Being economically poor for his entire life, Dad most often engaged in what he called "managing".
As an example, I can never remember Dad buying a new tire for his vehicle. If a "casing" need replacing, Dad would cruise the local country garbage dumps until he found something deemed serviceable. If he needed spark plugs, he would look in the sand in his neighbor's yard and find discarded plugs that he could clean and use in his truck. If he needed a tool he couldn't buy, he would "invent" the tool by constructing something from junk lying in his back yard.
Obviously, the ranch hand has the genes of Gene in his veins. Perhaps not so obvious to the casual observer, the ranch hand often takes pleasure in "managing" rather than purchasing "stuff".
Today's menu included mounting the Tin Star deer blind atop a metal stand constructed by yours truly in the distant past (and welding together some steps to ascend to this throne).
Never mind there was no crane to lift the hunting edifice onto its pedestal or suitable materials to fabricate the "stairs". Just called on Dad to inspire and figgered it out as it naturally progressed?
Bottom line: If Dad were alive, he would be 77 today. The ranch hand stepped back from the "handy work" of the deer blind, looked to the heavens, and allowed, "This one was for you Dad, thanks for teaching me how to manage."
Happy Birthday Sir, I miss you every day and shall always love you!
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Rock Chunkers
A few years back the bride bought me an awesome riding lawn mower for my BD.
This puppy (I call it "Rojito" for little red) has ample power, minimal vibration, and mows like a charm.
Rojito ain't got but one "flaw": It chunks rocks like a cannon on steroids....and the ranch grows rocks by the gozillions?
The ranch hand first learnt his "lesson" by driving the mowing machine past his new pickup and driving a damn rock near bout thru the passenger door (dammit!).
Learned a new lesson today.
Built the new ranch house with energy efficiency in mind. Yeah, big time insulation, etc., but also high dollar windows. Used them double paned, gas filled, RV blocking, space wars techno crapola things (think $BUCKS$).
Bout 2P your humble scribe wuz motoring across the back yard with the riding mower blades whirrin' like a cicada on margaritas when MR. ROCK caught hold the blades and launched like a moon fricken rocket?????
Bottom line: got a hole in a sun room window that I could throw a football thru and enough glass on the floor to fill a five gallon bucket??? (DON'T TELL THE BRIDE OR MY BUTT IS GRASS?)
DAMMIT!! ya'll reckon a dumbutt will ever learn to point the business end of that sumbitch away from stuff that don't need bustin'?????????????
This puppy (I call it "Rojito" for little red) has ample power, minimal vibration, and mows like a charm.
Rojito ain't got but one "flaw": It chunks rocks like a cannon on steroids....and the ranch grows rocks by the gozillions?
The ranch hand first learnt his "lesson" by driving the mowing machine past his new pickup and driving a damn rock near bout thru the passenger door (dammit!).
Learned a new lesson today.
Built the new ranch house with energy efficiency in mind. Yeah, big time insulation, etc., but also high dollar windows. Used them double paned, gas filled, RV blocking, space wars techno crapola things (think $BUCKS$).
Bout 2P your humble scribe wuz motoring across the back yard with the riding mower blades whirrin' like a cicada on margaritas when MR. ROCK caught hold the blades and launched like a moon fricken rocket?????
Bottom line: got a hole in a sun room window that I could throw a football thru and enough glass on the floor to fill a five gallon bucket??? (DON'T TELL THE BRIDE OR MY BUTT IS GRASS?)
DAMMIT!! ya'll reckon a dumbutt will ever learn to point the business end of that sumbitch away from stuff that don't need bustin'?????????????
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Still And Quiet
If one is still and quiet at the ranch, the symphony of sound that occurs is magnificent. The ranch hand's favorite auditory pleasures include:
The rustle of the wind chasing the leafs....
The incessant evening demands of the whippoorwills....
The plaintive coo of the doves....
The raucous caw of the crows....
The snorts and foot stamping of the deer....
The breeze whispering a promise of a cooler clime in the branches....
The joyous paean of the song birds....
....and the incessant whirrrrr of the cicada for they kindle fond memories of Grandmother's back yard.
All music to the ears of those who will but be still and quiet.
The rustle of the wind chasing the leafs....
The incessant evening demands of the whippoorwills....
The plaintive coo of the doves....
The raucous caw of the crows....
The snorts and foot stamping of the deer....
The breeze whispering a promise of a cooler clime in the branches....
The joyous paean of the song birds....
....and the incessant whirrrrr of the cicada for they kindle fond memories of Grandmother's back yard.
All music to the ears of those who will but be still and quiet.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
SOMEONE ELSE
John Kelso is a columnist for the Austin American Statesman newspaper. His column this fine Sunday morning announces that he is volunteering for the position of campaign manager for "Someone Else" as governor of Texas.
Sign me on in whatever position can best contribute to the "cause" in order to dee-liver the gov an old fashioned school yard "butt whuppin".
My loyal reader well knows the guerrilla skirmishes the ole ranch hand has waged with the postal "service" of late. The last few weeks, your humble scribe has been pulverized by the war machine known as the Williamson County Tax Appraisal District.
Now, for the record, having been on the gov-mint "tit" for the last 40 years, I am appropriately grateful for the bountiful blessin' of income so provided. Just the same, the "out-go" finances versus the "in-come" pesos is becoming catastrophic.
Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, but I can't be the only person in our glorious state that feels this dollar vacuum has no end in sight.
All ya'll vote: "Someone Else" can't do no worse...and might do better???? Just a thought.
Sign me on in whatever position can best contribute to the "cause" in order to dee-liver the gov an old fashioned school yard "butt whuppin".
My loyal reader well knows the guerrilla skirmishes the ole ranch hand has waged with the postal "service" of late. The last few weeks, your humble scribe has been pulverized by the war machine known as the Williamson County Tax Appraisal District.
Now, for the record, having been on the gov-mint "tit" for the last 40 years, I am appropriately grateful for the bountiful blessin' of income so provided. Just the same, the "out-go" finances versus the "in-come" pesos is becoming catastrophic.
Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, but I can't be the only person in our glorious state that feels this dollar vacuum has no end in sight.
All ya'll vote: "Someone Else" can't do no worse...and might do better???? Just a thought.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Character
OK sports fans, it's Independence Day in Gabriel Mills Texas and all is well.
Independence Day is the national holiday of the United States of America commemorating the signing of the Declaration of Independence by the Continental Congress on July 4, 1776, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
I recently read a piece about the fate of the "signers" after their historic event:
Five signers were captured by the British as traitors, and tortured before they died. Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned. Two lost their sons serving in the Revolutionary Army; another had two sons captured. Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War. They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. What kind of men were they?
Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists. Eleven were merchants, nine were farmers and large plantation owners; men of means, well educated. But they signed the Declaration of Independence knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.
Damn, if that ain't the epitomy of CHARACTER, your humble scribe ain't got a clue what is?
Think about all the incredibly wonderful blessings in our lives. Do I take them for granted on occasion? Ain't no doubt. Do I humbly acknowledge the blessing of those brave souls who BOLDLY placed their signatures on parchment to commemorate our freedoms. HELL YES!
Thank you O' Lord and Savior for our many blessings, FREEDOM in all things, and your saving grace.
Independence Day is the national holiday of the United States of America commemorating the signing of the Declaration of Independence by the Continental Congress on July 4, 1776, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
I recently read a piece about the fate of the "signers" after their historic event:
Five signers were captured by the British as traitors, and tortured before they died. Twelve had their homes ransacked and burned. Two lost their sons serving in the Revolutionary Army; another had two sons captured. Nine of the 56 fought and died from wounds or hardships of the Revolutionary War. They signed and they pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. What kind of men were they?
Twenty-four were lawyers and jurists. Eleven were merchants, nine were farmers and large plantation owners; men of means, well educated. But they signed the Declaration of Independence knowing full well that the penalty would be death if they were captured.
Damn, if that ain't the epitomy of CHARACTER, your humble scribe ain't got a clue what is?
Think about all the incredibly wonderful blessings in our lives. Do I take them for granted on occasion? Ain't no doubt. Do I humbly acknowledge the blessing of those brave souls who BOLDLY placed their signatures on parchment to commemorate our freedoms. HELL YES!
Thank you O' Lord and Savior for our many blessings, FREEDOM in all things, and your saving grace.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Black Cats
Cash in Wright City in the 60's was a rare commodity. If a soul came upon a dab, groceries was usually the main focus.
Come "fireworks" times (New Year or July 4th), the ranch hand and sisters naturally craved some "poppers" like all kids.
Daddy would usually come up with a few "sparklers" to wave around at night and a package or two of Black Cat firecrackers.
We treated those Black Cats like each one was a special gift to be savored. While others would light a whole package at once, we laid careful plans for each individual pyrotechnic.
One might be placed under the open end of a tin can to watch it launch off the ground. Another would be placed in a tree niche to see a bit of bark blown away. Yet another would be place in various glass containers to attempt ignorance induced blindness via flying glass shards.
The ultimate adrenalin rush was to hold the mini-grenade in one hand while igniting the fuse with the other. One would then heave the miniature cylinder of black powder and experience the thrill of escaping injury (followed by the relief of not having to confess to Daddy that we were doing something we were told not to do when we got "wounded").
On occasion the fuses would burn halfway down and stop. Being invulnerable, invincible, and immortal, us poor oil field trash "chilluns" would just pick them up and relight the fuse?
Sister "C" did that in the back yard one day and the digit buster promptly did its business between her fingers. Think bruise/burn/PAIN!!!! I was too dang country to realize it at the time, but ole Faucho went into shock for a spell with a "thousand yard" stare that was kinda frightening to us rural miscreants.
Bottom line: we survived our youth and all retained our fingers and toes.
Did I share this traditional holiday "fun" with my children.......HELL NO!
The danger to life and limb, the fire hazard, and the noise aggravation were more than I was ever willing to bear.
(But between you and me, the ole ranch hand wouldn't take anything for those childhood days in the backyard perfecting demolition skills with Black Cats)
Come "fireworks" times (New Year or July 4th), the ranch hand and sisters naturally craved some "poppers" like all kids.
Daddy would usually come up with a few "sparklers" to wave around at night and a package or two of Black Cat firecrackers.
We treated those Black Cats like each one was a special gift to be savored. While others would light a whole package at once, we laid careful plans for each individual pyrotechnic.
One might be placed under the open end of a tin can to watch it launch off the ground. Another would be placed in a tree niche to see a bit of bark blown away. Yet another would be place in various glass containers to attempt ignorance induced blindness via flying glass shards.
The ultimate adrenalin rush was to hold the mini-grenade in one hand while igniting the fuse with the other. One would then heave the miniature cylinder of black powder and experience the thrill of escaping injury (followed by the relief of not having to confess to Daddy that we were doing something we were told not to do when we got "wounded").
On occasion the fuses would burn halfway down and stop. Being invulnerable, invincible, and immortal, us poor oil field trash "chilluns" would just pick them up and relight the fuse?
Sister "C" did that in the back yard one day and the digit buster promptly did its business between her fingers. Think bruise/burn/PAIN!!!! I was too dang country to realize it at the time, but ole Faucho went into shock for a spell with a "thousand yard" stare that was kinda frightening to us rural miscreants.
Bottom line: we survived our youth and all retained our fingers and toes.
Did I share this traditional holiday "fun" with my children.......HELL NO!
The danger to life and limb, the fire hazard, and the noise aggravation were more than I was ever willing to bear.
(But between you and me, the ole ranch hand wouldn't take anything for those childhood days in the backyard perfecting demolition skills with Black Cats)
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