RANCHO STINKO

 

The one that didn't get away. This is a large summer squash that arrived in late September. Our squash aren't too bright. Must be related to the chickens. 

 NOTE: you may click on any picture to enlarge it.

This is one of the most delicious peach cobblers that I've ever eaten! It was made with home grown peaches and TLC by Connie the Baker Woman. It didn't get away either because it was weighted down by a huge scoop of ice cream! 

Ladies and gentlemen: Le Bidet. This is a properly configured bidet in its native habitat (aka "The Throne Room" or "The Library").  The roll of toilet paper is now used for blowing our noses. 

The controls for the bidet as seen from the "potty jockey's seat". Some bidets do not have both controls (i.e. front and back splashers). It is highly recommended to pop for the few bucks to get the dual control version. 

This is Broody Mae and her rapidly growing "Red Dotte" chick. What a pretty birdie! Reckon, what shall we name this little cutie? 

On a clear day, you can see mighty far. 

But, on a smokey day, you can see less than a half mile. Ugly stuff. The smoke, haze, and smell get old very quickly. 

              

To the right is a shot looking east from the end of our driveway at the mailbox by the highway. Ordinarily, you should be able to see the sun just barely coming up over the top of "Black Mountain". Now, you can't even see "Black Mountain". Obviously, there is something wrong with this picture. 

Here's "Success Lake" looking SW from the vista point. Go to Google earth, grab the little yellow man, and drop him on one of the blue dots in the parking lot of the vista point to see Connie the Canner sitting in Toyo (the Camry) while I shoot the panorama shot. You'll also see the same shot but on a clear day. The contrast is striking. 

Well….it’s October 2020 and Thanksgiving, Christmas and 2021 are just around the corner. Doesn’t that just make you want to optimize your volumetric efficiency with a hydraulically gimballed pivot TIG welded to a laser-etched high-molecular diaphragm? Moving along.....

Smokey Mountains: as of late, the “Great Smokey Mountains” have little on our formidable “Sierra Nevada Smokey Mountains” (which act as an anchor to keep California from falling into the Pacific Ocean). What with the almost innumerable fires raging across the state, we have more smoke in California than the rest of the world combined. This really stinks. 

It’s a bit weird to wake up in the morning, look toward the mountains or across the road, and think that it’s the middle of February when the “Tule fog” has taken camp in your neighborhood. Instead, it is the thick (and same colored) smoky haze from the nearby fires. Our forward visibility on some mornings is about 1/8 mile. Ugly stuff.

Hangin’ out der vashin’ on der Zeigfried Line: actually, it’s not the “Zeigfied Line” but rather Connie the Washer Woman’s clothes line. We both love sun-dried wash (and sun-dried tomatoes but that’s another story) but it’s a bit tough on her because she refuses to hang her freshly washed sheets out in the haze. She is loath to have her laundry smell like a campfire so she has to toss her clothes into the gas dryer. That’s not a bad thing except that the stupid dryer is still presenting some sort of issue which makes drying a load of clothes a multi-hour endeavor (refer to a couple of previous blog posts for pics).

After becoming intimately familiar with the assembly and disassembly of a Maytag drying (it’s still not as complicated as digging deep into a laptop computer), I’ve replaced all (as in...all) of the sensors in the dryer. The thinking is simple; if you have to tear the dryer down, you may as well just replace everything while it’s in pieces rather than have to do it time and again, eh? Nevertheless, it still isn’t drying properly. So, according to the manual (when in doubt, always read the manual), the only remaining item that would present this problem is the flexible vent hose. It’s supposed to be metal and we’ve been using plastic. From what I can tell, the plastic venting will bend too much and present a back pressure or extra heat that tells the sensors that the dryer has finished its duty. It then shuts down the heat.

So, the ol’ dryer mechanic had to stop in at Weisenberger’s Hardware and pick up the metal flex vent pipe and two 90 degree connectors/adapters. That is one of the main projects that will be fulfilled today and that should be the end of all laundry grief.

Update: yep. That did it. The dryer is working like new again. It’s unlikely that there will be any further issues (at least not with sensors).

But, this is Rancho Relaxo and you just know that this isn’t where the story started. Uh-uh. Prior to the dryer issue being resolved, the Maytag washer was giving her all kinds of fits (when it rains, it pours on the washer, too). It decided to not completely pump out the rinse water and wouldn’t completely fill the tub. Just what we need at the ranch: more WORK (think Maynard G. Krebbs)!

After a quick check on the Internet, a diagnosis was made that the pump was shot so a new one was ordered from Amazon.com. When it arrived (a couple of days later), there was no reason to bother the eternally bored Maytag repair dude (for all you old people out there), so the Ol’ Rancher started slinging tools. That job was a fairly easy one and only took a short time to fix. He now knows what the guts of a Maytag Bravos gas dryer and Bravos top-loading washer look like.

The Right Way and the Wrong Way: A few minutes after brushing my hands off and returning to other chores about the ranch, a call came in on the radio to announce that there was an issue with the washer (we stay in touch with FRS radios since I’m sometimes out back in the oranges). Say what?! The Ol’ Wrenchero doesn’t partially fix things! When the last screw is tight, the bloody thing is fixed because there’s no time around here to re-do things all over again!

Upon arrival, I was prepared to be greeted with a scowl for being an incompetent boob repairman (I know...I know...don't go there). Instead, Connie the Washer Woman gave me a big grin and said, “The washing machine error code is saying that hoses are on backwards”. Uuuuuuh! Brother! Just what the doctor ordered: a smart aleck washing machine. Why couldn’t I have just not plugged the motor in or just forgotten to hook up a hose?! You know; like something any fool could do. But, noooo. I had to be a special kind of fool.

If there is something Ol’ Ran didn’t need for the day it was a large dent in his ego. At least there wasn’t a large wad of cash attached to the matter (which has happened before). *SIGH*.

As usual, my lightning-fast mind was there to weigh in on the deal: “Corrigan is the name; getting things backward is the game. Call me if you need something hooked up the wrong way again, lil’ lady. I’ll come a’runnin’”. Well, kids, rule number one is to always….

Bear with me: when the mountains are on fire, the wildlife will pack up and leave home. Reckon, just where do you think they will flee too? If you’re guessing that there’s no room at the Motel 6 for them, you’d be correct. They can’t head for the hills so they head for town.

The other day (uh-huh), we heard from our neighbors that a bear had rummaged through their garbage cans. That made total sense to me because that had happened before (though not recently). What didn’t make sense is that my coon dog didn’t know it and arise to protest the matter….up close and personally.

My coon dog’s nose knows what’s happening in her realm. How the bear made it out without being intercepted and (loudly and forcibly) challenged is beyond me. However, I am most thankful that she didn’t. For one thing, Abbie is only about 25 pounds soakin’ wet. But, don’t tell her that. She acts as if she’s 125 pounds dry and she ain’t afraid of no ghosts or bears. More than one coon dog has been killed while cornering a big black bear so there was great concern that our little princess pooch would be another statistic and a sad story about a fearless-but-dead huntin’ dawg.

For another, the Ol’ Rancher just wasn’t in the mood to go bear huntin’ in the middle of the night. After all, that would require having to be attired in something other than boxer shorts. The long-held policy around here is that night time is not the time for old people to be wearing street clothes (eh, Rob?). So, there will be no "night camo attire" policy changes at the ranch any time soon. 

And, having to start a fire fight with a bear at midnight with a 30 caliber hunting rifle would likely have the neighbors starting a fire fight with me (armed neighbors live in a [very] peaceful neighborhood). In any event, there wouldn’t be too many dry Huggies at the (insanely loud) report of a hunting rifle taking down a bear. The Ol’ Rancher and Connie the Canner do try to be good neighbors (but especially at night).

Having said that, Abbie gets to spend the night in safety on the patio until it is decided that the bear threat (or the threat to the bears) is minimal. She doesn’t seem to mind so all is well.

Sodium Hydroxide or No lye! You just never know what you’ll learn here at the ranch. Like, when we were having such a nightmare with the ash fallout from the big fire, it never dawned on the ol’ dude that there would be an unexpected hazard presenting itself.

Out back, there are a couple of watering pans and such for our critters. Do you know what happens when wood ash and water are combined? You get the makings of homemade soap. In other words, you get lye. My greatest of thanks goes to friend and brother, Courtney Gillespie, for that bit of information. Though the chemistry was quite simple and well-known around here, the application of said chemistry due to the ash fallout wasn’t. So, the water is changed daily. We don't need any lye: no lie.

 

Chickenin’ Report: Roo, the Rowdy, Rogue, Rhode Island Red Rooster (try saying that with a mouth full of peanut butter) and I are good friends now that I have a good understanding that all of the hens in the barnyard are his. The big, brawny, two-legged, selfish, proud, presumptuous, pile of feather-covered mean, is my pal.

This isn’t to say that we don’t have our misunderstandings: not at all. For instance; because the coop is a nice safe place to keep chickens, the Ol’ Chicken Meister insists that all of the birds get rounded up to roost there at night. It’s hazardous for fowls at night here in the wilderness part of Springville. Big, bad, hungry, critters are lurking around and looking for a free lunch.

Now, I know that Roo doesn’t read all that well. But, he still should have gotten the memo by now and stopped insisting on parking on top of Abbie’s dog house at night. Sure; it’s 6’ above the ground but he doesn’t yet understand that even a retarded raccoon can easily make a 6’ hop up to his preferred sleep station.

For his sake (and the peace of mind of the head bird herder), Ol’ Ran has to mount the small sequester cage and then prop a cheek on the roof of the doghouse so’s he can carefully harvest Ol’ Roo while he’s ensconced in his evening somnolence. He doesn’t even squawk while being hauled into the coop.  It’s become such a routine, that I’m starting to think that he's doing it on purpose because he wants the attention. Hooo, boy. Now I get to be a chicken psychologist; ain't it great? 

Then, there’s Miss Beakie, the truly strong-willed little Rhode Island Red. From the time she was a pullet, she obediently followed her instincts at night and just went home into the coop. But, after someone (and we just know who that might be) forgot to keep the door of the coop open and the birds stayed out one night, she has become quite the rebel. Every evening, she’s camped on top of a cinder block that holds the tarp down on the bales of hay just outside the coop. She must really enjoy her freedom because, no matter how many times she’s hauled into the coop at night, when the next evening comes, she’s right back on the block. At least there's no climbing involved with repositioning her for the night. She just gets snatched up and then placed in the coop where she can't provide a raccoon a good reason to gain weight. 

Broody Mae is a bit of an exception. She (understandably) refused to bring her chick into the coop. There was no negotiation. We still don’t know where she spends the night and it is yet unknown if she will resume her place in the pecker palace or not. Likewise, who knows if the little pullet will adapt to coop life or not? If not, we’ll have to catch her, keep her in the sequester cage in the coop for a couple of weeks, then turn her loose. That should work. We’ll see.

In hot water: it’s been awhile since dear Abbie treed something around here so it was no surprise when today was the day she did.  Once again, you could hear her earning her Kibbles by using a decibel meter and adrenalin flow gauge. She was jacked up!

Only this time, instead of treeing a refrigerator or "Quatro" the ATV, she treed a…water heater (that would be the one out back that was patiently waiting to be hauled off to the dump now that the trailer is back in service). Yep: a dead water heater had her full attention and she was very serious about the matter.

But, there’s this funny thing about my corn dawg; she gets as jacked up about cornering a 4” long blue belly lizard as she does about any furry thing that can only fit in a dump truck. I don’t know; maybe it was a gut hunch but Ol’ Ran just had to help his lil’ coon doggie do her thing.

After examining the water heater, it was determined that something like a mouse but not larger than cat had crawled through the port at the bottom. It wasn’t a great place to remain undetected but it was a great place to not get eaten.   

Flushing things out seems to be an effectual modus operandi around these parts so the garden hose used for watering the garden (fancy that) was pressed into service. Despite a thorough hosing of the inside of the tank, whatever was in there was pretty well convinced that hunkering down and hanging on was the best policy and it wasn’t coming out.

All of a sudden, Abbie swapped ends and began to dismember the exhaust pipe with her jaws. That’s when the “barking” started from inside the tank. At that point, I knew the game was afoot and that our enemy was a fuzzer!

There was some sort of metal divider or baffle that was stuck in the exhaust pipe and she was determined to just eat it (so as to scare her prey to death, I should suppose). I would have loved to see that but figured there wasn’t enough time to wait that long.

It took quite a bit of tugging, pulling, and yanking on my part to get the baffle out. But, just a few seconds before it came out, the head of a brown ground squirrel appeared! Well! The enemy was now identified and Abbie was pushing me out of the way so she could get to the main battle!

With a final yank, the baffle was free and the battle started and ended in the same second. Abbie violently shook the brown bane a few times until its eyeballs flew into the neighbor’s yard and the game was over. Good girl, Abbie! I love my dawg!

A Snakey Proposition or No slithering in my back yard: keep in mind that, even after an epic stuggle, things can get…interesting…around the ranch. That being said, it should be no surprise that, immediately after the tank battle, while the ol’ gardener was making a quick check of his garden boxes, he spotted something different out of the corner of his eye. That unusual item was a genuine rattle snake. My lightning fast mind was on the job and let me know that “This should keep you occupied for a while, Ran”.

Upon closer examination, it became apparent that the 2’ long reptile had gotten himself tangled in my anti-bird netting (reckon it’s now good as anti-snake netting, too!) and was not doing well. There would be no overly tense battle for the ownership of the ranch today. That was a relief. I wouldn’t have had enough energy left for the rest of day if there had been a strenuous showdown with a cold-blooded lady freaker. There’s work to do around here.

A square blade transfer shovel was nearby so that was the weapon of choice. After a couple of guillotine whacks, the snake was well on his way to becoming a hat band.

Got Goo? Naw…I’m not speaking Chinese. I’m repairing my sandals with “Shoe Goo”. One of the lighter weight pair of my Jerusalem cruisers had an issue and needed to be fixed. 

It seems that every…single…pair…of sandals (regardless of [expensive] brand or material) that I own falls apart after only being worn a few times (with the understanding that Ol’ Ran doesn’t wear “work sandals” at the ranch. It would lead to too many broken toes and tarsal bones). Some of the sandals have been repaired two and even three times! That also means that there is a good supply of clamps hanging around, too. 

Anyhow, after a dose of “Shoe Goo” and a couple of clamps, all is well in the sandal department. 

It’s Grueling Time Again or Please Pass the Porridge: while things are grueling at times around here at the “The Grits Carlton” (thank you, Chef Dwayne Ingraham), we often take time in the morning to dish up some good ol’ gruel. For us, that would be either “Cream of Wheat”, grits (of course), or oatmeal served with toast or toasted English muffler (sic. Nothing is normal around here). Gruel is our friend!

Socket to me: the other day (all together, now….), Ran, the electrician  man, grabbed his golden screwdriver, a couple of new white cover plates and new electrical outlets, some extra-long 6-32 screws, and set to changing out two of the old worn out electrical sockets. 

The long screws were needed because the clowns who originally installed them deliberately over torqued them and broke the fixtures (long story). Thankfully, the fixtures didn't have to be replaced (a huge project) because they are threaded the entire length. It was an easy fix. 

Connie (the long-suffering) Canner had asked me to repair them and was kind enough to not remind me about it but every few months. It was finally "fix the sockets day" at the ranch. 

Somehow, all of the hardware, tools, energy, and such arrived on the same day, in the same room, at the same time. It was a miracle. It only took about 20 minutes to do a job that took a year to get to. C’est la vie sur le ranchette (or words to that affect).

Wreck Room: not long ago, the Grand Exhausted ‘Puter Poobah’s work shop needed to be overhauled (and still does). So the upstairs living room ended up being converted into a “wreck room”. There are parts here and parts there and even stuff for eBay and Craig’s List tossed all over the place. 

Connie the Cleaner is not delighted about that fact but it does look like it can be straightened up it in a couple of days or so. She would be appalled and flabbergasted to have a guest see what looks like the aftermath of an F3 tornado residing in her house.

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 a retarded duck and home of Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells like fresh biscuits and hot pancakes: where alliteration reigns supreme; where things can get...interesting: where it’s all news to me: and, where...you just never know.

 

 

RANCHO BUSYO

 

I have to tell you, Anacortes, WA is one of the prettiest places I've ever seen. Lots to see, lots to do, and lots to eat. How can it not be a favorite?!

Six pix of Washington Park. Click on any picture to enlarge it.  

You  may not know it but Washington grows lots of potatoes. Potatoes are our friends! It's just one more reason to love his place. 

To the right is a shot looking east at about 8AM. Instead of a nice bright sun shiny summer morning, we see what looks like a foggy winter morning. We have the "SQF Complex Fire" only 20 miles up the hill from us. It has burned almost 69,000 acres in the "Golden Trout Wildeness Area" and is about 12% contained. It'll be hazy for quite some time. 

This is not a speck on your screen. It's a Boeing Vertol CH-47 "Chinook" helicopter hauling water to the "SQF Complex". 

Here is a shot of our Barred Rock hen and her chick. Interestingly, a Lace Wing Wyandotte high-jacked the job of mothering and took her place. The Rock just walked away from the job! As the little pullet got larger, it became obvious she was a cross between a Rhode Island Red and a Wyandotte. Perhaps it's a DNA thing. 

Here's our ever-diligent guard doggy with her ear...and nose....and head....and legs....and feet....and tail....to the ground. She's committed. She does such a great job of guarding the night that she's prone to napping during the day. She's pretty tired for being so tireless. 

Well, here we are again. It’s September and the year is speeding by faster than Chuck Yeager in "Glamorous Glennis" on October 14, 1947. We’re all headed for our next birthday at supersonic speed. Oh, joy. Doesn’t that just make you want to get your annual checkup from Dr. Frank N. Furter? 

The old folks are still getting their act together after the great trip to Boise and Seattle. We're still a bit lacking in rest but we're not trip-spun like we were. There were lots and lots of things to do before we left on the trip and there were lots and lots of things remaining when we got back (amazing, eh?). 

Then, you have to factor in the usual adjuncts that invariably will be added to the "things to do" list and you have non-stop fun at the ranch. Like: the lawn tractor and weed-eater are in the shop and it took a lot of work just to get the trailer ready so we could haul it to Agri-Home. The trailer wiring needed to be repaired and it needed a new set of shoes.  The Ol' Rancher repaired the wiring and we found the tires at "Les Schwab's". That meant that we had to to go P'ville to have them mounted which takes more time away from the ranch than we wanted to (and you know the drill on that). 

We're still racking, packing, and hauling stuff that folks have given us and we're getting ready for a few yards sales prior to the annual big one during the third weekend in October. We're even trying to factor in some time for rest (rotsa ruck with that, Ran)!

The garden boxes require constant supervision but especially the calabasas zapolla squash. It's sensitive to stress so has to be watered a lot. That takes...time. We've harvested one 10lb squash and have several that are ripening. Looks like Connie the Canner will have a lot of work to deal with fairly soon. 

Since our regular squash and tomato harvest has been almost non-existent, there's not as much canning happening. But, Connie the Canner is making up for it by being Connie the Dehydrator. She has a slew of dehydrators set up and is keeping them busy. 

And, in the next few weeks, we'll be hauling stuff from the hangar for the yard sales. In the mean time, we're readying stuff that we can just park in the front yard and sell. So far, we sold some furniture and brought in a few bucks. Bucks are our friends!

We're also listing as much as we can (or as much as we have time for) on Craig's List. That's always a sure way to sell a few things. eBay hasn't been as productive but it hasn't been a priority so far. There are a few things listed but the only things that sold have been some ham radio equipment. But, like my ol' grand-pappy used so say, "A few dollars is better than no dollars". 

Anyway, not a lot of moss growing around the ranch. We're kickin' and makin' lots of dust  (which is all we need considering all the smoke and ash that we already have floating around). 

Holy Smokes! Or, Settin’ the woods on fire: actually, there’s smoke and fire everywhere and it’s not holy smoke at all! In fact, it’s raining ashes in most places in California! There are more than 500 fires happening here in the Golden Toasted State!!  

Our fire, the “SQF Complex” (https://inciweb.nwcg.gov/incident/7048/), is less than 20 miles from us and has consumed more than 65K acres. Much to our chagrin, a lot of the smoke and ash has taken up residence in our front and back yards.

Now, I’ve lived in California most of my life. Never have we had this many fires. How do you go from more than 300 fires to more than 500 fires in one week? Seriously; sure, we have a fires that are initiated by lightning: but, 200 in one week? The worst fire seasons to date have had “only” 150 or so fires. Why the inordinate three-fold increase with more than 200 fires appearing in one week?

The US Forest Service is advising that there were more than 27K lightning strikes but I’d like to know how they got that number. Just who is it that flits around the state counting lightning strikes? Hmmm? Is it “Hairy Larry the Lightning Fairy” or just what? Is someone cocooned in geo-stationary orbit over California with a hand-held thumb-actuated tabulator? To me, something is wrong with the picture especially when there haven’t been all that many thunderstorms in SOCAL where many of the fires are located. I’m probably missing something (and, I hope I am).

We’re not alone, though. A map of the fires shows that then entire western region is ablaze. The truly interesting thing is that the fires all magically stop at the Canadian border (simply look at the fire map). Interesting, indeed. 

This old Californian has never seen such a  blazing onslaught (including last year!). The respective fire agencies are doing a fabulous job but, in some spots, they aren’t winning.

And, now, everyone is staying inside because of the smoke and not solely because of the virus issue. Just what we need: another reason to stay home and veg (which I refuse to do).

The local visibility has been down to less than a mile in some places. On a fair day in late summer during harvest and post harvest, it’s around 5 miles; normal is “CAVU” or a minimum of 10 miles.

People are dealing with ash to whatever degree, too. Cars are being coated with a fine layer of light gray. It’s almost like being in downtown Beijing or Bombay in the summertime. We need a good old-fashioned Oklahoma “frog strangler” summer rain to clear the air and give us a good cleaning and soaking.

What Lockdown? or “Rot Not” Is My Lot: really? Do “they” think that this ol’ dusty squash farmer and egg rancher is going to sit home and gather moss and let his body and brain rot away because “they” commanded me to do that?!  I call “FOUL!” and do vehemently yell, “FIE! FIE! UPON THEM!” (yes. All of you Shakespeare lovers do remember correctly).

Why would they think that everyone would just sit, stew, fret their life away, garner a washtub load of depression, booze themselves silly, and go to every length to be taken captive of  hopelessness and despair?! Do they think that  all of us old folks will just dial in the next “Three Stooges” marathon and veg unto dusty death while the leaves of the calendar silently and inexorably shed into the abyss called “Yesterday”?! Forsooth! It ain’t happenin’, buckos!

For Connie the Canner and Rancho Ran, there has been no lockdown. In fact, we have hardly notice any such thing. We just do what we always do: get things done that have to be done. Geeze. What can “they” do, eat me ? (Well...they can bite me). This is not Cabanatuan (WW2 Japanese prison camp)! We can do what we please when we please. So, we have taken the Alfred E. Newman attitude of “What? Me worry?”.

We ain’t afraid of no ghosts and certainly not a bug whose survival rate is at least 99% (if you have a healthy immune system) and whose infection rate is about the same as any flu season.

If you’re not in a nursing home, the odds of getting the bug in Tulare County are about the same as getting hit by a dump truck load of dead chickens at midnight on Sunday in a snow storm on Main Street in beautiful downtown Porterville.

Rat-a-tat or Abbie Wins Again! – There’s no mistaking a baying coon dog: not when you have heard that sound time and again and have found some sort of critter (be it large or small) on the business end of that bark. This time was no different.

The baying was, once again, coming from the front of the neighbor’s home (isn’t it great that my sweet little girl dog is so civic minded that she wants to protect the neighbor, too? Uh-huh). A quick glance revealed the Abbie was at the exact same spot where she had previously treed a ground squirrel (which met its demise for being stupid enough to venture into her guarded area). She was all jacked up at the same 4” open-ended drain pipe.

This time was a bit different. There was no “barking” to be heard which meant that, whatever she had cornered, it wasn’t a squirrel. The initial thought was that she was wasting far too much energy for it to be a small lizard. But, she would do that.

Of course, the same long hose was immediately available for use. Ah, but when the water was unleashed to try to flush out the critter, it didn’t immediately come out like the squirrel did. Not to be thwarted by such a small-brained creature (although it wouldn’t have been the first time. *SIGH*), my lightning-fast mind figured that the hose just needed to be pushed in further and further until something ran out the other side of the 10’ pipe.

YEP! That did it! A big ol’ rat darted right into Abbie’s Buick bumper-bending bite and that was that! She pranced off into the sunset with her new trophy. Fearless Abbie – 1; nasty ugly soggy varmint – 0.

Maggot city, USA or Feathery Feeding Frenzy: the other day (when lots of things happen around here), the daily compost run was in progress when the ol’ chicken meister took note of the bottom of one of his compost barrels. Lo and behold if there wasn’t a huge layer of maggots just waiting to be chicken fodder! A tin can was grabbed and put to work as a loader and a big mess of maggots was hauled up. Squiggly protein!

Now, my girls love bugs. They are ruthless bug slayers. There’s no bug too tough or maggot too rough that can overcome them when they are hungry (which is 100% of the time). There was no chance at the dance for the squirmy little slop suckers to survive my ravenous raptors and none of them did. The bird herd got down on their wiggling snacks and went to work like a hoard of hungry jack hammers. It was great!

After a couple of heapin’ helpin’s, the feast was postponed until the next day. No reason to overly spoil them, eh? It’s not like they are starving (though you couldn’t tell it by their actions). Maggots are our friends!

The next day found the remainder of the legless protein being totally consumed with not a single one of them left in the barrel. It’s little wonder our yard birds are so healthy.

Soldering on (sic): on some occasions, the Ol’ Rancher has to grab his 30W soldering iron and solder stuff. Something always needs to be glued, fixed, or mended around the ranch. That includes repair needs regarding radios, antennas, and other electronics. These are repairs that Super Glue, epoxy, and hot glue won’t work on.

The other day, I needed to make a cable for my “straight key” for my ham radio (for Morse code). I have a few automatic keyers but still need the straight key from time to time. If you win the lottery and don’t know what to get me for Christmas, you can send me a semi-automatic keyer. It’s called a “bug” (short for “jitterbug”) and it’s made by “Vibroplex” and it’s a beaut. You’ll get a really big hug.

I had a couple of them in times past but faded from Ham radio for quite a while and didn’t need them; I sold them. Silly me. All the other equipment and radios have been restored except for the bug. Auto keyers are nice but there’s just nothing like a “bug” to add personality and distinctness to one’s “fist” (the way you operate and send CW). These “bugs” are my friends.

A straight key helps in tuning the radio when it’s being used with an antenna tuner and SWR meter. You key the transmitter then tune the antenna with the tuner until the SWR is as low as it can get. You then start “pounding brass”.

CW is kind of a lost art since Ham’s are no longer are required to know Morse Code to have a license. When the ol’ ham dude upgraded his license in ’94, the 20wpm code speed requirement was still in place. I’m rather rusty but a bit of practice and a few drops of WD-40 should go a long way in loosening up my fist.

There are still some old guys like Ol’ Ran, the Luddite, who still find CW (short for “continuous wave”) a fun thing. That’s especially true concerning QRP which is “low power”. Usually, QRP (the “Q code” abbreviation for using low power) is any wattage below 25W. But, there are some few of us die-hards that only consider it to be QRP when you are running less than 5W (sometimes called “QRPp”).

Who’s yer momma?: A few weeks ago, one of our Barred Rock brooders hatched a couple of chicks. Sadly, she lost one of them. But, she took to being a great mother hen to the remaining little chick and did all of the mother hen things that mother hens are supposed to do.

Then, a really strange thing happened. After about a week or so, one of the Lace Wing Wyandotte hens began to follow along with the Barred Rock. In only a few days, the Wyandotte totally took over being the mother hen! What was amazing was that the Barred Rock didn’t seem to mind at all! She just moseyed off into the barn yard never to be bothered with the matter again. There was no fight, no muss, no fuss and I didn't see an exchange of drugs or money. If I were Artie Johnson (from "Laugh In"), I'd be inclined to say something like (best German accent), "Very interesting....but strange!". 

That was wild because the Rock was a tremendous protector of the little one! One evening when the chicks were only a couple of days old, she was outside the coop door and wasn’t going inside. Around here, it isn’t wise for chickens to stay unprotected at night because there are too many furry critters looking for an uncooked and un-plucked meal.

When the ol’ bird herder tried to pick her up and haul her inside, she came unglued like a hand grenade! It was almost like hand-to-hand combat on Iwo Jima! She lost the battle but there was almost a need to call a medic for the winner. That lesson was learned! Don't mess with momma hens! For now, the hen and chick are allowed to hide and fend for themselves. They are still alive so it looks like mother knows best.

The chick (which now looks like a little pullet) is a cross between a Rhode Island Red (“Ol’ Roo”) and either a Barred Rock or a Wyandotte. Roo, being the plucky cluck that he is, gets around and covers lots of ground (and would still do so if he had a wooden leg) and is far from picky or biased (he would have made a great dog). The  hens must like him 'cause they lay a lot of eggs. 

At this point, it’s difficult to tell what the chick is most like. But, in due season, the matter should be known. If it turns out to be a Wyandotte, then it will be difficult to think something other than the DNA connection had something to do with the easy high-jacking of the chick by the Wyandotte hen.

Perhaps we can call the new cross-bred chick a Red Rock or a Red Dotte. It’s just one of those things that happen at Rancho Relaxo.

Chick update: upon closer examination, and as the she has grown, she is definitely a Wyandotte crossed with the Rhode Island Red. She's a real cutie!

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 a retarded duck, and home of Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells like fresh sun-dried laundry: where things can get...interesting: where it’s all news to me: and, where...you just never know.

RANCHO MUCHO TRAVELLO

Here's the 2020 Mitzubishi "Outlander" that we rented from "Enterprise" and drove to Boise. It's a nice ride and only had 3,000 miles on the clock. But, I actually liked the previous version because it was bigger and much more useful. Bells and whistles just can't take the place of cargo carrying capability. Despite it being uglier than a plucked mud duck, it is fabulous to drive and and ride in. No complaints at all. A rock was thrown up from a passing truck trailer and cracked the windshield before we even got out of CA. 

 

 

This is the  van we went to get. It only has 88K miles on the odometer! She's prettier than a poodle puppy with a new bow in its hair!

 

Below is a shot of the "Wilson 5000" CB antenna on the van.

I try to keep an 11 meter CB radio in the van when I travel

more than about 200 miles or so from home. It comes in

handy from time to time. The preferred use is with my

10 meter ham transceiver but it wasn't practical to bring it

this time. And, the 10 meter wave propagation was not active

so it wouldn't have been of use anyway. Otherwise,  I just

tune it with the MFJ-949E tuner and talk to the world.

The smaller antenna is a "Tram" 2M/7cm dual-band

antenna for my ham transceiver which I did bring with me.

These pics were taken at Washington Park in Anacortes, WA.

Above is the "deal of the day" for our trip. 

It's the "Wilson" "Lil' Wil" magnetic mount

11 meter CB antenna. They retail for 45.00 at 

the "Pilot" truck stop. However, "Wilson"

was running a 25.00 rebate! So, Ol' Radio 

Ran bought the antenna, sent in the rebate,

and it ended up costing him 20 bucks! It

can also be used for the 10 meter and 

12 meter Ham bands.

NOTE: you may click on any picture to 

             enlarge it. 

This is a shot of Burrows Bay from Washington Park on

the special loop trail on the hill overlooking

the area.

This is the place we knocked over for lunch. 

When I'm at the coast, I simply must

have fish and chips and clam chowder.

No chowder this time. NEXT TIME!

Above and below are two shots of Washington Park

at Anacortes, WA. In the pic below, we can see people 

out in their boat having more fun than I am. 

This is my "go to" place for a fried chicken lunch.

It's in Longview, WA and used to be called "Speedy Chicken".

We met long-time friend and brother, Jeff Edgecomb,

there for lunch. He and I used to frequent the place.

It still has the big leghorn rooster parked on the roof.
It was great to get to sink some teeth into a hot chicken thigh!

This is youngest son, Michael, who lives on Hayden Island, 

Portland, OR. Y'all know Connie the Canner. 

This is "Boomers" burger joint on Hayden Island. 

Michael tried on one of their big ol' cheese burgers 

while Connie and I leveled a pile of onion rings. 

We had a large lunch in Longview a couple of hours 

earlier or we would have had the burgers. 

This is another place where we always stop. It's the 

"Olive Pit" in Corning, CA (and not far from the 

"Pilot" truck stop that has the best menudo I've 

ever stuck a spoon into). It was a huge disappointment 

this time around because they pulled the olive tasting

bar due to the virus issue. Oh, the horror. 

On one road trip back east, we stopped at a lot of the

Super Wal-Marts and loaded up on their clearance 

sales. We cleaned up! Connie the Canner can strip mine

a Wal-Mart with a twenty dollar bill! 

On this  trip, we stopped at several "Grocery 

Outlets" because they have good deals and 

products that are different than here. Below

is our haul! We will always be hydrated! The van's in 

"low rider" mode here. 

Well, here we are... and it’s August. Another month has gone by and we’re already past the mid-point of the year! Ain’t that enough to make you do the Shing-a-ling and shake your thing all night long? Well…um...maybe for ten minutes…uh…how about for one song?! Hey! It would put some pep in your step! Yeah, I know. Maybe a snap, crackle, and pop in your hop, too. OK… fuhgeddaboudit. Moving along….

As you know, our ol’ faithful Coop de Ville suffered a fatal engine issue last month. It was going to cost an arm, a leg, a first-born child, and my coon dog to get it fixed. Given that these items are not negotiable, an alternative had to be found.

After searching far and wide on the Internet for a Freestar van that would fit our needs (we need the utility), the perfect one was found in Boise, ID. We called the dealer and had them hold it for us (a deposit was required) while we gathered our duck and readied for the trip. After  a week (our duck is retarded so it took awhile), we picked up the rental car in Visalia on the next Saturday then headed out after church on Sunday.

It was found to be practical to rent a car to drive one-way to Boise. We had to pay a drop off fee but that was reasonable since it would have required about the same amount to drive our Camry. But, we weren’t just driving to Boise; the intention was to head to Seattle to see some of the kiddies. There was no good reason that we could think of to drive two cars and wear out two old people. We paid the modest fee.

The plan was to drive about half way to Boise then stop in Reno for the night. That part worked out just fine. However, the “Economy Inn” was a huge disappointment. We’ve never had an issue with them and actually prefer them; but, this place was a nasty mess. The room was acceptable (though just barely) but the hallway, stair landing, and surrounding area was filthy! I thought we were at one of the rent-per-hour motels on motel row in Fresno. Add to that, the young lady at the counter was about as personable as a stuffed armadillo. We departed the next morning as soon as was practical.

After turning north at Winnemucca, NV, we experienced miles and miles of miles and miles. Folks, there just ain’t anything out there…not even cell service! We were almost without a change of scenery and had no phone service for almost four hours!  

The Outlander made it to Boise at about 4 PM (the expected time) which gave us time to consummate the car deal. After that, we dropped it off at the Boise Airport (which is where we had booked a room) and called it a night.

The agents who sold us the van were a super nice Christian couple. In fact, we had church right there on the car lot! We prayed for and ministered to them (they have been pastors before) and they prayed for us! Love it! Reckon it was “The First Church of the Open Air”, eh?

The van is a beaut!! It was more than we expected! Though it was older, mechanically, it was only about 6 years old! It appeared to be someone’s around-town daily-driver or a second vehicle because it was in such great shape. And, you could tell that it hadn’t been used for a lot of highway travel since it only averaged about 5,500 miles per year and the cruise control buttons weren't worn at all. That’s about like driving 7.5 miles to work and back each day. There was little wear on anything and even he seats were hardly worn (which was an unexpected delight)! 

If that wasn't enough to make us shout, "BOY! HOWDY!", it's the “Limited” edition Freestar which means that it has all of the goodies and bells and whistles that our old Freestar SE didn’t have! Sweeeeet! She was all shiny and prettier than Banker Bob's wife's Shitsu! After the last of the paperwork and ministry, we transferred our stuff from the Outlander to the van and bid everyone good-bye.

We were dog tired after all of the events of the day so our luggage got unpacked from the new van then we settled into the (really nice)  "Inn America" room for the evening. 

But, not before we had a long-awaited sit-down-in-a-real-restaurant meal! How we had longed for that! Connie and I both had the chicken-fried steak breakfast (yep, breakfast for dinner!). It was more than appreciated since it would be only one of two meals in a restaurant that we would have. So much for the handful of restaurant gift cards, eh? That’s all that we did in Boise as the two old folks were plumb tuckered out and needed to rest.

It’s “only” 561 miles from Boise to Bow, WA where Tracey, Connie’s son, and his family lives. Given that we were on a tight clock, the already weary travelers decided to just make it there in one long 12 hour haul (you will always average about 55 MPH on any given long trip). After taking in a lot of scenery, abusing our bodies, breaking in the new seats really well, and plundering our energy resources, the new old-people-equipped van parked at the “Fairfield Inn” 1.76 miles north of Chuckanutt Junction (imagine the disappointment when they learned that "Petticoat Junction" was already taken).

Tracey met us but the greeting was only a bit more than a drive-by hugging. We made sure to chat a bit but there were two axel-draggers that needed to crash. It was right close to dark-thirty and our eyelids were hanging down so low we were getting eyelashes in our mouth. It was amazing that we had the spizerinctum to unload the suitcases from the van. We slept well that night.

Then next day was a great one! We sort of fumbled through the ad hoc continental breakfast. Due to the virus issue, everyone had to go get his goodies from the usual breakfast area but then they had to take it back to their room. That’s not really a deal breaker but it’s that sort of inconvenience, when added to ten other such inconveniences during the day, that makes for a damping of the fun of traveling. I managed to sprinkle enough coffee into my eyes to at least make it to a coffee kiosk (of which there are no few in Washington!) and get some real coffee.

We spent part of the day over in Anacortes, WA. (a beautiful place and fewer than 20 miles away). That included having a really nice lunch at the “Fidalgo Drive-In” (everything there is named after “Fidalgo Island”). After a delightful fish and chips, burgers and fries, and what-all meals, it was beach time! Tracey and fam led the way.

“Washington Park” is only about 5 miles from the drive-in so it didn’t take all that long to get there. Once we did, it was easy to see why it’s so popular. The place was gorgeous! After lolling about at the beach and taking a few pictures (a hundred pictures is usually a “few” for me when I’m on a roll) we went on the “Washington Park Loop” which found us on a hill overlooking part of Burrows Island, Burrows Bay, and some of the marina. What a fabulous viewpoint! That was good for a few more pictures, too!

Alas, we had to get back to Tracey’s house since he’s on call for his business. By then it was pizza time! The gals called in an order for pizzas and the guys (two of which are grandkids) promptly did their part by eating them! After a super day of family fellowship, the tired Californians went back to the inn.

The next morning found us reiterating the goofy breakfast routine and me quickly finding a real cup of coffee once we departed the hotel. It didn't take long until we were BOI (back on the Interstate).

There is a sad note. Brandi, Connie’s daughter who lives in Granite Falls, WA (about 45 min. from Tracey), is quarantined and we couldn’t see her and her family. It may be another year or more before we can get back up there so that really is a bummer.

Then next leg was to Longview, WA (195 miles) where we met friend and brother, Jeff Edgecomb, for lunch at the “Speedy Chicken”. They have the best deep-fried chicken I’ve ever had so it’s my “go to” eatery when I’m in the area (which isn’t often enough). Jeff and I go back to 1990 and are both ham operators. After a nice long chat and hugs all around, we had to ease on down the road another 45 minutes to Hayden Island in Portland to see son, Michael.

Mike was ready with a beaming smile and a big hug when we got there. We hadn’t seen him since last year when we went north for a few days. Given our current political climate, it may be a long time before we get to go again.

He suggested a great local burger place for lunch so we drive a short distance to “Boomers” burger joint. Since the old travelers had already had lunch, we let Mike test drive the cheese burger special and we tore into a pile of onion rings. That’s a real “Arnie” deal (“I’ll be back”)! The place was actually open for sit-down service so we lingered as long as we could before wending our way back to I-5 and commencing the 825 mile leg back home.

The next stop was about 5 hours later when the car and the driver were both out of gas. When I told Connie that I had had enough for the day she asked where we were. I advised that we were in “Grass Pants, Oregon”. Well…you know you’re tired when…..

The “Super 8” motel was happy to see us (that’s the other preferred motel when we can’t find an “Economy Inn”. If you are in Chehalis, WA, do stop there). The only gig was that we had to carry our stuff a long way and they didn’t have luggage carriers or dollies of any sort. That’s a mean thing to do to old people. After relaxing and me watching the “History Channel” for awhile and after Connie did some sewing, it was lights out.

 This last leg is a well-known and, therefore, an unremarkable one. With the exception of stopping at the “Olive Pit” in Corning, CA to pick up some special olives for a gift, the old folks just wanted to get as much pavement behind them as possible.

One crumby note is that the “Olive Pit” pulled their array of olive tasting jars due to the virus issue. That’s really a bummer when you only have a little time to spare and don’t have time to visit the aircraft museum at “Castle AFB” in Atwater (surely, you don’t think three visits are sufficient for an old wingnut like me, eh?).

Actually, by the time we got to Atwater, it was night time and we were wrecked anyway. It was time to just call it a night in Merced after more than 12 hours of being on the road. A generic motel was finally located (the rest were crowded or full for whatever reason) and it was “lights out” (and the sound of old people crashing).

The next morning found us searching for quick haul-off breakfast but every take-out place was crowded so we just moseyed southbound on down the 99 Highway (we had switched from I-5 to 99 at Stockton since the two highways are only 4 miles apart at that point). Reckon, other than coffee, breakfast wasn’t all that important. We did have an early lunch later (take-out, of course).

We finally made it back to the rancho and were weary, worn, and pretty well trip spun. The chickens didn’t miss us but Abbie did! She greeted us with enthusiasm and wagging her tail so hard she almost tossed the white tip off! We were home. It took a few days to get back to normal and are still somewhat out of sorts. This, too, shall pass.

It needs to pass because we have a great desire to go to Texas while there’s some resemblance of sanity in our nation (and that sanity is being executed by force only too quickly).

Discounts R Us: one fun thing about our trip is that we stopped at several “Grocery Outlet” stores. If we could see the sign from the freeway, we stopped and loaded up. The back of the Coop de Ville Too looked like a delivery van! It was great!

Stressin’ and testin’ or It’s treadmill time: the other day (when lots of things happen around here), Ol’ Ran had to take a treadmill test to fulfill the FAA requirements to have his medical certificate reinstated. This was the second treadmill test with the first one being not long after being released from the hospital in ’14.

The test is a mere 9 minutes long. However, there is a catch. Every three minutes, they increase the speed and raise the incline on the treadmill so that, by the time you are in the middle of the third leg, you are getting a real workout. It’s timed so that you actually can’t run (which would have made it easier) but have to walk fast.

It was a really long and arduous 9 minutes. The good news is that I didn’t hit the target stopping point for heart rate (150 beats per min.) until just about ten seconds prior to the end of the test (few make it that far). And, my resting heart rate was 60 beats per minute and blood pressure was 120/70 (perfect!).

Since the “big event” (some would call it a heart attack), the Ol’ Rancher has made it a priority to do a lot of physical work and to (over) use the stairs that lead to his computer shop. In other words, getting a daily “cardio” was always a priority. It paid off. I got a clean bill of health and then got a fresh medical certificate in the mail in only three weeks. It usually takes 3-4 months!

There’s a really nice Cessna 150 for rent out at the airport so Ol’ Wingnut will need to go dust off his wings.….soon.

Due to a lack of time and not wanting to turn this month’s post into a novelette, a lot of things were left out. Perhaps there will be time to finish up by posting a second episode. It would be a first but, why not?

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 a retarded duck, and home of Connie the Canner (world's greatest side-kook): where the air smells like freshly cooked pinto beans (and their after effects): where things can get...interesting: where it’s all news to me: and, where...you just never know.