Consider, if you will, the lowly hamburger.
Simple in presentation, abundant in flavor-lish-ish-ness, yet pungent in its oniony presentation (no pickles please).
No pretension of savoir faire, no well intended advertisement (Eat More Chiken), no meaning to be beyond its intended ground beef demise.
Not unlike chile, this ubiquitous morsel mouthful is all that is to be to the masses, somewhat lacking to the uneducated, and the "manna" from heaven for the tyrols.
Aw, that we could (absent cholesterol considerations) forever have that canola oil delicacy "dripping" from our porcelain elbows ad infinitum.
Such is life.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
Tree Lament
Oak wilt is a fungal disease that can quickly kill a Texas live oak tree by blocking the capillary flow of sap within the tree.
The landscape of Williamson county is sadly becoming a skeletal graveyard of magnificent oaks that this pernicious attack has devastated.
The Tin Star has largely escaped this scourge....until now.
The ole ranch hand is watching with a heavy heart as the damn arboreal illness is creeping on it's deathly paws with killing talons from tree to tree. The eulogy count is near ten and will no doubt over the years take away all of the gorgeous leafy companions that we so enjoy?
The spanish oaks and the cedar elms are in sufficient numbers to continue the shading effect, but once gone, the oaks will not be replaced in our lifetime.
Thank you, oh Lord, for the present grace and comfort of our resident live oaks. Your's is a grander plan than we might imagine in eliminating these trees, but we acknowledge and hold faith in your wisdom.
The landscape of Williamson county is sadly becoming a skeletal graveyard of magnificent oaks that this pernicious attack has devastated.
The Tin Star has largely escaped this scourge....until now.
The ole ranch hand is watching with a heavy heart as the damn arboreal illness is creeping on it's deathly paws with killing talons from tree to tree. The eulogy count is near ten and will no doubt over the years take away all of the gorgeous leafy companions that we so enjoy?
The spanish oaks and the cedar elms are in sufficient numbers to continue the shading effect, but once gone, the oaks will not be replaced in our lifetime.
Thank you, oh Lord, for the present grace and comfort of our resident live oaks. Your's is a grander plan than we might imagine in eliminating these trees, but we acknowledge and hold faith in your wisdom.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
TURTLE WARS
Worship of worldly possessions is likely a sin...but bein' tickled bout a utility vehicle shouldn't be too far down the road to eternal damnation???
The ole fat boy acquired a ranch "buggy" recently. Two seater-six passenger, sun shade atop the frame, four wheelin' deelux, an plum RURAL in its presentation.
Does the ranch hand use it???? (does a fat dawg fart??)....well fer example...today yours truly loaded the venerable 2-2 semi automatical rifillian with (not sofa pillers), equipped the "all terrain, weather impervious chariot with (adult beverages) and stealthily (spun the damn tires and whup/whipped betwixt the trees and bushes) down to the piscatorial procreation facility (pond) to control (shoot the shit out of) the eleventy-seven turtles therein whut has been scalin/filetin'/humpin' the recently purchased ($0.95 each) baby hybrid (soon to be RECORD BREAKING!) fish (if not consumed by the voracious prehistoric predators)?
Forthwith (what the hell that word mean???) the GREAT WHITE HUNTER (while suckin' on a cold adult beverage) commenced to prodigiously bust caps on them murderous semi-aquatic hubcap reptillian turtle bastardians!
Did not hit shinola, but the new "buggy" did not sit in judgement, comment, or offer an expression of disdain in any discernible form???
"Did not sit in judgement" would be a bit of a stretch for the ranch hand's child bride who wuz never overtook with bashfulness?
Onliest thang to do is brang mo' ammo and spray a better pattern on them murderous fish baby thieves (bride says less beer, but what do wimmen know??)
The ole fat boy acquired a ranch "buggy" recently. Two seater-six passenger, sun shade atop the frame, four wheelin' deelux, an plum RURAL in its presentation.
Does the ranch hand use it???? (does a fat dawg fart??)....well fer example...today yours truly loaded the venerable 2-2 semi automatical rifillian with (not sofa pillers), equipped the "all terrain, weather impervious chariot with (adult beverages) and stealthily (spun the damn tires and whup/whipped betwixt the trees and bushes) down to the piscatorial procreation facility (pond) to control (shoot the shit out of) the eleventy-seven turtles therein whut has been scalin/filetin'/humpin' the recently purchased ($0.95 each) baby hybrid (soon to be RECORD BREAKING!) fish (if not consumed by the voracious prehistoric predators)?
Forthwith (what the hell that word mean???) the GREAT WHITE HUNTER (while suckin' on a cold adult beverage) commenced to prodigiously bust caps on them murderous semi-aquatic hubcap reptillian turtle bastardians!
Did not hit shinola, but the new "buggy" did not sit in judgement, comment, or offer an expression of disdain in any discernible form???
"Did not sit in judgement" would be a bit of a stretch for the ranch hand's child bride who wuz never overtook with bashfulness?
Onliest thang to do is brang mo' ammo and spray a better pattern on them murderous fish baby thieves (bride says less beer, but what do wimmen know??)
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Baby Sisters
Ain't nobody got but one baby sister.
They is one to a customer, singular, unique, and mostly just special.
When you are a yonker and they are...well a baby sister...ya pick on them, aggravate, or just ignore like they was a "bother".
When ya spend the years finding they are among your bestest friends, a joy to be with, and the nearest thing to an angel on earth imaginable.........well, then maybe the "ignore" part becomes a bit embarassing....so ya just spend the rest of your life making up for it?
The ranch hand's baby sister is a PEACH.....sweet, loving, beautiful, and just near bout sumpthin as special as ever was!!!!!!!!!
That gal had a B-day this week and she was ?? years young (how did that happen given my youthful existence????)
Just know, little one, that you are valued more than you can ever know by one old fat man who you call "big brother".
They is one to a customer, singular, unique, and mostly just special.
When you are a yonker and they are...well a baby sister...ya pick on them, aggravate, or just ignore like they was a "bother".
When ya spend the years finding they are among your bestest friends, a joy to be with, and the nearest thing to an angel on earth imaginable.........well, then maybe the "ignore" part becomes a bit embarassing....so ya just spend the rest of your life making up for it?
The ranch hand's baby sister is a PEACH.....sweet, loving, beautiful, and just near bout sumpthin as special as ever was!!!!!!!!!
That gal had a B-day this week and she was ?? years young (how did that happen given my youthful existence????)
Just know, little one, that you are valued more than you can ever know by one old fat man who you call "big brother".
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Blessings
Saturdays on the ranch with blue sky and warm temps are a gift so extraordinary that words alone can never describe.
Today included bluebonnets, indian paint brushes, yellow daisies, thistles out the wazoo, doves, squirrels, one wore out blue hound dawg, breezes, baby fish in the tank, and a whole lot of "damn this is the closest thing to heaven ever!!!!!!!!!"
Thank you Lord for the blessing of the Tin Star Ranch and all it entails.
Today included bluebonnets, indian paint brushes, yellow daisies, thistles out the wazoo, doves, squirrels, one wore out blue hound dawg, breezes, baby fish in the tank, and a whole lot of "damn this is the closest thing to heaven ever!!!!!!!!!"
Thank you Lord for the blessing of the Tin Star Ranch and all it entails.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Hog Mutton A La Mode
The bride used to whup up a mean skillet of vermicelli when the kids was yonkers and they would wolf it down like they was huggin' a hound.
Asking fer "thirds", they would want to know what manna from heaven had fallen in their plates. Mama would reply, "Hog mutton a la mode". Our chilluns would gratefully parrot, "More hog mutton a la mode Mama".
The ranch hand figgers all folks that grow up "poor" have similar stories.
In Wright City, our tongues used to spank our tonsils when Mom would fry some Spam or salt pork and we would be placed in instant grocery gratification. Let her put a slice or two in an offering of baloney before it went in the Crisco and we were slobberin' like a team of sled dawgs?
Hey, we were fed, clothed, loved, and had an only semi-leaking roof over our heads.
How much better can life be?
Asking fer "thirds", they would want to know what manna from heaven had fallen in their plates. Mama would reply, "Hog mutton a la mode". Our chilluns would gratefully parrot, "More hog mutton a la mode Mama".
The ranch hand figgers all folks that grow up "poor" have similar stories.
In Wright City, our tongues used to spank our tonsils when Mom would fry some Spam or salt pork and we would be placed in instant grocery gratification. Let her put a slice or two in an offering of baloney before it went in the Crisco and we were slobberin' like a team of sled dawgs?
Hey, we were fed, clothed, loved, and had an only semi-leaking roof over our heads.
How much better can life be?
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Dreams Fulfilled
The ole ranch hand has in past times chronicled his passion for fishin'.
Over the last year the ranch modifications have included "cleaning" and "shaping" the pond followed by a monsoon season of tank filling rain.
This Friday past included accepting delivery of baby hybrid bass, bluegill bream, and a slew of minnows for ranch residency.
Releasing those puppies into the clear pond water fairly shouted promise of future days watching a bobber waltz or feeling the throb of a hooked bass resisting monofiliament confinement.
A year from now will tell the tale of of a life long dream to ease off the porch, stroll to the pond, and catch/release til the western sun slips to its slumber.
A dream fulfilled and a quality of life that is priceless.
Ya gotta love it!
Over the last year the ranch modifications have included "cleaning" and "shaping" the pond followed by a monsoon season of tank filling rain.
This Friday past included accepting delivery of baby hybrid bass, bluegill bream, and a slew of minnows for ranch residency.
Releasing those puppies into the clear pond water fairly shouted promise of future days watching a bobber waltz or feeling the throb of a hooked bass resisting monofiliament confinement.
A year from now will tell the tale of of a life long dream to ease off the porch, stroll to the pond, and catch/release til the western sun slips to its slumber.
A dream fulfilled and a quality of life that is priceless.
Ya gotta love it!
A Dawg's Life
The ranch hand is guessing that Fido's memory spans something less than one hour.
Spend half a day with him in constant contact, go in the bunkhouse for a spell, and when ya go back out he reacts like you are a long lost soul mate he has not seen in years.
Swat him on the nose for some inane indiscretion and he will shamefully retire to his "house". Let a few minutes elapse and he will emerge like it is a new world and all is good.
Keep the dawg food dispenser loaded, douse a spot or two of cold water in his bowl, scratch his head, and he is in heaven in every sense of the word.
Do ya ever think that maybe Fido has this ole world best figgered out?
Forgive, forget, and eagerly welcome any and all companion attention.
Makes ya think the good Lord's design for a dawg's life might not be that shabby for us mere mortals.
Spend half a day with him in constant contact, go in the bunkhouse for a spell, and when ya go back out he reacts like you are a long lost soul mate he has not seen in years.
Swat him on the nose for some inane indiscretion and he will shamefully retire to his "house". Let a few minutes elapse and he will emerge like it is a new world and all is good.
Keep the dawg food dispenser loaded, douse a spot or two of cold water in his bowl, scratch his head, and he is in heaven in every sense of the word.
Do ya ever think that maybe Fido has this ole world best figgered out?
Forgive, forget, and eagerly welcome any and all companion attention.
Makes ya think the good Lord's design for a dawg's life might not be that shabby for us mere mortals.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Easter Eve
The dawn sun rays of this ranch morning revealed a blue blanket in the front pasture compliments of eager bluebonnets praising the glory of life, death, resurrection and Easter eve.
The air is crisp, no breeze, and nary a cloud with the audacity to show its marshmallow face.
A walk to the front gate for the obligatory newspaper pilgrimage included the enthusiastic trumpet of the river bottom turkey toms challenging all comers on the opening day of spring turkey hunting season.
Add the joyous bounding of the ranch dawg seeking only the reward of his "alpha's" touch, the distant coo of the resident doves, and the blossoming promise of live oak leaves budding on the myriad acres of trees.
One knows in the bowels of their heart that He shall arise on the next morn and forever provide for the salvation of believers' souls.
Life is good and the ole ranch hand is eternally grateful.
The air is crisp, no breeze, and nary a cloud with the audacity to show its marshmallow face.
A walk to the front gate for the obligatory newspaper pilgrimage included the enthusiastic trumpet of the river bottom turkey toms challenging all comers on the opening day of spring turkey hunting season.
Add the joyous bounding of the ranch dawg seeking only the reward of his "alpha's" touch, the distant coo of the resident doves, and the blossoming promise of live oak leaves budding on the myriad acres of trees.
One knows in the bowels of their heart that He shall arise on the next morn and forever provide for the salvation of believers' souls.
Life is good and the ole ranch hand is eternally grateful.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Flickers and Curls
Thunder is the sound made by lightning.
The sudden increase in pressure and temperature from lightning produces rapid expansion of the air surrounding and within a bolt of lightning. In turn, this expansion of air creates a sonic shock wave which produces the sound of thunder. (Wikipedia)
That's actually a pretty boring explanation.
As the ole fat boy sits in the pre-dawn darkness of his ranch office this morn and listens to the storm passing thru, those claps, cracks, and booms sound anything but boring?
A more likely explanation requires the air to conspire creation of a rumble in our heads. A sound that obscures the dark rolling clouds in order to make way for the flickers and curls of the following lightning.
It is like a hot breath, followed by sweet, hard rain which cools the heat of the bright fire in the sky.
Random thoughts from a country philosopher for what they are worth?
The sudden increase in pressure and temperature from lightning produces rapid expansion of the air surrounding and within a bolt of lightning. In turn, this expansion of air creates a sonic shock wave which produces the sound of thunder. (Wikipedia)
That's actually a pretty boring explanation.
As the ole fat boy sits in the pre-dawn darkness of his ranch office this morn and listens to the storm passing thru, those claps, cracks, and booms sound anything but boring?
A more likely explanation requires the air to conspire creation of a rumble in our heads. A sound that obscures the dark rolling clouds in order to make way for the flickers and curls of the following lightning.
It is like a hot breath, followed by sweet, hard rain which cools the heat of the bright fire in the sky.
Random thoughts from a country philosopher for what they are worth?
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