Missing Michael, part 2

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Thanks for hanging in with me on this so far. Although I can feel my blood pressure building, I don't have quite the same emotional strain on me now as I did in writing the first part. This is very encouraging on the catharsis front, very encouraging.

Please read the first part below this post if you have not done so already.
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When Michael's tone changed so abruptly, it snapped me back closer to reality and I asked "Not that I am not thrilled with this surprise call but since we just talked on the weekend, why are you calling so soon again?" He said "I just had to tell you that I love you, that's all. I have to go now." Being annoyingly pragmatic at times, I took it at face value, returned the sentiment deeply and we signed off.

The phone didn't ring again until the afternoon of the next day. The voice at the other end identified the caller as Michael's aunt. I was delighted that the rest of his family had also wanted to connect with me ... until she cut to the chase to save us both any further torments and delusions. "I'm sorry, Lin, Michael is gone." I tried to think despite a good portion of the roof of the universe having just collapsed upon my being but it didn't work. "But .... noooo, but he ... nooo .... but he talked to me just ... nooooooo! He just talked to me last night, did he commit suicide? What? What was it?" "No, they said he died of a massive heart attack in his sleep." I could not fathom this news or make any sense of it. None! He was only 36! Nothing in the universe made sense at that moment. His voice returned through this fog to reiterate "You mean you hadn't heard of the family curse of the youngest son dying first?" His father, the youngest son and first to die, had obviously passed this on to him. My cerebral synapses would not fire. The pounding in my heart became not only physically painful but deafening as the sound of surging, racing blood filled my ears, cloaking his aunt's remaining words under a sodden muslin gauze of unreality. Somewhere in the murmuring onslaught of painful words, I sensed a silence and I vaguely recall myself saying on auto-pilot "I am so sorry. I will be back in touch soon."

I don't remember hanging up the phone, I have no idea what transpired between then and an unexpected knocking on the back door. I suppose my sense of duty overrode my inclination to ignore the summons and I found my way across the house now dimming with the twilight. A bald head and goateed face peered inquisitively into the dimness beyond the door glass. Trying to hide the mess of tears and swelling that my face had become, I pulled open the door for Harmonica Joe. While he would have normally said "Hey, I was just passing through so I stopped by" he was quick to assess the problem "My God, Lin, WHAT has happened?" "Joe, they took Michael from me!" With that, I could no longer hold back my sorrows and Joe was quick to throw a very needed, comforting embrace around my shoulders. Mark was on a rare business trip away and no doubt some angel had sent Joe to answer the distress call. The evening remains a blur but he faithfully stayed on into the late night until I was talked out and he was nodding off from fatigue. After I settled him into the guest bedroom, I stayed up for several more hours listening to the music fade in and out of my embroiled consciousness, until I could no longer resist the exhaustion and physical fatigue myself.

As my ever best friend, Mark assumed the necessary arrangements upon his arrival home and it wasn't long before we were flying into Denver and then heading north by rental car.

We arrived at the service the next day and settled into seats at the front row quietly and largely unannounced. The small church was packed right to the back aisles. It was all I could do to concentrate on not making an utter sobbing spectacle of myself. Mark's strength and his gentle but firm grasp on my hand helped maintain my composure.

Despite my misery, my analytical brain soon determined that we were two of a total of maybe ten straight people in the entire church. The minister, a rather robust and manly woman, proceeded with the service. Michael's aunt was seated two away from us, his older brother was closer but silent and guarded by his wife who had sat between us at a diagonal with her back rather rudely acting as a barrier between us. At one point, I slipped a memorial card that I had designed between her elbow and lap. Upon seeing my desperate effort to connect and console, she shoved the card off onto the floor with her elbow in disdain with nary so much as a turn to acknowledge our presence. A 9mm round to the forehead would have been much more kind, much less painful. I then realized why Michael and I had found each other and been so ecstatic. His aunt would later tell me that she had never seen him so happy and content as when his father's family found him again.

I could feel the tension of suppressed sorrow mounting in the room as the service proceeded. The lights dimmed until barely little but a podium could be seen at the far right as a hefty woman of great flair flounced confidently up the aisle and stood behind that podium. The rabbit hole widened considerably when I realized that the eulogist was a transvestite. Michael was probably hovering in the wings and chuckling with mischievous delight. But God bless that gal, uhm, fella. His very first words brought laughter and broke the stinging hold of grief. As he went on, we were all able to laugh and cry equally hard without censure and there was plenty of both to embrace. In the end, he told of how he had been contemplating suicide when Michael, who was bar tending that night, starting to talk with him, pointing out his remarkable talents and pushing him to pursue them and feel good about them. He noted that because of Michael's timely intervention that very night, he went on to find his act booked long term in Las Vegas instead of his life coming to an ugly and needless end alone. There were suppressed sobs as he offered an open mic to others who Michael had affected profoundly.

The next hour was the most intensely emotional time that either Mark or I had ever experienced. One by one, his friends and admirers came to the podium. The stories were all the same; Michael had come along at their most lonely and desperate time and given them sincere friendship, love and the reasons and will to go on. While Mark had been somewhat ambivalent given the short time he was able to spend with him, we left the church after the release of the white doves and he said "I am glad that we came here. I feel very privileged to have known him for even that brief time." That was my Michael, my beloved angelic boy.
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I had once wondered if someone could slowly die of a broken heart. Hopefully writing this story will provide the catharsis needed to slow that unintended journey now.
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Missing Michael

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This is not one of my usual stiff upper lip posts so you might choose well to sign off now. I am in a melancholy and deeply reflective mood to be precise.

A pall of untraceable sorrow has been hanging over me for the last few days. It wasn't until late yesterday evening that I realized its source when my cousin drifted visibly into my thoughts. After I did the painful memory calculations, I realized that he had left me exactly six years ago. So this post's for you, Michael, where ever you are.

The prospects of the 2000 family reunion had me engrossed for six months in a family history book to mark the occasion. I researched fanatically and added to what little the family had provided until I had found interesting highlights dating back nearly one thousand years. I would couple this with the bios of the last four or five generations and publish the results in a memento for everyone who attended. In the process, I found a branch which had been curiously absent from my memory and set out to find them via the internet. With the help of my sister's snail-mail follow-up, we located a lost cousin. He was overjoyed at the prospect of a reunion and booked flights as soon as he knew the details. This was my Michael, soon to become my most precious family.

I survived the reunion well enough but spent most of it dodging the dagger-filled glares from at least two family members and the icy countenance from their minions. My only regret is that this lessened my ability to spend any comfortable time with Michael. I made an indelible mental note at that point that I would never go to the expense and effort to rejoin family ever again. Mum had departed two years prior, what incentive was left? I don't go out of my way to smash my fingers with a hammer either.

Michael and I kept in nearly weekly contact thereafter. During the following six months, I realized that I had finally found kin who I adored and felt it returned a hundred fold. It was a new and priceless experience. He was a positive soul without a negative bone is his body. Given his background, I will forever marvel at his loving and forgiving attitudes.

His father had worked for an intelligence agency and was constantly away in far places. Said father went missing completely for a time during the Iran hostage crisis. By the time he did show up at the door, unannounced and with only the clothes on his back and a foreign passport, the stress and strain had become more than Michael's mother could bear and she died not long after. The father then 'retired', later becoming quite talkative about his various exploits and died soon afterwards. The two boys were farmed out briefly within our side of the family before being left to the care of their mother's only surviving family, a much younger sister. But Michael seemed to bear no trace of resentment; it was simply within his remarkable nature, you see. I rejoiced at being openly, truly loved by a blood-related family member. He had a way of making you feel like you were the most special person on the face of the planet and you knew you could turn your back to him and not feel that inevitable jab of a dagger. It was a giddy and sublime euphoria which I suspect people take drugs to achieve.

He called me unexpectedly one night in the middle of the week. I was thrilled to hear his voice so soon again after our weekend call and we talked as usual like those who wish to frantically make up for lost time. I told him of our new plans to head to New Mexico, closer to his Colorado home. He excitedly exclaimed "Maybe I could move down there, maybe we can form our own family of two! What do you think about that?" I replied pragmatically "And wouldn't you get bored in the middle of my desert?" His deep and soothing voice took on a certain playfulness, "Nah, you and I can fight dragons or something. Hey, you aren't the only oddball in the family, you know. I don't mean to brag but I was named for Saint Michael, you know." I could feel his cherubic face beaming at the other end of the phone line and I joined him in his great amusement.

He taunted and pressed me to come visit him soon; "It's a snap, you just fly to Denver and it's a skip and jump from there, c'mon ... please?" "Michael, I love you dearly but I dislike flying immensely and I am certainly NOT flying through Denver, thank you very much." His suddenly serious tone and following words have haunted me to this day "I think you will be dealing with Denver sooner than you care to, whether you like it or not." For the usual and ever frustrating reasons, I did not question that odd remark at the time.

to be continued
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A Great Ice Breaker! Part 2

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As promised, you are now headed into Part 2 of making the morning rounds of the range with Mark. It's still chilly out there but Mark's been working up some body warmth with his ax and shovel and the truck heater is being backed off incrementally as the morning progresses.
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This is work place scenery that both of us find easy to live with.
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This is stop number 5, the second to last. Another set of Slim's ladies anxiously mill around as Mark pokes a hole through the ice for them in an old stock tank. His cows really are lovely and well-mannered. Some out here on the range are not.
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Final stop! Unlock the gate and wander up the road into Slim's cow camp. I tried to get a photo of Slim's four horses with my ailing camera options. I had a great shot framed of all four and then the camera shut itself off. With the prospect of their breakfast at hand, you have to be quick with shutter. By the time I had reached into the truck for the other camera, all four had closed in on me tightly and the most congenial of them was snorting sweet nothings into my ear; giving me goosebumps and raising the hair on the back of my neck. At that point, all I could have photographed was a very large and friendly horse eyeball so I gave up.

They were not interested in Mark's ice breaking at all but fell in behind him like kids chasing the Good Humor man when he headed to the trailer. The hay is kept behind an inner gate in the trailer. After his first day on the feed and water run, he learned to swing the outer trailer gate shut behind him. By not having done so on the first run, he turned around with the hay bale and ran into a solid wall of exuberant horse flesh which had followed right in behind him.
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Above and below are more views from up top as he went from one location to another.
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He'll trade these work day views any day for one of smoggy skyscrapers in the distance.
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Heads up: I might be somewhat sporadic in my postings over the next little while. I don't feel so good right now and the writing does not come easy. If I attempt to do forced production writing, it will lack that element of joy that this place holds for us. Part of that joy is in not feeling pressured to please anyone outside the canyon and, you, my blog buds, have been so good about understanding that pressure. I will certainly write updates when the good days are front and center - I just can't count on them - so please understand that I might disappear for longer than what has been normal up until now .

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A Great Ice Breaker! Part 1

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Mark has recently found one of the few jobs in the world where everyone is elated to see you show up. Although jobs have found both of us since we arrived, his actually has not inspired stress-related gall bladder attacks early every morning on the days he has to show up. His new venture all started during one of our delightful evenings with Slim. Rather than pay someone full time to keep the water supply open for his cattle, Slim was hoping that us semi-retired old farts might just be able to do the rounds when he was up north tending to the rest of his cattle business. What the heck, we're willing to try anything once as long as it isn't a net negative experience. Some endeavors aren't worth any amount of money in this life but you don't know until you try.

Slim took Mark around on one of his infamous 'drive-arounds' and showed him the route for six water sources which had to be cleared of ice every morning for the cattle to drink. With our high desert temperatures in the winter, there WILL be ice every morning which needs to be broken up and removed.

It was a week or two later that I decided to go along for the ride. It was a great excuse to go 'up top' and look around at parts of our ranch which we would rarely see otherwise. Digital camera problems reared to the fore early on as usual. The new camera with the intentionally small memory card filled up quickly. It wasn't long thereafter that my original battery-eating camera began pouting for lack of power and shutting itself off. These devices are NOT helping my transition into this new age of convenience at all.
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* Explanation of the asterisk in these two photos: Try as I might, Mark was determined to be as camera-elusive as I. When he saw the few photo views I had been allowed, I was severely censored by the head of the Rat Politburo. "No butt shots!!!" he proclaimed as he slammed his shoe down upon the podium. "But ... but you purposely turned your back to the camera!" I retorted to deaf and determined ears. Hmmppphhh! Ve haf vays! Hey, I'm the cook so he can't stay mad for TOO long although I am definitely not asking him to proofread this entry.
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The ladies had already gathered by the time he took the first few swings with the ax. He found it disconcerting to swing the ax full heft, full arc when there were so many soft noses diving in towards him and he found it nearly impossible to dissuade them. They barely waited for him to scoop out the 3 to 4 inch thick blocks of ice before taking over.
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Shloooooooooooosh!
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I really enjoyed watching them take their first drink of the new day. As you can see, some nearly submersed their muzzles to above the nostrils, each making a long shlooooshing noise like a rowdy kid consuming soup as they sucked up the soothing water.

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Here is one minor view from up top. There is something immensely invigorating about standing there alone in this complete silence and not being able to see another house in the distance. I told you there were reasons for our determination to stay!

I will finish my tour of his rounds on the post coming up next!
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Val de Mort, Part 2

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Retrospect: Mid-September, 2006
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It was not even our first full year out here but mid September of 2006 threw more challenges at us than all the months before or since. It was as though unseen forces were playing their best hand in a winner-takes-all game. The only cards we held were faith, determination and optimism. They may not hold a strong suit value to many people but we held that hand doggedly and it won in the end.

Just as with living at the end of the runway of a large airport, everyday noise begins to fall into that deaf repository of your subconscious but oddities still jump glaringly to the fore of your consciousness. I had stepped out onto the porch and into the pleasantly warm Autumn air when a sound caught my attention. I leaned forward off the front of the porch and peered around the front face of the Rat to the West.
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What I saw was no less disturbing than what I had initially heard. Direct atmospheric venting of gas wells is normal out here but this was far worse. Usual direct venting releases small numbers of odorless and invisible assassins but in numbers so small and in such a brief interval as to be a minor threat to life, short-term. What I was seeing now were roiling, over whelming hordes uncloaked by moisture and chemical impurities. I called over my shoulder for Mark to come look and listen. He noted casually that he had heard the noise several hours earlier and paid no attention to it. Fortunately, the clouds were billowing oddly to the North but there was no guarantee that the winds wouldn't return to their habitual trek to the East ... and towards us!
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We walked closer, over to the barn, and realized that this situation would not correct itself. Driving past the clouds to evacuate did not seem a wise choice either by now.
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We decided to creep closer to the fury out of sheer cat-like curiosity, carefully watching the drape of the vapors hissing violently upwards from the ground. The long-absent rains which came back to coincide with our arrival had done much to erode and unsettle the half century old gas infrastructure and the piping had given out near the ground exit below the main shut-off valve.

That's when we decided to look up our field contacts. Our main contact, as fate would have it, was out of state on vacation but he was able to give us phone and e-mail contacts for the pertinent parties as well as safety precautions for the interim. With the photos that we provided by e-mail, they were able to save many needless hours of assessment trips and return trips to town to convene procedure and safety meetings and just get 'er done.

Mind you, even then, it would take time to gather the right hands and equipment along with the two hour trip out here. In the meantime, we watched the heavy clouds of gas sway and meander in the breeze, just hoping that they would not envelope the Rat any time soon. We extinguished the open flame pilots as advised and sat waiting for something to happen for hours, well into complete darkness. There came a point when a surreal sense of fatalism overcame us. We both sat there quietly looking for vehicle lights to pierce the blackness of the canyon until violent headaches got the best of us. Frankly, at that point in blistering cranial misery, we no longer cared if we might wake up the next morning or not. We resigned ourselves to a night's or possibly an eternity's worth of sleep.

We both woke up to the warm touch of sunny rays through the window and blinked contemplatively, eventually pinching ourselves here and there to see if this was a postmortem dream or the beginning of a new day in corporeal existence. Ouch! We were still here all right.
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Arising, stretching and wandering over to the large front window brought us the view above. The sunlight, the mesas and the rest of our familiar world were still there. The gas gnomes had quietly arrived in the dead of night and were completing their mysterious work. Our headaches had subsided, the well had been silenced ... it was obviously going to be another good day ahead for us.
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This event occurred back in those heady first days when we felt as though we had a genuine friend and neighbor relationship with the gas field. Now, only in looking back over the intervening time and events and after sifting through the remains of the old burnt out trailer across the street with its puddles of molten glass and metal, do I realize that few would have mourned our passing had conflagration or gases claimed us that night. The company would have been relieved that no one would likely ever question the circumstances. Cynicism is rarely a child of accidental conception.

But we stay because this place is still our dream come true. The challenges and dangers have been worth the risks and we will now work towards change; to make life easier, more equitable and more joyous for those who follow us. If we haven't given up, don't you dare abandon your dreams either. Take your dreams seriously and fight to preserve them. I will be showing you plenty of reasons why it's worth it.
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Val de Mort, Part 1

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Today's Pre-Ramble: It was with great satisfaction that I did the rounds of my blog friends late last night and found that many of them had touched on the same subject of stopping long enough to smell the flowers along the way, a call to "Carpe Diem". For those of you not as well versed in Latin as I, let me translate: it means "God Fish", not to be confused with "Goldfish" which would likely be expressed as "Carpe Aurum". Do NOT confuse this with "Crap Diem" which has something to do with a sandwich and "Poop du Jour". See? It pays to be well versed in the Romance languages. Considering how many European languages were so heavily influenced by the Roman Empire, how did we end up with our current definition of the English word "romance" or even the French word 'roman' (for a novel)? When I think of the Roman Empire, I tend to imagine vast legions of Italian good ol' boys raping and pillaging their way across the known reaches of the ancient world, lock-stepping in very ugly leather footwear and Fuller Brushes on top of their helmets - hardly what I would consider a romantic notion. But that's just me. Today's title, by the way, is French for 'Valley of Death". Any other linguistic mysteries to tackle while we're at it? But I digress. Just remember to Carpe Diem! a.k.a "Seize the catfish!"

But I am not the Fool of the Tarot deck and realize that someday you will grab the carp and get punctured by its infectious barbs. This profound realization also hit home late last night. Yes, it certainly was a busy night for philosophical indulgence.
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The new invaders by day

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As I completed my blog visits, I glanced at the clock and noticed that it was well past 1AM and that I had sorely tempted the generator to run out of fuel. As I shut down the computer, I heard an unusual bang which also commanded the intense attention of Brou and Beautiful Dave the Cat. I was hoping that something had not exploded in the new addition but when I stepped out there to light the propane heater, the room was in order and quiet. When I returned, the sound had morphed into a curious hissing/mechanical whir which I would expect from a 19th century automaton and was clearly coming through the slightly ajar hall window. This window still opened despite the thick icy condensate and I poked my head out into the cold night air to pinpoint the location of the noise. As my vision adjusted to the scant moonlight offered through a canopy of light clouds, I saw a thick cloud of gas rising unfettered from one of the nearest gas wells. I thought of the open-flame furnace I had just lit and of the many open flame pilots burning in the Rat and I prayed "Dear Jesus, please don't let those billowing death clouds envelope us!". I squinted into the darkness once more and saw that the forming layers of gas were now slowly drifting away to the West, towards the new and unannounced gas drilling rig like a great curtain of menace. I will admit to a volley of conflicting feelings as it drifted away from us and towards our canyon's latest invaders. But they were not feelings of hatred and revenge, more of a great sadness for this entire situation. I cannot feel anger towards the poor souls who eke out their livings in this harsh clime even though I resent the callousness of their corporate masters. In the end, I left it to the wisdom of those with greater insight than mine, shut the window as tightly as I could manage, shut down the furnace and the generator and retired to bed. A few minutes later, the hissing ceased and all returned to the canyon's usual quietude.
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The new invaders by night

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This was the second of our close calls in having to live with the gas industry in our back yard and I will recount that first and more dangerous episode next.
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Chilly Dogs and Found Artists

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It has been bitterly cold here for the last week, the thin air of great altitude denying any healing warmth the sun has to offer lately. The insulated heat sink under the Rat has been depleted and our piping has finally ceased to provide us water. Still, we can't complain; there are others whose much better appointed homes have long since suffered the same fate. And we remember the two bleak previous winters where we had no water at all for months.

The caustic voices of the winds pummeled their way through the windows yesterday and the little gas heaters could not fend off their chilling call. It dropped to -15F last night and took the last of the water with it by this morning. But it will be all right for Slim is coming to dinner tonight and no such miseries shall deter us from having a wonderful supper. I scrounged 6 small filet mignons from the freezer and they are thawing now in expectation. The oven will bring the inner Rat temperature up to a comfortable level as the potatoes bake. Slim's refreshing countenance will add the remaining necessary warmth. What more could we ask for?

The Rat retains three of its four large 70s era single-glazed windows. Replacing them was not in the budget and we have covered them over with sheets of very effective mylar coated bubble insulation at night ever since we have been its occupants. But even the bubble insulation cannot hold up to these sub zero temperatures for long and we were greeted by a heavy frost on each as we pulled off the insulation this morning. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the patterns which Jack Frost had quietly painted over the course of the night. I simply had to share this with you.

Here is the view which Jack Frost saw this morning (minus the long early morning shadows of the Rat).

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Here is the impressionist painting Jack Frost created from that view.
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As much as I wanted to see my favorite view from that window, I also could not bear to see this natural work of art eventually grant quarter to the heat of the new day without capturing it.

Do you really stop long enough to marvel in the miracles of this far too short dance here? Don't run beyond the end of your dance card with regrets, ever. Take every step and every breath into account, miss nothing so eloquent but subtle that nature has to offer. It is not confined to our vast open spaces here; it is everywhere, it is with you always. See, absorb, rejoice and be ever grateful.
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General update:

Activity on the new gas well across the street has resumed. This is the current view from our front window; frac tanks all in a row awaiting that next step in the process. Apparently that will not be a pleasant experience for us. Today brings the laying of gas pipe to bring that well on-line. With luck, I will have a post on that with more details later.

Oh joy of joys beyond those extant: an unannounced NEW gas well site has sprung up in the view beyond the barn on our leased grazing lands. Apparently the courtesy of a heads-up notice on so-called 'multiple use' lands is not deemed necessary.
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My apologies; I have not been making the rounds of my blog friends as often as I so love to do. Regrettably, I have not been feeling as well as might be preferred. There is so much more that I wish to share with you and there seems so little time to do so.
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UFO in the Canyon

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It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's ... it's ... an Unidentified Food Object! It's what happens when you both troll through the refrigerator restlessly on a late Saturday morning looking for ... I dunno ... something. I know you've all had those moments.
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No, it's a quizza!!!

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I go over to other friend's blogs and see all these photos of delectable foods they have indulged in and gorge myself vicariously. I've tried to capture culinary moments at the Rat but this is the best I have come up with so far. It's a quizza! We had plenty of eggs and we had plenty of pizza toppings - it just seemed like the thing to do. I beat the eggs lightly, poured them into an oiled pie pan and set the pan in the oven at 325F until the eggs rose and had mostly firmed up. I pulled the pan out, brushed on a little pizza sauce, sprinkled some Italian seasoning over it and then smothered it in cheddar and mozzarella cheese. A handful each of mushrooms, green peppers, pepperoni and crumbled bacon and it was ready for the final bake at 400F - for that sizzle and browning that makes for the most satisfying Pavlovian drool fest.
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This was one time where I was able to muster the discipline and presence of mind to stop and take photos. Mark was SOOOO good since he had to hold the pan up against the scenic backdrop while I futzed with the camera. "Could you HURRY up? Ow, ow, ow ... this thing is still HOT!" Saintly comes to mind here.

I had to computer-paint out his seared fingers from the edge of the pan and add in two white lines. This is for PhlegmFatale who adores that classic B grade movie 'Plan 9 from Outer Space". She especially loved the very visible strings which held up the flying saucer (a.k.a. pie pan) in the movie. So there ya go ... my first foodie post which was "Outta this world", at least according to Mark. God love him, he is a cook's dream diner!
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New Horns for the Ram

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Okay, enough frivolity for now. We both enjoyed your comments and it helped shake off our winter blues out here at the Rat but I had better get back to catching up on our serious journaling before the renewed activity at the dreaded gas well across the road takes precedence once more. Oh yeah, they're back at it all right.

It wasn't long after Mark's very close call in the late Spring that we decided to beef up the front of his Dodge Ram. For those of you who haven't read our older accounts, it will help if you read Hit and Run first.

Much as we expected, the gas field did NOTHING to produce the culprit even after the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) weighed in and broadcast the incident. Nor have they done anything to make their increasingly anonymous gas field trucks more identifiable and accountable. Plausible deniability seems to be a valuable and growing intentional tool for such large corporations - and it is getting old real fast out here. I normally don't like to rant publicly but I suspect that they plan on pushing the limits of that neighborly envelope REAL soon. Here's the big industry salve on this earlier incident; we were told that the gas field makes budgetary accommodations for a 'hit and run' on a rancher's cattle. That certainly would have been a consolation if that idiot had driven Mark off the road to his death. In the meantime, we're living with the damages they inflicted rather than claim it on our own insurance and endure the increased rates after the claim. Nice. And they wonder why landowners develop 'an attitude' after a while.

In face of the obvious forthcoming bureaucratic frustrations, we chose to get proactive where it counts in the end - better protection from head-on collisions with idiots. The mesas, rabbit brush and curves provide plenty of blind corners and I have had my own share of split-second judgment near-misses on these roads. I don't even wander out that often! We were looking for something stout, something to give Mark a bit of an edge should the gas field throw another lead-foot truck driver at him again. If we have learned anything from Red, it is how to research the living daylights out of a new quest. We queried ranchers, outfitters and field people on what they liked in the way of truck front-end protection. We found some cheap 'knock-offs' but eventually settled on the "Ranch Hand' grill guard and bumper. Fortunately, he hasn't had to use it for self-defense from other vehicles but it has held up very well when gently nudging the odd belligerent cow forward and out of the way (more on that down the road). It also served well when Mark ran the Ram's front end dead on into the creek's eroded far embankment in his attempt to cross our running creek. The conclusion of that story can be found under Part 2 and Part 3.

You playing chicken wi' ME, Bub?
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A Woman's Guide to Pioneer life

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The following reprint from Housekeeping Monthly c.1955 was sent to me by my old motorcycle buddy John E. in Phoenix because he knew that it summed up my personae to a tee. You see, having the right attitude when plummeting back 100 years into the off-the-grid pioneer lifestyle is everything for a woman.
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It will be necessary to click to enlarge this image and carefully absorb its wisdom before proceeding.
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Why ... I have a whole closet full of those lovely cotton dresses and shapely spiked heels in fact! And I look enchanting in them when I trudge out to the barn through the mud to drag the dogs away from the elk carcass.

When it comes to letting him know that I have been thinking about him all day long, that plate of leftover fuzzy beans and wieners says it all! Ladies, you just can't imagine how much this means to your man. Yes, it's these little things that say 'I worship the ground you walk on (and here it is on your plate)."

And I never fail to put on a fresh babushka over my sun-dried, knotted up hair and apply a squirt of Lysol under each arm. Honestly, I haven't tried that 'be a little gay' thing with him ... it's not really my style and I'm not THAT desperate yet, thank you. If it gets that bad, I will strap on a tool belt and trigger my Makita cordless drill at him alluringly.

But I do fussy up the household clutter, or at least anything weighing under 30 pounds. Fifty pound bags of dog food are just part of the decor these days. Any stove stains under .001" thick also fall into that category. You just have to find your own comfort level here.

Making that lovely fire might add more stress than relaxation for my returning beloved since we don't have a fireplace. About the best I could offer is a layer of flammables over our gas flame space heaters. Honestly, I think this is a man's job and Mark truly enjoys arranging for unexpected pyrotechnics all by himself. Why rob them of this satisfying creative outlet?

"Prepare the children" Well, I tend to lean towards the prep methods of the senior heroine in the Hanzel and Gretel tales ... nuff said. I'm looking at the two kids in that illustration and wondering what incriminating things they will pull out of dad's briefcase.

Don't stop learning how to appear to please while getting what you want! I have learned so much about how important staged emotions are in just these last few days! Never underestimate playing the sensitive female card. Had I known then what I know now, I could have ruled the world by now! Ladies, we need to work more emotionally, not harder - everyone will be a winner, just trust me on that one.

If Mark decided to hit the big city with Slim for a few days, well, I wouldn't say a word but be waiting with a smile ... and perhaps a large sledge hammer. Or I might have that warm hemlock toddy waiting in his favorite cup. Just kidding ... he's a true engineer, that's all I should have to say.

As the article so wisely states "You have no right to question him." "A good wife always knows her place." You bet, that's me and the big secret to our success out here!
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Blogger Weather Report

See bottom of post for updates!

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I don't want you to worry if I don't post again for a day or two. With satellite as our only connection, we are very much subject to weather conditions. I am typing as fast as I can right now while nervously glancing out the window to the West. The band of snow-heavy clouds which dominate the skies has been slowly drifting this way and the connection is becoming sporadic now. We will be just fine; plenty of food and adequate fuel for a week but we might not be able to connect tonight if the weather conditions deteriorate further. Currently (just after lunch time) there is a very light rain at 41 degrees F. Although we had discussed plans for dinner again with Slim tonight, he has wisely chosen to head north this afternoon. He will take his two horses with him so that none of us have to worry about feeding them during the bad weather and road conditions which might follow.

I should have taken some foodie photos of our dinner last night; Slim's private stock of rib-eye steaks (which he thawed under the Ram's dash heater as he headed down this way) topped with my herbed and butter-fried mushrooms, a hearty pile of sour cream and butter smothered baked potatoes and Slim's perennial favorite veggie, green beans. We gorged ourselves into joyous misery and then kicked back and washed it down with either beer or whiskey. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to us, Slim's extremely disciplined cattle dogs were busy ripping up our elk hanging in the barn. Sum beech! We didn't figure this out until later when Slim got half way back to his camp and realized that his beloved ancient 'Big Dog' had been left behind. Despite being blind and deaf, Big Dog's sense of smell has remained keenly intact and he wasn't about to leave the elk carcass nosh frenzy any time soon. They did a number on that right front quarter by the time they were done. I later found Daisy in the barn trying to get her dibs in on the newly exposed flesh. And here our dogs had been SOOO good about leaving that elk alone, expect for maybe a little gentle gnawing at the shin ends. Aged or not, it might be time to do the abattoir thing on my kitchen table. Sigh.

Given the horrid weather in California and Nevada, I just tracked down Jet Stream maps today. It is my own strange way of telling what's headed our way. So here it is according to blogger location:

Sunday: The Creek will get nailed with a little snow at altitude as the JS (Jet Stream) remains diagonal but shifts Eastward. Red and Catmoves might see a little snow, Buck will probably luck out. Then it heads NW to where people don't read my blog anyway so who cares. Hmphh.

Monday: Sort of the same, just sliding more to the East (more crud for Red, Cat and Buck).

Tuesday: Babzy gets some precip. It passes over Red and Buck as it heads south to the border. It angles back up towards FHB and Phlegmmy on its way back from the Mexico vacation. It will slide over Towanda as it heads almost directly into the northern boonies where Hudson Bay blanket sales will surge. Craver will see some snow. Dirtcrashr and Buck's pal Morgan will get a break on the West Coast.

Wednesday: Northern Cal gets more moisture, Towanda gets a break, it scrubs up against Bruno on the way south, it kinks back up before hitting the Gulf and smacks Mushy and then Goddess. Looks like Lin and carteach might luck out with quick pass-overs of crud. The Atavist might see a little slop, too. Da Moose sees some weather, too.

There, all that said, now I will admit that I don't know a thing about meteorology but I really enjoyed this exercise of including my continental blog friends!

Remember: if I disappear for a bit, blame the weatherman!

Update: 7:30PM Mountain Time - .This is my equally accurate 'step out the door and look up' report: Light snowfall has ended, negligible accumulation. Only one star visible but you know it's not bad when the satellite signals can get through. YeeHaw!

Update: Monday, 3:00PM Mountain Time - I just checked the JS maps again. It confirmed what I was seeing out the window this morning - the JS is right over us and bringing part of that nasty precip from California with it. It was coming down thick enough that the satellite couldn't cut through it just two hours ago (just when we needed it for vital ranch business, of course). The sun just peeked through and we're settled in for now with a 3-4" accumulation. Touch wood.

The updated weather maps now show the JS taking a wild hair twist on Tuesday, like someone snapping a length of garden hose. This one shows Babzy, Moose, Craver and Bruno getting hit with something, everyone else breathing easy for now. Atavist gets a quick something in passing. Phlegmmy and FHB don't get anything with this latest layout and stay that way.

Wednesday's map shows Red and Cat getting some snow with possibly Buck lucking out again, possibly. Towanda and Bruno might luck out, Craver is in the path and Goddess and Mushy might get a little skinned but not badly.

I just realized that Thursday's JS map is from a week ago - glad I don't run an airline according to this site's information. Here, if you want to see what pig entrails I am delving into, go to weather.com - Aviation Maps Index and then look through the menu of jet stream maps available by day and click away, just be aware of the dates shown on each. Find out what the weather has been like in the area of the JS path on its way to you, figure in how the temperatures (hot or cold) along its path will affect it and if it's picking up more moisture (as in over the Great Lakes) or losing it. It's just plain fun and MUCH less messy than dealing with real entrails, without about the same success rate. If nothing else, you will develop a greater appreciation for the poor guy who does the evening news weather report.
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Wild Humor Photos

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Since the last post was about our hunting guests and their trophies, I will add a few humorous wildlife-related photos which have shown up by e-mail in the last year. In a day or two, I hope to be over the deep chill bug which an outlander brought in to the canyon.

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."Should we ban fox hunting?"
(sent in by Fat Hairy)

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"Why trampolines can be dangerous"
This photo ought to inspire some buck fever.
(sent in by Alphonse Da Moose)

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"How to spot a hunter with a DWI"
(supplied by Mark)
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"Why bull elk LOVE their long antlers"
(sent in by John in Phoenix ... I think?)

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Santa's Hunters

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It was a good week for us all out here at the ranch despite the cold weather. Our guest hunters managed to each bring down a six-by-six point bull elk. Apparently everyone 'up top' at the hunting camp had a grand and memorable time, hunters and guides alike, and all vow to come back next year. By then, we might even have my whimsical "Hotel California Saloon" in situ to have a place where everyone can come over for a good sit down supper and gabfest. The Rat is just a little cramped to accommodate more than two or three people at once right now.
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As an unexpected perk, the boys arrived with one full elk carcass for our later use. When you realize the going rate of supermarket beef, this is not a small consideration. In our situation, you have to take such windfalls into serious consideration in the annual budget, too. A few decades ago, venison was the only meat in our larder but the savings on beef purchases made a BIG impact on the food bill. I never forget this truism from an old and well-off friend: "It is easier to save a dollar you have than to earn a replacement for it." This is not quaint folk lore, it's absolutely true. If not for having absorbed these bits of wisdom and putting them into play, we would simply not have come this far in realizing our dream. It took us almost two decades to save up for this moment but we were able to do it without living in a cardboard box under the overpass in the interim. It can be done when you want something badly enough; that is really what separates the wheat from the fluffy chaff. My Atavist has some good primer material in his blog archives on the subject. I was going to keep this subject for a separate post but this is as good a time as any to bring the basis of our success to your attention. More will certainly follow.
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Now don't freak out at the photo below. At first glance, it may strike you as what happened to Aunt Hilda after someone spiked the punch at the town's last ice cream social. This is the bull elk carcass which now hangs aging in our barn. I have no idea who donated the gaily printed sarong of a bed sheet it wears but it serves to keep various ravenous parties away from it. Bottom line: it's about $500 worth of red meat that we don't have to budget for in the future. If you are a meat-eater, I don't want to hear the right-brained screechy Bambi thing ... there is a guilt-free tofu burger waiting out there for you. That being said, I read that plants also feel pain and agony so what do you do? I can honestly say that I wouldn't look down from the clouds with resentment someday if a mountain lion decided that I looked like a great lunch while I was out hiking. It is simply life and it's been that way for a long time out in the real world.
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So unless you are some sort of vegetablist, you now know what is likely fare for supper when you come to visit. One thing I seem to do well is serve up meat to its best character and potential so don't let that slow you down.
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