In Wright City, overseas was referred to as "across the pond" or "across the waters".
If folks got drafted by the military and sent to the hinterlands, yep....they went "across the pond".
The ranch hand and his beautiful bride first crossed that pond in the recent past to spend a sojourn in Spain...(goes without saying...growin' up in Wright City...or Joinerville for that matter...did not prepare a couple of country bumpkins for that experience?).
Week next, the ubiquitous duo will adventure to Maui, Hawaii for a beach safari extraordinaire.
All ya'll pray that our marginal public school education will finally "kick in" and we will find our way back to the ranch in due time??????
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
OLD LIONS
The ole fat boy been pistol popping for more years than he might like to admit.
Started with the venerable .22 long rifle cartridge, ambled up to a .357 six hole wheel gun...eventually transitioned to a "lectric" shooter (.45 semi-auto), and followed with 9mm, .357 Sig, .40 cal. and .380 (just for extra "seasoning").
The ranch hand's chosen profession required semi-annual proficiency qualification. Either pony up and do the do...or give up the job (obviously no pressure?)
Today marked the 42nd year (started at age "3"...OK, maybe not?) for your humble scribe to toe the line at the firearms range and "compete".
Yeah, time has made the eyes suspect and the hands a mite on the yippy side, but the young'uns on the line got a lesson in humility this day.
Bottom line: Beware of the Old Lions or they may devour your ass when you least expect it.
Started with the venerable .22 long rifle cartridge, ambled up to a .357 six hole wheel gun...eventually transitioned to a "lectric" shooter (.45 semi-auto), and followed with 9mm, .357 Sig, .40 cal. and .380 (just for extra "seasoning").
The ranch hand's chosen profession required semi-annual proficiency qualification. Either pony up and do the do...or give up the job (obviously no pressure?)
Today marked the 42nd year (started at age "3"...OK, maybe not?) for your humble scribe to toe the line at the firearms range and "compete".
Yeah, time has made the eyes suspect and the hands a mite on the yippy side, but the young'uns on the line got a lesson in humility this day.
Bottom line: Beware of the Old Lions or they may devour your ass when you least expect it.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
The Renewal of Life
The bride and I strolled to the ranch pond about an hour after dawn this morn to feed the catfish in the early cool.
At the spillway end of the tank we saw a fawn in its first moments of life as it struggled to stand and take its first wobbling steps.
After a few brave ventures, it sank into the tall grass to gain strength and comtemplate a new world outside the womb.
Life renews each spring on the ranch and we are but the grateful recipients of its bounty.
At the spillway end of the tank we saw a fawn in its first moments of life as it struggled to stand and take its first wobbling steps.
After a few brave ventures, it sank into the tall grass to gain strength and comtemplate a new world outside the womb.
Life renews each spring on the ranch and we are but the grateful recipients of its bounty.
Monday, April 30, 2012
BUMPS
The beginning of each season of deer hunting begins with the end of antlers.
The bucks endure the annual shed as their calcified headress falls to the earth to be consumed by the elements of nature.
After a time, the process begins anew with the emergence of new horn growth signifying the initiation of the new season.
The Tin Star Ranch bucks have traveled this well worn trail yet again as evidenced by the sprouting of "bumps" on their foreheads as precursors to their "crowns".
And so begins another year of patient observation of what may be, the trophy that could allow collection in a moment of fortunate circumstance, or simply the heart-felt appreciation of another opportunity to enjoy the wonder of God's creations.
The bucks endure the annual shed as their calcified headress falls to the earth to be consumed by the elements of nature.
After a time, the process begins anew with the emergence of new horn growth signifying the initiation of the new season.
The Tin Star Ranch bucks have traveled this well worn trail yet again as evidenced by the sprouting of "bumps" on their foreheads as precursors to their "crowns".
And so begins another year of patient observation of what may be, the trophy that could allow collection in a moment of fortunate circumstance, or simply the heart-felt appreciation of another opportunity to enjoy the wonder of God's creations.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
HOT COFFEE
Dad spent his life brewing his morning cup o' joe on the natural gas kitchen stove top using an aluminum percolator pot. It had a glass "bubble" on the top and when the lava hot liquid spittin' into the "bubble" was the right color..... it was ready.
The "catch" was.....Dad liked his coffee hot as molten lead...straight from the blazing hot stove into his mouth and throat.
The ranch hand figgers years of that routine must have created some kind of "callous" because he could do it every morn with a contented look of satisfaction.
On occasion, his only (naive) son would share the morning ritual and like Dad, take that first cup of mud and down it.....followed by more spittin and sputterin than a spark plug fouled model T running on white gas?
We are talkin hair burning, blister scalding, melt your ears off HOT coffee.
Never figgered why Dad liked it, how he could do it, or whatever....but it is a great memory of my Wright City papacita that I will always hold dear.
The "catch" was.....Dad liked his coffee hot as molten lead...straight from the blazing hot stove into his mouth and throat.
The ranch hand figgers years of that routine must have created some kind of "callous" because he could do it every morn with a contented look of satisfaction.
On occasion, his only (naive) son would share the morning ritual and like Dad, take that first cup of mud and down it.....followed by more spittin and sputterin than a spark plug fouled model T running on white gas?
We are talkin hair burning, blister scalding, melt your ears off HOT coffee.
Never figgered why Dad liked it, how he could do it, or whatever....but it is a great memory of my Wright City papacita that I will always hold dear.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
HEAVENLY PLEASURES
Year last the ole fat boy obtained hybrid bass and bream and "stocked" the ubiquitous ranch pond/tank with future protein, fun, and enrichment.
Mother Nature had other ideas and the seven year drought "sucked" the water from that ever so precious water hole and the ranch "babies" evaporated before predators, heat, and all manner of depredation.
Life begins anew in the spring and this fine 2012 begins (after heavy rain) with the introduction of channel catfish to their piscatorial garden of Eden.
The fond memories of the ranch hand's grandmother includes her homemade "bonnet" and long sleeved/long hemmed dresses as she gathered her bamboo pole and beef liver to saunter to her brother Charlie's pond to collect supper for her and Granvil.
More often than not, that fine lady would return from her pasture adventure with a wriggling recalcitrant channel slider ripe for the skillet with a grin on her face that could brighten any moonless night.
For you, my dearest Ola Mae, I dedicate this renewal of a catfish garden for your heavenly pleasure.
Mother Nature had other ideas and the seven year drought "sucked" the water from that ever so precious water hole and the ranch "babies" evaporated before predators, heat, and all manner of depredation.
Life begins anew in the spring and this fine 2012 begins (after heavy rain) with the introduction of channel catfish to their piscatorial garden of Eden.
The fond memories of the ranch hand's grandmother includes her homemade "bonnet" and long sleeved/long hemmed dresses as she gathered her bamboo pole and beef liver to saunter to her brother Charlie's pond to collect supper for her and Granvil.
More often than not, that fine lady would return from her pasture adventure with a wriggling recalcitrant channel slider ripe for the skillet with a grin on her face that could brighten any moonless night.
For you, my dearest Ola Mae, I dedicate this renewal of a catfish garden for your heavenly pleasure.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Process
Dusk on this fine day signaled the end of yet another central Texas deer season.
The ole fat boy put a measure of venison in the freezer, but no horns.
Maturity (or age) has a way of letting one understand that "trophies" ain't where it's at.
The "process" is the key.
Watching deer develop through out the year...filling the corn feeders...identifying the game trails...learning their habits...following tracks...that is the true source of the pleasure.
Did a trophy rack go on the office wall: NO
Was this an awesome season of hunting pleasure...ABSOLUTELY!
Life is good Uncle Wayne.
The ole fat boy put a measure of venison in the freezer, but no horns.
Maturity (or age) has a way of letting one understand that "trophies" ain't where it's at.
The "process" is the key.
Watching deer develop through out the year...filling the corn feeders...identifying the game trails...learning their habits...following tracks...that is the true source of the pleasure.
Did a trophy rack go on the office wall: NO
Was this an awesome season of hunting pleasure...ABSOLUTELY!
Life is good Uncle Wayne.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Soft Feet
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.
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.
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.
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