Mud to Dust and Back to Snow Again!

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Pre-ramble: I had every intention of posting the curious inscription beneath the petroglyphs of the last post. I went through my files and realized that my photos were poor at best, at least as far as offering any detail for you to study and consider further. Although I had scaled the talus gingerly with my gimpy knee that day, I did not make the last few feet up to take a detailed photo of it. Getting up to a location is not so daunting but, in the wisdom of my later years, I have come to appreciate that gravity and inertia will complicate any return downwards many fold. And so it was my intention to return to that location this week to capture better photos this time. The weather and this lingering illness apparently had ideas of their own. Fine, be that way, next week then!

The bug: Mark succumbed fully to this latest nasty bug on Sunday . Today, he is 95% recovered. I am at about 70% recovered, enough to start this new journal entry. And as Slim would say "Well, that's GOOD!"
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Our inevitable mud of spring has finally cried and dried itself away. Dust has taken its place without apology. What you see above and below is the dust created by the heavy construction traffic to the new well on our land across the creek. The heavy rolling tires only aggravated the already lustful appetite of the young Spring winds and I have no doubt that over a ton of dust was uprooted and offered up to their pleasures.
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The mood of the canyon can change within the hour. The tantrums of the ever-restless skies above can turn your best-laid plans to naught just as quickly. Above, a sudden darkness is elbowing out our normal deep blue sky and voluptuous white clouds. Below, you can see the 'big picture' of that encroaching weather bully. There is something incredibly humbling and inspiring about being able to see the weather around you at this broad a scale.
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I can tell it's a Wednesday night despite the lack of calendars around here ... the cowboys are arriving for supper. If you enlarge this photo, you just might see something in the far background which may alarm you - not to worry however. I will cover that story at a later date.

It's funny how a ritual can be established without any planning at all and Wednesday has lately become our default dining get together. And it is a joyous one, an occasion to laugh and indulge and catch up on the previous week's news. Above, Slim and Clay pile out of Slim's truck. When I questioned Slim's odd parking angle to the porch, he unveiled a nicely premeditated plan to have the tail gate fold down at porch height and thus giving dogs easy access to the world and cowboys easy access to coolers. That boy is always thinking.
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I eventually pulled the thick pork steaks out of the oven. They had been slow and low baking since lunchtime in a thick sweet and sour sauce along with half-fried, half-baked seasoned potato slices and a long pan of cornbread. I replicated Clay's bacon cooked green beans and upped the ante a little with some finely diced pepperoni added in for good measure.

The banter, laughing and conferring never stopped throughout the evening, even when a more dignified version of Blazing Saddles set in after supper. Poor ol' Brou, I suspect, has become the classic scapegoat for errant flatulence; his reputation a curse which will 'dog' him in perpetuity. God bless that pup and his long patience at being conveniently and unjustly accused!
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Before the cowboys left that evening, a much colder wind and heavier gray clouds had over-shadowed us under the cover of darkness. Slim's dogs took shelter under the 45' trailer as snow started to fall. Above is this morning's remaining snow covering. Am I feeling more convinced that winter's last hurrah has come and gone now? Better but no cigar just yet.
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Home Cummins, Part 4

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Pre-Ramble, Current News : Touch wood ... I am free of that antlered albatross as of yesterday!!! Now that we have gone through our first drill on processing an elk, next year's plans will include jerky (for Bruno) and a run at smoked sausage, too. This year's very cautious attempt yielded steaks, BBQ slabs, fajita strips, stew cuts and ground meat. We spent some good bucks on a Bass Pro #8 (.35hp, by LEM) meat grinder and have no regrets whatsoever. When was the last time you opened up an appliance package and kept saying "Wow, this thing is WELL made!" as you pulled out each part? Lotsa stainless steel, genuine steel gears and even the castings are works of art. Pure machine lust ... goose bumps and shivers!
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Retrospect: Mid-September 2006

Apologies for the quick entry yesterday, ma cher La Phlegm, the words just piled up quicker than I thought might be tolerable for on-line reading if I had finished it up. So here is the finale:

The thought of being discovered in such an embarrassing state drove me to hop and waddle all gimpy-kneed to a small boulder for cover where I ducked down and waited. One more motor rev and then ... nothing but the breezy silence of the canyon again. By now, my knee was screeching but I thought "You're just waiting me out, aren't you? You dirty rotters ... eh-heh-heh, I can wait, too!" That lasted for all of two minutes as my knee ramped up the wailing again and I thought of the hordes of snakes and tarantulas who were probably taking advantage of the situation and sneaking up on me now. I minced my way back out to the road and continued on. Rounding the bend an eighth mile up the road, I realized that truck had taken a steep path up the mesa - all that squatus interruptus for nothing! Now I walked on with the priority of getting back into my pants and shoes. The road was still muddy so I guided each step to the driest section in hopes that the mud on my feet would eventually dry and fall away. I learned a lot about interpreting the appearances of a road surface that morning which would help with driving later but I wandered on for another mile before I would attempt donning my clothes again. I knew that any course grit in my socks and shoes would lame me long before I reached home.
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"The Roller Coaster"

My walk home started at the base of the far, bluish mesa. I would end up walking well beyond the lower left corner of this photo. That swath of road leading off the main road and up to the left is where the mystery truck disappeared. The roller coaster allows for some very enjoyable senior 'Bullitt' moments providing that you stop at the top of the first one to make sure that someone isn't doing the same thing coming the other way and that a road grader has covered over the foot deep run-off keyways at the bottom of each hill.

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As I began the 'roller coaster' (a tight series of five or six small alluvial hills between the mesa and the creek, see photo), a set of fresh coyote tracks joined me, running in the same direction towards home. My thoughts of Brou's safety loomed heavily as I recalled the communal coyote calls to a fresh kill. I would sigh with relief when the tracks vanished into the sage but worry again when two or more sets would rejoin me a quarter of a mile later. All were heading home towards the lone pup Brou as I was now.
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Finally, oh finally, I reached a spot where I could stand like a flamingo and slough the mud off my feet against the back of my calves and put the jeans back on without falling over. Another scrub-off against the jeans and I had my socks and shoes back on. Glorious! No more sharp little stones to snap me out of the thoughts I had occasion to get lost in and I could pick up the pace now.
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As I wondered about the mountain lion sightings of the year before, small game birds rose up and flew ahead of me, always some twenty yards ahead. I was taken by their quick flash of orange wing bottoms as they methodically leap-frogged ahead of me and I was grateful for their distracting company. I now longed for that initial glimpse of the Rat which lay a quarter mile beyond the Roller Coaster. My trek would end only a mile beyond that point.
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The last mile would begin well before the right side of the photo above. From there, it would be a fairly constant descent into our home piece of canyon, requiring much less huffing and puffing. You can see the wildly meandering broad band of our creek below it.

The coyote tracks now picked up in numbers as I descended into the chico flats at the left of that photo and all were still headed in the direction of home ... and a defenseless Brou. My heart sickened a little further and my pace picked up noticeably. I now hurried towards my last obstacle, the infamous 'Virgil Catcher', a deep bog of run-off which retains its moisture greedily long after the other run-off paths have calmed and dried. I gaged my path and skipped gingerly across the first half. Then my next few steps sunk into the ooze until my right shoe was sucked right off my foot, well behind my inertia. I had made it to the other side but was now pivoting clownishly and precariously on one remaining shoe. I gave in to defeat and returned for the hostage shoe. With both shoes now shrouded in as much mud as my spirit, I removed the muck-laden shoes and proceeded in my stocking feet. I was on a mission to find Brou so who cared if I wore out a pair of cotton socks.
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At the remaining quarter mile mark, I could see the barn and Rat and began calling out for Brou. With every response of silence, I quickened my steps and began calling louder. Only the silence of the canyon, save for a few shallow echoes, answered my calls. I tried to ignore my growing cringes of gloom.

I was nearly to the barn when a small and cowed auburn form appeared at the barn door and cautiously made its way towards me. "Oh, my Brooouuuu! You made it!"

My surging sheets of adrenaline left me as we trotted the last few yards to the Rat's porch. I collapsed on it's rough 2x4 planks and was smothered by Brou's joyful reunion kisses. Four miles of plodding suddenly became worth every foot, every worry and pang of misery within it.
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As I lay there immobilized in deep pools of relief and joy, I swore I heard another truck. Sure enough and so goes the story of my life again. Virgil swung into the driveway and endured my "So just where the H--- were you when I was four miles down the road from here anyway?" He grinned that big cat grin and laughed when I told him of my trek back in. Then he left to test the waters for Mark. Knowing he had a captive towing buddy on the other side, he charged across the running creek to Mark's side and said "Okay, I'll turn around and hit it again. Wait 'til I'm on the other side so that I can tow you out if necessary and then you hit it, too." A flawless run by both ensued and Mark was soon greeted by Brou's exuberant slurpy kisses as well, the brand new truck now parked proudly in front of the Rat.

Having a friend like Virgil in these far reaches of the gas field was a blessing beyond all blessings. I should never have expressed that sentiment to the anti-neighbor; it wouldn't be long before she would aid in his removal with her venomous hate-driven hissings. Sometimes you have to eventually learn the hard way to over-ride a long prevailing and abused trait of magnanimity.

It wasn't long before I decided that staying right here at the Rat rather than attempting outside trips was just fine with me. To read about previous adventures out of the canyon, click on the 'seldom leave' label and remember to read from the bottom up. Does make one wonder.

As I type, a new flurry of snow is obliterating our view of the far mesa. We're not done with winter just yet!
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Brou and the Stink Bug

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One thing I really enjoy about having young animals around is sharing in their insatiable curiosity about everything that moves, unless it is something dangerous like a rattlesnake, of course. Brou came to us as a puppy and I followed him on his new life discoveries with great amusement. This post is really for Goddess who loves dogs and had also asked if we had strange bugs out here . This is a tale about both.
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Say hello to Mr. Stink Bug. He is a common sight around the Rat and pretty benign ... if you don't annoy him. He's a comical soul, bumbling along on whatever mission he has chosen for the day. This stance is his defensive posture which he is willing to assume at the slightest disturbance. He stands on his head and positions the tip of his abdomen upwards, ready to emit a stream of obnoxious scent. Once the threat has passed, he continues on his merry way, usually without any dire measures taken. Add a curious young pup and you have quite another story.
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Here he is from a side view. You can now see how he tripods himself into firing position with his rear legs and head.
.Now add the curious Brou. He was fascinated by the bug's awkward waddling movement and took a flying coyote pounce at him, knocking him over in mid stride. The stink bug uprighted himself immediately and let loose a flatulent burst most vile to a young dog's nose.
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If I have ever seen Brou truly offended, it was at that moment and he learned the consequences of his rough puppy socializing with such bugs forever. But not to be dissuaded, he leaped back to a safe distance to avoid another olfactory blast and to rethink the next attack.
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The stink bug repositioned himself for another round and Brou obliged, still outraged by the initial blast and heading in for revenge, teeth bared.
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He administered another flying coyote stomp which fully buried the stink bug for the moment. "There! How dare you try THAT again, infidel!!!" The bug finally dug himself out of the sand and continued on his way long after the young Brou had lost interest in pursuit of the next new thrill.
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