even though he's the Dennis the Menace of dogs, I can't help loving this headstrong pup. He'll look more presentable when I get to the shears and whack some fuzz off of him so that he's ready for warmer weather. 

This is Lucky Ducky with Doofus Duck in tow. Doofus, it turns out, wasn't laying eggs like Lucky Ducky was because he's a male (amazing how that works). At first, there seemed to be no obvious way to resolve the "no eggs" issue so it was decided to consult the  oracle known as "The All Knowing Google". Seems that male Pekin ducks' tails will have a little "flip up" curl at the end. Yep. The duck's tail had the curl. So, his name was changed from Darla Darla Fo Farla to Doofus. That's mainly due to the fact that that's the way he acts in the coop. An alternate name would have been "Toopid Duck" but Doofus works for now. 

The other day, we stopped a a yard sale and ran into at least a half-dozen peacocks and   peahens! Porterville used to have a few of them around back in the late '50's and early '60's but I didn't know that there were any still hanging around. This pretty boy did spread his tail but I wasn't able to have a camera ready at the time. 

Wanna see my whipped cream? This is  

in case the Ol' Rancher wants to pretend that

he's a ten year old who wants to have 

his own entire can of whipped cream. "So, what's the 

second can for?", you may ask. It's in case he decides

to pretend to be ten more than once. 

                                                                                  

 

Tip o’ the day:

“Build a man a fire, and he's warm for an hour. Set a man on fire, and he's warm for the rest of his life” - Ward Clark (“RedState” journalist)

And now a word from our sponsor:

This issue of Rancho Relaxo is brought to you by “Glitzy Glenda’s Glatty Glotty Glubbers”. Now, these are the best Glatty Glotty Glubbers that money can buy! You cannot...I say...you cannot get better Glatty Glotty Glubber anywheres! And, folks, they're made right here in the good ol’ US of A. You can get your bountiful supply of “Glitzy Glenda’s Glatty Glotty Glubbers” at the Wal-Mart, KMART, Speedy Mart, Save Mart, Quick Mart, Rapid Mart, and all those marts where those guys have them towels wrapped around their heads. Tell'em the Ol' Rancher sent you. You'll be glad you did!

                                THE RANCHO RELAXO REPORT

Holy cherry flavored psych meds, Batman! It’s May! Can you believe it?! It’s only 234 days until Christmas (is it OK to be dismayed in…May?)! Time is whizzing by as fast and as inexorably as a brakeless B&N freight train headed downhill on Cajon Pass! 

Movin’ along….We’re hectic and busy around here as always. In fact, we're about as busy as a loose pig at a luau! We’re cookin’, cannin’, and freezin’ with the best of them while we chase our bird herd and two diggity dogs (my, but Fuzzy can dig holes!). But, it’s better than having the neighbors call the cops to do wellness checks on us every few days.

Other than suffering from late-stage adulthood, we’re doing pretty well. The ability to daily articulate, formulate, masticate, medicate, meditate, micturate, postulate, punctuate, promulgate, perambulate, alliterate, and all those other “ates” without assistance is more than greatly appreciated. 

 Something Leeky This Way Comes or Taking a Leek: Once in a while, you simply must do what you simply must do. In this case, there were two big beautiful leeks quietly sitting on our kitchen counter apparently waiting to be stored in a cool dark place. I don’t trust quiet leeks for a minute so I immediately beheaded both of them, whacked them into small pieces and then, for good measure, I boiled them into submission. There was no negotiation or appeal.

Now, potatoes are my friends and, as quiet, unassuming, and harmless as they may be, a couple of them had to be sacrificed for the cause. So, it was “Off with their skins!” and they too were sliced and diced and chucked into the calmly awaiting cauldron. Add salt and boil a spell.

A chicken bouillon cube was tossed into the leeky pot followed by a couple cloves of ajo (ajo = garlic) and a “whatever” amount of salt. After everything was boiled to perfection, about three-fourths of it was poured into the blender along with a cup of heavy cream and made into a purée. Then the other fourth was mixed in which made for a marvelous smooth-but-with-bumps potato and leek soup. 

Add a small round loaf of buttered (real butter) sourdough bread, a spoon, and, bingo! It’s dinner time. Oh, man! That stuff was so good that I had to remind myself to eat until I was full and not until I was tired!

More food or We're talkin' Pot Luck: Speaking of good food, the other day (uh-huh), we were invited to another potluck (am I the only one who never tires of potlucks?). Dear friend and brother, Charlie Morrell, was back in town for a week to take care of some personal matters so it was “Jam Time” in Porterville. Arrangements were made to meet at the “Colonial Community Homes” at Morton and Westwood where he and his wife, Marney, used to live prior to moving to Tennessee (Daniel Boone country, as I recall).

Well, you can’t have a jam session without having a potluck now, can you? Heck no! So, everyone pitched in and built one of the best potlucks you can possibly have at a jam session  (you starving musicians know what I’m talking about!)! 

In the book of “Third Randy”, it says “Man does not live by bread alone; he has to have beans and ham hocks at least now and again!”.  So, it's not a secret that the Ol’ Rancher is quick to whomp up a huge pot of pinto beans and ham hocks for any good reason (or for any bad reason, for that matter)! A good jam session is a mighty fine reason, so out came the apron and the bean pot. When the beans were cooked to perfection, they were placed on the stove to "cure" in the pressure cooker until the next day.

There was no end to the fabulous array of food that night! It's been a long while since we had been to such a gala! It was a grand night to fling a fork. You can bet that not a single person left there hungry that night!

After the feast, we fired up the amps and set to having a good time pickin’ and grinnin’ like we used to do, oh so many years ago. Charlie pulled out his song list and we had at it.

Ol’ Ran, the Bean Man, is also Ol’ Ran the Bass Man so the ol’ Fender Precision Bass was hauled out and hooked up. Charlie had to travel light so he played rhythm and lead on my Fender Telecaster. When he switched to an acoustic guitar, I played lead guitar on the Tele and dear friend and bass player (and fellow bean eater), Bob Bartlett, played bass the rest of the evening. Long time friend and lead guitar picker, Jim Duggins (beans are his friends, too!), was also there with his Fender Telecaster so we all had a great time!

Jim, Charlie, Bob, and I have played music together for most of 25 years so it was as much a family reunion as it was a jam session. No doubt about it; we had a grand time! When it was time to “stow and go”, we all agreed that we simply must do this again! The good Lord willing and the Creek don’t rise (they won’t. They’re too busy minding the casinos and taking the white man’s money), we will do just that.

 Not through eating yet: Because Charlie hasn’t been in Porterville in quite awhile (they moved to Tenn.), he wanted to knock over a couple of his favorite restaurants while here. One of those places was “El Nuevo Mexicali II” on N. Prospect where he ordered up a big bowl of albondigas soup (Mexican meat ball soup). It was a delight to his soul.

When it was my turn to pick a plate, the pozole (Mexican hominy) soup was chosen. This was because I had been to this particular restaurant many times and only selected their taco combo plate almost every time. And, I hadn’t had a big bowl of the stuff in years.

Pozole has the same basic soup base as menudo but the main ingredient is pork or chicken instead of beef tripe. Traditionally, the main meat ingredient is a pork knuckle or hock. An excellent second choice is shredded or chopped/cubed pork shoulder. Chicken is also a hit with the hungry. 

When the big bowl was delivered and set down in front of me, it was evident that something wasn’t right. Other than the hominy, it didn’t even look like the previous bowls of pozole that I had eaten. The soup base was brown and not reddish meaning that they didn’t use chili powder in the recipe. That won’t work for me. Straying so far from the fabulous recipes that work well just isn't a good thing. In fact, it's almost impossible to screw this soup up and I didn't even think it was possible until now. 

It didn’t take long to make a decision to reject this imposter dish. After one sip of the soup and after just looking at the very small, darkish, dense, unidentifiable piece of meat (seriously. There was no way to tell what it was), I called a halt to this culinary catastrophe.   

I had to advise the server that “I can’t eat this. This isn’t edible. And, I can’t even tell what kind of meat is in it (one small chintzy peace in a 10 dollar dish)! It looks like road kill. I don’t know what this is but, after having eaten pozole for decades, I know that this isn’t pozole. It’s supposed to have a large ham hock in it". She took it back.

The reorder was for the same albondigas soup that Charlie had ordered. It was OK but it didn't do wonders for my soul. It's not likely to be on my menu again. In fact, after the mediocre food from the previous four times or so, it isn’t likely that the Yo-Yo twins will return to this restaurant. There are too many really good restaurants in Porterville to have to endure lousy Mexican food. 

Soup’erman or Ol’ Rancho Ran brews again:

Ten years ago, Rancho Ran experienced a myocardial infarction. It was the classic “MI” with all (as in all) of the classic symptoms being presented. After all of the drama was over and normality set in, Connie the Seamstress (I was going to title her “Connie the Sew and Sew” but I think I may have spared myself a few of bruises this way) took my mighty handsome “Superman” cape and modified it into a tidy apron. That means that I can now be a super cook, don'tcha know! 

Since we’ve had an abundance of veggies as of late, it seemed a shame to let them go to the chickens or to waste. The best way to handle that situation came when Connie the canner suggested making a couple of pots of soup so she could can them. That sounded like a plan to Ol’ Ran.

The first big ol' pot consisted of cabbage, potato, onion, white kidney bean, and kielbasa sausage. This is a pretty standard cabbage recipe so there's not much to brag about. Of course, you can't can it until you first take it for a test drive, eh? That meant more sourdough bread and butter was dragged out for the event. Guess what? It passed the test with flying colors! Connie canned the remainder. 

Then, there was the cabbage, butternut squash, potato, heavy garlic, salt, a touch of thyme, and cannellini beans (basically, white kidney beans) soup. This was unscripted but not far from an off-the-shelf cabbage recipe. It too was brewed then sampled a few times to make sure that it was fit for canning. It was,  so the several jugs of the two soups were parked on a shelf in a cool dark place. 

 Ain't That Just Ducky? Ever since we took in our our two ducks, we've been blessed with the one we call "Lucky Ducky". That's because she has been a blessing by being a consistent layer of really nice big eggs. We've been waiting for the other duck, who we named, Darla Darla Fo Farla, to follow suit and add to the pile of eggs around here. That would at least mean that she has been earning her keep. This quacker isn't a bit shy about chowing down with the chickens but not laying so we know that she's not earning her oats. 

The only conclusions that we could come to was that, either the duck had a personal problem or it was a male and we were asking way too much of it. Now, you’d think that the Ol’ Rancher would have consulted the “crystal ball” (i.e. “Google”) a lot sooner than now but, sadly, he didn’t. Not surprisingly, all it took was a quick check on "YouTube" and the duck gender issue was resolved.

The key to sexing a Pekin duck is that the tip of the male’s tail will invariably have an upward curl in it while the female’s tail will not. How simple is that?! So, don’t I feel silly? Therefore, the duck has a new name: "Doofus" because he follows Lucky Ducky around like a puppy. This also means that he'll need a new home soon since we don't cotton to freeloading fowls around here. The wheels are turning. 

Shear pleasure: Our Labra-Doodle, Fuzzy Dog (Rancho Relaxo's answer to the Yeti) and Abby the Wander Dog, have been on the perimeter limiting electric shock collar. However, not long ago (but longer than the other day), we discovered that, if the battery in Abby's collar is dead and she sneaks off somewhere, Fuzz Ball will follow her without suffering a shocking reprisal. After a bit of checking, we were able to solve the mystery. 

The first mystery was that his collar wasn't quite as tight as it should be. Ah, but there was another issue that  kept his collar from being correctly positioned. His fur coat is so thick that the contact prongs on his collar weren't actually making contact. He could hear the warning buzzer but he wasn't being shocked when he violated the perimeter. Time for a fix. 

The object was to whack the fur around Fuzzy's neck so that the prongs could contact his skin. All that was necessary was to grab a pair of heavy duty sharp scissors and git'r done. But, we're talking Fuzzy, the goofball dog, who isn't about to humbly submit to a simple haircut. Oh, no. Not today. Instead, he simply played dead. No training...no nothing. He just flopped down and died. 

It took awhile of pushing, pulling, prying all the while trying to whack away at this totally limp four-legged hay stack. But, the task of chopping off the locks around his neck was finally accomplished. The collar is still not cinching down enough but it seems to work for now. 

Fuzzy's fur has gotten out of hand but it's my fault. His tonsorial issues should have been addressed much earlier before he morphed into a densely matted Persian rug. It'll take quite some time to make him presentable. But, he's going to have to pay attention and behave and stop being a goofball or he could "accidently" end up as an Amazon return. 

Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo (aka “Dos Acres”): home of Rancho Ran, the world's least-most greatest authority: home of the Yo-Yo  twins and  three ducks that we try to keep in a row (one of which is retarded): home of Connie the Canner, the world's greatest side-kook and CEE (Chief of Everything Else): where the air smells and where alliteration reigns supreme: where being modern is optional and where there are no slaves to fashion: where the eggs are always mostly fresh: where things can get...interesting: where it's all news to me and where...you just never know.

RANCHO RAINO GREENO SPRINGO

 

Greetings and welcome to the "Rancho Relaxo" blog for April. This month's issue isn't so late as the previous one. That doesn't mean that things aren't hectic around here. We're busier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs! The Ol' Rooster and Ol' Hen just wanted to share what's happening here at our humble rancho nestled in the  awesome lush, green, wet, and beautiful foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains that are bursting with regal flower blooms. It's the land of happy blooming oranges and busy bees! Thanks for dropping in at the Rancho Relaxo global headquarters.

 As usual, click on the pics to enlarge.

What is spring without rains and what are rains without rainbows! We've seen a couple of real beauts lately. This is one of them and it was right outside our front door! The gold was gone by the time I got there. 

And....when you live near the Sierra Nevada Mountains, when there's rain, there's usually snow. So it was this time around. Our snowpack is about normal here but above normal a bit north of us. It snowed yesterday down to the 2,600' level so that helps. After our excruciating six year drought, we welcome every snowflake. 

Even the weeds look great after receiving a huge drink of water this season! We may just leave them and water them. Between the chickens, dogs, gophers, and fuzzers (i.e. ground squirrels), we can't keep our flowers from croaking. We may as well just water these pretty things so we'll at least have something green around here. Summer won't allow much of that without a tough fight. 

Around here, it's all about chickens, ducks, and even doves. Yes sireee. We're real bird brains! Here are the 11 new bantam chicks we just got from good friend and fellow hamster, Eddy Orosco. Yes. There are 11 of them even though it looks like a 10 count. One of the baby birdies is hidden in the pile. We sold a beautiful bantam rooster and two hens not long ago. We may do that with these but are not sure yet. The are absolutely as cute as can be even when they are grown. 

See what I mean?!! This little guy is the definition of "cute"!! 

Reaching out and touching someone with my Comet GP-6 Dual Band 146/446 MHz Vertical ham Radio Base Antenna. Just add coax and awaaaaay we go! I finally got this thing up high enough to recognize it as something other than a way to trip an elephant. I'll use my 2 meter "J-pole" antenna as a back up. Most likely, it'll be mounted on the barn where my radio shack is. It may end up mounted on my 60' crank-up tower. We'll see.

Wanna see my fan? This big 52" beauty was a "freebie". Some folks we know were remodeling and just didn't have need of it. It's in absolutely perfect condition. It's the wrong color for what we have around here at the rancho so we'll likely do what we do with most such free things: sell it on Craig's List. Free money is our friend!

Tip o' the Day:

   "If you attempt to rob a bank, you will have no trouble with rent or bills for the next ten years whether you are successful or not" - Anon.

Now, a word from out sponsor:

This issue of Rancho Relaxo is brought to you by “Pretty Polly Picken’s Piddy Poddy Pudders”. Now, these are the best Piddy Poddy Pudders that money can buy! You cannot...I say...you cannot get better Piddy Poddy Pudders anywheres! And, folks, they're made right here in the good ol’ US of A. You can get your bountiful supply of “Pretty Polly Picken’s Piddy Poddy Pudders” at the Wal-Mart, KMART, Speedy Mart, Save Mart, Quick Mart, and all those marts where those guys have them towels wrapped around their heads. Tell'em the Ol' Rancher sent you. You'll be glad you did!

Holy chocolate frosted donut holes, Batman! It’s April! One fourth of the year is behind us!! Can you believe that? Would you believe that there are only 263    shopping days until Christmas? Wheeew! Doggies! The time is goin’ by faster than a Bluetick nine feet behind a Kentucky coon! Movin’ along….

Gimme a brake! Or Brake it to me gently: the other day (when lots of things happen around here), the Coop DeVille’s brakes started “talking” to us (talking brakes are not a good thing). She was still sporting the OEM brakes so it didn’t take Michio Kaku to figure out what it meant. It was “brake time” at the rancho!

A local brake shop was consulted for an appointment and, thanks to the rain that day, they weren’t busy. So, we were able to bring it in that afternoon (reckon everyone else only has brake issues on clear days)! That was cool! We left it overnight and picked it up the next afternoon. No more “talking brakes”! The Coop can now stop on a dime and give you change back! They even rotated the tires and fixed the slow leak in the right rear tire (which picked up some poor guy’s lost nail). Zowie!

Of course, we had to re-load our snacking goodies, stuff ‘n what-all, bric-a-brac from the previous yard sale, various and sundry loose “thingies”, a dead soda cup, two tool boxes, an ice chest, a Bowie knife (what? You don’t have a Bowie knife in your car?!), my handy Leatherman tool, my back up ham radio handy talkie, the large tactical flashlight and the small backup tactical flashlight, lanyards with flash drives dangling from them for the rearview mirror (seems to work better for us than a pair of dice) and who knows what else. It took us almost as long to unload and then reload stuff as it did for the guys to fix the brakes. Anyway, it was nice to have the Coop back home but I think the alternator is whispering now. 

 Honkin’ good time or Lord Love a Duck: Well, what can I say? Our newly-found Lucky Ducky has quacked her way into my lil' ol' heart! All I can say is that I’m smitten with this cuter-than-can-be little brown girl bird. She is a hoot!

But, she’s more than a show duck. She’s already laid at least three dozen large, wonderful, tasty eggs! Love this duck! Now, if we can just get the big white Pekin to get with the program, things will be twice as ducky! Since the pretty duckie hasn't laid any eggs yet, it has yet be determined whether or not it is even a hen. It may be a dud duck or a Donald duck. If it is a male, I'll put it up for sale on Craig's list. 

There was a brief-but-focused concern that Rodney the Ramrod Rooster (the presumptive king of the coop who overthrew the previous proud preening prince) might become aggressive and try to convince her of his lordship. He certainly does that with the other birdies and even tries to enforce it with me from time to time (we get along great as long as I don’t try to prove him wrong). However, he ignores her since he seems to be bright enough to understand that she isn't about to forfeit her rightful place in the coop any time soon. She isn't the least bit intimidated by him and ignores him like Dobie Gillis ignored Zelda.

In fact, she seems to ignore anyone and everyone else altogether! She’s in her own little ducky realm where she’s the queen quacker. It’s like she’s the only bird in the herd. Darla Darla, our white Pekin, who is much larger, follows Lucky Ducky around like Kato follows Green Hornet.

Shell of a deal: What with all the  dozens upon dozens of eggs that we are freeze drying (i.e. powdered eggs), we have a massive amount of eggs shells to deal with. It turns out that it isn't such a big deal. We just stuff them into the oven of our 1950-52 O’Keefe and Merritt range (it actually has two ovens) and dry them out. They are then crushed into small pieces and given back to the chickens who leave none behind. We try not to waste much around here. Some things are beyond saving, though. 

Making a mess out of a mess or Messing around: It has been a while since I’ve had access to a mess of collard greens. So, when the opportunity arose to pile a bunch of them on the kitchen counter came along, no time or energy was spared turning them into an edible delicacy. The previous collard cook-up, a ham hock was used. This time, about a half-pound of bacon was whacked up instead. You just can't miss with this dish because there are only four ingredients: water, salt, collards, ham hocks (or bacon). There's no way to mess this up. 

After a tad less than 3 hours of simmering, it was time to test drive that beautiful bountiful batch of green stuff. My, oh, my! What a treat! It won't be all that long until another mess of these will be whomped up! After using bacon, and though bacon is quite fine, the preferred ham hocks will be used instead. It's just hard to beat a slow-cooked, falling apart, ham hock.  

Clean Up On Aisle 3 or Sliding Into Home: I like boots. I've always liked boots ever since my first pair of red cowboy boots when I was in the 5th grade and living in Rawlins, WYO (where, in 1958-59, I think it was against the law to not wear boots at least three days of the week). There's nothing quite like a good-fitting boot (and nothing quite like a bad-fitting boot, either!). 

So it still is with the Ol' Rancher to this day. In the winter and spring times, particularly, he can be found shod with his black, brown, tan, or deep burgundy cowboy boots. And, that's exactly what he wore to town a couple of weeks ago (his momma told him not to take his guns to town so he didn't. Billy Joe's momma told him the same thing but he took them anyway and the dumb ass got himself killed. Just ask Johnny Cash). 

It had been raining which, in and of itself, isn't a big deal. But (I hate buts don't you?), there was a curve ball hiding in plain sight. The fruitless mulberry trees in front of the church had just had their blooms knocked off by the rain and they blanketed the sidewalks. Well, you know who wasn't paying attention and he paid the price. In only a few steps, his beloved boots lost all traction on the slick-as-ice blooms. In less time than it takes to split an infinitive, there was a rather large mound of boot-wearing flesh sprawled out on the sidewalk with some of it parked on the wet grass. 

Having worked in the paramedical profession, it was time to make an assessment of the matter (and all done in a few seconds). First: ABC. A: the airway was working. B: breathing. Yep. Still sucking air. C: circulation. Yep, again. Blood was being pumped and none of it was leaking out. So far, so good. 

A quick check for pain was made as was a check for cracks. No cracks but the pain was registering pretty high. The peripherals seemed to be OK and there was no pain from there or the noggin. So, that huge throbbing stabbing pain coming from where the the spine ends and the sidewalk begins must need some attention. 

Technically, that place is called the "coccix" but most folks refer to it as the "tailbone" . The tailbone is where all of us "arboreal creatures" used to have our long prehensile tails attached until God cut them off. I think He may have made a mistake, though, because it would have been great to have a tail handy so you could scratch your nose if your hands were full. 

Anyway, that place has seen a lot of pain but not much in the previous 50 years that I recall. Having actually broken my coccix in '65 (on a slick rock by the river up at Windy Gap about 2.5 miles due west of the Great Western Divide Highway), I could tell that it wasn't broken this time but it had been severely tested (maybe my momma should have told me to not test my coccix). After a week or so, the pain had subsided but that area still has to be guarded and not retested. Ibuprofen is our friend. 

The magic of being old: It's getting increasingly obvious that you can't separate being old from magic. You just can't do it. I mean, you lose things that are right in front of your face and then, like magic, they reappear right in front of your face the next day! Amazing! Then, you're on a mission and you get to the top of the stairs and, like magic, your memory has vanished into thin air! How about when you drive down the road in your hometown and you pass by a house that hasn't been there since you've lived there. Like magic, it just appeared out of nowhere and you declare, "How long has that been there?!". 

And, there’s more. There’s my contact list and my vocabulary list both of which are quite important. But, when I try to gain access  to them, it’s magic! They’re gonzo! Nowhere to be found! You see a long-time friend or school mate in Wal-Mart but....you don't remember their name! You had nine classes with them, went to the school dances together and, like magic, all you can remember is their dog's name! "Hey how are you?!! How's Scruffy doing?!" and hope that somehow (please, God!) you'll remember in time to rescue yourself out of the magic act. *SIGH*

Generator to Revolutions Or Crank it up boys!: Our 20KW Generac residential generator wouldn’t start the other day (when lots of things rebel against the Ol’ Rancher). Just what I needed during the rainy season when the power can and does go out.

The top cover was lifted up and the front panel was pulled off to it couldn’t hide much from anyone trying to discover its secrets for why it's taking the week off. After poking and prodding for a while and finding no reason for it to not run (other than it hated me), it was decided to just walk away from the dang thang (which is not a town in Vietnam) and try again later. After a few hours when the rejection wore off (I hate being hated by a mechanical monster after I’ve treated is so well), another attempt was made to discover this beast’s secrets for not wanting to work for a living.  

Much prodding and poking was then soon employed. But the ol’ greasy mechanic was not yet annoyed. When, all of a sudden, and without further ado, an unemployed sparkplug wire snuck into view. It was hanging and dangling without any clue as to what kind of chore it was to do. But, the crafty Ol’ Rancher, without even a flinch, put the rebellious wire in place not needin’ a wrench. Then, the startup button was given a push which jolted the motor with a kick in the tush. It cranked and cranked with all its might then the motor kicked in; what a wonderful sight! Oh, how the Ol’ Rancher’s heart did sing to know that he had fixed that dang stupid thing. And, stuck to his face was a yard-wide smile; he was so happy he could have danced for a mile…straight up. Problem solved. The end.

Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo (aka “Dos Acres”): home of Rancho Ran, the world's least-most greatest authority: home of the Yo-Yo  twins and  three ducks that we try to keep in a row (one of which is retarded): home of Connie the Canner, the world's greatest side-kook and CEE (Chief of Everything Else): where the air smells and where alliteration reigns supreme: where being modern is optional and where there are no slaves to fashion: where the eggs are always mostly fresh: where things can get...interesting: where it's all news to me and where...you just never know.

 

  

RANCHO WARMO SPRINGO

Greetings and welcome to the "Rancho Relaxo" blog for March. As you can tell, this month's issue is not on time and the striving to get two day's work done in one day has not abated. The Ol' Rooster and Ol' Hen just wanted to share what's happening here at our humble rancho nestled in the  awesome green and beautiful foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains that are bursting with regal flower blooms. Thanks for dropping in at the Rancho Relaxo global headquarters.

It's eggs-essential because...man does not live by bread alone. This is the haul for the day. There are brown, dark brown,  medium brown, tan, white, and green eggs with a duck egg tossed into the pile for good measure (upper left in the bowl). The "new girls" are shifting into their first season as "real producers" so we'll have heap plenty mucho eggs around the rancho. A couple of neighbors have expressed interest in obtaining some. So, we'll freeze dry a bunch, store some more (i.e. "water glassing"), sell some, and eat a bunch (huevos rancheros! Muy bueno! Bien saborsa!¡Ándale! Pronto!). 

Our previous clients were as sad as we were when we lost almost 70 of our birds a few years ago. Thankfully, we have new locals who have entered into the egg market so we shouldn't have too many disappointed neighbors. 

Strawberry fields? Naw; just one of the big trays of sliced strawberrys that Connie the Freezer is getting ready to toss into "Big Bertha", the big honkin' freeze dryer. It hasn't missed a beat since coming home from the factory where it had to be overhauled. It was fully under warranty so all is well. 

As usual, click on the pics to enlarge. 

For the expats: this is "Sequoia Dawn" after the extensive overhaul and refurbishment. I haven't had an opportunity to see the inside yet because it's not fully open to the public yet (at least, that's what I was told). They did a good job. Look at the new high-efficiency windows! Nice! They completely took out all greenery so the place looks a tad bear. My guess is that it will look fine in a couple of years after they re-landscape the place. 

I forgot that I had my "real" camera in the van with me or I could have had a wider angle shot. This was taken from the roadway in front of "Home Depot" (their parking lot in just to the right and out of view). Rainbows are our friends! 

This is the "miscellaneous shot" for the day. We were picking up some germanium cuttings from a generous neighbor (they're all generous up here in Springville!). It was hard to pass up such neato shots of her yard art. This time, the Nikon was at hand. Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! Click! Click!

Not that I'm trying to sell land in Springville, but I had to share another shot that expresses that we're not perennially the "land of burnt toast and roasted chickens". This was taken a few miles from us over on Campbell Creek Road. 

This is the stark contrast to the gorgeous picture above. It gets pretty ugly around here when we're experiencing a drought. Still, the foothills do maintain a certain beauty. The word "lush" really isn't used around here much. 

Tip of the Day:

   “You need to get glad in the same britches you got mad in” – Grandmas and Grandpas everywhere

 

 And now, a word from our sponsor:

 This issue of Rancho Relaxo is brought to you by “Classy Clara Cloomy’s Cloodle Clookers”. Now, these are the best Cloodle Clookers that money can buy! You cannot...I say...you cannot get a better Cloodle Clooker anywheres! And, folks, they're made right here in the good ol’ US of A. You can get your bountiful supply of “Classy Clara Cloomy’s Cloodle Clookers” at the Wal-Mart, KMART, Speedy Mart, Rapid Mart, Quick Mart, and all those marts where those guys have them towels wrapped around their heads. Tell'em the Ol' Rancher sent you. You'll be glad you did!

Holy guacamole, Batman! It’s March! We had a big storm stomp in the other day and I think it swept out a month or two with it when it left! Only 288 days until Christmas! What shall we do?! Moving along.....

Spring it on me! Or, Spring Cleaning Time Again and Again and Again: Worf, the Klingon, is a good warrior who always declares, "It is a good day to die". But, I can't help but think that, when spring arrives on the planet Klingon, Mrs. Worf, looks him in the eye and says, "Put down that Bat'leth, Bubba. It is a good day to clean!" and  hands him a mop. Most likely, the next nice warmish day, the two old people will not need such a prompt but will roll up their shirt sleeves and just dig in. 

Man! It's time for spring cleaning again and the thought of having to tear into my yeti cave is a daunting one. Really....I think the guy who wrote "The Wreck of the Ol' 97" probably peeked into my shop and was greatly inspired to start writing. It'll take 8 hours per day for a month to find the end of this tunnel. But, I may just let it go so that, when I die, some lucky guy will have a great “barn find” filled with antiques and collectibles…and a lot of junk. To quote my ol' pal, Jackie Gleason, "And, away we go!". 

 How high the moon or Reach for the sky: The other day (when lots of things happen around here), Connie the Canner needed some assistance reaching something from a shelf that was substantially higher than what her blessed-but-short arms could reach. She then called for me and said, “I need your tallness”. Standing an oft confirmed 6’2” from the ground to my crown, it was no strange thing for my manly services to be petitioned.

Of course, if you tempt Ol’ Ran with a low-speed straight-line, you just never know what will happen. “So, does my tallness mean the same thing as 'his highness?'”, I queried, hoping to perhaps gain a little elevation in status (or at least an “E for effort” for my swell attempt at humor). Well, if you are blessed with the gift of interpreting female facial expressions, you understand that I quickly knew that I wasn’t just pushing my luck, I was shoving it.

With a knowing grin that somewhat resembled that of a teacher catching a naughty boy in a naughty act, she dismissed the thought with a jiggle of the head, pointed, and said, “Reach”. It surely would have salved my ego if she would have at least called me Johnathan Winters or Buddy Hackett. 

Great Grindage! or Nibblin' the Noodles: Well...we did it again. We knocked over a Chinese buffet...again. You'd think that, after all of the previous gastric stress I've placed myself under eating Chinese food, I would know that I can't be trusted with a pair of chopsticks (this old noodle bender is mighty fond of Chinese food). 

Even after consuming countless Chinese dinners/lunches et. al., there are always the flashbacks of having worked as a dishwasher, busboy, and "gopher" at "Gang Sue's Chinese Restaurant" in Porterville when the wise Ol' Rancher was just a young dummy. The food was wonderful then. It's still good today but it's just not the same. I've eaten Chinese food in China Town in San Francisco, in many cities and states, and even in Ghana West Africa. But, you can note that there's never been an equal to Gang Sue's chow (no place, no how).  

Anyway, after laying waste to the shrimp and expending a ton of energy on the gnashing of teeth, I was aerodynamically suspect ("parasitic drag", don'tcha know) and overdue for a nap (I pair well with a nap). There just weren't going to be any transonic dashes that day. In fact, had I been a Grumman Aerospace product, I would have been called a “Snooze Cat”. So, the old folks just headed home and did just that. Nap city. Naps are our friends. 

A Cheesy Time or Spare me the cheese: From time to time, Connie the Canner grabs dated items from the refrigerator and declares that you know who gets to be a one-man clean up crew. So it was with a few chunks of cheese that she hauled out one day. 

I love cheese; no two ways about it. It's actually strange because, as a young fella, I hated cheese. It just wasn't my cup of Earl Grey. That was the way it was until the move to Illinois in '69. Within a very few years, I was eating cheese quite regularly. It must have been the fresh Wisconsin Swiss or the medium and sharp cheddar (at 88 cents per pound!!!) mixed with a big bag of pretzels. In any event, my life was changed for the better (there's more to the story. E-mail me). 

So, the old rat started gnawing on his newly garnered larder with alacrity. It was chased down by a customized drink consisting of ice tea with some additional flavors in it. Ah, but there's a catch (catches are not our friends). Cheese does something to one's metabolism that is quite impolite. It's as though cheese was invented by the same Romans that created Portland Cement. After the feasting, things got...quiet; really quiet. No movement at all. How disconcerting. Everything just stopped...up (Not a creature was stirring; not even a mouse stirred). 

It was a true "no go" situation the next morning! That was a temptation to be alarmed at because the Ol' Rancher's alter ego is Mr. Regular! So, things weren't moving along smoothly at all! Many thoughts raced through my mind as I sat there. This was how Elvis died. Great. Not many options when you're held captive in such a small space where there's no room to park a D-9 Caterpillar or any other real help. I was about ready to haul out the cell phone and start shopping Amazon for a thermal detonator suppository. The very thought must have frightened my descending colon something fierce. It wasn't much longer that heaving waves of peristalsis gave great relief to the matter. Note to self: go easy with the cheesy, dummy. 

Ribbit! Or, Croak! We’ll, it’s “froggy went’a courtin’” time again. Every spring, our rancho is inundated by a plethora of new Pacific Tree Frogs. Their discordant chorus hammers our night time without resile. Thankfully, though there are thousands of them (or so it seems), they are (mostly) far enough from the house so that we don't lose any sleep.  

You would think these little hoppers would have a difficult time traversing the 100’ or so from the ditch to the house. However, there are (obviously) some several super frogs that manage to make it to the house where they display their gymnastic prowess by climbing up and “decorating” our outside walls. There's just something wrong when there are frogs hanging on your walls. Thankfully, they either fall off or die off but they soon disappear until next year when they will exit their mud encasements and start all over again. 

Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo (aka “Dos Acres”): home of Rancho Ran, the world's least-most greatest authority: home of the Yo-Yo  twins and  three ducks that we try to keep in a row (one of which is retarded): home of Connie the Canner, the world's greatest side-kook and CEE (Chief of Everything Else): where the air smells and where alliteration reigns supreme: where being modern is optional and where there are no slaves to fashion: where the eggs are always mostly fresh: where things can get...interesting: where it's all news to me and where...you just never know.

PRIMAVERA EN FEBRERO

 

Primavera en febrero: cuando las altas temperaturas alteran la fauna y la flora!

      (Springtime in February: when the high temperatures alter the animals and flowers!)

Greetings and welcome to the "Rancho Relaxo" blog for February. This month's issue is more on time and the craziness has abated. It's not that we're not still hectic around here, though. We have so much on our plates that we're gettin' gravy on the floor!  The Ol' Rooster and Ol' Hen just wanted to share what's happening here at our humble rancho nestled in the awesome green and beautiful foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Thanks for dropping in at the Rancho Relaxo global headquarters.

Click on the pictures to enlarge

Welcome back, Big Bertha! You may recall that Big Bertha blew her cool a couple of months ago when she ingested her compressor (reckon she graduated last in her class. Probably why we call her Big Bertha and not Smart Bertha). Anyway, that left Connie the Canner without the ability to work herself half to death day and night as she merrily freeze-dried everything that didn't move out of the way fast enough (I stayed upstairs a lot). Bertha is cooling down here and we had yet to pull the protective plastic cover off the front door so it shows a condensation build up. 

Straightaway, she sliced up and prepped a batch of pears then tucked them into the dryer. This is three of the six trays. Since then, she's dried carrots, several dozen eggs (powdered eggs - about 10-12 dozen eggs or so per 6 trays), and other things. Freeze drying is our friend! 

Here's a couple of spoiled pooches vying for attention. They don't realize that I lured them over for a photo op with their favorite "Old Roy" doggie treat.

 Fuzzy and Abbie are doing great! Fuzzy is doing a bit too great since he realizes that he's a dog and that dogs really dig...digging. *SIGH*. Not long from now (but not tomorrow), the deep holes that he's planted all around the place will need to be filled in. 

They are both wearing an electric perimeter shock collar which keeps them from annoying the neighbors and also from exploring the other side of Highway 190 (where many dogs have met their fate). They have lots of room to romp and play without being pests and without being dead. 

To the right is "Peanut Soup" and fried plantains. It's a recipe from Ghana Africa. Recently, Pastor John Appiah, from Kumasi, Ghana, Africa, stayed with us for a week. He stayed with us about five years or so ago. While here, he prepared this dish so we asked him if would replicate the recipe this time. He did and we feasted on this delicious soup! 

It's made with tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, dead chicken, and peanut butter. Then toss in some steamed rice. My first thought (five years ago) was not a really good one. Ol' Ran is pretty comfortable with meat and potatoes with a few odd and interesting dishes thrown in from time to time. Peanut butter, mixed with bell peppers, tomatoes, and onions, really weren't on my menu. That changed when I was served this great dish! The fried plantains were the icing on the cake to make it a genuine and delicious African meal. Fun fact: plantains are much starchier than bananas and lend themselves well to cooking (unlike bananas which are usually just for deserts). 

Wanna see my relays? These are the  relays mounted in the engine compartment of our Ford van. Cute, eh? Actually, this was part of an attempt to resolve a strange issue where the car wouldn't start even though it had a new battery, new starter, new fuses, and all cables and connections were chased down and checked. We thought that the starter may have been misaligned but that wasn't the case. After that, we thought it was a bad ignition switch. Then, it could have been slack in the shift linkage. Anyway, it's all fixed and fine. 

For the ex-pats: this is looking at the far (west) side of Success Lake. That's the new widened spillway that is being constructed and they're doing a great job of it. It wasn't finished so we had flooding downstream when the lake overflowed. The recent rains washed a load of flotsam into the lake. Take from the vista point on Highway 190. 

Click on the pictures to enlarge

Got duck eggs? We do! These are our first duck eggs! Our new brown duck, Miss Lucky Ducky, is hard at work earning her keep (sure wish the other dirty birds would get the hint). These big beauts are ready for a big breakfast! The other day, we just had to fire up a skillet and whomp up (similar to whip up but louder) some taters and toast to go with our dyno eggs. 

My, oh, my! They were delicious (see photo below)!! I'm surprised there were any flowers left on the plate! 

Look at the size of those yokes! It almost made me want to kick myself for not getting ducks way sooner! I'm hooked! I've never had eggs that tasted this large before. Miss Lucky Ducky has a friend, Darla Duck, that we're hoping will take note and start laying soon. We were told that they were both females so we'll soon see if Darla is Donald or just mad at us. 

Click on the pictures to enlarge

Tip of the day: 

Always add a bit of coconut oil to your kale. It makes it easier to scape off into the trash.

 And now, a word from our sponsor:

This issue of Rancho Relaxo is brought to you by "Wacky Wanda's Wiggie Woggie Wobble Woobers”. Now, these are the best Wiggie Woggie Wobble Woobers that money can buy! You cannot...I say...you cannot get a better Wiggie Woggie Wobble Woober anywhere! And, folks, they're made right here in the good ol’ US of A. You can get your bountiful supply of "Wacky Wanda's Wiggie Woggie Wobble Woobers” at the Wal-Mart, KMART, Speedy Mart, Rapid Mart, Quick Mart, and all those marts where those guys have them towels wrapped around their heads. Tell'em the Ol' Rancher sent you. You'll be glad you did!

Holy fig bar, Batman! It’s February! And, baby, it’s warm outside! It’s impossible to tell that it isn’t April! It’s bad enough that years are ripping through the space-time continuum leaving major scars on our psyche. But, when the seasons are juxtaposed, it’s plumb crazy outside, too!! Moving along....

Feed me, Seymore! Or Pass the shrimp again…and again…and again:

Not long ago, but longer than the other day, Applebee’s restaurant ran a special menu ad. This old champion chow chomper isn’t swayed much by ads and offers and would rather watch (at gunpoint) an episode of “The View” (has anyone seen my barf bag?) before taking notice of a restaurant ad. But, this one was for an all-you-can-eat shrimp, barbequed ribs, buffalo chicken wings, and endless-fries meal for $14.99! Connie the Canner and the Ol’ Rancher were on that like a bass on live bait!

I think I ate until I actually made money on the deal. My tummy was so full that I couldn’t get my blood to pump above my shoulders so we went home and took a nap. Such a deal!

Now, I’m not terribly critical of waitresses most of the time. It’s just that, after a ton of orbits around the sun and eating at all types and sorts of restaurants and experiencing excellent service at most places, I know what good service is. And, I know what it isn’t (coming from an old busboy, at that). Thanks to a couple of gift cards, this was our second trip to Applebee’s and the help was severely lacking both times.

The first time, after waiting 45 minutes, my meal never arrived. Seems it was never registered and so it was never prepared. That was a first. We paid for the "Connie Burger" (it came late but still in a reasonable time) and departed. 

This recent second time, it was as if old people weren’t important for whatever reason. Never mind that some of them are great tippers. Reckon our waitress didn’t need our tip. We weren’t mis-treated and I don't mean to say that. We were just….almost treated…sorta kinda treated as an adjunct to her shift of trying to exist in Porterville. It was as though helping us was more of an imposition on her wanting to be at a Swift concert (people paid 20K for one ticket!). I doubt if she could spell “service”. It's just that it's disconcerting when you have to crane your neck looking for your server and then flag her down all of the time. 

Maybe she discerned that neither of us knew the latest scoop on the Kardashians (has anyone seem my back up barf bag) so why bother. Her demeanor wasn’t really condescending, either; that was a plus. I’m confident that she would have been ready to help the old people get their bibs on straight in a pinch. Was it her first day on the job? In any event, we were able to keep her busy long enough so that, by the time we were filled to the brim with our lunch, we lacked for nothing and were satisfied on the whole. Oh, we did leave a nice tip. Perhaps she will great us with a big smile and a hug next time.

Now, there may have been some questionable decision making (concerning dietary practices) happening here. This is especially prominent when you consider that the waitress was probably begging for relief by the time we departed. She probably needed a new pair of tennis shoes by that time; she didn’t get any slack (not trying to brag here. Unlimited meals seem to inoculate me with a unique immunity to reason. But, I won’t tell if you won’t). Bottom line....I ate too much. 

Anyway, Applebee’s has one more strike then it’s back to Taco Bell. 

“Bully not lest ye be bullied”: We have a very pretty and very vain Ameraucana rooster who, for the longest time, was the rude ruler of the roost. Though he wasn’t aggressive for the most part, he was all “kaiser of the coop”. That attitude caused him to have a serious issue with one of the younger cockerels and he bullied him mercilessly and relentlessly.

Guess what? The little “97 pound weakling” cockerel grew up and is now about 25% larger than his adversary. Guess who’s getting mercilessly bullied and run around the coop now? Yep. His name is now “Ol’ Shy Guy” and he spends a lot of his time in the back part of the coop where the laying boxes are at. He knows that the youngster rooster will just chase him back there anyway. Reckon he should have read the Bible. 

All is not lost, though. His picture is going to be posted on "Facebook Marketplace" and "Craig's List" soon and he'll have a nice new home where he can, once again, be the stud duck. 

Egg me on: Egg production is still not at a high but things are improving. That's because the pullets are just now starting their career in life (if not, they’ll end up as a poster bucket for KFC). We’re getting a dozen eggs per day (plus one duck egg) but suspect that we’ll be getting at least three and perhaps four dozen soon (depending upon the weather, the feed, and the mood of the cluckers at any given time). Our legacy layers are spotty with their egg production so we’re hoping that the new crop never sees an egg that they didn’t want to lay. Thankfully, none of this is affecting our lower marginal tax rates (uh-huh). The hope is that someone is slipping them some high-octane Starbucks when I’m not looking.

So, now we have three ducks to get in a row (but the resident one is still retarded). 

Dos Ducks or Ain’t it ducky, Doc?: Not long ago (but longer than the other day), a friend of ours advised that his gal pal's mother was no longer able to keep her seven layers and two ducks at her home in Porterville. He asked if we wanted them. Does Lois love Superman?! "You bet!", I said. So, now we have seven more dirty birds and two darling ducks (they'll be dirty soon enough, don'tcha reckon?). 

One is a Khaki Campbell and is such a sweet little bird that I almost named her "Sweet Georgia Brown" instead of "Lucky Ducky". She's laying regularly and the old people here at the rancho really dig that part and have fallen in love with this little cutie quacker and her large delicious eggs.  

The other one is a white American Pekin and is considerably larger than Lucky Ducky. I named her, “Darla Darla Fo Farla Fo Fanna Fanna Fo Farla”. We’ll likely just call her, Darla, Farla, or Dee Dee (Darla Duck) for short. 

A Ducky Breakfast: We recently experienced our first breakfast containing duck eggs. In short, it was fabulous! Duck eggs are a tad richer and contain more protein than chicken eggs. In fact, bakers love them for that reason since they make a better baked product.

The ingredients aren't spectacular and were just eggs, biscuits, and fried taters (taters seem to taste better than plain potatoes for reasons that I don't yet know). The duck eggs were the highlight. Man! Talk about delicious! We knocked the breakfast out in no time! We'll do it again soon!

Well....there you have it: another short episode of the long happenings at Rancho Relaxo (aka “Dos Acres”): home of Rancho Ran, the world's least-most greatest authority: home of the Yo-Yo  twins and  three ducks that we try to keep in a row (one of which is retarded): home of Connie the Canner, the world's greatest side-kook and CEE (Chief of Everything Else): where the air smells and where alliteration reigns supreme: where being modern is optional and where there are no slaves to fashion: where the eggs are always mostly fresh: where things can get...interesting: where it's all news to me and where...you just never know.