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?
Friday, March 25, 2011
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!
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