Deere herding - Our New Big Boy Toy Arrives!

A now late associate once told me that a divorce usually meant good news for the auto industry; that people were inclined to reward themselves with a new car after enduring a very ego-deflating process. In our case, I could justify the big splurge on a new toy as a minor salve upon the indignity of surviving the past year without running water, a washing machine, a flush toilet, regular income and many other things which we and most people take for granted as minimum standards of living. The reason we bought new as opposed to used had its very practical side. Since they are pricey new, most people use them until they are thoroughly beaten before replacing them. Neither of us are familiar with working on diesels or hydraulics and we live at least 3 hours from the nearest professional mechanical help. After the used pick-up truck affair, neither of us were going to go there again. We are in a situation in which our isolation forces a very different set of rules and considerations upon us. We have learned the hard way that advice only counts from someone in our same situation since no one is around to help us out of a bind caused by poor judgment, not unless we can snag Virgil on his way by and impose upon his and his company's good will policy. It is a great policy but not one that we care to rely upon.

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This is really more Mark's announcement than mine since he will be using it to re-contour our terrain, auger out new fence and foundation post holes and, in general, just doing stuff that guys feel compelled to do. Remember all that "Vroom-V-R-O-O-M!!" in the sand box with the sturdy Tonkas? I don't think real guys ever quite get over that primordial drive, they just grow up and bury that drive with more practical concerns. After ordering the beast, we chuckled while Mark read a WSJ article aloud on the appeal of the classic "Bobcat" as a much desired big toy for those grown up guys who just want to play around in the dirt again. When asked what special (read 'pricey') present he would like for his birthday, Harrison Ford said that he had all the road vehicles he had ever wanted but that he could REALLY enjoy a skid steer. I suspect that he speaks for a lot of grown up boys. So I will turn the announcement over to Mark now:

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After several delays, the new skid steer was finally delivered on Wednesday. The previous week's delivery was postponed due to a winter storm watch that never quite materialized in our region. Tuesday's delivery was cut short when the delivery truck driver was confronted with the first of two 10-ton limit one lane bridges that lie between civilization and our ranch. This limit was well below the GVWR of the semi that had been selected to make the delivery since the shop had to pick up a much larger piece of agricultural equipment from another farm in the area.

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On Wednesday, the delivery vehicle was a flat bed pick-up truck with a twenty foot gooseneck trailer ... just the right ticket to haul the diminutive skid steer across the limited access bridges and on to our ranch. The delivery team consisted of the dealership salesman in his private pickup truck and the delivery truck driver. The salesman was an hour ahead of the delivery truck and arrived at our neighbor's ranch after I directed him into the canyon via cellphone. I met him there and he followed behind to our homestead where we went through the paperwork over coffee while awaiting the delivery vehicle. When the delivery truck finally arrived, I suggested that the driver unload the skid steer out in the road but the driver cavalierly chose to back the gooseneck trailer containing the machine onto what vaguely constitutes our driveway. This turned out to be a major mistake as he got his rear left wheels off the road surface and into a snow bank-covered ditch. To add to his error, the driver had failed to bring along any tire chains - again against our very specific recommendations. But not to worry ... there was a brand new skid steer on the trailer which would quickly remedy this problem. So the new skid steer was called upon to prove its mettle. We hooked up a tow chain between the truck's front tow hooks and the skid steer and the salesman fired the little beast up. Nothing doing ... the truck's rear wheels dug themselves through the surface snow onto the underlying sheet of ice. I brought out some tire chains to place in front of the truck's rear wheels to give them something to bite onto but these were unceremoniously and repeatedly expelled to the rear of the truck with little if any forward progress. In a last ditch effort, I grabbed a sheet of plywood out of barn and placed it lengthwise in front of the right rear tires. Between that and the skid steer pulling with all its might, the driver was able to get the rear wheels onto the plywood and the truck freed itself. Now we had to get the truck and trailer turned around and headed back the way he came. Since backing up had proven disastrous, I suggested that the driver go up to a gas well up the road a piece and drive around the well and back out onto the road facing the right direction. Although the well was too far ahead to ascertain exactly what had gone wrong, we could soon hear the unmistakable sound of a high revving engine in the distance that told us the driver was stuck again. The salesman took off on the skid steer with plywood and tire chains in the front bucket on a second rescue mission. Apparently, the delivery truck was not as deeply stuck this time and, in a few minutes, the delivery truck was headed back home. The driver paused briefly at our drive to thank us for our assistance and was quickly on his way. We offered to lend him our tire chains in case he got stuck again but the driver declined. He assured us that he wasn't about to leave the tire tracks of the main road for any reason and would NOT get stuck again. After a few rudimentary operating and safety instructions, the salesman followed after him to make sure he got back to the shop some three hours away. When I had initially talked to the salesman the previous month, I was assured that the dealer would deliver the skid steer at no cost even though our ranch was about 20 miles beyond their normal free delivery radius. We suspect that they won't make that mistake again.

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I was too tired to practice with the skid steer much during what was left of the delivery day and, after hooking up the pallet forks and moving the pallet with the auger and auger bits into the barn, called it a day. Anxious to get a few hours under my belt, I did hook up the bucket attachment on Friday afternoon and plowed a path from the road to the barn's front and side entrances. The unit definitely had more power than the two lawn tractors we left behind and was more than up to the task at hand. I found the hand controls to be somewhat less than intuitive and managed to dump snow into the cab by tilting the bucket in the wrong direction but was soon making good progress. Learning to use the auger and grapple attachments will have to wait until the spring thaw arrives in a few months.

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So there you have our exciting 'news du jour' from out here in the boonies. To all my guy buddies out there - go ahead, be honest with yourself... eat your heart out. But that's okay; if you come to visit, we'll let you play with this new big boy toy.

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In the second photo, you will see Brou doing what he does instinctively ... herding. At every opportunity, he herds cows, cats, crows, us (#@%!) and now deer - John Deere, that is.

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Why I Now Seldom Leave The Canyon ... Part 3

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Retrospect: May 2006

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And so we continued to play among the stacks of full dimension lumber, this builder's dream land. The bright, hot weather and our concentration were interrupted by a number of events including a few brief pelting rains, a quick dust storm, a neighbor wanting a stump base for target practice and yet another neighbor wanting to use the phone to report a fire. It was then that Skeeter discovered that they no longer had either phone service or electricity. Under the circumstances, the drone of heavy prop-driven planes became more meaningful. These guppy-bellied planes had been drawn to the ever increasing smoke which I had noticed earlier. Before they flew away, they would circle and finally drop bright red/orange chemicals onto what was now an unmistakable forest fire. After a parching ten year drought, this event was nothing to ignore. Earl fired up the big fork-lift and quickly put our lumber on the trailer before noting that they needed to check on a relative's house right in the fire's path.

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We pulled the heavy trailer out onto the road and realized that we had no choice but follow the two lane highway right through the heart of the fire frenzy. It was a circus of insanity with emergency vehicles screaming past every minute or two and festive gawkers pulling off to the side of the road every few hundred yards. The town we had to pass through was being evacuated, pronto. A wide and heavy load on an unfamiliar trailer being pulled by a truck we were not 100% confident with, in the midst of complete mayhem - we were a little 'on edge', to say the least. Which one of these idiots would be the next to slam on the brakes to pull into a good viewing spot or pull out in front of us with our recent brake job still not tried to the fullest measure? Sure enough, the truck in front of us pulled off abruptly, causing Mark to swing out around him in avoidance. Just when both of us were on the verge of a stroke, an emergency vehicle siren screamed deafeningly to life behind us. Ratchet up the blood pressure another 50 or 60 points. Apparently, the truck in front of us had noticed the silent cop car behind us; the reason for his sudden pull off. Mark, as unhinged as I at this point, had not been looking in his rear view mirrors around the wide load for silent predators. Rather than pass us by as we found the first spot to pull over without capsizing the load into the deep ditches, the officer pulled in behind us. Realization hit us with a hammer blow. Great, Mark, you just cut off a cop, an undoubtedly angry one at that ... we are screwed, Buddy. The officer jumped out of his car and, with spittle flying, launched into the most impressive exercise using the 'f' word in every possible grammatical situation possible. He had covered nouns, pronouns, verbs, adverbs and more by the time he reached the cab. Mark, now much wiser with age, looked downwards and chose to utter a simple "I am VERY, VERY sorry", despite some arguable points such as the lack of siren use. I don't doubt from the man's beet-red face, language and gesturing that he could have leapt into a violent physical attack and thoroughly enjoyed it. I truly cannot recall seeing anyone, anyone, Barney Fife-ish hyper or not, acting quite that insanely angry. I subconsciously gave him a 10.9 performance score on a scale of 10.

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Whether it was Mark's complete lack of confrontation or seeing my own eyes-closed, ashen pallor is hard to say but he turned on his heels with another barrage of fluent 'f' words and laid a screaming strip of rubber past us without further official formalities. My, that was certainly the right way to encourage us to keep a calm and level head during an emergency. For the next ten miles, we weren't sure if we were going to have the big one or just plain throw up.

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It was a relief to finally see the big main highway again ... clear sailing on four lanes. Hallelujah - homeward bound without any stress now! Beyond the smoke, the sun was intently beaming again, the air and the pavement rippling with heat waves. Free from that nightmare at last!

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About ten minutes later, a small noise and a repetitive light thump crept in. Oh please ... no. We pulled over. Thankfully, it wasn't a flat ... yet. A large piece of one trailer tire tread had left us. No jack on the trailer, none on this truck. The nightmares and despair converged upon us again. Oh, why us and why now? We decided to limp the whole rig slowly to the next stop in hopes of assistance.

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That next stop turned out to be another zoo. The reservation was hosting a 4WD mud fest complete with rock bands. People and traffic everywhere. We limped the rig into a quiet area and looked around for any flotsam which we could drive the wheel of the first axle up on to in lieu of a jack. Parking lots are amazingly clean when you need to find a certain sized piece of junk and we were getting all the more discouraged now. While I went off in search of likely jack donors, Mark was befriended by a very, VERY inebriated Navajo. This tall and portly native rancher would intersperse genuinely well-intended offers of help with brief removals from the scene for public urination events. His brother-in-law, a young 'gangsta' wannabe, was not so gracious and relieved himself directly on our truck's tire. Rod Serling's theme song grew louder with the quickly lengthening shadows of the late afternoon. Another beautiful orange and gold sunset in the making ... but we could hardly give a damn at that point.

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After making the rounds of the security people and the maintenance people several times, I was finally pointed to a gentleman helping an old fart from Flagler Beach change his RV tire. The kindly Samaritan pointed out yet another jack in the back of his truck and off I went, treasure in hand. Mark was happy to have his current company diluted by my return and had that tire off and spare installed faster than an Indy pit crew. We returned the jack with intense gratitude and bade a respectful farewell to Mark's new long-lost best pal.

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Once again, we missed traveling back down the canyon in daylight. Was it now foolhardy to expect anything but? I made yet another heavy mental note about the joys of leaving the canyon.

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Current news:

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A heat wave last night of zero after two days of 15 degrees BELOW zero! Not that the well and pump will free up any time soon.

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The Flu Hits Home

Current News:

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My apologies for not writing part three of the trip tales yet. Whatever misery found me on Friday has hit a stunning crescendo this evening. I hope to rally and finish the story by Wednesday.

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The bad news is that the well has frozen up solid again. Not that we ever had running water in the place but it was nice not to have to commute hours to fill water jugs. The good news is that the expected snow storms deposited a mere two inches. The better news is that we now have another 'safe' propane heater installed, just in time to battle the cold air that is moving in. It's late Sunday night and the rat trailer is holding out at 57 degrees inside while the outdoor temperature has already dropped to minus 5F. Like the darkest hour, the coldest temperatures here peak just before dawn so it will be interesting to see how much colder things may be by morning. I feel very sorry for the gas field men who will be up by dawn to spend a day working outdoors in this frozen wilderness. Unfortunately, given the bitter cold settling in, they will also have much more than the usual amount of work awaiting them. We'll keep the coffee pot on, just in case.

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Why I Now Seldom Leave The Canyon ... Part 2

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Retrospect: May 2006

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After that last unpleasant trip out of the canyon, it would be several more months before I would wish to try again. This new outing was a mission for wood, a very practical reason to override the memory of that last adventure. Virgil had since introduced us to Earl, a fellow who seemed interested in buying our big dualie truck. Even though we would be taking a 4 digit hit on it so soon after buying it, I was elated. These roads where single axle utility pick-ups reign with their deeply imprinted ruts was no place for a wide tracking truck. On one earlier occasion, knowing that Mark would be returning to the canyon with the dualie, I stopped repeatedly to clear off the small boulders that the single-axled boys had barely plowed between. Add in the taut suspension that danced and slammed to the cadence of the washboards and I was ready for a change. Earl was looking for a heavy duty hauling truck for his wife's horse trailer but didn't want to lay out that big a sum of cash. On the other hand, he operated a small sawmill ... and we would be needing wood, lots of it down the road.

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Virgil came to the rescue and lent us his large trailer, a well beaten but solid affair so we followed Earl's directions with a short cut through the reservation. The roads were rough but dry, the new scenery pleasing and, in little over an hour, we found ourselves back on pavement and heading to the small mountains that Earl calls home. Earl and his wife Skeeter came out to greet us with a warmth most people reserve for old friends and then gave us a tour around their idyllic homestead. A beautiful log home milled by his father, big boy toys everywhere, a Noah's Ark of animals at every turn. In the fenced yard, I noticed a whirling lapidary of fur with a bright orange patch emerging every now and then from the auburn and white patches. Unbeknownst to me then, Brou was part of that multi puppy tangle mauling a small orange kitten in playfully benign rough housing. His love of pestering and mouthing cats had already been set in stone.

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The big boy toy tour was as equally enjoyable. Earl had acquired all the right stuff to make a guy envious; BIG trucks, BIG loaders, BIG generators, BIG saw mill equipment. Then came the fun part of picking out stacks of wood from his collection. Skeeter was equally at home with the mill operation and tallied her tape measure calculations as we proceeded. About half way through this process, I noticed a cloud of slate gray smoke billowing up from the nearby mountain. With some unease, I asked "Uhm, is that normal, is someone burning garbage?". All being engrossed in our wood seeking mission, I was farted off without fanfare. But there are times when my observations should be heeded.

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To be continued.

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Why I Now Seldom Leave The Canyon ...

Retrospect: February 2006
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While Mark's weekly or often bi- and tri-weekly trips out of the canyon seem to go reasonably well, our joint trips have had some miserable results. As one neighbor said, "Sheesh ... it's like someone is trying to tell you to stay home." It has made both of us wonder at times.

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After we had addressed our priority survival needs, Mark took over the trips into town for supplies by himself and did a yeoman's job of it. In the interim, we had bought a second hand truck despite my long-standing disdain of any vehicle which we did not know the full provenance of. Yes, I regret not voicing those concerns at the time but Mark was quite taken with the beast and we were, after all, helping a kid make a new life by freeing him from a bank payment. I had a grinding sense of discomfort about the arrangement which I chose to override. Sometimes you only learn from experience and, in this case, it was to express a concern before the real rain falls upon everyone's parade. The beast shone less well in the light of day and, even if it had been what we expected, was simply not the right vehicle for our rather unique situation. It was a fairly handsome but generously dinged diesel one ton dualie already well over the 100,000 mark on the odometer. I should have said something but did not.

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At a neighbor's suggestion that we should take some R&R to ward off cabin fever, we decided to do some minor local stops and head up to Colorado for the remainder of the day ... this would be our big play time outing. The drive out of the canyon to pavement with the heavy duty suspension and dualies had every bump and rut reminding me of how much my back hurt on a good day. I was in severe physical agony by the time we reached pavement, Mark a little behind me in discomfort. But this was our big, exciting 'away time' together and we were both looking forward to it.

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We had barely been on pavement and considering the first local errands when the clouds began to spit out a little snow, the first of the season in fact. But it was light and non-threatening, hardly a reason to high tail it back to the canyon. What caught my attention in a far more disturbing way was a sound coming from the right front end of the truck. It ate at me for the next couple of traffic lights before I said something. Mark confirmed that he had heard the noise as well. It was a mild but uncomfortable and vague steel-on-steel noise. Given the rare occasion of us both being out of the canyon, we decided to proceed directly up to Colorado but pay attention to the noise.

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We eventually dropped down into Durango but, by now, we were both listening for the noise with a little more intensity as the roads presented hairpins at alarming inclines and descents. So far, so good - no further disturbing degradation in the mechanical noise - at least that we were willing to acknowledge. We were able to make several of the long anticipated stops but retreated to a motel before dark set in. It was marvelous to take a hot shower, dine on a Pepperoni Lover's pizza and watch a TV.

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In the morning, Mark went out to pick up more list items. When he returned, he announced "Remember that rasp/squeal from yesterday? Well, it's more of a crunch/grind this morning." The dampening bucket of water then fell on us both and we abandoned the remainder of our big outing stops in search of a repair shop. We spent the next several hours in a shop, only to learn that they didn't have the necessary parts on hand. Their branch back where we had come from would. In the meantime, the first snow storm of the season had moved in on Durango. The shop said that we could make it back but advised caution and judicious use of the brakes in the mountains. With the snow now coming down in blinding sheets, we retraced our route back, climbing up the snow-slick hairpins and fully remembering the precipitous drops just beyond their guard rails. Our first idyllic respite had turned into a teeth clenching anxiety fest.

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But we made it back to New Mexico and spent the remainder of the day waiting as the brakes were repaired - a sickeningly pricey combination of pads and entire rotor replacements. I had no complaints with their scope of work - the sound had certainly confirmed the worst of mechanical possibilities. And we were grateful that we were able to bumpty-bump our way back home before the snow could cut us off.

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On the return leg of his next supply run, Mark experienced nearly complete brake failure. The canyon roads are hardly flat-plane coaster roads and his trip was laced with deadly challenges. After some grousing and kneeling in the mud, I noticed that the bleeders on the rear calipers had not been touched in years and I was hopeful that the problem was a matter of trapped air in the system.

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Now here is a heartening tale of some human goodness still at large. When we told the shop manager of our circumstances and the danger of driving the brake-free truck any further, he took it upon himself to navigate the tricky roads out here after hours to attend to the problem. He checked and confirmed that his mechanics had not bled out the rear of the system but, after correcting that oversight, the system still did not come back up to pressure. We could tell that he dreaded telling us that the problem now likely rested in a failed master cylinder and I found no reason to question his conclusion. Our gas field friend,Virgil, drove back out on his weekend off, loaded the truck onto his personal trailer and brought it into town for us without hesitation. The shop manager gave us the part at nearly his cost and did what he could to make the bill more bearable. He was a very decent soul in every way and hopefully we can repay that rare kindness down the road. There are still good folks out there so take heart.

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That was Part 1 of the R&R Hades Chronicles (or "Why I seldom leave the canyon any more").

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Humor of the day (from the Tomato Man)

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I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman "Where's the self-help section?" She said that if she told me, it would defeat the whole purpose.

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Close enough - contest winner declared!

Congratulations to "Ann" - your guess is close enough to win the grand prize in our photo caption contest. I am surprised that anyone got that close - unless they enlisted my brothers' horrifically corny sense of humor.

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Congratulations to "Anonymous" for grabbing the second grand prize with a cute and unexpected possibility.

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The ideal correct answer (according to our own warped perspective, that is) is:

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"Pardon me, Brou, is that the cat who knew your chew shoe?"

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Close enough for a proper groaner award! (see the Comments section of yesterday's post for the winning guess)

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Contest winners are welcomed to exchange prizes or select one of our equally fine alternative prizes. Redeeming of the grand prizes is not suggested for another few months - it registered 2 degrees below zero here at bedtime last night. It rose to almost 40 degrees today - enough to turn the roads into mud bogs before freezing over again after sunset. But we have snow!
The alternative prizes can be sent at any time, as long as the creek isn't running - which might be as early as tomorrow if we get another thaw day. I guess Brou decided to celebrate, too - he just handed Mark the chew shoe in two big pieces. Time to unveil Chew Shoe Two.

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The contest narrows down quickly!

Okay, we got a cute possibility yesterday and one today that is on to something but didn't supply more than a song title. We are looking for an appropriate CAPTION specific to the photo in the previous post. Reread the hints carefully. And remember ... never leave a tern unstoned or a stern untoned - because Opporknockity tunes but once!

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Year End Caption Contest!

Just when you thought you had heard the last from us in 2006, here we are with a skill-testing caption contest to close out the year.

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The grand prize is a 3 day, some expenses paid, vacation at the lovely rat trailer in our canyon. Second prize is a 2 week, some expenses paid, vacation at the lovely rat trailer in our canyon. All winners have the option of trading in their prizes for a small stack of used envelopes, a small box of dried cow pies (vintage 2005-6 and dragged to the front door mat by Brou) or a bag of musty pine cones (harvested right here!).

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Okay, study the above photograph carefully. On the left is Beautiful Dave the Cat. A very young Brou is on the floor on the right, joyously snarfing his chew shoe. Dave used to lounge around beside that shoe before Brou claimed it from Mark. That's all the clues you should need. What is the caption? Think of a famous song line. Deadline? Open until we get the right answer, any answer at all or just get bored waiting for a non-event. If you don't try, you will kick yourself when you hear the preferred answer. My brothers would probably get it but they don't read this blog so the field is WIDE open. Don 't delay! Post your best guess to the comments section today!

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Happy New Year!!!

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A Quiet Blue World

The snow that began to fall on Thursday night continued today but with much less zeal. The margins of our normal world were drawn tightly inward by the storm and we fancied for a moment what it was like to live inside a snow globe. Years and years ago, my father had given me a snow globe and I would sit quietly watching the snow fall upon the little farmstead within and wistfully hoping for such a place one day.

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There is an eerie but peaceful blue cleanness to the canyon and a velvety silence everywhere. Only one vehicle went by today, the snow hushing any voice it may have had. Brou dashed around in the snow, trying to nip and herd me as I searched for wood buried in the snow. Grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it at him only ramped up his glee and pace of dashing and circling. Before I wore myself out flinging snow, he had mastered leaping up and catching the projectiles. If only, only I had but a tenth of that energy. When he came in hours later, he looked like the brim of a mariachi's hat with his hanging snow berries dancing and bobbing from every tuft of his long red hair. Between his toes were more tiny snowballs which looked disturbingly like sudden extra toes. Not that he seemed to care - this was a grand day in dog land.

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I slipped out again before nightfall and planted my old ruler into a patch of undisturbed snow ... eleven inches and a little. The predicted brunt of the storm has missed us again. The roads are still navigable if necessary but we don't need to go anywhere until next week. We have our New Years dinner stored in a cooler outside (presuming that Brou or other critters don't find it first) and a bottle of New Mexico Gruet for a bubbly midnight toast or two. From all of us here in the boonies, we wish you all a wonderful new year to come.

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A Christmas story from the desert

Retrospect: Christmas 2005

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It is still fairly discomforting to recall our first months here but there is a positive tale which needs to be plucked away from that misery and shared. The impetus for recalling it now is the revisiting cold this morning, registering minus 5 degrees, and the approaching holiday.

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For me, Christmas had declined over the years into a much dreaded affair bringing many unpleasant memories with it. The season clearly brought more bad memories than all other celebrative dates combined. Given our stark tenure here in the waning months of 2005, the weight of that dread was even more crushing. Hopefully, the concern of freezing to death would drown out those screeching harpies of Christmas past. We were now, indeed, in miserable enough circumstances to ignore all concerns but those deeply primal.

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One night, only days before Christmas 2005, the absorbing silence and darkness of the canyon was rent wildly ablaze with light, the chortling of a truck motor and the ka-tonk, ka-tonk of a cow bell(!?). Answering the gloved thumping on the door produced a tall, coveralled stranger. He exhaled a frosty mist in the cold which had swept into the trailer with him as he announced that he was Robin and had been sent by Virgil, our new contact with the gas well company. His black cowboy hat was cocked slightly back, fully revealing a rosy complexion which may have been from the bitter cold, high blood pressure or hinting at his Cherokee heritage but he stood there as a welcomed, glowing cherub with a mega-lotto smile. That wonderful smile was punctuated only long enough for embarrassingly polite replies of "Yes, Ma'am" and "No Sir"s. He had brought with him a much-needed 500-gallon propane tank, an item which we had not had any luck securing during our rare visits to town. And this tank was still half-full! We had survived to date by refilling barbeque sized tanks but one nasty isolating storm would easily exhaust our only means of heat. This beaming young man and Virgil had gone out of their way to insure our survival. Robin and Mark wrestled the ungainly pig into position behind the rat trailer and Robin left us with enough pipe and fittings to make the connections when daylight returned.

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Before returning to his native Texas, he and his fiancée came to see us one more time under the pretense of cleaning out more of his accumulated rat packings. But along with the items we might need out here, they unloaded several other packages. Jessie placed a large bag onto the floor, quietly admitting "Oh, they're just some things we thought you might enjoy ..." Robin, being the wonderfully big kid that he is, however, couldn't wait to give us the history about one particular package. "Well, it's just somethin' that I knew y'alls just hadta have out here, ya know. Nothin' REAL special, jus' somethin' I've had around wi' me for a while. She's jus' an old cow that I had to pop with a .22 way back but I thought that this is the right place for her and that y'all would appreciate her." I clenched with excitement but remained adamant that it would remain a bagged 'mystery' until Christmas morning.

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Come Christmas morning, we opened the small stack of Christmas cards and read their enclosed messages and letters. They brought a non-measurable warmth with them. Then we opened Robin's and Jessie's presents. She had given us (or rather me) a basket full of niceties for the bath. Perhaps she could imagine that longing for such things; soaking in a warm bath of fragrant oils with an after-bath application of soothing lotions. Although not even remotely possible, the mere thought provided me a virtual retreat of sensual indulgence. Robin's big surprise did prove to be a cow skull with a handsome set of horns. I had not seen one this grand so far and she was soon holding court from a prominent wall in our 'ranch headquarters'. Even our cowboy visitors wondered where we had found such a fine example.

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So although our first Christmas here was simple and unadorned, it was a very special one. While there was no neighbor like the Katlady offering dinner and company to a couple of newcomer orphans or caring whether we had ample heat resources, it was our gas field boys who came through with rare thoughtfulness. Their companies' 'good neighbor' policies didn't ask for much more than a polite intro and the occasional wave. What motivated them had come from the heart. So when you are making up your list, you might stop to consider that neighbor who never seems to leave the house on holidays. Even if they don't accept an invitation, they will know that someone cared enough to ask - and that's a genuine gift of Christmas.

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The First Snow Storm

Many thanks to everyone who saw the weather reports and asked how we fared. Although some areas of the state got over a foot, we happened to luck out. The storm started out as light rain, then turned to falling slush and then to heavy snow. What first landed either melted quickly or compressed itself into 'heart attack' snow. The good news is that there isn't much we have to shovel save for maybe the stairs and a speck of porch. When the last flake fell, we had about 6 inches piled up.

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The winds turned nasty in the night and rattled the loose Tyvec ends from our interrupted residing project. The loud rattle and hammering flap of the house wrap came in rounds, always just about the time I started to fall back asleep. It might have been augmented by sheets of snow sliding off the curved tin roof because I would awaken to what sounded like someone pushing a refrigerator across the roof overhead. I finally got up and sat in the company of the two cats and two candles (our non-generator time lighting) until sleep promised to return. The cats are always game for a nocturnal social event.

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It seems ironic that in some regions well to the north and east, people are still golfing and lamenting the likelihood of a green Christmas. Maybe this snow will find its way north before the holidays.

Possible Pepto in the Pipeline

Written on Friday, December 15th, 2006

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Well, if you are a regular reader but didn't check for updates in the last couple of days, you missed a couple of serious tirades.

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To put it mildly, we had 'issues' with part of the energy industry out here. Much to our surprise, the involved parties have come back with apologies and promises to set things right. Accordingly, I have magnanimously decided to withdraw those commentaries. We are still trusting and forgiving at heart so it seems like the right thing to do at this time. Mind you, we instituted a policy of 'one per customer' after the last decade of a parade of Lucys pulling the football out from under us time and time and time again. Watching our neighbor get jerked around shamelessly by another pipeline company did not help our level of faith going into this. She may not be the most pleasant entity to deal with but what is right is right, regardless, and her requests and offered concessions in return for their at least partial adherence to their original handshake agreement were really quite reasonable and generous. So there really are genuine corporate weasels out here in the sage - we just haven't had to deal with them yet, very thankfully.

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Accordingly, today was a good day out here, one of pleasant conclusions. I was ever so relieved to see some return of Mark's usual placid nature. And as if in a shared celebration, we saw the return of our jet fighter sortie. We had sorely missed their flyovers but today they made up for it. The lead jet executed a joyous low-level strafe-quality run over the rat trailer, heralding a heads up only a second before with that familiar eagle/wild cat hybrid's thundering scream. The rat shuddered and the hair on the backs of our necks stood straight up as we excitedly raced to the windows to catch but a quick glimpse of the banshee. He nodded his wings ... perhaps in a Christmas greeting? Rather than follow on his tail as usual, today his partners converged from opposing flank points over the mesas, dropping sharply down to join him. Now, with all flying below mesa top level, they flawlessly joined rank and negotiated the canyon's next big curve, wings perpendicular to the ground in a graceful pirouette and disappearing completely in less than a second. It was an awesome and inspiring display and I wished that our buddy Red could have been out here to enjoy the show as well - it would have given him a serious rush back to his FB-111 days. I also wish that the flight crews could have seen our wide smiles and my usual wild applause and know what it means to us. They can play in our backyard any day ... and may the angels fly guard over them always.

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The Deadly Nature of the Creek Rising

Perhaps it is time to explain the significance of our blog name "If The Creek Don't Rise". As you can see from the photograph, it is a very significant matter and a situation that people living almost anywhere else cannot comprehend.

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The photo shows a semi-truck sized vehicle which tried to cross a running wash. This was one of the water haulers vital to the oil field and these contractors are under heavy pressure to perform their promised committments. It can be a lose/lose decision to press on if fate is not on your side that day. Then it is the rock and a hard place world. Maybe the driver didn't flip the coin just so that day and decided to cross waters which were probably running well less than a foot deep.

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Again, it is hard to comprehend the dynamics at work here. As one neighbor described it, the infrequently running waters out here in the desert become flowing 'liquid sand'. If you have ever spent any time at an ocean shoreline, try recalling standing in the near skirts of the ocean's waters and having the waves roll over your feet. You waited for their retreat and felt a vertigo as the retreating wave undermined your footing in the sand. Now picture a never-ending flow of sand and water. A vehicle caught in the run will find itself undermined by the fickle sands beneath as they join the stream of thick waters rushing by. I have seen many photos of nothing more than the very tops of four tires jutting out of what looks like a benign and shallow highway of sand remaining after a run. But there was always an entire truck or car inverted and lying in state beneath them. The insurance outcome is usually a complete write-off. So ... when the creek rises here, we pay attention.

The Rock of Damocles

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I will expand on one of my comment replies of a few days ago. The question was whether the mesa directly behind us offered any protection. I considered the matter and realized that it offers little protection. According to the top dwellers, the canyon bottom does offer some break from the incessant winds which often bring a biting dust with them. Unfortunately, our settlement of two lies against a north mesa face and in the direct path of the common westerly winds. The season of the winds is just coming upon us again after a fairly calm spring, summer and fall. The vanguard of this new wind time, of course, fell upon us just as we started our rat trailer skin project. The arrival of the first cold nights snapped us out of our pleasantly lolling summer stupor and then ensnared us between its chill and these rising winds. We will do what we can to finish the remantling of the entire trailer but realize that we might have to concede defeat and retreat to the interior for the winter. If that happens, we might rekindle these efforts with the first returning warm days of spring. But then again, we might not, still enjoying our newfound sense of irresponsibility. The insulation and tight new siding will definitely help deter the summer sun's long, hot fingers from reaching too far into the Rat's soul.

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The windows which I had to uncaulk and remove today to release the last of the aluminum siding are now whistling with the night's furious winds. I must remember to climb the ladder tomorrow and salve their gaping seams. If the overcast skies aid the winds in their marrow-frosting mission again tomorrow, we will have to have a pot of continually warm herbal tea on hand. We even dipped into my apothecary of sliced ginger root marinating in vodka. A small shot glass of this will drive away the deepest felt chills. It may also put the most saloon-hardened of cowboys to flight and one whiff sends the cats and dog into retreat but it works as intended! Try it!
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After writing off any meaningful protection from the mesa, I thought about the possible detriments. Geologically, these mesas are the children of unending erosion and, given enough time, will join the canyons below in a homogeneous plain. According to stories we've heard and from what we have seen, there are times when the process involves a more violent action than mere grains of sand sloughing away. Although rare, sometimes a large mass will crack and fall or sometimes an entire face will simply slump into the valley below. In our case, there is one rock directly above the trailer which looks like it could consider a gravity-driven career move. It wasn't something that we noticed when we had to do a hurried survey of suitable places for the Rat. On the other hand, now that we have noticed it, it's not like we stay up all night waiting for the other big rock shoe to drop either. Let's face it, if we were safety-obsessed, we would be holed up in some flat corn field subdivision, well away from haz-mat zones, high tension lines, fault lines, driving ranges or whatever else folks enjoy agonizing over. One of my favorite stories was by Brautigan wherein he describes their family moving to a house with natural gas. It was a new and sublime source of dread for his mother and he describes the effects of her infectious misery as they all sat around in anguish, waiting for the house to blow up at any minute. For me, it nailed life with our mother right on the head. None of us are immortal so why devote too much time to such things. We both feel more fully alive each day now than we have for years and, for us, that quality is everything.

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Next post: ... if the big rock don't fall ....

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Our second Thanksgiving in the boonies

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What a difference between this Thanksgiving and the last one. Last year's found me staring at a pack of mystery meat from the cooler and wondering if I could shape it into a drumstick, maybe singe it over the camp stove for better appeal.

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Today I am typing this entry while a ham burbles away in the propane oven. Stuffing, sweet potatoes, peas and roast potatoes will join it on the table - a REAL table, not the table saw! Tonight we are thankful for so many blessings. Next year will be even more of an occasion as more rudimentary comforts become reality. We may even find a turkey at a reasonable price then, too.

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Since we don't have TV and only have radio at night when the generator is on, we tackled the rat trailer siding project once the sun pushed the temps to 50 degrees. The aluminum siding had been removed and Mark had already cut Styrofoam panels to fit into each now exposed stud center. So, today would see the application of Tyvek (or 'house wrap' as some call it). It essentially envelopes the exterior of the walls to cut down drafts and moisture infiltration. The roll of material is 9' high and 150' long but we were only going to unroll enough to cover over our experimental area (about 8' high and 40' long). We installed the bottom flashing and were ready to grab the big roll. The wind had been non-existent for the last month but, you guessed it, whipped up just before we were ready to unfurl the material. The sheeting and its roll became potentially lethal at times and we each sprung two extra hands to keep ahead of the game. There were a couple of times when this ungainly sail threatened to hang glide us out across the valley but we managed to stay grounded. We were definitely beat by the time the last of the loose folds were secured and dinner seemed like a remote possibility. After an hour of recharge time, we decided to go for it.

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The photo at the top is of our little homestead in the canyon - the old barn, the rat trailer and the moving trailer as they appear from our mesa top on the far side of the creek. The mesa wall right behind the buildings is the one that we all scaled a couple of weeks ago.

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Albeit it a little late in the day, we extend our best wishes to all our friends and family for an equally peaceful Thanksgiving.

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Next post: a few days hence

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Pot of Gold in the back yard

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Since I am severely distracted with the new prospect of progress, the photo above is my main blog contribution for today. This view is one of the many reasons we have chosen to hang on even when things seem to get discouraging. Something like this always comes along to remind of us of why we are here. How often can you see both ends of a rainbow within your backyard? I haven't looked for the pot of gold at the ends yet but rumors abound about Spanish gold being lost in these parts. The legends have their loyal and determined following.

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Current news:

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Today was a great day for progress. The skies were clear and the sun brought the temperatures up to comfortable working conditions. We did an experimental foray into stripping off about fifteen feet of the rat trailer's original aluminum siding. It was encouraging! Mark was able to cut panels of Styrofoam to fit snugly in between the stud centers and the pre-formed flashing he brought home yesterday will accommodate the new siding panels that mimic weathered barnboard. Looks like a go for tomorrow to finish off the experiment. What the success of this project will mean is that we can start planning for an enclosed porch built out from it which will house the water tank and shelter the well. And that means that indoor plumbing is that much closer!

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Two celebrations today!

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Today is just cause for two celebrations.

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The first and foremost is the success of the brain tumor surgery on Mark's sister. It went as flawlessly as anyone could have expected or hoped for. Up for grand kudos is his other sister who has efficiently anticipated every possible detail at home for a comfortable convalescence. Also up for commendation is their brother who took time off of his busy schedule to be in attendance through the entire procedure and assistance where help and moral support was needed. You folks are one awesome, caring family.

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The second celebration marks our first full year out here in the boonies. It's hard to believe that one year is the interval; sometimes it seems that we have been here for only a few months, at other times it seems like a decade of comfortable familiarity. Either way, it is a noteworthy notch on our belts to be highlighted by at least a variation in menu. From the small freezer, I pulled out two filet mignons from a batch which I had cut out of a whole tenderloin and then seasoned and wrapped in bacon. Such meat cuts here are twice the price that we had been used to paying and our income has plummeted so the occasions in which we bring them out are now considerably less frequent. That's okay, those rare warranted occasions now bring extra appreciation with them as a result.

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I was going to post a synopsis of what we have and have not accomplished in our first year here but a wild hair project of installing the first of our 'safe' wall mounted gas heaters emerged late this afternoon and ran into 'the generator zone'. The first hours of generator time are normally when I compose the next blog entry but we are both left a little lagging after that fairly successful installation. The only glitch is that the pilot light goes out after a while and the manual does not address that particular situation. Accordingly, we turned the supply valve off and, for at least the immediate future, will only activate the unit as it is needed.

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Now that we have gained some familiarity with working with black iron and heater installation, we have a better idea of what materials we need to install at least one more of these heaters before the depth of winter sets in. Mark diagrammed out the next installation and will pick up the required materials tomorrow. I may start to cut Styrofoam to infill the stud centers that we exposed today on a small part of the trailer. This is an experimental run at additional insulative efforts and is subject to change on the fly. If this phase of the project goes well, we will do the whole trailer and sheath it over with a fairly reasonably priced new composite siding that mimics deeply weathered barn siding. So far, the days have still been bearable for working outdoors, as long as you are working where direct sunlight hits. There is already ice building up along the north face of the mesa where the lower sun no longer casts its daily smile. The height of the sun's influence is still bringing temperatures in the 50s but night has seen temperatures as low as 10 degrees so far. We need to kick the pace up a notch before the real cold sets in.

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Next post: Hmmm - might depend on how much outdoor progress we can make in the next few days, assuming the forecast holds.

The Handyman Showdown

Retrospect: December 2005

Finally came the powwow between Mark and I - that moment of reckoning that we had both dreaded - what to do about the half likeable leech on our fiscal well being. We never said anything when he would repeatedly disappear for a half hour at a time in search of some tool in his little trailer abode or the day John 'searched' for 3 hours one morning for a $3 part before mentioning this quest to us. Mark could have driven into town for a replacement and back again in that amount of time with John actually doing something productive in the interim. But three weeks into this 'one week' extravaganza, he would now not commit to any fixed estimate on cost or completion date because we were apparently changing the scope of work on him. It never occurred to us that eliminating whole tasks such as covering in the trailer bottom or eliminating one entire bathroom would extend this farce. If he was referring to my proposed room lay-out as opposed to the existing, he was correct except that he listened intently and then went ahead and plumbed according to the existing lay-out anyway. When we questioned him on his lack of attention to the sewer, he said that this was not considered part of the 'plumbing' system?!?! Were we supposed to drill outlet holes low in the walls for all the water and waste building up in the trailer? Beyond that bombshell, he now refused to guarantee that we would ever have a functioning system in the end - he was after all just a pipefitter. The thrill was gone and we were fast losing that loving feeling.

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Two things happened to bring this festering carbuncle to a head: We decided to now only pay John when he had completed the promised work, in hopes that this incentive would quicken up his pace. Secondly, I forced myself to drop a hint to Willy the well man about the rate of progress versus John's rate of compensation. Now, you can't really tell if Willy is listening since he mutters and goes off topic a lot but apparently my comments seeded into very fertile ground ... and would hit the proverbial fan in a big way as we would soon see.

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John did not show up from town as scheduled for the next milking. When he did show up with his chauffeur/assistant a couple of days later, it was apparent that he was here for an unpleasant confrontation. Their eyes were spider-webbed in red and it was obvious that they had been drinking heavily both before and during the long ride into the canyon. How lovely.

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From what I could piece together later from his snippets of drunken blather, Willy had indeed passed the word on. Willy's son who had been generously providing lodging for John plus a company cell phone had rescinded those courtesies in disgust. The terms which must have flown about became clear when John muttered "Hmpphh, a crook ... I'll show him ... I'm taking his generator back ... a crook indeed, hmphh!!!"

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Like me, Mark is not a normally aggressive person but he was in rare form that day in not backing down to John's drunken verbal bluster. I tried to interject some valid points into the debate and John told me "YOU ... stay out of this!" I obliged but began to feel

that ever dreaded anger of protectiveness building up. It was that same buried and personally loathed rage of PTSD that gave me abnormal physical strength when that literally blinding fury had been reached. This same incited wrath once had me counter attack four classic (but rare) Harley buttholes who had physically attacked me for no justifiable reason. On that occasion, I flung them off like rag dolls and attacked the head provocateur of the assault. They scattered and retreated with mouths agape. It was necessary for self-preservation but I was not proud of my accomplishment and now, with this drunken John, I was trying to keep that powerful anger under control. I hoped that he or his helper would not attempt any physical aggression with Mark for I knew that I would lose it with no holds barred.

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To his credit, John did not succumb to drunken bravado and escalate the confrontation beyond words. Instead, he gathered his borrowed tools with a concluding "Well then, you can kiss-my-butt" and they departed foot-to-the-floor, covering us in a rooster tail of dirt. I had still been hoping for some rational resolution of the matter up until they stopped just up the road and hopped out to unload some of the copious booze which they had been imbibing. Again, I will credit John for being reasonably discreet in this operation but his assistant turned to face the trailer and vigorously wagged his miserable member at us. From that point on, I lost any residual empathy for either of them.

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To this day, we are not comfortable completing his plumbing job due to the PEX system of piping that he insisted upon. We did go out and buy the outrageously priced set of tools to replace his borrowed ones (over $200 for 2 unimpressive pieces) but have not had the heart to rework this inherited disaster and still remain without indoor plumbing to date.

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The most unfortunate peripheral damage of this encounter was Willy's obvious embarrassment - I am sure he felt responsible for the whole affair even though he really wasn't. As much as we still adore him, he did not stop by again with the exception of replacing the faulty well pump and retrieving his tow-behind trailer. That, to us, was the biggest insult which John had laid upon us. Willy was a fine and rare soul, the type you may be lucky enough to encounter once or twice during an entire lifetime.

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Humor of the day: (from Jim, my buddy in upstate New York)

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ATTENTION!!

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ALIENS ARE COMING TO ABDUCT ALL THE GOOD LOOKING AND SEXY PEOPLE.

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YOU WILL BE SAFE, I'M JUST E-MAILING TO SAY GOODBYE.

The Handyman from Hell Arrives

Retrospect: December 2005

Since John the assistant would be helping us with skirting and plumbing, Willy had lent him his personal hunting/trapping trailer to live in. Willy was just that way and it was obvious that he was willing to help out a guy a little down on his luck in any way he could. Like Willy and his drilling rig, this trailer was another character study in itself; one of those tiny vintage jobbies that looks like a flat-bottomed watermelon after you flat cut its two flanks off. The duct tape over the holes in the windows had dried out and flown away on the journey in and Willy enjoyed telling us the story about how a bear had crashed its paw through that forward window. We reconnoitered a private and fairly level spot on the other side of the barn and they skirted and insulated it with whatever they had found on the road in and whatever else was lying uncommitted around the barn. If I wanted to achieve a certain desert funk, I was certainly on the fast track now.

The next day would see the beginning of our priority projects! Mark and I had stocked the 16 foot trailer with treated 4x4s, T-111 siding and Styrofoam in anticipation. Soon, the trailer would be skirted, depriving the bitter winds of their ability to chill the floor to sub-zero temperatures.

John showed up some time after 9AM and started in. Was this exciting or what?! By the end of that first 7 or 8 hour day, he had framed in one short end of the trailer and maybe a fifth up one side - not exactly the lightning pace for which we had hesitantly justified his hourly rate. I had known many speed of light carpenters over the years and the amount of quality work which they could hammer out in a day always left me breathless. I have always been slow and methodical in everything and, realizing it, never demanded so much as half the pay of the jack rabbit boys. So ... here we had John working at my pace (although without the finesse and drive for perfection) but consuming the pay of a fast and masterly tradesman. Our quiet concerns and angst would begin to mount from that first day forth.

When the second day did not see any acceleration in the reaching of his touted stride, Mark and I quietly conspired to set him to work on the plumbing of the water and gas. He was, after all, an old oil field roustabout so running pipe would be his true forte. Mark took over the skirting project and I thanked John for letting him do so, that Mark needed a productive task. Not apparent to us at the time, John took this as an infringement on his long term gravy train. I started to keep track of his actual on-the-job time but we paid according to his own records - even though it was somehow always ran about 15% higher than my 'benefit of the doubt' entries. As petty sheisters often do, he was mistaking quiet, compliant generosity for complete stupidity. We watched his further behaviors more carefully now.

When John did not show up one morning as planned, I gave it 2 hours and finally went over to the little trailer. No response from a knock on the door. I was uncomfortable about doing so but I finally peeked into an uncovered window, hoping that I wouldn't catch him in some embarrassing state of dress. What I saw was a totally inanimate body in the back bunk. I eventually tapped on the glass and waited. Tapped a little louder and waited. I finally convinced Mark to give it a try while I wondered about the protocol of dealing with a corpse in the middle of nowhere. While he didn't get a response form John, Mark did return with the observation that 'corpses don't snore'.

When John did show up towards late afternoon, he noted that he had contracted that pneumonia-threatening bug from Willy and his son. I dutifully made him a warm meal later and took it over. I stayed and listened to his 'larger than life' tales for a while. What I got in return was that miserable illness. In my case, as always, it would persist for many, many months to come, ever teetering on the verge of pneumonia in our frigid living quarters. As we both succumbed to this vile plague, our own progress ground to a standstill. When not sleeping, I spent most of that time hunched over the propane blast furnace to soothe the deep chills and trying to drive the excruciating concrete feel of my lungs out with chest contracting exercises, hoping to drive fluids out of the pleura. It must have worked - I'm still here.

To be continued

Next post: 2 or 3 days

The Junk Pile Surprise

Recent Retrospect: September 26, 2006

I got part way through writing about the handyman from Hell and realized that it remains an upsetting subject so I will write about a different kind of snake today.

There certainly wasn't much here when we arrived and what little there was had been picked over well in the last few decades by outsiders. One of my favorite treks early on was to poke around in the junk across the road. It was obvious that one of the previous owners did not believe in recycling and scrapping old metal. Bailing and barbed wire by the cubic yard, squashed oil drums, rustic fence posts and a curious mix of debris from old vehicles and a burnt trailer. I used the charred bathtub as a perch when I had to make calls since the cell phone would only pick up a signal if I walked out closer to the middle of the canyon. I nearly froze my butt off out there in the open last winter and it probably contributed to my current complete disdain of talking on the phone. But I digress slightly.

It was a little over a month ago when I revisited the junk pile in search of some rustic planking. The pup came with me and dashed and poked around frantically since 'across the road' is normally verboten territory. I wasn't having much success scrounging in the closer piles so I wandered a little deeper into the sage. Yes, here was a promising stash! Just before I reached for the uppermost boards, I happened to notice an unusual, undulated shape otherwise blending in with the weathered grays of the wood. I'll be darned - it had to be a rattlesnake. Just then, I heard Brou crashing his way back towards me. Not good timing so I enticed him into a game of tag and we ran back to the trailer. Once he was safely inside, I grabbed the camera and left instructions with Mark to not let the pup out again until I had returned.

The rattler, it seems, was as chilled as I and trying to soak up a little early morning sun. It seemed to be engrossed in this process and ignoring me so I got to within maybe four feet of it and took a couple of photos. I don't find the zoom quality on this camera to be particularly dependable but I wasn't about to get nose to nose with the sleeping dragon so the photo clarity is not the best. The head of the rattler is shown in the lower right hand corner, peeking out of a crack in a plank. Unfortunately, his rattle was hidden under another plank on the left side of the photo.

With my photo evidence now taken care of and me still not convinced that it really was a rattler, I had to be the bad kid and go get a LONG stick, not quite the proverbial ten foot pole but sensibly long for the occasion. Nudge. No response. Poke. A mildly discernible response. Poke, nudge, poke, poke, poke. It opened its eyes e-v-e-r so slowly, their slit black pupils giving me a very cold and inscrutable stare. After a moment more of staring, it slowly straightened itself out as it stretched away to the shelter of another board and vanished completely. The last I saw of this snake was its rattles, all stacked neatly one atop the other like increasingly smaller beads on a dowel. They rattled only lightly from the snake's exiting motion. With no more mischief to be had, yours truly returned home safely with a new tale to tell.

Next post: a couple or three days from now

Most recent visitor

Current news update:

While I have been busily, anxiously watching the skies of late for the two golden eagles which wouldn't hesitate to grab a quick kitty dinner on the fly, only Brou the pup kept a constant vigil on the entire spectrum from ground to the heavens.

On several occasions yesterday, he erupted into rounds of uncharacteristic growls and serious business barks. And on several occasions yesterday, we ignored him, thinking that he was crying wolf to get our attention. When clearly no abatement was in sight, we each took a turn in coaxing him to elaborate, each of us walking towards the direction in which he was aiming his guttural threats. As we suspected ... nothing.

After another half dozen similar noisy displays, I stomped back out the door again, determined to find the cause; these were simply not the usual puppy-foolish barks at errant newspapers playing with the wind. He gladly followed behind me again. Notice that I said 'behind me'. He's not a foolish pup in that one respect and is quite willing to point me into battle - from a safe distance. Once more, we trudged out to the base of the mesa, this time to the avocado green steel tub which had abdicated earlier from the rat trailer. (I briefly entertained an idea of having an 'al fresco' bathing/soaking spot with a better view of the taller eastern mesas but the technicalities have yet to be resolved.) Brou kept up his intensity this time and I was able to narrow down his target area to an area below a large boulder. It was not my failing eyesight but my hearing that finally pinpointed the culprit. There, within the small cavern beneath the boulder, was one very annoyed creature. With no desire to get too much closer, I leaned slightly over the tub and strained my eyes to define the intruder. The creature was familiar to my memory banks but not from personal experience. By George, this was a badger!

Now, with my presence and confirmation, Brou's bravado was ratcheting upwards and I had to sternly warn him to not pursue his instincts. He settled down remarkably well but the badger was clearly agitated by now. The badger emitted long-winded hisses like a leak in a bicycle tire while his whole body rocked in a slow rhythm. I ran to get the digi camera but, by the time I returned, he had already hidden his impressively long claws. While he seemed to be a fairly young creature, those sharp curling claws matched the length of my fingers. I wanted neither the pup or the cats to engage this fellow and hoped that he would remember this unpleasant encounter and move on in the night. Thankfully, he was indeed gone without a trace this morning, according to both Brou's and my own careful inspection.

Next post: 2 or 3 days

The First Week - No water yet but soon ... soon!!!

Retrospect: November 2005

What a disheartening non-event and what a grim sight; three grown men standing there, staring down into a hole in the ground like they had just interred the nicest boa constrictor they had ever known. After that respectful moment or ten of silence, the theories and debates began, this and that tried - mostly involving larger and larger hammers. Although the pump supply house said that our 3000-watt Honda should drive the pump without a problem, I could see the little red and black unit attracting furtive glances. In a couple more days, Willy showed up with his son's massive generator, the kind you can light a small casino with. Still no cigar.

Next theory; ice! Ya gotta thaw out them lines, you know. The assistant aimed a kerosene heater at the pipe works, melting part of the Styrofoam he had commandeered in making the butt ugliest doghouse cube for this whole contraption. He went to great lengths to wrap all the components with a pricey woven stainless sheathed heat tape. Considering that we only ran the generator from sunset to bedtime, I wasn't convinced that it would be all that effective. They piled old insulation, blankets and rugs around the pipes and tank like the stuff was running a fever and left. Okay, so no water today. Apparently tomorrow wouldn't look good either.

Mark called the pump supply house and they very generously offered to lend us their fancy line tester. He picked it up on the next week's trip into town. A couple of weeks later, Willy showed up and it became apparent that he didn't know how to use this schmancy meter either. So ... the pump supply house very generously offered to send another new pump out for a try. Well, you know how it goes, what with Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, trapping season, pneumonia, Groundhog Day, new moon, old moon, etc., it would be a while before we saw Willy again. There would be more than one party to suggest that we were being a little too laid back about the situation but he really was the sweetest man on earth. We could no more press the matter than mug someone's little British 'mum', just no way.

The following months without well water were fairly miserable. A kind neighbor let us fill up our two empty cat litter jugs when I was working there two or three times a week (yes, another story for another time). That came to between eight to twelve gallons a week to run a household on - roughly equivalent to one or two average toilet flushes. I remembered a comment from a water department employee that they planned for EACH household member using 100 gallons of water PER DAY. We were experiencing a crash course on severe water conservation. I found that cutting paper towels into many tiny squares and wetting each one with generic Listerine gave some solace. We also learned to stand downwind when socializing. Lighting the burn barrel just as company arrived also worked fairly well.

Next entry: 2–3 days (I really am a shameless creature of habit and ritual.)