Sunday, April 12, 2015

Fence Up...

Since there was a hew and cry by a few souls for pics of the fence, here you go. Don't say I didn't warn you, it isn't pretty. And it sure as shoot'n wouldn't have passed inspection by the Cowman.

It isn't made of lawyers planted head first and sewn together by their suits, as Fredd suggested (wish he had been around for the planning stage of this project). Though I would excluded my attorney, (whom I like) as he's a lean, mean, savvy cowman.

  I have a few finishing things to do: paint out the tops of the T posts, put in the center wire clips on each post, and fence staple the bottom wire to the RR ties.

 ^ The north east fence line.

^  Two gates were installed by Dad, the 91 yr old, setting in his hovveround. Before you holler elder abuse, know that he is as determined as they come.

^  From the deck looking South the fence line is mostly unseen.

Willie has tested the fence and it has kept him in, so far.  Had it been my Gus,  the Scottish Terror, he would have been out in a flash and off in search of the next adventure... 

Friday, April 10, 2015

Fence build...

We have started the actual build on the fence project. After a lengthy time spent trying to find some help that was reasonably affordable, I asked Suz, a neighbor gal, if she knew of anyone that might be willing to help me put it up.  She did, so she and her 19 yr old nephew came today.  We got about 1/2 of it in, and the nephew and I will finish up tomorrow, barring unforeseen problems. (Suz had already made plans to do defensible space work at her other house near Pollock Pines this weekend.) 
It isn't pretty, but it is going to serve it's purpose.  I'm trying not to think of what the Cowman would say if he saw it.

Texas Bed Fence

Washington wagon wheel fence

New Zealand bra fence

 I had thought to put up a fence that was so damn boring it would not draw attention to it's self. I might rethink that.

Sunday, April 5, 2015

He is Risen. Happy Easter.

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Prayer Up

Setting at Good Friday Mass. The church is full, the choir is heavenly and the music is beautifully reverent. Father is making points with his homily. I'm listening (for a change) and absorbing the import of his message. 
As I looked around me I had to smile, I had taken care to wear my best VS undies, a fancy slip, a nice spring dress, my good sandals, and a fresh coat of red polish on the toes, and here I set among the crones. There was a nice crone on one side of me and a strange tiny crone on the other, we are all God's children.  An elderly crone with horrendous body odor, shaggy hair and rumpled men's clothing is in the pew directly in front of me, so that when I kneel it is almost over powering. Father is coming to the end of his homily, all is silent with reverence.  And a cell phone rings (the old school ring tone) and rings, and gets louder, as the ol crone in front of me slowly pulls it from the depths of her khakis. She shuts it off, as Father says, "that was a cell phone, not God".  Laughter bounces off the frescoes on the ceiling.  God obviously has a sense of timing and humor. 

We go up to kiss the newly unveiled cross. As I get closer to the cross, my usual prayers for my family and a few close friends desert me, they are just gone... my mind is totally blank.  Then, as I touch the cross, my prayer just bursts out, not loudly, but so fiercely it causes the alter boy to step back, "Please look after her, Father!" Even fiercely protective shield maidens need a much higher power's intersession from time to time...

A Blessed Easter to her, you & yours, Brig 

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Tally Touche...

It is that time of year when marking and branding is in full swing.  
I miss not being there, to the point of dreaming about it.  The bawl of calves, the lowing of mama cows, the horses sweating. Leather creaking, ropes swinging.  Dust swirling, smoke from the branding fire, and the smells. The youngsters working the ground crews, the young buckaroos trying to show the old buckaroos a thing or two.  
I, like most I know, have been marked by a hot branding iron, and vaccinated for a lot of things that humans are not prone to. Nicked by a cutters knife, and rope burned, and had the air knocked out of me by a well placed kick.

The cowboy sense of humor is often strange to those from outside.  
The Cowman had a small bald spot on the top of his head. At one branding he saw the ground crew had a large calf with a nut sack the same color as his hair.  He did the castrating on the calf, threw the nuts in the nut bucket, and slipped the large hairy sack into his vest.  Later in the day when we broke for lunch, and all were balancing plates and drinks on knees, sitting around the fire, the Cowman took off his Stetson to wipe his brow, and there sat the nut sack over the little bald spot. No one said a word about it, everyone tried not to look at it, but one's eyes were drawn to it like a magnet. One youngster started to giggle and the Cowman gave'm the look, which put paid to that.  The Cowman put his Stetson back on, and we finished the branding.  That evening as we gathered around the fire, having a few well earned toddies, the Cowman took off his Stetson and said something to the effect of... 
"In this business it helps to be concentric diversified, and when this takes (he pointed to the nut sack on his head) I'm going to the bank with an expanded business plan!"  He never cracked a smile or looked anything but serious.  We paused for a moment in sheer wonder at his cowman's logic and business acumen. Then with much laughter we sent the kids to roundup all the nut sacks they could find.  
And that's how he double verified the bull calf count.