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.

Feliz Año Nuevo 2024

 

Greetings and welcome to the "Rancho Relaxo" blog for January 2024. The Ol' Rooster and Ol' Hen just wanted to share what's happening at our humble rancho nestled in the ever-so-slightly- green-tinged foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The weather phenomenon known as “El Stupido” is wreaking havoc on some parts of the country and wrecking other places with its intensity. Around here, there isn’t any wreaking and wrecking happening other than the raining on our hope for having an actual winter season. Weird, eh?  

Nevertheless, a great expectation of wetness has been forecast (though not without a lot of hedging and foot shuffling from the clueless weatherman). Like last month, the few drops of “mad rain” we’ve had so far are disappointing but are still enough to be encouraging. No “Tule fog” so far this year but we're not even holding our breath on that one. Being able to see what's happening on the other side of your front yard is a good thing. 

Click on pictures to enlarge

On December 31, Connie was disassembling the tree and this is what I saw when I walked into the living room. "Hey! Great idea!", says I. Not being able to read my mind, she was a tad confused. "That's brilliant! You took off most of the lower branches to make room for more presents! I love it!". Perhaps you've seen a woman's non-descript face where you can't tell if she's going to dope-slap you into next Thursday, laugh at you, or sell your dumb carcass to the Gypsies (or all of the above). I couldn't tell but the evening ended well and I was still without pain and she (weakly) conceded that it wasn't a terrible idea.

The little egg at the top of the basket was, at first, thought to be a "practice egg" from one of the pullets. Finally, it was realized that it is actually an egg from one of our two Bantam hens. We'll use them for when we only make half a recipe. 

This little cutie is one of our pullets. I haven't named her yet but "Snowy" may work.

This is "Big Bertha" the freeze dryer. Its compressor failed which necessitated a trip back to the factory for an overhaul. Life in the big city, eh? It's on a pallet getting ready to be covered then strapped down. It was shipped out a couple of days after this. It's right in the middle of the holiday season so it'll likely take a few days longer than the three weeks they estimated that it would take to get it back to us. We miss this big baby. They just sent notification that it was being shipped home so it'll be here in a few days.

Tip of the day: 

Marry someone who has a different favorite cereal than you so they won't eat all of yours - Anon.

 

 And now, a word from our sponsor:

 This issue of Rancho Relaxo is brought to you by "Tiny Tina’s Tawdry Tilly Tudders”. Now, these are the best Tawdry Tilly Tudders that money can buy! You cannot...I say...you cannot get a better Tawdry Tilly Tudder anywhere! And, folks, they're made right here in the good ol’ US of A. You can get your bountiful supply of "Tiny Tina’s Tawdry Tilly Tudders” 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!

Well....it’s….it’s…January 2024!! How did that happen so quickly?!! Just when we are getting ready to commence to start (thank you Jethro Bodine) assimilating the impact of 2023, 2024 shows up! Doesn’t that just make you want to rejoice and blow your sackbut? In 1958, it took two years to complete a year. I'm not making this up. I was there and remember it well. It took forever for a year to lapse and get out of the way so another new one could take its place. Today, for a year to lapse, all you do is celebrate the New Year, do the Hokie Pokie and turn yourself about. Just like that; you are facing a new year!! Something is wrong...very wrong...with this picture. Moving along...

Covered up or Laying on layers: Since January is here, Connie the Canner is getting her "winter clothes" in order. So far it looks like she can insulate Alaska. She's prepared for whatever nature throws her way. Her (outdoors) comfort zone is around 78-80 degrees while the Ol' Rancher's is about 50-55 degrees. Anything lower than that, he needs a long sleeve shirt. Jackets are reserved for the 40's. It's easy to say that there just won't be any shivering happening on her watch. 

Feasting is the reasoning for the seasoning: There are a lot of things that Ol' Ran can live without. But, oxygen and Mexican food aren't among them. The other day (when lots of things happen around here), a friend of ours gave us a half dozen homemade tamales (bless his little Mexican heart). That kick-started Ol' Ran's heavy duty saliva glands and a feast was planned. It was the perfect time to launch one's saliva production since Christmas was upon us. 

To do a fiesta up right, there are some "must have" ingredients. One is tortillas. Just like Okies simply can't eat without bread (or BISCUITS! Just ask Little Jimmy Dickens!), it just isn't a fiesta without tortillas. Guess what? Ol' Ran (son of a California-improved Okie) keeps a large stack of tortillas in the fridge for just such a time as this! They are seriously handy to have around and make for  scrumptious eating for hungry family members. 

Now, home made tortillas are the best way to go. If you can accommodate the manufacturing of them in your kitchen, they are to die for. They melt in your mouth and are wonderful! Second best is to get them fresh (still warm!) at a local Mexican deli. If you can do that, do so without hesitation! You won't regret it! The last time I bought fresh warm tortillas, only half of them made it home alive. 

The other main ingredient is refried beans (you know. The musical fruit). Eating Mexican food without refried beans (with very few exceptions) is tantamount to eating a ribeye steak without fries or a baked potato! God forbid! Guess what, again? The Ol' Rancher keeps several cans of "frijole refritos" in his pantry! Boy, howdy! Being a "prepper" comes in handy!

And, if you are in a good mood and want to add a little class to the act, make your own refried beans! Oh, let me tell you, neighbor! That's the sure way to crack open some culinary delight! There are as many recipes for refried beans as there are abuelas. Just make one or all of them! You can't go wrong! 

One of the Ol' Rancher's favorite methods is the one where you use a little bit of bacon grease or lard (to taste) and just enough salt to pick things up. Hooooo, doggies! That there is some good eatin'! Another favorite is to head to the Mexican deli and grab a half-pound of chicharones. To hit this recipe out of the ballpark, don't use the pre-packaged "cracklins"  or "botaneros". Those are good and they'll work just fine. Instead, if you want a powerful-good treat, get the deep fried pork belly type that has meat on it. It's expensive (8-10 dollars per lb) but you'll likely only need a quarter pound. The good news is that you get to eat the rest of them out of the sack and they are DEE-licious (this is such a great recipe, eh?)! 

Then, whack it up and add it to your home made frijoles (crock pot or pressure cooker). First, mash up the beans as much or as little as you'd like (some folks like smoother beans while others prefer lumpy ones).You can used canned if you're in a hurry but it just isn't the same.  Then, add the chicharon and mix well. You can add a little onion, proprietary spicing or what all, and even splash in some "heat", if you'd like. Make sure that they are served up nice and hot.

The tamales were nuked in the microwave until hot then added to the feast. Man, oh, man! Did we "git down" on the grub! 

Chinese Chow or Oodles of Noodles: Speaking of holiday feasting, New Years eve was on Sunday so Marvin and Jean Statler, who attend our church, offered to take us out for a Chinese buffet lunch. Well, I have  a simple policy which is, when someone throws food your way, don’t duck. So, we headed on over to the “L&D Chinese Buffet” on West Henderson there in Porterville.

The place was busy as can be but there was plenty of chow for the ol' chow hound. So, it didn't take long to have a fully-loaded plate that (maybe) only had room for one more crispy fried noodle. Most of the pile consisted of the wonderfully hot fresh-out-of-the-deep-fryer breaded shrimp. I probably shouldn't brag but I hurt the shrimp population that day. Reckon that was done just to make sure that I don’t fall victim to anorexia (a fella can’t be too cautious, don’tcha know).

 To make a long story longer, we finished our feast, headed home, and took a nice nap! Naps are our friends. That's the way to do Sunday! 

Fuzz Doggie Daddy: Most of y'all know that we have two doggies: Princess Abbie, who is the “I wonder what she’s doing now” dog who is smart as a whip and as handsome a little lassie as can be. She's a bit stubborn and leans on her own understanding a lot more than we prefer. OK. She's a bit mule-headed but still as sweet as over-ripe peaches. And, she can tree and fiercely bawl mouth a coon with the best of the Blueticks. What's not to love? 

Then, we have Fuzzy, the obstreperous and wandering-not-so-wonder dog. Despite his pristine pedigree, his demeanor proves that he is still a plebeian pooch without polish. He's a carefree Labra-Doodle who was born to wander...and chew...and destroy...and chew again...and tear apart...and...and. *SIGH*. As you may remember, he wandered off next door and banged the neighbor's bulldog and became a father at a rather young age.  He's a barely a year-and-a-half old and is already a real neighborhood celebrity. 

He also has no aversion to hauling off the waders that his owner sometimes forgets to stow after using them. So, there's no detective work needed to figure out why one of the boots is missing when it's time to feed the chickens or who swiped it. All it takes is a quick trip around the house to see where Fuzz Ball, the sneak thief, has hauled it off to. 

His creative thinking became an issue the other day when he wandered a bit too far. My neighbors reported that he, Abbie, Bella, the bulldog, and Pedro, Bella's little compadre, crossed the "big road" (CA-190. which is about 100' from our front door). That won't work! Bella was killed and only God knows why any of the others weren't. Some years ago, the neighbor across the street (now moved away) lost three of her dogs to "the road". 

That prompted Ol' Ran to immediately make the executive decision to curtail his curiosity by shackling him with the electric perimeter fence collar. The collar keeps him close to the house but allows him the freedom to run and play and get plenty of exercise (just ask Abbie who daily romps with him).

The good news is that he isn't like Missy, the Husky. I loved her but she was just an over-the-top, full-throttle, sled dog with no sled to pull. It was 0-to-60 in a blink with her. She was a highly intelligent pup that has an uncanny talent for "problem solving" (as in, escaping from any tether, rope, chain, or straight jacket). Missy also had a perennial lust for chicken dinners that never seemed to be sated. She took down 50% of our chicken population so we needed to let her go. She now has a nice home in Posey which is up in the foothills about 22 miles (as the crow flies) south of here. 

Wier haben kartoffelpuffer Or Show me the taters: I must confess that I'm "meat and potatoes" guy. Spuds are my friends and I go out of my way to regularly invite them for dinner. Mashed, nuked, boiled, roasted over an open fire (really good stuff), cooked in the upper deck of the BBQ grill (muy beuno!), French-fried, hash browns, potato chips, hassleback, baked, twice-baked, in soups and stews, scalloped, or au gratin: they are all close to my starch-lovin' heart.

If they are French-fried, the need to be fresh out of the deep fryer (or "off the broiler" if you order from "Burger King". You know: "Have it your way!"). They need to be "rip-your-lips-off" hot. Not that I can even explain that phenomenon. It just is what it is. I love hot food.  

Anyway, when I stumbled into a recipe for "kartoffelpuffer", I had to try it. In some recipes, they are called potato pancakes and in others, they are very similar to the Polish "latkes". In any case, they are all wildly delicious! The street vendors in Berlin usually make the pancake style which is loaded with onions and uses a thinner type of batter. They're cooked on a large griddle along with the egg pancakes. 

As you might guess, there are as many recipes for "kartoffelpuffer" as there are Grossmutters. Thankfully, it couldn't be any easier. I like to cook both the pancake style and the latke style. That means that the leftover mashed potatoes can be used for potato pancakes. If the taste changes, the box grater is whipped out and grated taters are used. Grab your favorite search engine and punch in potato pancakes or "kartoffelpuffer". You'll fall in love with them! 

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 home of a retarded duck: 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.