The Hummingbirds Have Returned

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This first part of today's post is just for Sharon. She could use some New Mexico good cheer while she wraps up the last frantic days of their big move. Barely two weeks to go, girl, and then these little fellows will be joining you out under the portales for margaritas!
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About a week ago, I heard the distinct sound of a hummingbird diving in and out of the sage brush. A friend describes the sound well; like tiny Volkswagen Beetles.

It wasn't until yesterday that I found our one surviving bird feeder. The other had fallen down late last summer and the UV-beaten plastic shattered, leaving a good quantity of sticky sugar water everywhere.
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So far, this little fellow with just a touch of purple collaring his neck is the main visitor. If he has his way, he will be the only one. He perches up on the cast iron hanger and guards his nectar water intently. But, as you can see in the top photo, the green is returning to our canyon and soon more hummingbirds will join our early bird. You picked the perfect time to migrate, too, Sharon!
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Mark Receives a Big Hand

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I owe our friends and family more details on Mark's broken hand so here it is:

We are finally finishing off part of the bathroom. It took me forever to start feeding and juggling four new electric wires through the ceiling and walls and around the shower and sink. The rework unfortunately required removing the flush mount shower light which we had installed last year since I couldn't access its junction box otherwise.

To reinstall the fixture, I was standing on a crate, trying my best to hold the light up in position and not rip up my arms on the shower's jagged edge screws while Mark replaced the light's mounting screws from within the shower. Easy enough.

Well ... there is bound to be a problem with a six and a half foot tall man working in a shower many inches shorter. It was a good thing that he got the first screw into place, too. The second screw slipped out of his grasp and fell to the drain area. He backed up as he leaned down and startled when his rump hit the shower door. So he lurched forward and nearly lobotomized himself as his head connected with the projecting corner shelf. I almost fell off the dairy crate when I heard (and felt) the sickeningly loud whack.

Having too recently performed a nearly identical move myself in our cozy little waterboard chamber, I empathetically recalled the blinding head pain and screeching of neck vertebrae as they compressed and shifted at horrid, unnatural angles. And I was hardly the one to go "Tsk, tsk" when he hauled off and whacked the offending shelf column in his moment of extreme pain.

So the score now stands at Shower: 2, Big People: zip. It is an amazingly robust and most evilly designed fiberglass torture unit. Although I lived with a mild hand fracture for a week or two after my own bout with it, Mark had obviously broken one or more things of significance since his hand swelled up to impressive proportions. A few days later, I finally found an ace bandage and bound his hand up. If nothing else, the binding reminds him to NOT use that hand. But, ya know, sometimes it feels so good to get in a little revenge at such excruciating moments. Maybe we need to pad the thing with rubber walls next or wear helmets in there next time. Someday I may fantasize about a much bigger shower area but, for now, I just fantasize about a real porcelain throne. Possibly my kingdom for one, in fact. One of these days, I will describe life with a composting toilet and gimpy knees. But first I must finish off that bathroom!
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It Sure is Dark in Here

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One thing we all take for granted: a reliable source of light.
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Fortunately, I rarely have to get up in the blackness of night for a nature call. This morning was not one of those fortunate times. I woke up to the call and tried desperately to ignore it, to roll back over and resume my zzzzzs. It was Not to be denied, however, and I knew that any delay could cause dire consequences - something far worse to deal with in half light. I leapt out of bed, grabbed the flashlight off the nightstand on my side and clicked it on. It emitted a meager yellow haze for a second and then dimmed completely out. Lovely ... there was no time left to stumble around for Mark's lantern by now. But that was okay, I would rely on my excellent memory and my cat-like ability to wander around in the dark. I was computing all this on the move in the dark with an increasingly more desperate mission at the forefront. It was about that time that I tripped over a box of burn trash in the hall which I swore was not there when I retired to bed. And it was about that time that I realized in my sleep-groggy state that my cat-like senses had guided me into the storage room and that there was little chance of relief in there.
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On high alert by now, I frantically bashed my way through a maze of pinball flippers which are normally boxes, walls and doors in daylight. Oh God, please let this be the right door and NOT the one to the pantry because I don't have time to back track by now! Yes, yes, these walls all feel familiar in a good way! Now if only I can find the loo (which is the repository for liquids only, really no more than a five gallon plastic bucket with a molded seat-type lid). It wasn't where I expected but I found it accidentally with the back of my heel while I was flailing around blindly in the wrong place with my hands. Close enough! I am now beyond desperate! Luckily I guessed the right position of the loo and was able to flip the lid up, drop my britches and sink down to the seat below creaky knee level. That's how you spell relief - a true disaster diverted. And a great, satisfying sense of victory washed over me there in the dark. Life was not only good but stellar at that moment.
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I'll admit it, I sat there enjoying this sense of victory over darkness for far longer than was necessary to simply finish the initial mission. Out here, you tend to seize upon such moments when they present themselves and savor them fully. But the night's chill began to dissolve my reverie and it was time to move on. As the old British shop manuals were infamously wont to say "Assembly is the reverse of disassembly" and I began the process. It was into about step 2 or 3 when I realized that I had missed part of the disassembly process in my frantic rush. The cold, wet sensation on my backside made me realize that my drawers had not adequately cleared the area of operation. The previous fleeting moments of victory vanished as though they had never existed.
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By now, every other living creature in the Rat was awake and listening to my laments. A sleepy offer from Mark to use his lantern was not exactly a salve at that point. Yours truly, the adrenaline-filled human pinball, made the reverse trek back down the hall to the bedroom. I fumbled around in what was hopefully the right dresser drawers to find a dry replacement for my folly. Mark finally roused enough to fumble around and click on his lantern. In this sudden burst of real light, I saw many pairs of glowing eyes nervously watching my every move and I asked that the stage lights be extinguished to preserve some minor part of my remaining dignity, thank you.
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As I dropped back into bed and the night's misery concluded itself, my eyes snapped open again as I became aware of a cinching tightness around my lower torso. In this last dance in the dark, I had somehow managed to put my underpants on askew with one leg hole now tightly around my waist. S-I-G-H! I then heard one of the cats deftly, merrily and noisily using their litter box in the Rat's pitch black as if to thumb his nose at this irritated mere mortal.
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While you have it, don't ever, EVER cease to appreciate light on demand 24/7, I'm just tellin' ya, okay?
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Humor of the Day (from Ken):
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One day my wife and I were discussing anger management. I asked her, "When I get mad at you, you never fight back. How do you control your anger?"

She said, "I clean the toilet bowl."

I asked, "How does that help?"

She said, "I use your toothbrush."
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Privy Counsel - Strangers in the Night

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Retrospect: September 2006

How did that Sinatra tune go?

Strangers in the night,

Two lonely peepers

Staring at the sight ...

...... ... or something like that

Okay, so I left off the potty tales with noises in the bushes around the outdoor throne, followed by the recent story about strange noises in the barn . These events were within a couple of days of each other and both occurred after darkness had settled in. I'm thinking that commenter JennyE came the closest to guessing the identity of the unseen culprit(s) but we may never know for sure one way or the other, quite thankfully.

A day or so after those events occurred, I headed out for a walk and stopped by the little forever puddle about 30 feet east of the moving trailer. I noticed an unusual splat of dark in the grass and took a closer look.



Hmmm ... juniper berries and all sorts of half-digested things that gave some wild diner a real good run for their efforts. I immediately thought of raccoons but this offering had a little more serious volume to it.

I took a careful hop over some open water and came around through the sage to the mesa side of the bog. What's this? Look at that heel! That was certainly no coyote passing through nor was that scat anything passing through a coyote! Fortunately, this was long before Brou and Daisy had come to live with us.



Before the next rain could obliterate the tracks, I brought some plaster of Paris over from the Rat and made castings of the prints. I decided that if I ever get around to casting my own stepping stones someday, I wanted to include those prints in some of them.

Virgil and Earl both stopped by that week and confirmed my thoughts - that we had been visited by a bear. Earl was very concerned that it had made itself at home so close to the Rat. He suspected that it might have been a nuisance bear which had been relocated from a populated area. Fortunately, that was the last time we saw or heard anything of the like again. T-o-u-c-h wood.

If nothing else, it made for great conversation when Slim arrived back that winter with his cattle. And as usual, Slim was up to sharing a good story of his own. Now you gotta know Slim to really appreciate the telling of it. He's got that charming boyish intensity that takes you right along with him. He leaned forward, elbows on knees and looked at each of us intently eye-to-eye as he began:

"Yeah, I had me a run-in with a bear once. Had cattle up in the mountains, noticed something not right and promised myself to check it out first thing in the morning. Well ... I had too much of a good time that night and woke up a little ... you know ... under the weather? So anyway ... I haul my draggin' butt into the pick-up and head back up there. I get out at the gate just about the time a big ol' bear wanders out from the trees, couldn't a been 30 feet away! Well, I'll tell ya, I never lost a hangover so fast in my life as when I realized that I had only one bullet in my pistol and a pocketknife and that was it." We fell into uncontrollable hysterics when he did a quick wide-eyed double take as he concluded "Just then the bear took a couple of steps in my direction and, I ain't kidding ya, I sh-t mehself!!!"

Now here's the strange part; it wasn't until trying to write this down tonight that I realized that we never did hear the end of that story! Last thing I remember about it was me sliding down the wingback unto the floor, holding my aching sides and wiping the tears out of my eyes when suddenly I smelled the lasagna and garlic bread in the oven and realized that supper was probably ready a long half hour before. At my mention of food being well beyond ready, they stampeded past me to the table and the story got trampled along with me in the rush. Remind me to have him finish that story when he shows up for the winter again.

Next story? It'll be back to current events (as in - "there's never a dull moment around here"). This little photo snip below is a hint for Bruno of what's coming up. We're talking SERIOUS guy fun plus ... sigh ... the usual "Whuh, Geez, who woulda thought THAT would happen?"


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Privy Counsel: On Restoration of the Throne

REALITY WARNING: More serious potty talk to follow

The previous installment left off with Mark in a state of misery and it was time to do something about it.

I'm not sure where this particular inspiration came from; perhaps something as simple as noticing the forlorn bathroom fixtures among the old cast iron stoves and sundries in the barn. We had since removed the two original bathrooms and replaced their horrendously rotted floors so the old fixtures were consigned to the junk stash. Even though we were pretty much decided on not going through the expense of installing a septic system, the porcelain pots seemed too good to just throw away. And now they were saying something encouraging to me.

"Mark, I know this might sound like a strange idea but how about if we drag out one of the thrones and set it up at the rear of the Rat, maybe line the bowl with several sheets of newspaper and ... " He cut me off as he caught the idea with both hands and ran with it. It was as close as I had seen him to exuberant in months (not that exuberance was ever his strong suit, mind you). I will never forget his almost Monty Python response either, accompanied by eyes wide in a madman's unseen joy; "Oh! Oh! My buttocks are already puckering in anticipation!!" I knew we had a winner here.

It wasn't half an hour later that the throne had been cleaned and set up for business. It wasn't five minutes later that he had installed himself as King Mark, first reigning monarch of the Alfresco Privy of the Rat. And there was much joy in the land among the serfs as the new ruler lost much of his stopped up testiness.

Now I'm not saying that this (photo one) would be considered much of an improvement to the average suburbanite but all things are truly relative. I sent that photo to friend Jim in upstate New York and his response was "Hey ... LOVE what you've done with the place!" Granted but sitting on an icy toilet seat is still hands above squatting and teetering above a hole in the ground. We even set up the bowl with newspapers for the next sitter (Cat, take note of that!) so that someone could take the 20 yard green apple two-step dash and not miss the target. The gift-wrapped poop de jour was then ceremoniously deposited in the burn barrel. Uptown, totally uptown!

As you can see from photo 2, privacy did remain an issue to some degree. Those are Slim's cows come to visit and mooch hay off the back of the moving trailer, hay which I thought had been placed out of their reach. And cows are nosey, curious critters so they were inclined to keep close company with you if the outing was timed poorly. Mark tried to sneak a photo of yours truly 'sitting' among the herd but the camera would not set itself up (funny how those things happen). And planes still flew overhead and trucks still rumbled by at the most inopportune times.

The biggest drawback was still use after dark. Much of the pensive joy that comes with sitting quietly alone had returned to us now but occasionally the reverie would be doused by sudden crashings and thrashings from the trees and sage at the mesa's base. There really is something about being caught with your pants down that makes you feel especially vulnerable. Often times, the noises would fade away but I remember one night when the noise was particularly loud ... and close! I switched on the flashlight and scanned the bushes. The noise stopped as not one but two pairs of large yellow eyes flared back at me. As Slim would attest in a slightly more colorful way, this sort of situation can make for a fine natural laxative. Whatever the glowing eyeballs were attached to and I indulged in a Mexican stand-off for several more minutes and then I switched off the flashlight. WHADDA-MY, NUTS? - but I prefer it over no action at all and had already calculated that I 'might' be able to make it back to the Rat's front door and break some Guinness record for the fastest one-man, one-legged hopping race ever in the process. Either that or qualify for a Darwin Award. Hey, any legacy is better than nothing.

But fate was unusually kind that night and the mystery critters eventually wandered off. Oh sure, you can sit in your cozy arm chair now and probably connect some dots but not so fast ....

To be continued

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Humor of the Day (from Rick the Welder)

A farmer got in his pick-up, drove to a neighboring farm and knocked at the farmhouse door. A young boy about 10 years old came to the door.

"Is your dad home?" the farmer asked.

"No, sir, he ain't." the boy replied "He went into town."

"Well, is your ma home?" said the farmer.

"No, sir, she ain't here neither ... she went into town with Pa."

"How about your brother, Howard, is he here?"

"He went with Ma and Pa."

The farmer stood there for a few minutes, shifting from one foot to the other and mumbling to himself a little.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" the boy asked politely "I know where all the tools are if you need to borrow one. Or, maybe I could take a message for Pa?"

"Well" said the farmer uncomfortably, "I really wanted to talk to your dad ... it's about your brother Howard getting my daughter Pearly Mae pregnant."

The boy considered that for a moment and then said "Hmmm, best you talk to Pa about that ..." and then offered "But, if it helps you any, I know that Pa charges $50 for the bull and $25 for the boar ... but I really don't know how much he gets for Howard."

Privy Counsel: On Devo Dumping

REALITY WARNING: serious potty talk to follow


As I noted back in the early accounts of our arrival here, there are some very basic human needs which we tend to take for granted. Having a place 'to go' is definitely one of them. While it is easy enough to rough it in that regard for a week or two on a camping trip, it can become a source of complete dread and misery as the months slip by and the claws of winter winds rasp across your backside. The second photo shows our very first privy facilities.

When we bought the ranch, there was no existing shelter other than the barn. The only visible vestige of a former dwelling was the orange/brown skin of another old rat trailer which had burned up and then been dragged across the road and left to rot like a rusty tin can in a farmer's dump (photo 1). This meant that we would have to go 'native critter' as far as nature calls. We started to envy the kitty boys in a hurry with their warm and clean indoor litter box.

We had barely arrived before the frosts hardened the ground and the task of excavating holes with the broken hoe became harder and then almost impossible. Somewhere in there came the dark of night desperation visits, possibly aggravated by living out of a cooler full of melted ice water and maybe a little situation anxiety. It wasn't a pleasant time for either of us. Luckily, I had yet to blow out my knee but the knee strain was beginning to take its toll on both of us within a month's time. Darkness accented the misery as you scratched around with the hoe by the feeble, skewed beam of a flashlight resting in the sage stubble. The chico brush would spike your buttocks viciously if you had misjudged your digging or foot placement in haste. I suppose it took our minds off what creatures were lurking out there in the dead of night with us and I care not that the cows eat chico with reasonable benefit; I would eradicate that miserable plant if I had my way. Spike my butt even once and I WILL remember, forever.

For me, the biggest vexation was to settle down to business and find that, nearly without fail, a small-engine plane would appear from behind the mesa and laboriously grind its way over my head (and associated exposed parts) at embarrassingly low altitudes. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn that someone had been selling tickets to these events.

Perhaps by being born a setter instead of a pointer, I had fared better than Mark in this long run of misery. He soon found it beyond any sane acceptability to compress his 6.5 foot frame into a low squat and maintain that pose on quaking knees for as long as necessary. It wasn't long before he had developed a case of ... uhm ... serious retention. That's certainly not good over the long haul. It got to the point where he would literally save his efforts for the next town run and a chance to use a sit down/take a load off, real porcelain throne. I began to quietly worry about his new state of affairs in this respect. Something had to be done, anything would be an improvement.

To be continued