Sunday, March 29, 2009

Thelda

On occasion, I contemplate what my deceased parents reaction would be to the Tin Star Ranch.

I most often think of Dad when I am outside working on the land in any way. There has been any number of times that I have sat down on a stump and looked to the sky while talking aloud to Dad. I am convinced he is with me spiritually and takes deep satisfaction in my appreciation of our property.

I more often think of Mother (Thelda) in relation to what her reaction might be to our new home.

Sweet Bill tells a story that deeply touches my heart. Seems that after returning from my mom's funeral, Bill was in her yard and was visited by a beautiful humming bird. Feeling the spirit of my mom in that delicate gift, Bill addressed the visitor by saying, "Hello Thelda".

This morning when I opened the garage door, I was blessed by a stunning hummingbird flying in and hovering over me for about five minutes. After my precious visitor departed, I decided to memorialize by blogging in my office.

As I sat contemplating the solemnity of the moment, the hummingbird appeared outside my office window, hovered a moment looking through the glass, seemed to nod, and then disappeared into the blue of the morning sky.

I thank Sweet Bill for sharing her memories of my Mother, but I thank my Lord and Savior for the blessing of his creation of all things beautiful and for the incredible blessing of Thelda and all that her memory provides.

Deere, Dawgs, and other Ramblin's

About 1983, I acquired an old John Deere "B" model tractor. The 1940's era jewel was universally known as a "popping Johnny" due to the characteristic "popping" that came from its exhaust when running.

The "B" model was a bit of a challenge to handle in tight places and didn't have a reserve of power, but I absolutely loved the slow deep baritone of the engine. Besides, when enthroned on that tall iron mule, I felt like a part of history. The generations were being spanned as the ghosts of men multiple generations removed smiled from the sky to acknowledge my appreciation for their old faithful green friend.

About 1990, I retired ole poppin' Johnny to my pasture and picked up a 1950's model John Deere gasoline fueled tractor. With its hydraulic brakes and tighter turning radius, I felt that I was at the pinnacle of agricultural excellence? Again, the longevity of the machine made an impression on me as I cogitated on its 40 years of endeavor toiling for farmers and such.

During 2007 I purchased my beloved BIG DAWG. Big Dawg, my sole new tractor, is a 32 horsepower Kubota with awesome power, all modern conveniences (auto transmission no less?) and total reliability.

At odd times I have mused as to whether those who inherit Big Dawg after my demise will ever contemplate the endeavors and appreciation of previous owners such as I?

Til then, I humbly salute all who take pleasure in the peace and solitude afforded when operating a faithful piece of machinery during a labor of love on one's own property.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Young Lions

Texas lawmen are required to meet minimum qualifications for firearms proficiency at least one time per calendar year (or forfeit their peace officer license).

The humble ranch hand successfully met that challenge for 39 years. I have never been a pistolero master the like of Uncle Wayne, but I have never embarrassed myself either.

This Thursday I stepped to the firing line for my 40th consecutive year to be tested yet again. Looking up and down the row to my left and right I saw the young lions. Cops in the beginning of their career with sharp eyes, steady hands, and the cocky confidence of relative inexperience. I can only imagine their view as they saw a fat old man with gray receding hair and tri-focal glasses trying to mentally get in the "zone" to concentrate on the center body mass of the opposing paper target.

Bottom line: The smoke cleared and the old law dog managed 97% and held on to his Expert Marksman qualification.

To hell with youth. I kinda like the stage of life I currently occupy!

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Craftsman Guarantee

My Dad was an awesome "shade tree" mechanic for anything that included an internal combustion engine.

Over the years I chose at selected times to provide him with tool "gifts". Sometimes a nice tool box, other times a new set of wrenches or some such. Dad invariably chastised me saying he already had one or more of every thing. (I would always notice at a later time that the "unnecessary" tools were greasy indicating obvious usage).

When we lost Dad, I inherited his extensive mechanic tool collection. Most of the stuff was completely worn "smooth mouth" (to quote Dad). He had used the tools for so many years that the tool would no longer function properly.

I kept everything. Just the fact that Dad had touched to tools made them more valuable to me than anything new could ever mean.

I had my own tool collection that I had assembled over 40 years. I say "had" because all were taken in a burglary of my barn. My sole salvation was to note that, at least, I still had Dad's old stuff for sentimental value. I would just start rebuilding my personal tool collection thru purchases over time.

About two weeks ago I decided to go through Dad's tools and perhaps put usable things back into service. Bottom line: I found enough of the essentials that I can pretty much do the things I need to do without purchasing a thing.

And the best part, every time I touch them I will think of Dad, pray for his guidance on my feeble mechanic efforts, and enrich the legacy for any person who wants the tools after my mortal race is done.

Now let's see if Sears Craftsman Tool Corporation wants to match that guarantee?

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Backyard Visitors

Our "backyard" is about 5 acres consisting of oak trees and some green growing grass after the recent rains. At the back of the "yard" we have a corn feeder to be neighborly to our woodland friends.

Naturally, we have our dining room table positioned so that we can observe the backyard area while we enjoy our repast. Yesterday during supper we were entertained by a lone hen turkey which meandered slowly back and forth as it foraged for its daily sustenance. It showed not alarm nor care as it nonchalantly browsed the backyard grocery selection.

Such are the priceless treasures of sight and sound that residence at the Tin Star incurs.

Life is good!

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Redemption

Television is both a blessing and a curse. It can either fill your head with mindless crap or be educational depending on your channel selection.

TV provides background noise to drown out silence or other unwanted sound. It feeds your sports addiction, tickles your funny bone, or runs saline down your cheeks with tear jerkers.

My kids have had multiple channels and color for their entire lives. They take for granted that it has always been so. I would like to think that because I remember the days of black and white TV with only one channel to watch, I haven't taken it for granted. Sadly, I think I have.

For the last four months we have been euphemistically "homeless" in that we sold the town house and have been waiting for completion of the Tin Star bunkhouse. The first month with little or no TV was kinda cool. Quiet relaxing evening with no irritating commercials.

Course I missed almost the entire football season (dammit)! And I got bored. Sad to say, but I began to realize that TV played a large role in my life?????

All that to say this. We whupped up some wampum and horse traded for a 52 inch flat screen monster that would put the Turnertown drive-in to shame and today the satellite folks is coming to do an "install".

Not that I am excited, but I have huge banners at the front gate that are festooned with balloons and flashing lights. I have a marching band set to play, a huge Texas bbq catered, and adult beverages for all comers.

Redemption shall be a glorious day for all, but this day will be a distant second in revelation for the ranch hand.

(I wonder if Howdy Doody, Rin Tin Tin, and Sky King is still playing?)

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

In-Betweeners

Property gates create conflicting perceptions.

On the one hand, an open gate means all who pass are welcome within. On the other hand, said gate when closed should be a message for others that trespass and/or unnecessary traffic is unwelcome.

Then there are "in-betweeners".

Today we installed a remote controlled gate opener at the entrance to the ranch. If you have one of our "remotes" or if you are privy to the key pad code at the gate, your in. Lacking either, your best option is to assume that climbing that gate/fence is an invitation to a buckshot sandwich!

I ain't never lived behind a gate in all my born days, but I reckon it is the way of local country folk.

Just call me an "in-betweener"?

Antler Sheds

Whitetail bucks shed their antlers mid-winter and then grow new antlers every spring and summer.

I mentioned this deciduous characteristic to Dad one time. He looked at me like I had just fallen off a tater truck.

I assured Dad that this was a well researched phenomenon and explained the stages of shedding the antlers followed by rapid growth and hardening of the horns.

Dad had just one question, "Have you ever seen "shed" antlers lying on the ground anywhere?" Well, the plain truth was that I had not?

All that changed yesterday. While checking my corn feeder at the pond, I found a single small antler lying on the ground under the motorized dispenser. I knew that bucks often shed their horns by accidentally hitting them on the metal legs of deer feeders. I simply have never had the experience of finding one.

Dad, after all these years I finally have a definitive answer to your question: "Yes, I have found antlers lying on the ground!"

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Home At Last

It's dawn at the Tin Star and all is well with the world.

I'm glancing out the West window of my office in the new bunkhouse and marveling at the view across the San Gabriel River valley. There is a slight mist rising from the river and it gives the promise of pleasures to come. The trees have a soft edge in the near light and the sky is an ashen gray that blends at the far horizon into the distant hay fields.

I am soothed and massaged by the peaceful silence that lays upon the ranch. Truly early morns at our humble abode will inspire worship and thanksgiving to our Father who blessed us with all that which led us to reside herein.

Our welcoming committee for our move yesterday consisted of nine deer and three turkeys who each inclined their heads slightly as if to nod approval of our permanent presence.

Oh Lord, we thank you from our hearts for the blessing of our land, our new house, and the privilege of living the rest of our days in peace and harmony with the bountiful glory you have so richly provided on the Tin Star Ranch.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Noah's Ark

And the rain was upon the earth forty days and forty nights.
(Genesis 7:12)

The ole ranch hand has had his whistle whetted for near a lustrum to move full time on the Tin Star.

Had it all nailed down to start the move today like the Clampetts haulin' to Beverly Hills. God had other plans.

Seems it started precipitatin' early yesterday morn (for the first time since Moby Dick was a minnow) and it ain't really let up yet. My fine new landscaping topsoil around the casa has become a right fine sea of mud that a show pig couldn't hardly root through?

Now I understand that its been so dry that all the fish are infested with ticks, but the timing of these showers are down right inconvenient.

Hear me for who I am: Come Saturday morn we are moving into our new castle if we have to do it in boats. (Now where did I put those plans fer building an ark?)

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Prunes

My loyal reader knows that the trials and tribulations of building a new bunkhouse on the ranch has near bout had me feeling like a widder woman suvivin' on scripture and prunes?

Our "interim" abode has been with kinfolks (mom-law's house) and that has been about as congruous as emeralds in a cesspool. Now mind ya, I ain't complainin'. It's just that my morning cup of joe has invariably included a dose of a sound not unlike a rusty nail bein' pulled from the pine board of an ancient corral (mom-law again?). Be that as it may, the humble ranch hand has been grateful for a place to hang his hat and perform the daily absolution fer the last (100 years?). OK, its only been four months, but like the frog says, "Times fun when you are having flies?"

Bottom line: we be about to flee this little patch of heaven like an egg suckin' hound bein' chased from a chicken coop!

That's right sports fans, we be about to take residence on that rainbow of wildflowers where the silence is like snowflakes falling on a feather (also known as our beloved TIN STAR RANCH).

Hallelujah and pass the biscuits. The bank done agreed we is through with the building process. The insurers done branded a policy on our butts. And most impotent, we got the green light to move our meager possessions into the last home we will ever know on this earth.

YA GOTTA LOVE IT!

Praise be to the Lord, our Savior!

Monday, March 2, 2009

Bless This House

Bless this house, O Lord we pray,
Make it safe by night and day . . .
Bless these walls so firm and stout,
Keeping want and trouble out . . .

(Helen Taylor and May Morgan, 1927)

The ranch hand reported during October 2008 that we had inked a construction loan and broke ground on the new bunkhouse.

A blog or two has dribbled down the creek concerning everything from the trials of preparing the old house to sell, to the onus of packing and moving. A bit of whiny grieving was thrown in to abate the scathing of my soul while living with the mom-law between the sale of the old house and finish of the new.

Well, whoopteedamdoo!! Wednesday we do the "final" walk thru with the builder. Don't know if it will turn out to be the "final" or not, but we are so close to moving in that we can smell it.

The road for this journey has been interesting, at times stressful, but always with the promise of the coming reward.

Bless this house, O Lord we pray.