This morn's sunrise hunt include the blessing of the resident San Gabriel River fog creeping on soft feet with obvious mischief.
The wisps of cottony moisture presented life-like (if not "ghost-like) forms that drifted as if by whim.
Nature, an obvious part of the spoof, rejoiced as trees and animals alike "peek-a-booed" to greet the dawn.
Inevitably, orange fire entered "stage" east, and the spirits cavorted to an unknown lair to await the next adventure.
The ranch hand failed in the noble quest of venison acquisition, but was rewarded nonetheless by the glory of our Savior's magnificent creations.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Primero
The ole ranch hand has been watching a buck for a year or two.
"Primero" has grown from a spindly thing to a magnificent example of the species with a muscular body, long neck, and eight long tines that strongly define his dominance.
Sunday afternoon last the fat boy was veggin' in the sun room when gratuitously, Primero entered the back forty in all his glory.
Said wanna-be hunter scooped up his venison acquisition device an "cherokeed" (Sweet Bill says we be from the Cherokee Nation ala 1794 or sumpthin such?) onto the back porch....needed a slightly better angle so brother Daniel Boone sidle to the right...and ooched a metal chair across the concrete creating a screeching sound that would make a banshee proud?
Primero hit the brush like his tail was on fire!
Went back in the house...pooch lipped...pissed off...disapointed to say the least.
Looked up and that puppy was back!!!!!
Did a credible ninja "sneak" back on the porch and put that puppy between the crosshairs (with visions of trophy accolades dancing).
Off to the right about forty yards a doe SNORTED like a bull elk, jumped near bout 10 foot in the air, and ran off like the devil was on her butt?
Ranch hand Boone (and Primero) near bout did the same?
Primero scooted ass and ain't been seen since.
Score: Primero "1".....ranch hand "0"
"Primero" has grown from a spindly thing to a magnificent example of the species with a muscular body, long neck, and eight long tines that strongly define his dominance.
Sunday afternoon last the fat boy was veggin' in the sun room when gratuitously, Primero entered the back forty in all his glory.
Said wanna-be hunter scooped up his venison acquisition device an "cherokeed" (Sweet Bill says we be from the Cherokee Nation ala 1794 or sumpthin such?) onto the back porch....needed a slightly better angle so brother Daniel Boone sidle to the right...and ooched a metal chair across the concrete creating a screeching sound that would make a banshee proud?
Primero hit the brush like his tail was on fire!
Went back in the house...pooch lipped...pissed off...disapointed to say the least.
Looked up and that puppy was back!!!!!
Did a credible ninja "sneak" back on the porch and put that puppy between the crosshairs (with visions of trophy accolades dancing).
Off to the right about forty yards a doe SNORTED like a bull elk, jumped near bout 10 foot in the air, and ran off like the devil was on her butt?
Ranch hand Boone (and Primero) near bout did the same?
Primero scooted ass and ain't been seen since.
Score: Primero "1".....ranch hand "0"
Friday, November 4, 2011
Opening Day
Tomorrow's dawn marks opening day of the 2011 deer season.
The ranch hand first experienced "opening day" 42 years ago in Sabinal, Texas.
That morning did not result in the taking of venison. It did result in absolutely FREEZING in a deer blind due to the neophyte hunter being ill prepared as to clothing.
Despite the misery of near frost bite, that was a memorable morn in terms of the eager anticipation of possibilities, the feel of the wooden stock and steel of the rifle in nervous hands, and the glory of witnessing the sunrise orchestrated by my Lord and Savior.
Surely there will never be a more meaningful "opening day", but I pray that there will be a number of similarly soul satisfying experiences.
The ranch hand first experienced "opening day" 42 years ago in Sabinal, Texas.
That morning did not result in the taking of venison. It did result in absolutely FREEZING in a deer blind due to the neophyte hunter being ill prepared as to clothing.
Despite the misery of near frost bite, that was a memorable morn in terms of the eager anticipation of possibilities, the feel of the wooden stock and steel of the rifle in nervous hands, and the glory of witnessing the sunrise orchestrated by my Lord and Savior.
Surely there will never be a more meaningful "opening day", but I pray that there will be a number of similarly soul satisfying experiences.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Acorns and Promise
It happens every year, dadgummit?
Ya see deer swarmin' the place like flies on honey from can til cain't...and then a week before huntin' season opens the acorns fall.
No deer.
Ya look, ya wish, ya hope...but the deer got plenty of groceries back in the woods and have no use for civilized folks what want to collect their boodies for protein supplement.
Ya reckon that is why they call it "hunting" instead of "killing"?
Ya see deer swarmin' the place like flies on honey from can til cain't...and then a week before huntin' season opens the acorns fall.
No deer.
Ya look, ya wish, ya hope...but the deer got plenty of groceries back in the woods and have no use for civilized folks what want to collect their boodies for protein supplement.
Ya reckon that is why they call it "hunting" instead of "killing"?
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
The Splendor Of The Old
“The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair is the splendor of the old.” Proverbs 20:29
The ole ranch hand and his beautiful bride recently joined the local recreation center to increase fitness (and hopefully productive longevity?)
This gym has an indoor walking track that is near a large, "seniors" housing development. Accordingly, the gym population is well seasoned with us "seniors".
In the beginning of the fat boy's athletic endeavors on the walking track, it was evident that a tad of time/distance endurance training would be necessary.
Today, the aspiring Olympian decided to strut his stuff and "step out" on that track like a true pro....and the humbling/stumbling of pride began.
With the exception of one barely mobile octogenarian, your humble scribe "passed" no one on the track during 20 circuits. Worse yet, one jack rabbit "white hair" blew past FIVE times while a lesser fleet wrinkled granny left but a vacuum of dust four times (all the while stepping off exubertant laps????)!
What the hell, gitten older beats gitten dead so I can just go with the flow and keep pitchin' (or kick them roadrunners in the ankles ever chance I get?).
"Aging seems to be the only available way to live a long life.”
--Daniel Auber
The ole ranch hand and his beautiful bride recently joined the local recreation center to increase fitness (and hopefully productive longevity?)
This gym has an indoor walking track that is near a large, "seniors" housing development. Accordingly, the gym population is well seasoned with us "seniors".
In the beginning of the fat boy's athletic endeavors on the walking track, it was evident that a tad of time/distance endurance training would be necessary.
Today, the aspiring Olympian decided to strut his stuff and "step out" on that track like a true pro....and the humbling/stumbling of pride began.
With the exception of one barely mobile octogenarian, your humble scribe "passed" no one on the track during 20 circuits. Worse yet, one jack rabbit "white hair" blew past FIVE times while a lesser fleet wrinkled granny left but a vacuum of dust four times (all the while stepping off exubertant laps????)!
What the hell, gitten older beats gitten dead so I can just go with the flow and keep pitchin' (or kick them roadrunners in the ankles ever chance I get?).
"Aging seems to be the only available way to live a long life.”
--Daniel Auber
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The Derrick Hand
"The Great Pyramid is the only one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World still standing. It is one of the oldest structures on the face of the earth and arguably the best built. Its mortar joints are consistently 1/50 of an inch, which is incredible craftsmanship, considering that of the over two million stones that make up the Pyramid, there is no stone weighing less than a ton, most weighing about two and a half, and some as much as 20 tons." (The Great Pyramid, The American Institute of Pyramidology)
The ole fat boy launched his latest construction missile this week by erecting the framework for the ranch outdoor kitchen: The Chuck Wagon!
Weather treated lumber done been bought, hardware acquired, (all at a dear price in this economy?) and country simple plans carefully laid.
Gonna shelter the premier "smoker", "griller", and "cook" under a reclaimed tin roof from now on.
Now let's see if an old former East Texas oil field derrick hand can climb that ladder (think rafters) enuff times to make it happen???
The ole fat boy launched his latest construction missile this week by erecting the framework for the ranch outdoor kitchen: The Chuck Wagon!
Weather treated lumber done been bought, hardware acquired, (all at a dear price in this economy?) and country simple plans carefully laid.
Gonna shelter the premier "smoker", "griller", and "cook" under a reclaimed tin roof from now on.
Now let's see if an old former East Texas oil field derrick hand can climb that ladder (think rafters) enuff times to make it happen???
Monday, September 26, 2011
Long Beards
"He who walks with the wise grows wise, but a companion of fools suffers harm" (Prov 13:20)
The ranch hand has been blessed for the last two days with six tom turkeys visiting the back pasture deer feeder.
It is a measure of cautious patience to watch them saunter from the adjacent brush. Their every move is enhanced to maximize grazing opportunities while keeping the ever watchful eye/ear for predators.
These magnificent gobblers are obviously in their prime. They are tall, heavy, and long of beard. These facts give witness to the reality that they have survived the onslaught of disease, coyotes, hawks, starvation, and other manner of eradication to live to magnificent maturity.
While it is unique and soul satisfying to see this spectacle of nature, it is at the same time a thought provoking perspective on the secret of a long life.
Appropriate caution in all things, vigilant alertness to opportunity, and never forgetting that that the world may kick your butt when you least expect it.
A lesson from the wise ones.
The ranch hand has been blessed for the last two days with six tom turkeys visiting the back pasture deer feeder.
It is a measure of cautious patience to watch them saunter from the adjacent brush. Their every move is enhanced to maximize grazing opportunities while keeping the ever watchful eye/ear for predators.
These magnificent gobblers are obviously in their prime. They are tall, heavy, and long of beard. These facts give witness to the reality that they have survived the onslaught of disease, coyotes, hawks, starvation, and other manner of eradication to live to magnificent maturity.
While it is unique and soul satisfying to see this spectacle of nature, it is at the same time a thought provoking perspective on the secret of a long life.
Appropriate caution in all things, vigilant alertness to opportunity, and never forgetting that that the world may kick your butt when you least expect it.
A lesson from the wise ones.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Manual Labor
The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it. (Genesis 2:15)
The ranch hand reckons man was destined to "work" from the beginning of time?
Grandaddy Granvil worked every day of his life that he was able at various endeavors...Dad worked til he was just sitting on a stump to do what he could?
The ole fat boy been pounding the turf seven days a week since Moby Dick was a minnow and still can't seem to figger out the "relax" theme?
"Relaxin" must be an art that only special people can do??? (Ya listenin' Wayne?).
"Relax" people sleep til after the sun is up...s-l-o-w-l-y (do whatever), and the day evolves in a smooth mode of pleasure with no special exertion of physical (sweating/grunting/effort)...
No clue here as have not figgered that equation out yet?
Dang Dad...how come folks like us have to bust butt every day the sun shines doing "chores" instead of just "veggin"??
The ranch hand reckons man was destined to "work" from the beginning of time?
Grandaddy Granvil worked every day of his life that he was able at various endeavors...Dad worked til he was just sitting on a stump to do what he could?
The ole fat boy been pounding the turf seven days a week since Moby Dick was a minnow and still can't seem to figger out the "relax" theme?
"Relaxin" must be an art that only special people can do??? (Ya listenin' Wayne?).
"Relax" people sleep til after the sun is up...s-l-o-w-l-y (do whatever), and the day evolves in a smooth mode of pleasure with no special exertion of physical (sweating/grunting/effort)...
No clue here as have not figgered that equation out yet?
Dang Dad...how come folks like us have to bust butt every day the sun shines doing "chores" instead of just "veggin"??
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Calf Rope
Root canal is a colloquial term for a dental operation, wherein the pulp is cleaned out, the space disinfected and then filled.
The ole ranch hand climbed into the saddle of one them puppies this morn and damn near yelled "calf rope"?
The foreman of the torture chamber (sublimely name "dentist") proceeded to grind the entire top off of one of the (preciously few real teeth). That saunter in the park was adroitly followed by crammin', jammin', stabbin', jabbin' a round steel file into each of three root chambers (all the while twirlin' and jerking up and down the "tool".
Let us all pray that:
1. The "root canal" serves its intended purpose.
2. The ranch hand's butt unpuckers sometime during the next decade?
The ole ranch hand climbed into the saddle of one them puppies this morn and damn near yelled "calf rope"?
The foreman of the torture chamber (sublimely name "dentist") proceeded to grind the entire top off of one of the (preciously few real teeth). That saunter in the park was adroitly followed by crammin', jammin', stabbin', jabbin' a round steel file into each of three root chambers (all the while twirlin' and jerking up and down the "tool".
Let us all pray that:
1. The "root canal" serves its intended purpose.
2. The ranch hand's butt unpuckers sometime during the next decade?
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Cremation And Other Warm Thoughts
Cremation is the process of reducing dead bodies to basic chemical compounds in the form of gases and bone fragments. This is accomplished through burning,high temperatures,vaporization and oxidation.
The process of becoming "Ole Folks" is a progression of thought concerning the prospect of limited life.....Another words...Ya ain't gonna live forever.
It ain't a pretty thought, it aint necessarily eagerly anticipated, but it is a fact.
Regardless, the ranch hand fetched the mail at the box by the road this noon day and found an offering from the "Neptune Society" for "memorialized cremation"?????
The "ad" within extolled the virtues of "minimal impact on the environment", "dignified resting places", and "less expense"????
Is it just the cringing of an ole fat man or is it a trifle urbane to send social security eligible folks a note to say, "Sometimes death happens"...
Well NO SHIT SPORTS FANS....like the ranch hand is going to care what happens thereafter???
The process of becoming "Ole Folks" is a progression of thought concerning the prospect of limited life.....Another words...Ya ain't gonna live forever.
It ain't a pretty thought, it aint necessarily eagerly anticipated, but it is a fact.
Regardless, the ranch hand fetched the mail at the box by the road this noon day and found an offering from the "Neptune Society" for "memorialized cremation"?????
The "ad" within extolled the virtues of "minimal impact on the environment", "dignified resting places", and "less expense"????
Is it just the cringing of an ole fat man or is it a trifle urbane to send social security eligible folks a note to say, "Sometimes death happens"...
Well NO SHIT SPORTS FANS....like the ranch hand is going to care what happens thereafter???
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Water
In the Book of Genesis, we read that creation began when the Spirit of God moved over the face of the waters. (Gen. 1:2)
The ranch hand choose this opening day of Texas dove season to check out the movement of migratory winged creatures over the face of the resident pond.
The highlight of the day included a visit by a large screech owl who solemnly landed on a limb to study the would be hunter at length? Shortly thereafter a doe and small fawn tiptoed to the water's edge to thirstily imbibe of liquid sustenance.
And almost as an after thought, the ole fat boy managed to bag a few dove for the skillet.
Life is good.
The ranch hand choose this opening day of Texas dove season to check out the movement of migratory winged creatures over the face of the resident pond.
The highlight of the day included a visit by a large screech owl who solemnly landed on a limb to study the would be hunter at length? Shortly thereafter a doe and small fawn tiptoed to the water's edge to thirstily imbibe of liquid sustenance.
And almost as an after thought, the ole fat boy managed to bag a few dove for the skillet.
Life is good.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
The Season of Life
To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven....Ecclesiastes 3-1
Today marks the end of the the humble ranch hand's professional race....41 years as a peace keeper is enough by any man's standard....ya tote the badge and pistol long enuff....ya do what you need to do to take care of folks in need.... an finally comes a time when the "season" is done.
Pulling off the badge is simply closing one door and opening another...the coming of a new season....life is good and God is great in all things.
I pray O' Lord for calm, confidence, and competence at living life to its fullest as my dotage encroaches...
You are my Savior and my Light in all things...
Today marks the end of the the humble ranch hand's professional race....41 years as a peace keeper is enough by any man's standard....ya tote the badge and pistol long enuff....ya do what you need to do to take care of folks in need.... an finally comes a time when the "season" is done.
Pulling off the badge is simply closing one door and opening another...the coming of a new season....life is good and God is great in all things.
I pray O' Lord for calm, confidence, and competence at living life to its fullest as my dotage encroaches...
You are my Savior and my Light in all things...
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Vacation Fun
The ranch hand and his beautiful bride recently inaugurated international travel across the "pond".
It didn't figger to be no step for a tall dawg...just book the flights and hotels, join a tour group, and see the sights of Espana.
Jumped out of the rack friday last, took a leisurely hour's drive to the airport...eased thru airport security (four times due to continuously setting off the metal detector)while eagerly anticipating the coming adventure.
No problem to Dallas/Ft Worth (except forgot a pair of $525 prescription sunglasses at the Austin security station after finally getting clearance to enter???)
The connecting flight to Madrid was 1 1/2 hours late coming in....no problem as had a couple of hours layover in Madrid to catch the next leg.
Ten l-o-n-g hours to Madrid followed by more sitting on the tarmac near the terminal (the locals acted surprised to see a plane and didn't know what to do with it??). The pilot guy finally announced the Spaniards had decided they would bring stairs to the plane and load us on a bus. More sitting on the tarmac.....finally the jet jockey announced they had decided to tow the plane up to a jetway for off-loading....all well and good....but the clock was ticking on the next flight.
Eventually got in the Madrid airport and ask the first airline employee encountered concerning how to get to the next flight gate. NO ENGLISH SPOKEN HERE.
Stirred around a bit until ended up in Spanish Customs...stood in a long line, got asked some questions in Spanish that was not understood and was turned loose to ?????
Outside customs the ole fat boy ran slap dab into a subway system to take us to ?????...finally just got on the first door that opened and exited the next time it stopped (finely tuned woodsman training no doubt?)...went thru a maze of stairways/hallways and found a board announcing the gate location of flights....RAN like gazelles (a chubby guy in his dotage) to the distant gate only to see the plane being pushed back for it's flight.
Immediately asked the non-English speaking airline employee how to book the next flight and was pointed to the opposite end of the terminal for (execution, help, the trip home???). Started walking and found a long line at a counter that appeared to be "customer service". Stood in said line for one hour while the "customer service" reps and the "customers" YELLED at each other in spanish like a mass murder was about to occur.
Finally got up to the counter (after an hour of sincere prayer for a miracle) and found an airline employer who spoke just enough English to tell us we were screwed. The next two flights were booked full. Begged, pleaded, did that sad puppy dawg eyes crap and the agent agreed to put us on stand-by for the flight that was scheduled to leave TWELVE HOURS LATER...bottom line....God heard our prayers and we got on that plane to Sevilla (after some idjit stole our carry-on bag with our prescription meds, digital camera, and other "stuff").
Arrived in Sevilla on Sunday morning, 38 hours after getting up Friday morning. No sleep, little food (the rotten/sticky "ham" sandwich in airport smelled like a skunk....and there is not one American beer in all of Spain?). Was totally conflicted between being pissed off and being glad to be alive at our chosen destination.
Then came the most terrifying taxi ride in the history of modern man (with the bride hollering, "Muy poco, muy poco"...that don't mean "slow down" but her voice inflection was pretty plain...Yet the cab driver did not "poco down")
Three days in Sevilla was awesome...incredible architecture, beautiful culture, interesting foods, flamenco dancing, NO ENGLISH SPOKEN.
Sprang from the bed Wednesday morn and took another thrilling taxi ride to the bus station for our journey to Toledo and points in between. Loaded up two buses for the tour (and one bus crapped out in the driveway). Now imagine loading two bus fulls of luggage and people into one bus for an all day ride?
Traveled to a mountain top castle built in the 1400's by the Knights Templar and then on to Toledo.
Had an interesting day meandering thru the maze of narrow cobble stone lined streets (with the careening cars always up close and personal) viewing the magnificent scenery, bountiful shops, and experiencing the culture first-hand)(Oh yeah, got asked to leave the Greco art museum...as best can tell, us redneck rubes were unwittingly taking the tour bass-ackwards and screwing up the pedestrian flow?)
Traveled to Madrid and found the hotel room A/C was "muy poco" as well...bar-b-qued the first night, but managed to "habla" enough to get it fixed for the rest of the stay? Walked thru the Prado Museum and saw enough oil paint smeared on canvas to paint Grandaddy's barn 40 times over? Saw more castles, cathedrals, and statues than a soul can imagine...and chowed down on some truly unusual grub?
Last day in Europe started with a 70 Euro ($105) cab ride to the airport. Made a short hop to London Heathrow airport where yours truly was "profiled" by security and had a long interview with a local gendarme about my terrorist tendencies (as a cop for four decades???). Then followed another ten hour flight to Dallas with a short hop to Austin.
Got back to the ranch (after a 24 hour journey) to find that the battery on the ranch gate opener had died and the gate would not open?????
Ain't "vacations" fun?
It didn't figger to be no step for a tall dawg...just book the flights and hotels, join a tour group, and see the sights of Espana.
Jumped out of the rack friday last, took a leisurely hour's drive to the airport...eased thru airport security (four times due to continuously setting off the metal detector)while eagerly anticipating the coming adventure.
No problem to Dallas/Ft Worth (except forgot a pair of $525 prescription sunglasses at the Austin security station after finally getting clearance to enter???)
The connecting flight to Madrid was 1 1/2 hours late coming in....no problem as had a couple of hours layover in Madrid to catch the next leg.
Ten l-o-n-g hours to Madrid followed by more sitting on the tarmac near the terminal (the locals acted surprised to see a plane and didn't know what to do with it??). The pilot guy finally announced the Spaniards had decided they would bring stairs to the plane and load us on a bus. More sitting on the tarmac.....finally the jet jockey announced they had decided to tow the plane up to a jetway for off-loading....all well and good....but the clock was ticking on the next flight.
Eventually got in the Madrid airport and ask the first airline employee encountered concerning how to get to the next flight gate. NO ENGLISH SPOKEN HERE.
Stirred around a bit until ended up in Spanish Customs...stood in a long line, got asked some questions in Spanish that was not understood and was turned loose to ?????
Outside customs the ole fat boy ran slap dab into a subway system to take us to ?????...finally just got on the first door that opened and exited the next time it stopped (finely tuned woodsman training no doubt?)...went thru a maze of stairways/hallways and found a board announcing the gate location of flights....RAN like gazelles (a chubby guy in his dotage) to the distant gate only to see the plane being pushed back for it's flight.
Immediately asked the non-English speaking airline employee how to book the next flight and was pointed to the opposite end of the terminal for (execution, help, the trip home???). Started walking and found a long line at a counter that appeared to be "customer service". Stood in said line for one hour while the "customer service" reps and the "customers" YELLED at each other in spanish like a mass murder was about to occur.
Finally got up to the counter (after an hour of sincere prayer for a miracle) and found an airline employer who spoke just enough English to tell us we were screwed. The next two flights were booked full. Begged, pleaded, did that sad puppy dawg eyes crap and the agent agreed to put us on stand-by for the flight that was scheduled to leave TWELVE HOURS LATER...bottom line....God heard our prayers and we got on that plane to Sevilla (after some idjit stole our carry-on bag with our prescription meds, digital camera, and other "stuff").
Arrived in Sevilla on Sunday morning, 38 hours after getting up Friday morning. No sleep, little food (the rotten/sticky "ham" sandwich in airport smelled like a skunk....and there is not one American beer in all of Spain?). Was totally conflicted between being pissed off and being glad to be alive at our chosen destination.
Then came the most terrifying taxi ride in the history of modern man (with the bride hollering, "Muy poco, muy poco"...that don't mean "slow down" but her voice inflection was pretty plain...Yet the cab driver did not "poco down")
Three days in Sevilla was awesome...incredible architecture, beautiful culture, interesting foods, flamenco dancing, NO ENGLISH SPOKEN.
Sprang from the bed Wednesday morn and took another thrilling taxi ride to the bus station for our journey to Toledo and points in between. Loaded up two buses for the tour (and one bus crapped out in the driveway). Now imagine loading two bus fulls of luggage and people into one bus for an all day ride?
Traveled to a mountain top castle built in the 1400's by the Knights Templar and then on to Toledo.
Had an interesting day meandering thru the maze of narrow cobble stone lined streets (with the careening cars always up close and personal) viewing the magnificent scenery, bountiful shops, and experiencing the culture first-hand)(Oh yeah, got asked to leave the Greco art museum...as best can tell, us redneck rubes were unwittingly taking the tour bass-ackwards and screwing up the pedestrian flow?)
Traveled to Madrid and found the hotel room A/C was "muy poco" as well...bar-b-qued the first night, but managed to "habla" enough to get it fixed for the rest of the stay? Walked thru the Prado Museum and saw enough oil paint smeared on canvas to paint Grandaddy's barn 40 times over? Saw more castles, cathedrals, and statues than a soul can imagine...and chowed down on some truly unusual grub?
Last day in Europe started with a 70 Euro ($105) cab ride to the airport. Made a short hop to London Heathrow airport where yours truly was "profiled" by security and had a long interview with a local gendarme about my terrorist tendencies (as a cop for four decades???). Then followed another ten hour flight to Dallas with a short hop to Austin.
Got back to the ranch (after a 24 hour journey) to find that the battery on the ranch gate opener had died and the gate would not open?????
Ain't "vacations" fun?
Saturday, July 16, 2011
RAIN
Soft sweet rain fell on the ranch this morn.
Likely not an event that will spark world news reports, but an occurrence of such gravity as to give lift to the spirit of at least one man.
The ranch world of late has been one of browned crispness as the forest ruminants struggle for sustenance and the pond ever diminishes from its spring overflow to a state of puddle.
Oh Lord, may we never take for granted the bounty of Thy glory or the blessing You so generously provide in the form of cloud precipitation.
Likely not an event that will spark world news reports, but an occurrence of such gravity as to give lift to the spirit of at least one man.
The ranch world of late has been one of browned crispness as the forest ruminants struggle for sustenance and the pond ever diminishes from its spring overflow to a state of puddle.
Oh Lord, may we never take for granted the bounty of Thy glory or the blessing You so generously provide in the form of cloud precipitation.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Aint' "blogged" in a while....
Likely had the "priorities" outa whack?
Life is good...the ranch is a blessing extraordinaire...
Always drift back to Dad's perspective....."It is what it is"...family, friends, food.....what the hell else we need??
All ya'll know the one's that is loved is loved....and the ole fat boy will be back with his elementary humble "blogging" a'gonin' full blast a'for long...just gotta shuck the last vestiges of the "last" JOB......and SOON!
Peace and out
Likely had the "priorities" outa whack?
Life is good...the ranch is a blessing extraordinaire...
Always drift back to Dad's perspective....."It is what it is"...family, friends, food.....what the hell else we need??
All ya'll know the one's that is loved is loved....and the ole fat boy will be back with his elementary humble "blogging" a'gonin' full blast a'for long...just gotta shuck the last vestiges of the "last" JOB......and SOON!
Peace and out
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Workin'
Dad worked hard his whole life.
Didn't matter the chore, he gave it all he had and did it the right way for the right reasons at the right time.
Reckon the ranch hand inherited some part of that DNA.
Can't seem to rest on a purty day as always have any number of "chores" in mind to get accomplished for whatever reason?
Enjoy the pleasure of just "doing it" and like to sit back and see the result.
Probably America was built on folks that had the "workin'" ethic??
Didn't matter the chore, he gave it all he had and did it the right way for the right reasons at the right time.
Reckon the ranch hand inherited some part of that DNA.
Can't seem to rest on a purty day as always have any number of "chores" in mind to get accomplished for whatever reason?
Enjoy the pleasure of just "doing it" and like to sit back and see the result.
Probably America was built on folks that had the "workin'" ethic??
Friday, May 27, 2011
The Losers Lament
Twas the night before POWERBALL
and all along the flank
the Wright City bunch
was headed to the bank.
The quick picks were hung by the chimney with care
in hopes that Saint MoneyTrain
would soon be there...
Pancho and Faucho were snuggled in their bed
with visions of casinos dancing in their head,
while Smokey in her kerchief, and I in my sombrero
thought of celebrating with some Jose Cuervo.
When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter
we sprang from our beds.....
(OK, we groaned, rolled over, put our feet on the floor, and waited for the feeling to come back into our limbs)
to see what was the matter.
Its seems them damn balls used by the lotto
ain't heard the real news
cause they keep turning up blotto
fueling the POWERBALL blues
It's time like these we gotta reach out
and seek counsel divine and true
that's right sports fans, shout
"WHAT WOULD GENE DO?"
WWGD is the way to go
as he'd say, "Keep throwing that dough"
One day you'll find that pot of gold
as you have a blast trying
and gracefully grow old.......
and all along the flank
the Wright City bunch
was headed to the bank.
The quick picks were hung by the chimney with care
in hopes that Saint MoneyTrain
would soon be there...
Pancho and Faucho were snuggled in their bed
with visions of casinos dancing in their head,
while Smokey in her kerchief, and I in my sombrero
thought of celebrating with some Jose Cuervo.
When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter
we sprang from our beds.....
(OK, we groaned, rolled over, put our feet on the floor, and waited for the feeling to come back into our limbs)
to see what was the matter.
Its seems them damn balls used by the lotto
ain't heard the real news
cause they keep turning up blotto
fueling the POWERBALL blues
It's time like these we gotta reach out
and seek counsel divine and true
that's right sports fans, shout
"WHAT WOULD GENE DO?"
WWGD is the way to go
as he'd say, "Keep throwing that dough"
One day you'll find that pot of gold
as you have a blast trying
and gracefully grow old.......
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Thank You Oh LORD
It's dusk on the ranch.
The world is soft, fuzzy and cool.
The leaves of the trees blend into a cacophony of dark green with golden edges of fading sun.
The horizon is a solemn farewell of sunset beauty that is a promise of morrow's dawn.
The world is a good place.
Thank you, Oh Lord, for this our many blessings of subtle environmental innuendo artistic blessing, soulful love, and plain spoken ranch "I am love" views.
GOD is love and life is good.
Thank you oh Lord for this our many blessings!
The world is soft, fuzzy and cool.
The leaves of the trees blend into a cacophony of dark green with golden edges of fading sun.
The horizon is a solemn farewell of sunset beauty that is a promise of morrow's dawn.
The world is a good place.
Thank you, Oh Lord, for this our many blessings of subtle environmental innuendo artistic blessing, soulful love, and plain spoken ranch "I am love" views.
GOD is love and life is good.
Thank you oh Lord for this our many blessings!
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Random Thoughts on Mom
The ranch hand only heard his sainted Mom cuss one time in his life
Back in younger days, yours truly decided to seine some trotline bait out of a small tank on Uncle Charlie's place. For the only time in memory, Mom agreed to pull the opposite end of the seine for me. With the first pull thru the mud hole, we drug out the biggest loggerhead turtle in East Texas.... and it was furious for the disturbance. As it ran at Mom with its snapping jaws sounding like gun shots, Mom began to yell, "SHIT, SHIT, SHIT"....nuff said
Mom made our clothes for years and the love she put in that labor was awesome. The fabric was essentially "free" as it came from the chicken feed sacks collected from donors. Mom made the girls dresses and the ole fat boy shirts and underwear. She had a fancy doodad on her Singer sewing machine to make button holes and such and no doubt had patterns galore. We didn't know any different way and we were country proud of them duds.
Mom was an awesome house cleaner...the floors were old boards, but she would scrub them puppies til ya could eat off them if need be....everything was always picked up...and the kitchen was spotless after every meal...
I could go on all day about the warm memories of Mom, but let it suffice to say she was near bout the most perfect person I have ever known....kind in word and deed to all....loving without reservation during all circumstances with her family...and a singularly beautiful part of my life.
I love and miss you more than you can ever know sweet lady.
Back in younger days, yours truly decided to seine some trotline bait out of a small tank on Uncle Charlie's place. For the only time in memory, Mom agreed to pull the opposite end of the seine for me. With the first pull thru the mud hole, we drug out the biggest loggerhead turtle in East Texas.... and it was furious for the disturbance. As it ran at Mom with its snapping jaws sounding like gun shots, Mom began to yell, "SHIT, SHIT, SHIT"....nuff said
Mom made our clothes for years and the love she put in that labor was awesome. The fabric was essentially "free" as it came from the chicken feed sacks collected from donors. Mom made the girls dresses and the ole fat boy shirts and underwear. She had a fancy doodad on her Singer sewing machine to make button holes and such and no doubt had patterns galore. We didn't know any different way and we were country proud of them duds.
Mom was an awesome house cleaner...the floors were old boards, but she would scrub them puppies til ya could eat off them if need be....everything was always picked up...and the kitchen was spotless after every meal...
I could go on all day about the warm memories of Mom, but let it suffice to say she was near bout the most perfect person I have ever known....kind in word and deed to all....loving without reservation during all circumstances with her family...and a singularly beautiful part of my life.
I love and miss you more than you can ever know sweet lady.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Rusty Spur
Building the Tin Star Ranch infrastructure has been a labor of love for the ranch hand and his beautiful bride.
Anything from clearing brush to erecting the bunk house has felt like an investment in future soul satisfying pleasure.
This week the ole fat boy started on a back yard bullshit arena.
The Rusty Spur Saloon now boasts massive frame timbers and will soon have a roof of reclaimed barn tin. Add a few comfort appurtenances and let the good times roll!
The aforementioned bride done called dibs on polishing that puppy off with some old rusty kerosene lantern lights. Ya gotta reckon she will follow with a barnwood adorned cooler for adult beverages, audio speakers to facilitate country western honky-tonk, and 'nuff antique cowboy crap to sink a battle ship?
Now pass an old man a cold one, please.
Anything from clearing brush to erecting the bunk house has felt like an investment in future soul satisfying pleasure.
This week the ole fat boy started on a back yard bullshit arena.
The Rusty Spur Saloon now boasts massive frame timbers and will soon have a roof of reclaimed barn tin. Add a few comfort appurtenances and let the good times roll!
The aforementioned bride done called dibs on polishing that puppy off with some old rusty kerosene lantern lights. Ya gotta reckon she will follow with a barnwood adorned cooler for adult beverages, audio speakers to facilitate country western honky-tonk, and 'nuff antique cowboy crap to sink a battle ship?
Now pass an old man a cold one, please.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Dick Tracy
Growing up in Wright City included an enviable environment, but electronic communication devices were not part of the equation.
Yeah, a few neighbors had telephones on the "party line" system, but our house was not one of them? Dad just never had much use for anything that added to the monthly bills without contributing to the monthly income or feeding his family.
The most advanced idea of future technology came in the form the newspaper's Dick Tracy comic strip. Detective Tracy always used a wrist radio to transmit his voice and image to recipients as part of his crime fighting repertoire.
The ranch hand can remember his first time to talk on a phone. It was in a red wooden pay phone booth in Henderson and it cost a dime to operate. Don't remember the recipient of the call or the subject matter, but do remember being slightly petrified at the prospect of talking through them "wires"?
Trying to get a bit ed-u-ma-cated over the years resulted in three college "degrees" on the ranch office wall. Didn't have, nor anticipate, a contraption called the "internet" would ever come into being to ease things during those days??
Bottom line, the ole fat boy has largely been in the dark for most of his life as to the intricacies of modern magic.
Today the ranch office acquired SKYPE.
That's right sports fans: audio, video, whatever; in order to visit worldwide with friends and relatives while watching a real time video of each other.
Don't know about Dick Tracy, but not sure Dad would ever believe this?
Yeah, a few neighbors had telephones on the "party line" system, but our house was not one of them? Dad just never had much use for anything that added to the monthly bills without contributing to the monthly income or feeding his family.
The most advanced idea of future technology came in the form the newspaper's Dick Tracy comic strip. Detective Tracy always used a wrist radio to transmit his voice and image to recipients as part of his crime fighting repertoire.
The ranch hand can remember his first time to talk on a phone. It was in a red wooden pay phone booth in Henderson and it cost a dime to operate. Don't remember the recipient of the call or the subject matter, but do remember being slightly petrified at the prospect of talking through them "wires"?
Trying to get a bit ed-u-ma-cated over the years resulted in three college "degrees" on the ranch office wall. Didn't have, nor anticipate, a contraption called the "internet" would ever come into being to ease things during those days??
Bottom line, the ole fat boy has largely been in the dark for most of his life as to the intricacies of modern magic.
Today the ranch office acquired SKYPE.
That's right sports fans: audio, video, whatever; in order to visit worldwide with friends and relatives while watching a real time video of each other.
Don't know about Dick Tracy, but not sure Dad would ever believe this?
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
The Last Laugh
Daddy said to never plant green stuff in a vegetable garden until after Easter due to late freezes.
Never one to hold to conventional wisdom, your inveterate dumass planted Tin Star tomaters/peppers long ago....followed by a 28 degree morning (dammit).
Wasn't nuthin to do but truck to town, buy up more high dollar plants, and repeat the process (with mumbled pissivity bout how the grocery store is cheaper and easier???).
Got the second batch of puppies on their way only to get up this morn and see 36 on the thermometer. (Yeah Dad, I heard ya laughing at the near pooped drawers thinking the normal temperature drop at dawn could re-assassinate the ranch veggies???).
Bottom line: it's more than two weeks til Easter and Dad may get the last laugh yet?
Never one to hold to conventional wisdom, your inveterate dumass planted Tin Star tomaters/peppers long ago....followed by a 28 degree morning (dammit).
Wasn't nuthin to do but truck to town, buy up more high dollar plants, and repeat the process (with mumbled pissivity bout how the grocery store is cheaper and easier???).
Got the second batch of puppies on their way only to get up this morn and see 36 on the thermometer. (Yeah Dad, I heard ya laughing at the near pooped drawers thinking the normal temperature drop at dawn could re-assassinate the ranch veggies???).
Bottom line: it's more than two weeks til Easter and Dad may get the last laugh yet?
Monday, April 4, 2011
Blue Hole
Wright City once boasted a legendary local swimmin' place known as "Blue Hole".
Local lore held that this ubiquitous farm pond sitting in the middle of a pasture had limitless depths. Many had tried, or so the story goes, but none could hold their breath long enough to find the bottom.
Lately the gosh darn moss has near taken over the Tin Star Ranch pond. Eschewing herbicides, the ole fat boy decided to dump a dye in the water to block the UV light and halt photosynthesis by the moss.
The industrious salesman at Tractor Supply solemnly promised satisfaction with no actual discoloration.
The "salesman" lied like a tall dawg.
The water is now the deepest color blue on the planet and history has repeated. We got a Tin Star "Blue Hole" for all the world to see.
(Now if the damn moss will just cooperate and "die")
Local lore held that this ubiquitous farm pond sitting in the middle of a pasture had limitless depths. Many had tried, or so the story goes, but none could hold their breath long enough to find the bottom.
Lately the gosh darn moss has near taken over the Tin Star Ranch pond. Eschewing herbicides, the ole fat boy decided to dump a dye in the water to block the UV light and halt photosynthesis by the moss.
The industrious salesman at Tractor Supply solemnly promised satisfaction with no actual discoloration.
The "salesman" lied like a tall dawg.
The water is now the deepest color blue on the planet and history has repeated. We got a Tin Star "Blue Hole" for all the world to see.
(Now if the damn moss will just cooperate and "die")
Friday, April 1, 2011
Bantam Weight Bruisers
The ranch hand's earliest memory of fishin' was a bream safari.
The preparation weren't nuthin but gatherin' up a bamboo pole with a black braided fishing line, cork, and hook slapped on it. All that remained was to hustle grasshopper bait through Grandaddy's back pasture to Uncle Reggie's pond.
We caught gritty red ear, blue gill, goggle eye, and sun perch til grins near covered our faces.
The ole fat boy has pursued various finned creatures over the years with sophisticated/expensive gear, but somehow, catching those bantam weight bruisers on a "cane" pole still tops the list for thrills.
Yesterday your humble scribe decided to ease to the ranch pond and float an impaled wriggly worm under a cork to see if the hybrid blue gill bream planted last year were in the mood for groceries.
Five brawny Tin Star Ranch panfish answered the "call" and the rest is history.
The preparation weren't nuthin but gatherin' up a bamboo pole with a black braided fishing line, cork, and hook slapped on it. All that remained was to hustle grasshopper bait through Grandaddy's back pasture to Uncle Reggie's pond.
We caught gritty red ear, blue gill, goggle eye, and sun perch til grins near covered our faces.
The ole fat boy has pursued various finned creatures over the years with sophisticated/expensive gear, but somehow, catching those bantam weight bruisers on a "cane" pole still tops the list for thrills.
Yesterday your humble scribe decided to ease to the ranch pond and float an impaled wriggly worm under a cork to see if the hybrid blue gill bream planted last year were in the mood for groceries.
Five brawny Tin Star Ranch panfish answered the "call" and the rest is history.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Bucket List Stuff
Growing up in Wright City meant the "world" was what one could see to the horizon (in a brush and pine tree infested landscape).
Embarking on a safari of significance likely meant a drive of bout two hours with return on the same day or the next.
As a yonker, your humble scribe remembers not leaving the Lone Star State til the ripe ole age of about 13 to traverse to the far away frontier of Oklahoma for a family pow-wow.
Upon being anointed as a baby Trooper, the ole fat boy packed a sack lunch and a lantern for the arduous journey to assignment in "South Texas". (OK, it was just San Antonio, but it was a damn far piece "south" of Wright City?)
Bottom line: After more than twelve lustrums of hangin' close to the home range, the ranch hand submitted an application today for a world travelin' passport. A naturally more visible accoutrement of us veteran world traveler wanna-be's.
Would love to tote that puppy back to Wright City and watch Daddy scratch his head bout his onliest son's latest hair-brain idea?
Embarking on a safari of significance likely meant a drive of bout two hours with return on the same day or the next.
As a yonker, your humble scribe remembers not leaving the Lone Star State til the ripe ole age of about 13 to traverse to the far away frontier of Oklahoma for a family pow-wow.
Upon being anointed as a baby Trooper, the ole fat boy packed a sack lunch and a lantern for the arduous journey to assignment in "South Texas". (OK, it was just San Antonio, but it was a damn far piece "south" of Wright City?)
Bottom line: After more than twelve lustrums of hangin' close to the home range, the ranch hand submitted an application today for a world travelin' passport. A naturally more visible accoutrement of us veteran world traveler wanna-be's.
Would love to tote that puppy back to Wright City and watch Daddy scratch his head bout his onliest son's latest hair-brain idea?
Sunday, March 20, 2011
A Good Time To Be Alive
Early morn on the ranch is special.
All is still and quiet. There is a soft gentleness to the world. Mist tends to display its magical qualities as it softens and mutes edges and colors.
The animals move, but with acknowledged respect for the solemnity of the moment.
Morn on the ranch is a good time to be alive.
All is still and quiet. There is a soft gentleness to the world. Mist tends to display its magical qualities as it softens and mutes edges and colors.
The animals move, but with acknowledged respect for the solemnity of the moment.
Morn on the ranch is a good time to be alive.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
WWGD
The ranch hand has always held a deep and abiding affection for ponds.
Whether it be a country mud puddle or a ranch "lake", that which sits in the pasture and holds fish is a lure.
Bout two years ago the Tin Star Pond got a face lift compliments of the bro-law's dozer to deepen, shape, and change the destiny of our rural aquarium.
Twelve months ago, the ole fat boy and his beautiful bride released hybrid bream and bass into their new H2O home with great ceremony, a tear in the eye, and a prayer for growth and prosperity.
Been battlin' fricken nature ever since????
Never seemed to see turtles til the fish took residence....have near bout wore out the ranch 2-2 splatterin' ammo at the quarter size reptilian snouts on the water's surface?
Ever dang stork/crane/fish monger on the planet now makes daily visits to suck piscatorial flesh from our sanctuary.
And now the cursed specter of drought has reared its ugly head. Watching the shoreline of the pond grow each day as our children are ever more crowded together is a burden to bear.
Finally in desperation the ranch hand asked the question of the ages, "WWGD" (What would Gene do?).
Hell, the clouds went away, the sun shone more brightly, and the birds began to (well mostly crap and eat from the ranch bird feeder, but also) sing.
The venerable carp wrangler jostled the p-kup to town, drug back 450 foot of cheap-butt garden hose, and began a task of supreme patience while each day pumping "life" to our "chilrun" (while praying the well don't run dry???).
Thanks Dad, the rest of the world thinks it's stoopid, but you always said, "Poor people have poor ways".
Whether it be a country mud puddle or a ranch "lake", that which sits in the pasture and holds fish is a lure.
Bout two years ago the Tin Star Pond got a face lift compliments of the bro-law's dozer to deepen, shape, and change the destiny of our rural aquarium.
Twelve months ago, the ole fat boy and his beautiful bride released hybrid bream and bass into their new H2O home with great ceremony, a tear in the eye, and a prayer for growth and prosperity.
Been battlin' fricken nature ever since????
Never seemed to see turtles til the fish took residence....have near bout wore out the ranch 2-2 splatterin' ammo at the quarter size reptilian snouts on the water's surface?
Ever dang stork/crane/fish monger on the planet now makes daily visits to suck piscatorial flesh from our sanctuary.
And now the cursed specter of drought has reared its ugly head. Watching the shoreline of the pond grow each day as our children are ever more crowded together is a burden to bear.
Finally in desperation the ranch hand asked the question of the ages, "WWGD" (What would Gene do?).
Hell, the clouds went away, the sun shone more brightly, and the birds began to (well mostly crap and eat from the ranch bird feeder, but also) sing.
The venerable carp wrangler jostled the p-kup to town, drug back 450 foot of cheap-butt garden hose, and began a task of supreme patience while each day pumping "life" to our "chilrun" (while praying the well don't run dry???).
Thanks Dad, the rest of the world thinks it's stoopid, but you always said, "Poor people have poor ways".
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Big Ugly Vs. The Boss
The southwest corner of the ranch always had a dab of "ugly" smeared on it.
This prime real estate boasted blood gougin' briars from ground to sky that could jerk ya naked and skinless faster than a rabbit can scoot. Snake roots joined the dance while tanglin' with wrist size grape vines to perfect the trap. Add the insult of wet boggy ground all year round and ya got the recipe for steroidal flora intimidation.
Yesterday the ole fat boy decided that after near seven years of ranch ownership, it was nigh time to 'splain to that corner who the boss is around here.
Yep, the corner now looks fairly clean and purty like it just fresh stepped out of the barber shop.
The "boss", on the other hand, looks like fresh ground hamburger with considerable "hide" damage.
Now why do I keep thinking I hear that corner chucklin' bout how fast it's gonna grow back when the spring rains start?
This prime real estate boasted blood gougin' briars from ground to sky that could jerk ya naked and skinless faster than a rabbit can scoot. Snake roots joined the dance while tanglin' with wrist size grape vines to perfect the trap. Add the insult of wet boggy ground all year round and ya got the recipe for steroidal flora intimidation.
Yesterday the ole fat boy decided that after near seven years of ranch ownership, it was nigh time to 'splain to that corner who the boss is around here.
Yep, the corner now looks fairly clean and purty like it just fresh stepped out of the barber shop.
The "boss", on the other hand, looks like fresh ground hamburger with considerable "hide" damage.
Now why do I keep thinking I hear that corner chucklin' bout how fast it's gonna grow back when the spring rains start?
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Full Circle
The ranch hand's earliest memories of fishing include crawling through a barbed wire fence or straddling a cattle guard and traversing a grasshopper infested pasture to a beckoning pond.
Never knew if piscatorial success would occur, but knew the pursuit of ever elusive swimmin' varmits was a joy to behold.
Bream, sun perch, and google-eye reigned supreme, but the occasional "mud cat" would rear its whiskered head with a welcome "jerk" from time to time?
45 years later finds the would-be angler engaging in the business of "raisin" baby fish in the Tin Star pond with the goal of enticing future hooked adventures??
Ain't no guarantees....Ain't no known quantities...there is just the "promise" of tug on the line, pulsation in the fishing rod, and a grin on the ole fat boy's face.
Life comes full circle a time or two and it is mostly grand!
Never knew if piscatorial success would occur, but knew the pursuit of ever elusive swimmin' varmits was a joy to behold.
Bream, sun perch, and google-eye reigned supreme, but the occasional "mud cat" would rear its whiskered head with a welcome "jerk" from time to time?
45 years later finds the would-be angler engaging in the business of "raisin" baby fish in the Tin Star pond with the goal of enticing future hooked adventures??
Ain't no guarantees....Ain't no known quantities...there is just the "promise" of tug on the line, pulsation in the fishing rod, and a grin on the ole fat boy's face.
Life comes full circle a time or two and it is mostly grand!
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Jeremiah's Garden
"Build ye houses, and dwell in them; and plant gardens, and eat the fruit of them." Jeremiah 29:5
The ranch hand planted okra, onions, cucumbers, garlic, zuchini, and pole beans in the garden this beautiful weekend.
Yeah, the ground temperature ain't right and another frost or two will occur, but it was just somethin' that needed doin'?
There is something indescribable about the pleasure in planting a seed, nurturing its growth, and ultimately feasting on the harvest.
There ain't no ambition to ever rival the garden magic of Grandaddy, but I reckon he would be OK with his grandson poking a seed or two in the ground to carry on the legacy.
Now why are those damn deer back in the brush licking their lips so enthusiastically?
The ranch hand planted okra, onions, cucumbers, garlic, zuchini, and pole beans in the garden this beautiful weekend.
Yeah, the ground temperature ain't right and another frost or two will occur, but it was just somethin' that needed doin'?
There is something indescribable about the pleasure in planting a seed, nurturing its growth, and ultimately feasting on the harvest.
There ain't no ambition to ever rival the garden magic of Grandaddy, but I reckon he would be OK with his grandson poking a seed or two in the ground to carry on the legacy.
Now why are those damn deer back in the brush licking their lips so enthusiastically?
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Barn Time
There are ways that a barn is a church.
It provides peace and distraction from the unpleasant...it can make one feel distant from the less enjoyable aspects of the world.
The smells are therapeutic...for a man, the tools therein are objects of escape...and the escape facilitated is an experience that never denies the beauty of manly pursuits........
One can weld steel, delicately influence the grain of wood, or putter about with the tools of a wannabe engine mechanic....sans the evaluative eye of an "expert".
The ranch hand spent the balance of this fine day ensconced in the protective web of the resident barn grinnin' prodigiously whilst finishin' a welding/wood project extraordinaire.
Ain't life good!....Got 'er done...and feel better for the process?
Ya gotta love blessed BARN TIME!
It provides peace and distraction from the unpleasant...it can make one feel distant from the less enjoyable aspects of the world.
The smells are therapeutic...for a man, the tools therein are objects of escape...and the escape facilitated is an experience that never denies the beauty of manly pursuits........
One can weld steel, delicately influence the grain of wood, or putter about with the tools of a wannabe engine mechanic....sans the evaluative eye of an "expert".
The ranch hand spent the balance of this fine day ensconced in the protective web of the resident barn grinnin' prodigiously whilst finishin' a welding/wood project extraordinaire.
Ain't life good!....Got 'er done...and feel better for the process?
Ya gotta love blessed BARN TIME!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
FARM AUCTION STUFF
The ranch hand enjoys attending farm auctions.
The unique aspect of farm auctions is that they represent an opportunity to view in one giant pile the accumulation of a family's entire life.
Everyone spends their time on earth collecting "stuff". The volume, character, and value of the stuff varies, but we all do it.
It is only when it is all sorted out and placed on public view that one can weigh that which is valued sufficiently by the former owners to keep.
Farm auctions always by definition include old tractors with their faithful toil evidenced by a comfortable worn look in every regard. Utilitarian trailers of every size and configuration are mandatory and odd pieces of iron will be everywhere as broken stuff don't necessarily mean useless for future purposes?
Hand tools will lay about as if just employed by the late owner. Egg collection baskets, mason jars, and salt/pepper shakers are the rule. Knick knacks, baubles, and other less glamorous memorabilia will dot the landscape inevitably.
Through it all, the ranch hand always stops to ponder the life of the individuals who have passed to Glory, leaving behind their worldly possessions to the mere mortals at the auction block.
The items bartered are just "stuff" to the bidders. Beyond that, the inanimate objects being sold are part and parcel to the loves, laughs, longevity, and living of the farm family that accumulated the wealth over a lifetime.
Let us never forget their part in the world we continue to enjoy.
The unique aspect of farm auctions is that they represent an opportunity to view in one giant pile the accumulation of a family's entire life.
Everyone spends their time on earth collecting "stuff". The volume, character, and value of the stuff varies, but we all do it.
It is only when it is all sorted out and placed on public view that one can weigh that which is valued sufficiently by the former owners to keep.
Farm auctions always by definition include old tractors with their faithful toil evidenced by a comfortable worn look in every regard. Utilitarian trailers of every size and configuration are mandatory and odd pieces of iron will be everywhere as broken stuff don't necessarily mean useless for future purposes?
Hand tools will lay about as if just employed by the late owner. Egg collection baskets, mason jars, and salt/pepper shakers are the rule. Knick knacks, baubles, and other less glamorous memorabilia will dot the landscape inevitably.
Through it all, the ranch hand always stops to ponder the life of the individuals who have passed to Glory, leaving behind their worldly possessions to the mere mortals at the auction block.
The items bartered are just "stuff" to the bidders. Beyond that, the inanimate objects being sold are part and parcel to the loves, laughs, longevity, and living of the farm family that accumulated the wealth over a lifetime.
Let us never forget their part in the world we continue to enjoy.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Planting For The Future
And the tree of the field shall yield her fruit, and the earth shall yield her increase, and they shall be safe in their land, and shall know that I am the Lord. (Ezekiel 34:27)
The ole fat boy purchased and planted a Choctaw hybrid pecan tree on the Tin Star ranch today.
It weren't no simple task.
The beloved ranch only grudgingly gives up shovels of "dirt" as it is honey combed with innumerable limestone rocks that are the very devil to dig thru?
After a lengthy spell of pounding on the ground to make a large enough "hole" to accept the offering of future bounty, the old one carefully placed the future shade in its new resting place.
There ain't no hopes/dreams of this being a bounty of pecan goodies for the planter. This is about the grandkids.
When this leafy arboreal flora produces its earthly fruit offering in the years to come, the hope is that the ranch hands progeny will make a pilgrimage to Tin Star, gather and consume the pecans during a fall month, and remember the feller that planted it for them.
Bless us O' Lord for these our most bountiful gifts.
The ole fat boy purchased and planted a Choctaw hybrid pecan tree on the Tin Star ranch today.
It weren't no simple task.
The beloved ranch only grudgingly gives up shovels of "dirt" as it is honey combed with innumerable limestone rocks that are the very devil to dig thru?
After a lengthy spell of pounding on the ground to make a large enough "hole" to accept the offering of future bounty, the old one carefully placed the future shade in its new resting place.
There ain't no hopes/dreams of this being a bounty of pecan goodies for the planter. This is about the grandkids.
When this leafy arboreal flora produces its earthly fruit offering in the years to come, the hope is that the ranch hands progeny will make a pilgrimage to Tin Star, gather and consume the pecans during a fall month, and remember the feller that planted it for them.
Bless us O' Lord for these our most bountiful gifts.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Sacred Memories
We inherit from our ancestry gifts so often taken for granted. Each of us contains within us this inheritance of soul. We are links between the ages, containing past and present expectations, sacred memories, and future promise.
(Edward Sellner)
The ranch hand's genetic stock is apportioned equally between the Waller and the Williamson clan.
It is an intoxicating (and eclectic) mix of outrageous behavior tendencies, fierce family protectiveness, and pure country roots.
The generational stories are replete with a mixture of self-destructive adventures flavored by kinship loyalty beyond compare, especially where young uns' were concerned.
The "gifts" are to be acknowledged with heart felt gratitude and thanks to the Savior.
The less than desirable weaknesses of mortal flesh are to be equally acknowledged, but with prayer that peace with the past can be had in order to best enjoy and prosper in the present.
Let us treasure the sacred memories while reaching toward the promise of continued family love for future generations.
(Edward Sellner)
The ranch hand's genetic stock is apportioned equally between the Waller and the Williamson clan.
It is an intoxicating (and eclectic) mix of outrageous behavior tendencies, fierce family protectiveness, and pure country roots.
The generational stories are replete with a mixture of self-destructive adventures flavored by kinship loyalty beyond compare, especially where young uns' were concerned.
The "gifts" are to be acknowledged with heart felt gratitude and thanks to the Savior.
The less than desirable weaknesses of mortal flesh are to be equally acknowledged, but with prayer that peace with the past can be had in order to best enjoy and prosper in the present.
Let us treasure the sacred memories while reaching toward the promise of continued family love for future generations.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Yard Sale Boats
The only boat Dad ever owned was a fourteen foot, flat bottom aluminum puppy. Mom used her "credit" to buy him a 9.9 HP outboard motor at Sears and Roebuck and they were in business.
The venerable fishing craft was used to putt around Tyler Lake and the Sabine River for a few years and then the ole ranch hand bought the prized ship from Dad.
After enjoying yachting pleasure for a time on Texarkana and Caddo Lake, the would be sailor traded up for a fifteen foot fiberglass Kingfisher with a 25 HP Johnson engine. Years of joyful excursions occurred until such time as the veteran seafarer determined that it was appropriate to advance to the big leagues.
That's right sports fans, 21 feet of streamlined swiftness with a 125 HP screamer that would part the water with nuthin' but the prop getting wet as it tiptoed across the landscape. At least it would do that between repairs. It seems the more powerful/sophisticated the machinery, the deeper one's wallet must reach.
Sadly, after a few years of constant expense, the old salt clipped his water wings, sold the speed demon to a lucky soul (sucker) and became land locked for a couple of decades.....until last Saturday!
While cruising the local country byways, a yard sale appeared on the horizon. Amongst the normal uninteresting crap, the fat boy spied the most beautiful (dented, ragged, worn) fourteen foot flat bottom aluminum boat one could imagine.
Country negotiations sealed the deal at $75. The rest is history as the venerable tub now proudly sails the fish infested waters of the Tin Star Sea (pond).
Dad would be proud.
The venerable fishing craft was used to putt around Tyler Lake and the Sabine River for a few years and then the ole ranch hand bought the prized ship from Dad.
After enjoying yachting pleasure for a time on Texarkana and Caddo Lake, the would be sailor traded up for a fifteen foot fiberglass Kingfisher with a 25 HP Johnson engine. Years of joyful excursions occurred until such time as the veteran seafarer determined that it was appropriate to advance to the big leagues.
That's right sports fans, 21 feet of streamlined swiftness with a 125 HP screamer that would part the water with nuthin' but the prop getting wet as it tiptoed across the landscape. At least it would do that between repairs. It seems the more powerful/sophisticated the machinery, the deeper one's wallet must reach.
Sadly, after a few years of constant expense, the old salt clipped his water wings, sold the speed demon to a lucky soul (sucker) and became land locked for a couple of decades.....until last Saturday!
While cruising the local country byways, a yard sale appeared on the horizon. Amongst the normal uninteresting crap, the fat boy spied the most beautiful (dented, ragged, worn) fourteen foot flat bottom aluminum boat one could imagine.
Country negotiations sealed the deal at $75. The rest is history as the venerable tub now proudly sails the fish infested waters of the Tin Star Sea (pond).
Dad would be proud.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Venison Blessings
The ole fat boy just completed his 40th year of deer hunting.
Reflecting back brings to mind a few learned truths:
1. All deer have an internal calendar.
(How else can ya explain that you always see the most deer and biggest bucks the weekend before and the weekend after deer season, but they largely disappear otherwise?)
2. There is little to compare with the feeling of anticipation and promise one senses during the predawn hours on the opening morning of deer season.
(It doesn't matter if a deer is taken; it only matters that you are alive, in the darkness you are one with nature, and you know you are engaging in a time honored tradition that you enjoy.)
3. The most treasured memories of deer hunting revolve around the sights and sounds of nature that one is privileged to see at close range.
(This season included witness to the mating ritual of the resident bucks, the whistle and soaring majesty of the ranch hawk, and the blessing of sunrises that take one's breath away)
4. All the "fun" ends once the bullet leaves the end of the barrel and finds its target.
(Ain't nobody in their right mind ever said "guttin" and "haulin" them puppies out of the woods is "fun"?)
The deer count on the Tin Star this year included two decent eight points and one doe. The grocery equivalent that now resides in the ranch freezer is about 100 pounds of sausage, some steaks, and the always welcome jerky.
The "pleasure/satisfaction" factor for this past season is off the chart.
Thank you O' Lord for these many blessing in the life of your most humble servant.
Reflecting back brings to mind a few learned truths:
1. All deer have an internal calendar.
(How else can ya explain that you always see the most deer and biggest bucks the weekend before and the weekend after deer season, but they largely disappear otherwise?)
2. There is little to compare with the feeling of anticipation and promise one senses during the predawn hours on the opening morning of deer season.
(It doesn't matter if a deer is taken; it only matters that you are alive, in the darkness you are one with nature, and you know you are engaging in a time honored tradition that you enjoy.)
3. The most treasured memories of deer hunting revolve around the sights and sounds of nature that one is privileged to see at close range.
(This season included witness to the mating ritual of the resident bucks, the whistle and soaring majesty of the ranch hawk, and the blessing of sunrises that take one's breath away)
4. All the "fun" ends once the bullet leaves the end of the barrel and finds its target.
(Ain't nobody in their right mind ever said "guttin" and "haulin" them puppies out of the woods is "fun"?)
The deer count on the Tin Star this year included two decent eight points and one doe. The grocery equivalent that now resides in the ranch freezer is about 100 pounds of sausage, some steaks, and the always welcome jerky.
The "pleasure/satisfaction" factor for this past season is off the chart.
Thank you O' Lord for these many blessing in the life of your most humble servant.
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