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!