To Stand Within the Clouds

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In our time, we have all likely stepped outside and stood within the clouds. Like myself, you probably never recognized or fully appreciated those moments. It wasn't until we moved to the ranch with its vast perspectives that I could grasp this stunning phenomena. In the photo above, you will see the clouds pressed low into our canyon, their bottoms scrubbing down hard against the mesa walls.
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The rays of the sun here wield their influence above all else and I was able to step out onto the porch that morning in relative comfort despite the below-freezing temperatures. I saw those snow clouds and realized that I was now standing within them, nearly blinded by the sharp crystalline reflections of each single snow flake. I caught a few on my hand and saw that they were all perfectly hexagonal and symmetrical in their pure and ideal created form, unmarred by temperature in their descent to the ground.

I ran back inside and returned with our dictionary magnifying glass and seated myself down on the lowest of the steps. With my left upper arm resting comfortably on the highest stair and my cheek casually resting upon my left hand, I spent a glorious half hour observing each perfect snowflake as it came to rest upon that otherwise barren stair tread; all different, all magnificent and all nearly perfect. Then I wondered how many people have taken a pass on this incredible experience to sit and endure the lack of entertainment as they channel-surf with the remote.
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Occasionally I would look up and around to absorb this gloriously sparkling dance of Nature around me and breathe in, deeply savoring this fleeting spectacle. With each breath came an incredible sense of well-being and a cell-deep simple peace and joy. The troubles of the world were as distant and unfathomable at that moment as any black hole at the far reaches of our universe.
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It is my Christmas wish to you that Nature will offer you such a glorious sanctuary moment and that you will have the child-like wisdom to stop and enjoy it fully for what it is; a gift of the most freely given and valuable kind.

A similar gift is the connection with good souls. I wanted to stop here and say thanks to the friends I have found through this blog. You made a big difference with your encouragement when I needed it to make it through a traditionally tough time of year. You remind me of those snowflakes; each different and each so stunningly beautiful.
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Moi?!

.Here is a photo of Daisy, an impromptu rescue dog who helps run off some of Brou's limitless energy supply. Isn't she just the sweetest thing, lying there innocently with her paws crossed in such a lady-like manner? That dog might just be the death of me however.

She came home with Mark one day last summer after one of the vet's staff e-mailed us a charming, irresistible photo. This dog had spent it's life confined to a small backyard run with no visible signs of interest or affection from the family. The staffer had seen the lollipop symbols on our foreheads and the lavish concern we had expressed for Brou and made her move. Yep, the sucker assessment was spot on. But, like all dogs with that sort of unsocialized history, she came to us 'with issues'. Some bloody irritating ones, in fact, for someone as old fartish and jaded as I.

She will NOT ride in a truck. If you do get hold of her (fat chance) and place her in a truck, you will be cleaning up anxiety barf for the next week. BUT! She loves to follow them down the road, absolutely deaf to your calls to return. Here in heavy coyote pack country, having a dog wander away from camp is not a good idea. We have heard stories from Slim and the locals about how the coyotes will send in one member to play 'come hither, come play with me' to lure a dog away deep into the sage. The rest of the pack will be waiting over the next rise to tear them up. They don't call coyotes wily for nothing. We both like coyotes and don't want to lose that appreciation with a grisly loss of one of our own canines. Our charming neighbor shoots them on sight. Slim, however, shares our view that they are more of a natural eco-balancing benefit in the long run and leaves them alone.

Well, Slim stopped by with his usual truckload of cattle dogs on Tuesday morning to pick up some papers. When he left, I remembered that Daisy was outside and more than likely inclined to chase him all the way out to the main road since he always drives at a relaxed loping pace. Amazingly, she returned to my call long enough that I got hold of her collar and Slim headed down the road. But with her attention still riveted on Slim's truck, I knew that I had to bring her inside for the next twenty minutes. Her freedom any time sooner would have her sniffing the tire tracks like a bloodhound and taking off after it.

I was bent over at a right angle with my hand on her collar and she walked back with me until we reached the steps to the Rat. Social-working didn't do any good so I finally gave a tug on her collar. Without warning, she sprang up the stairs with me still hunched over but barely keeping my footing. Despite this impressive inertia suddenly sprung into action, she decided to cross in front of me and stop dead. I knew there was a severe owie moment heading my way.

Down I went. From Daisy's scale and perspective, she was seeing Babe the Blue Ox felled and heading her way and wisely leaped two foot forward - the limit imposed by my hand still stuck around her collar. My knees hit the deck so hard that I thought I might crash right through the 2x4s. Remember, this is all now happening at the speed of light or at least at the speed of terminal velocity. She had yanked my arm to the left across my chest and I landed on top of her; my right bosom, my right arm and her cement head doing a severe compression into the deck. I will not ask you to guess what gave in that process.

I rarely cry any more but this moment seemed most warranted. My hand was still snagged in Daisy's collar with everything in between there and my shoulder now twisted into Exorcist quality angles and my vision dissolved into an alternative universe of gray with flashing red and yellow supernovas of pain, undoubtedly coming from the discum-BOOB-eration which I had just experienced - forget the knees! My screeches of agony finally brought Mark to the window of the Rat and he asked what he might do to help. "G ... get th ... this ... d-a-w-g inside, pleeeeeeeze??!!!"

I eventually followed behind them and collapsed into my wing chair, still emitting occasional moans and shrieks from the pain leaping out from the right side of my chest. Timing, as always, decided that my brother should make his annual phone call. "Hey, so how's it going?" I stared off at the ceiling for a moment, still bridled with some mild residue of decorum but, between gasps, finally replied "I just found out what it is like for a gentleman to receive a groin kick to the family jewels."

I was concerned that I had cracked a rib but realized that a special trip into town would not be physically pleasant and could only confirm a cracked rib for which there is no suitable treatment anyway but certainly create a pricey, uninsured medical bill. So far, so good ... the pain is finally letting up to a reasonable degree. Oh Daisy ... I don't know if I can handle a few more of those incidents from dogs with issues. But it did seem in keeping with the traditional stream of holiday events.
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Humor of the day: (from FatHairy)
After Buck's quick reply comment, I just had to add this one. It's is only marginally off-color but exemplifies one universal area in which you can expect most men's full empathy:

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The pastor asked if anyone in the congregation would like to express praise for answered prayers.

A lady stood and walked to the podium. "I have a praise for our Lord. Two months ago my husband, Jim, had a terrible bicycle wreck and his scrotum was completely crushed. The pain was excruciating and the doctors didn't know if they could help him."

You could hear an audible gasp from the men in the congregation as they imagined the pain that poor Jim experienced. She continued, "Jim was unable to hold me or the children and every move caused him terrible pain. We prayed as the doctors performed a delicate operation. They were able to piece together the crushed remnants of Jim's scrotum and wrap wire around it to hold it in place."

Again, the men in the congregation squirmed uncomfortably as they imagined the horrible surgery performed on Jim.

She continued, "Now, Jim is out of the hospital and the doctor's say, with time, his scrotum should recover completely."

All the men sighed with relief. The pastor rose and tentatively asked if any one else had anything to say. In the dead silence you could hear only footsteps as a man rose and walked to the podium.

He said, "I'm Jim and I want to tell my wife, ONCE AGAIN, the word is sternum, STER-NUM!"
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Chili Today, Not Hot Tamale Either

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The cold weather is officially here! It got down to 1 degree above zero just the night before last. The good news is that we still had running water in the morning, unlike the nice surprise we had before we got the two doors finally hung on the Rat's official Water Department addition. Thing of it is, our plans keep changing as we go, mercurial at best. Accordingly, we have learned that postponing our wild hairs of the moment is a ultimately a good thing. We had put off installing an open flame gas heater in the new addition since it was also going to be our repository for solar-charged batteries. Having an open flame heater in the midst of charging batteries emitting hydrogen seemed like hosting a cigar bar in the balloon shell of the Hindenburg so we waited.

Now, with the advent of the new buildings, the battery closet will likely move over there in the Spring (or whenever the roads and weather accommodate us). In the interim, the solar hook-up is on hold but we can at least apply temporary open-flame heat in this addition. Everything might change again by then so we are not going through the aggravation of running permanent black iron piping anywhere until Spring.
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To keep the pipes and well head from freezing in the interim, we dragged out the blast furnace (above) that we used so judiciously last year and the year before to heat the Rat itself before our project to add reasonably safe and thermostatically controlled LP units. Yep, this unit will kill you in a fairly tight enclosure ... but we survived that phase. We would fire it up, get the place to the point that the walls were getting soft, shut it down, go to bed and then just hope that the temperatures wouldn't drop below freezing inside until morning. Oftentimes it worked. Hallelujah and good riddance to using it as a primary heat source however! We look upon it more kindly now as a quick heat builder in the addition (which does not share common air space with the Rat). We fire it up just before turning off the generator at night and get the temperature up to dry sauna quality and then turn it off.
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Now here is the part I really want to talk about. This photo above shows a new kerosene lamp, one of several that I bought on-line dirt cheap from Pennsylvania in the summer. Bruno's recent post about some old kerosene lamps got me to thinking about it again.

I had remembered friends talking about Lehman's Hardware YEARS ago as far as supplying the Amish and anyone going off-the-grid and found that they even had a website. They were clearing out these foreign made reproductions of old Dietz railroad lanterns for something like $7 each. I had lost all my antiques ones in the moving insanity to folks who wanted them badly. I thought about how many I wanted of the two different models available and gave the list to Mark the next day to order (he is the official on-line orderer) . I was heart-broken that the sale had ended between my finding it and the next day when Mark tried to order them. But never say never, at least not with decent folks; I sent them an e-mail and, would you believe it in this day and age, they said "Well, okay, close enough, just talk to so-and-so in the order department and she will let it go through." My faith in mankind (at least parts of it) surged up twelve points on a scale of one to ten when I heard that.

So here I am with my nice supply of new kerosene lamps thanks to a Mennonite hardware in Pennsylvania. I now have a very nice bias towards Mennonites, no doubt about it. In fact, it will be a Mennonite clan who will be constructing our new buildings and we have been met with the same trust and decency in dealing with them so far. It is a reinvigorating experience after dealing with the uniformly disappointing people of our last locale. And now you know why I don't refer to that last place (our long exile) by name. As Beautiful Dave the Cat would say "They sucked, they REALLY sucked!"

There, wasn't that a nice long-suppressed side rant. I needed that. Anywho, I took one of these lanterns, lit it and placed it near the 350 gallon water tank, pressure bladder tank and piping. It seemed to produce just enough heat through the long night to keep the temperatures above freezing point. I can't tell you what a sense of accomplishment it is to turn the kitchen faucet on in the morning and have water come out. We haven't hit the minus 15 below temps yet this year but this is a good start to getting things sorted out.
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Humor of the Day (from Ken) and don't tell me you can't relate to any of these
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What job ad lingo really means

Competitive salary:
We remain competitive by paying you less than our competition.

Join our fast-paced company:
We have no time to train you.

Casual work atmosphere:
We don't pay enough to expect that you will dress up; a couple of the real daring guys wear earrings.

Some overtime required:
Some every night and some every weekend.

Duties will vary:
Anyone in the office can boss you around.

Must have an eye for detail:
We have no quality assurance.

Career-minded:
Female applicants must be childless (and remain that way).

Apply in person:
If you're old, fat or ugly you'll be told that the position has been filled.

Seeking candidates with a wide variety of experience:
You'll need it to replace the three people who just quit.

Problem-solving skills a must:
You're walking into perpetual chaos.

Requires team leadership skills:
You'll have the responsibilities of a manager, without the pay or respect.

Good communication skills:
Management communicates, you listen, figure out what they want and do it.
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Exodus Afore the Storm

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Midwest and Northeast friends: Heads Up! By noon on Friday, this is what it looked like from the porch and it's probably heading your way. This storm was a little colder and snowier than our last one. I'm burning the wicks low tonight and, just before midnight, it's 13 degrees Fahrenheit outside but a reasonable 63 degrees inside the cozy Rat.
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Today was the big day to finally move the drilling rig out. The trucks started to roll by well before dawn and went without a break until late afternoon. What an amazing and pricey collection of 'stuff'. And I didn't bother to record the scores of pick-up trucks.
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The enlarged versions are 350 to 400K so be advised before you click.

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There were trucks everywhere, including in our front yard and up our new driveway. The furious pace was partially explained when the snow clouds began to loiter threateningly and later unleash their icy spawn.

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And so ends phase one of our entertainment. Of course, I had to finish up the collage with a photo of my favorite big toy, the Cat D8R and then the triumphal exit of the King and Queen thrones. It's quiet out there, beautifully quiet for now..
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Humor (from Ken)

A man wrote a letter to a small hotel in a Midwest town that he planned to visit on his vacation. He wrote: "I would very much like to bring my dog with me. He is well-groomed and very well behaved. Would you be willing to permit me to keep him in my room with me at night?"

An immediate reply came from the hotel owner:

"I've been operating this hotel for many years. In all that time, I've never had a dog steal towels, bedclothes, silverware or pictures off the walls. I've never had to evict a dog in the middle of the night for being drunk and disorderly. And I've never had a dog run out on a hotel bill. Yes, indeed, your dog is welcomed at my hotel. And, if your dog will vouch for you, you're welcomed to stay here, too."
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An Update of Sorts

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My sincere apologies; a good funk takes my desire and abilities to write reasonably well right out the window with it and I do not wish to subject anyone to filler dribble. From what I have sensed in a few blogs so far is that sometimes a blog writer comes under the pressure to produce volume at predictable or demanded intervals. I simply cannot do this, it is the antithesis of why we are out here to begin with; to shed frivolous (to us at least) societal expectations. So please bear with me here over the next few weeks.

First off, I wish to thank my blog friends for their support (and even the occasional loving threat) in their comments on my last entry. Believe it or not, your thoughts have made all the difference and I thank you in the most sincere way possible. It helped immensely and I will let those wonderful comments on the previous post through when I am done with this trudging effort of mine here.

All is fairly quiet here right now. The spirit of Nature has left the new well across the street in an expensive limbo (to the tune of $45K a day for just sitting there). The rig is down and unmanned but the big diesel generators are still running around the clock with only occasional visits to check for a pulse now and then. The roads are horrendous according to all seasoned hands and the BLM is teetering on the brink of closing them down to heavy equipment traffic. Some folks are likening this mess to the onset of conditions a few years ago when the roads were officially closed down for over a month. We are reasonably well-stocked on all fronts and can probably wait it out.

What will take a hit is our new buildings project. Yes, this is a cause for part of my blues since I have been waiting to resurrect my shop and creative life for over two years now. Such a thing may not mean much to most people but it is my worldly passion on hold until even further notice. I have learned an uncharacteristic amount of patience from this but this long-awaited sight of the finish line and then its taunting retreat has been a challenge of late. Mark finally made the hard call to the builders this morning to let them know that delivery out here was all but impossible for the foreseeable future. My solace is that the builder was greatly relieved since another customer had been hounding him furiously to build him something before the year was out. Somehow my personal disappointment was greatly salved by knowing that both the builders and a stranger out there somewhere would both be much happier as a result of our misfortune.

The new Honda 3000EU generator died suddenly yesterday. Thankfully, we had the older one ready to hook-up. Mark took a look at the dead one today and, as I had suspected, it had simply developed a carbon bridge in the spark plug. The rejetting downwards of the main jet seems to be holding since the plug color was still a reasonable light brownish shade (presuming that you can still partially trust a color read from modern lead-free fuels). We didn't want to run the old one longer than necessary since we haven't rejetted it yet. While the procedure is not an end-of-the-world event, it is still irritating enough that I don't care to deal with it in this weather unless all else fails. Yep, you know THAT will happen soon enough.

Hondo, another of our favorite gas field regulars, dropped by today. His infrequent visits are always a welcome break in our day and I can't help but think that our Virgil was somehow responsible for his stop since he knew I was in this deep funk. I will write more about Hondo down the line since he is another delightful character out here worth noting.

This funk can't last forever, especially knowing that you are with me and pushing me uphill. Thank you all, I love ya.

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Humor of the day

(at least I can share some humor that has been kindly coming my way lately) this one from my Katlady:


WHITE LIE CAKE

Have you ever told a white lie? You are going to love this, especially all of those who bake for church events.

Alice Grayson was to bake a cake for the Baptist Church Ladies' Group in Tuscaloosa but forgot to do it until the last minute. She remembered the morning of the bake sale and after rummaging through cabinets, found an angel food cake mix and quickly made it while drying her hair, dressing and helping her son pack for Scout camp. When Alice took the cake from the oven, the center had dropped flat and the cake was horribly disfigured. She thought, "Oh dear, there's no time to bake another cake."

This cake was important to Alice because she did so want to fit in at her new church and in her new community of friends. So, being inventive, she looked around the house for something to build up the center of the cake. Alice found it in the bathroom - a roll of toilet paper. She plunked it in and covered it with icing. Not only did the finished product look beautiful, it looked perfect. Before she left the house to drop the cake by the church and head for work, Alice woke her daughter Amanda and gave her some money and specific instructions to be at the bake sale the moment it opened at 9:30 and to buy the cake and bring it home.

When Amanda arrived at the sale, she found the beautiful, perfect cake had already been sold. She grabbed her cell phone and called her mom. Alice was horrified - she was beside herself. Everyone would know! What would they think? She would be ostracized, talked about and ridiculed! All night, Alice lay awake in bed thinking about people pointing fingers at her and talking about her behind her back.

The next day, Alice promised herself she would try not to think about the cake and would attend the fancy luncheon/bridal shower at the home of a fellow church member and try to have a good time. Alice did not want to attend because the hostess was a snob who more than once had looked down her nose at Alice because she was not from the founding families of Tuscaloosa. But, having already RSVP'd, she couldn't think of a believable excuse to stay home.

The meal was elegant, the company was definitely upper crust old South and, to Alice 's horror, the cake in question was presented for dessert! Alice felt the blood drain from her body when she saw the cake. She started out of her chair to tell the hostess all about it, but before she could get to her feet, the Mayor's wife said, "What a beautiful cake!"

Alice, still stunned, sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess say, "Thank you, I baked it myself."

Alice smiled and thought to herself, "God is good."
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Parting Shots

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Here are photos of a group of petroglyphs that we viewed on a neighbor's place the day we took Red for a tour of the ranch. They were clustered within a range of maybe 400 feet.
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I have taken the carved area from the photos above and below and tried to enhance the figures but I wanted you to see the broader settings in which they were found. It gives you an idea of how worn and subtle they can appear as you search for them. You can drive by some of these tens of times and not notice them. After a while, you begin to recognize the tints of rocks which encouraged etching but you must still alight from the truck and examine the rocks more closely. Even then, some are so faded that only the right shadows from the sunlight will reveal them.
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Now it's your turn to discern the images on your own. You will have to click on these to see the details but I have reduced them all to under 160K to speed up your download time .
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I saved my favorite for last (see below). You will clearly see a couple etchings of Kokopelli, a snake handler, dancers and much, much more if you look closely.
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This is your big Christmas finale from me. I really am not sure if I will be posting anything from now until 2008 since I am slipping into my holiday depression earlier than normal. It occurred to me this year that this blog is of interest or help to so few people that I might discontinue writing it all together. This is obviously not the time to make any permanent decision on the matter so I will simply withdraw until this season of many, many sad and unpleasant memories passes. Who knows, I might pop up with something in the interim but don't be surprised if that doesn't happen either. I thank all my regular supporters/buds and hope that you still find great enjoyment in this coming holiday season. Again, don't feel obliged to post a comment since I may or may not reply as I have in the past and I may not be making the rounds of my usual favorite blogs as much. Hey, I will shake it off by mid-January at the latest so not to worry.
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Ready, Aim ... Duck

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Yes, I know, I'm throwing everyone off with a post so soon after the last one. Thing is, I heard Mark laughing as we checked our e-mails and I had to investigate. He had been watching a video clip of a guy "Watch this" moment which I couldn't resist posting right now while I am still chuckling. It made my morning.

This all ties in with the plinking fest which occurred when Red and Sally were here. I think I probably never got around to elaborating on why there was such a disincentive to hitting the bullseye in the homemade target that Mark had set up just before their arrival.
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Here is the infamous impromptu range target. This happened to be the top off an old 55 gallon oil drum which Mark found in the junk pile across the road. If you look closely, it has a very nice and heavy cast iron plug in the center. Being older and wiser than most, they all decided that hitting this plug square-on was a sure invitation to our ol' Irish friend, Rick O'Shea, to come visit. He was a welcome walk-in to every old Western movie but just not someone we wanted to deal with.

Now go see "We're not doing THAT again". It's classic guy stuff at its best and it will explain a lot without any need for further in depth analysis on my part. Okay, so maybe the caliber they were using wasn't quite .50BMG but the principle is the same.

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The Rigs Up, Pal

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Less wordy, mo' piccy today.
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This dawn sky above greeted us this morning in a heartening way. Hopefully the next storm will hold off until Mark returns from today's big supply run after three weeks of waiting out the weather, construction and bad road conditions.
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Mark had reminded me to catch a photo of the rig from the first mesa bench. I brought the cats along since it was only going to be a short hike up there and back. They had been very miffed at their confinement during the heavy construction traffic. The dogs joined us and it soon became apparent that all parties were up to a much longer hike than I had planned. I should have known.
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We headed east along the first bench as usual and Dave found this amazing sandstone boulder. As old as the sandstone is, this one appears to be encasing even older rocks. These black rocks appealed to my imagination and reminded me of huge Anasazi pots. Dave is giving us his best vicious wildcat look.
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Beyond the second spring, the dogs found a new deer trail heading up to the second bench and it looked more knee friendly than our other trails so we all followed it upwards. The photo above shows Ming on the right, investigating these new rock formations and the high view.
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Here is the rig, a small town unto itself in the mud. While it hadn't rained in a few days, there were no winds or beaming sun to dry anything out.
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Oops! As I just said, the mud was still alive and well and helped this very large rig slide off into the ditch as he left the well site. All traffic came to a stop for a couple of hours until its companion rig with tire chains returned to drag him back to the main road. You can see the condition of the access road (the white patches are ruts full of standing water).

And to think that Mark is now still out there after dusk without chains after so many monsters like these have chain-gouged ruts in the road today nearly as deep as their tall axles.
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Here is the drilling rig right after the first heavy rainfall. The rainbow had an easy guess this time as to where the pot of gold lay. I missed the perfect shot due to camera problems AGAIN but the rainbow's base had been clearly resting at the foot of the rig just moments before.
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Next up: What it was like living with a drilling rig next door 24/7 and a report on if it really will leave at o:dark early tomorrow morning. We won't have to set any alarms for this event. Don't get too excited for us yet - we've heard that the next stage could be a wee bit more obnoxious.

Update: 7:00PM - Mark made it back home. It was warm enough that the mud did not freeze last night so he couldn't travel out "on the frost" this morning but he made it into town without too much misery. He noticed that our five mile road was by far the worst of any out here. He was not at all happy about the greatly deteriorated conditions he met this evening, despite gas field talk yesterday about grading the road today in preparation for the rig move. I guess they say what you hope to hear but do what they darned well please in the end. Unfortunately, it looks like another frost free night and it will be too dark for me to take photos of the rig getting stuck later. Oh, and those round-the-clock back-up beepers are starting to give me a serious migraine attitude.
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For All You Do, This Mud's For You

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Our invasion took a pleasant turn when Slim showed up last Wednesday. I swear, his company could take the horror out of a nuclear winter. I started one of my long simmer spaghetti sauces that morning and we gorged ourselves silly on that and the French bread he picked up before heading into the canyon. He's very good about calling ahead to see if we might need something. As usual, we kept that dear cowboy up far later than he is used to and he headed out late the next morning to do his pasture planning for the coming winter graze and some needed maintenance around his headquarters 'up top'. He came back the next evening and I had marinated and slow-roasted a big chuck roast from his own private beef supply. His reaction was absolutely worth all that fussing around the oven all day. Again we stayed up way too late but you make the most of good company when it shows up here in the boonies.
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It was probably a good thing that we had mentioned Brou's new profound talent with flatulence since Brou decided to bunk in with him in the guest room. You could have predicted Slim's exclamation in the morning; "Well, you weren't kidding about that fartin' hound, were you? I woke up in the middle of the night thinkin' that a couple of your batteries had blown up or something. I mean the hairs in my nose were burning, know what I'm saying? Gawdamighty, it was THAT bad! I almost booted his butt right out the front door right then and there!" I have to admit that we fell asleep at night chuckling about it and glad that Brou had given us those aromatic evenings off for a change.
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We all woke up to the sound of heavy rains hitting the Rat's steel roof. Mark had the coffee on early and we all lounged around over steaming cups before Slim wisely headed back up to his place. Knowing these roads as we do, we were concerned that he had several options for getting stuck in that slick, thick clay mud. He was very good about letting me know when he was eventually back on pavement (I take after my mother when it comes to pacing and worrying).
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The next day brought even more rain and we saw the roads turn to a clinging, viscous slurry. We didn't have to go anywhere so we just sat back and watched the mud bog show. Semis were still coming in and, towards the end, a few of them slid off the road rink and rode the deep bar ditch at an alarming 45 degree angle with their top-heavy loads until the wheels hunted themselves back out. They must have been butt-puckering themselves senseless during that whole process. The truck above (look to the immediate right of the semi cab exhaust stack) fell prey to those inverse railroad tracks into the muck. It was a while before the rescue came in the form of a 'SKYTRAK' which also fish-tailed precariously down the road. The semi cab just happened to be following along close behind. These 'SKYTRAK' type machines are definitely a very versatile little machine and very much fun to watch under skilled operation. You can also see them at work in the photos below.
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Yesterday's entertainment was some poor sod trying to deliver a replacement SKYTRAK. He got stuck BIG TIME in the site access road. The irony was that the replacement unit on the trailer and the existing unit had to both come to the semi's aid, several times. There was a point when the semi made it all the way down to the intersection of the access road and main road (third segment of photo above) before getting mired again and I will admit that I almost hoped that it would stay there, blocking all further ingress and egress. Shame on me ... well, perhaps, kind of, sort of.

By the time the precipitation had stopped on Sunday, our gauge had registered over an inch of rain and we got to see the ongoing mud drags as the ruts got deeper, the fish-tailing more frantic and the plumes of mud getting higher and higher. It helped our viewing pleasure to know that a couple of trucks worth of rig people had blown by one of our regular field guys while he was mired in the creek crossing that they had messed up. This despite his attempts to wave them down. You don't cross 'our boys', period. The downside? We have to get into town soon for a number of overdue reasons, including bringing our supply of windows and antique doors into the people who are constructing our two new buildings. In the meantime, it sure was great to watch God and Nature administer a little poetic justice.
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I Love a Parade!

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I'm not kidding, this was a parade of the first order and it all took place in one working day. We now have a fair idea of what it would be like to be invaded by an army division when it decides to go visiting, at least as far as tonnage.

Apparently real guys have to have serious 'stuff' around and these fellows knew how to drag it all with them. You will have to click on the photos to see any sort of detail but I have kept each file size under 120K for all you slow downloaders like us.
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First came this Mad Max arrangement in the upper left corner and then a never-ending onslaught of semis with strange cargo. At this point, I was at a loss to figure out what most of it would be used for.
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I did recognize the trailer in the upper left as their command central and the truck in the lower right as the garbage hauler though. Some of these tilted loads were rearranged at the well site immediately to our west and dragged in to the new site at these most curious angles, perhaps due to the cramped nature of the new well pad by that time.

But still no rig. We found ourselves expectantly waiting and ever peeking out the windows as though we might miss the arrival of the Queen if we relaxed our guard. The suspense was killing us but no drilling rig was in sight yet, just more and more STUFF.
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The view of the parade in the upper right hand corner tipped me off that the rig was not far behind. See that flat-bed pick up in the center? It is carrying two portable outhouses. If I have learned anything about the gas field, it is that they are not serious about anything until the two gender-separate johns arrive. I squealed when I saw this one as though it was the advance color guard. "Look, look, the plastic johns are here! The rig can't be far behind!" Sure enough, you will see the rig at the head of the parade in the lower left corner above.

Believe it or not, I have only captured images of maybe 50% of the parade thanks to my ongoing camera and battery wars.

Next up, I will be posting on the rig in place at the end of that long day and report on the most amusing turn of weather out here (hint - ya like mud-sports, do ya?). I will post that installment either late Monday or Tuesday night and then we can get back to our regular off-the-grid tales for the next two weeks.
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Twenty Four Little Hours

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If this computer obliges and limps along with me a little while longer, I will be updating the well construction notes every other day until I catch up. The majority of activity took place in barely 12 hours. If you have ever been amazed by a trail of determined and organized ants on a mission, you will be equally impressed by this process.

I missed the chance to photograph the next step after the bulldozing and grading of the construction site which was the placement of a liner in the very large reserve pit and the construction of a fence around the perimeter. My camera let me down again.
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Then the tanks arrived one by one (first segment above) followed by a steady procession of tankers to fill them up with what is either water or chemicals or perhaps both.
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The next major items to arrive were the rig stairs and the mats aboard a flat bed as seen in the top two segments of the photo above. These mats will provide a more stable base for the rig and work area. Bottom segment of this photo: This is the part I enjoyed. On the far right side, you will see an articulated Volvo loader. He was required to unload the stacked mats and then take them in bundles of three to place down in front of a foot crew of roughly five men waiting to put them into place manually. Even from our distance, it was a joy to watch this operator move his machine so fast, so accurately and so deftly. He would take the mats and shake the dirt and snow off them, jockey into position, set them down and be off for the next set in one fluid motion, his machine bending nearly in half to accommodate his wishes. I was completely captivated and unable to miss a moment of this stunning machine ballet.

Don't feel obliged to comment - I'll be back by late Sunday night with more photos if the computer and camera hold up!
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Paradise Lost

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So the history hunter and I finished our exploration of the canyon inlet and joined the survey team. Their task had not been as fruitful and it became obvious that the proposed site was not practical. In the midst of the proposed new well pad, there was a 20' deep arroyo which became quite violent and unpredictable when the rains come.

A week later, I stepped out to the end of the porch to observe my favorite view across to the far mesa. It was not without great upset that I now saw an expanse of fluttering markers. For me, the impact was as disturbing as the sea of white crosses at Flanders Field, standing so discordantly against nature's backdrop. Their new location was obviously going to be 'in our faces'. Since this is part of the land which we lease for grazing, we would have no input on the matter. All we could do was wait and hope for the least impact possible. I can't say that their activity on our private land is going to be any more magnanimous yet.
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Late last week saw the first activity at their new well site. The big D8R was the first to invade. What amazed me was that it first simply ran rough-shod over the entire area without use of the blade, trampling down anything in its path. It returned later to start leveling out the pad and forming large banks of dirt. It seemed outrageous and offensive that such a large area of history be disturbed but I will show the reasons later.
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In this photo taken from the first mesa bench up, you can see the final area that they claimed. This report is truly a challenge for me in that I love to watch the big toys at work and, at the same time, hate to see it make such a deep and permanent cut into this wilderness. This photo also shows the proximity of our new and uninvited guests for the next month. Given our recent dealings with the big gas player out here, I can only presume that this is their little Christmas present for us.

On the other hand, as I alluded, this is a fascinating process and I will bring you along on the rudimentary aspects of making of a new gas well from our observation deck. LOTS of big toys and guy stuff to follow.
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Hiking with the History Man

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Retrospect: Late Summer 2007

I looked out the large Rat window late morning and saw several pick-up trucks lined up on the road leading out of our canyon. That's an unusual sight and I decided to go investigate. My hunch was right; it was the gas field doing more poking around for potential new gas well sites. Better still, as I had hoped, they brought along a professional archaeologist as part of their team.

I always had a love for archaeology as a very small child and he kindly let me follow along. I promised that I would not interfere in his efficient survey strides and complied, for the most part. In the mean time, the rest of the team had set out with survey equipment to overlay the ideas of some engineer back in the office over the reality of this terrain. Along the way, the history hunter showed me a pit house dating back to the 9th century. I hope my disappointment didn't insult him TOO badly as I looked down and mentally glazed over. "Uhm, right here you say? Really?" I stared down at the ground trying my best to see a vanished people's history. What I saw was just another patch of ground just like any other in this vast wilderness except for a few anomalous rocks and a pottery shard or two. I began to realize that my childhood passions lay in discovering recognizable feats of man, cavernous repositories of megalithic statues and other incredible feats of art and craftsmanship. Somehow, this vague hint of man's presence just didn't fulfill my expectations.
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This is the first area we covered and where I found this very unusual patch of cactus growing in a tight cluster. I am now relying on my cactus-savvy readers to identify this species. This colony of very spiky plants stood quite low, no more than shin-high at best, but so tightly grouped that the surrounding thick grass had no opportunity to invade it. This plant was still rich with unshed yellow fruits, even though this photo was taken much later (just last week). The arms were not spatulate like a prickly pear but rather long and slender and very much restrained to within its low group profile.

Here is a close-up of the cactus cluster.

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He plodded on through the tall sage and I eventually got distracted by my current passion; desert plants. He was likely grateful that he had lost his ersatz student to the colorful blooms beckoning away from his grid. I would occasionally look up and head in his general direction but eventually found myself utterly distracted by the flora and well beyond his survey area. It was a gaggle (or whatever a plural of these is called) of military helicopters tightly hugging the terrain which caught my attention and made me realize that I had wondered too far into the inlet by myself. I back-tracked quickly and rejoined the history man on a roadward leg of his mission. About five minutes later, after we had separated again, I heard the familiar unfettered roar of a military plane and looked up. I ran down the separating hill towards the history hunter, yelling excitedly as I went "Is that a BUF? Oh yes, yes, LOOK, it's a BUF! It's a BUF!! " It then occurred to me that he might not have a clue what a BUF is. He dutifully looked up just as a low flying B52 crossed over his head and climbed up to clear the mesa in front of him. As it turned out, he had grown up in Texas near the development area of the B52 and shared some of his recollections of the plane with me. All in all, it was a rather fabulous way to spend an impromptu romp in the sage.

I only wish that I had brought the camera along. Within one of the shallow caverns created by the immense boulders, we had discovered a slab with the deeply etched inscription "Greer" on it plus an indecipherable date of possibly '08'. I was determined to find it again last week to show you. I looked. And I looked. Nothing. That is the amazing thing about this part of the world; you can see something once and probably never find it again despite your best efforts to remember the locale as you leave it behind. So many of the treasure tales I hear are about people who found something once and meant to return to investigate it further. And some have been trying to do so for over 30 years since.
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I looked though acres of rock formations for that inscription last week with Brou and Daisy's help, all to no avail. The consolation was being able to admire the bizarre rock formations left behind by Mother Nature. The photo above shows some of nature's curious carving work. Erosion had left but one tall column to support this precariously balanced massive rock roof.
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. In this photo is another boulder of harder material left on a pedestal of softer sandstone, all perched atop the massive boulder occupying the majority of the photo. If you enjoy geology, this is a continual trove of awe.

I never did return home with the photos I wanted but I eventually will, even if it takes me a few decades to find the spot again.

This is all leading somewhere, unfortunately.
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First Snow - We Got It All Right

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We had plenty of advanced warning all right. Red e-mailed and asked us what we thought of the snow storm warning - ??? Well, it hit. Prior to this morning, we had one odd afternoon several weeks ago where snowflakes fell lightly in a half-hearted manner and died before hitting the ground.

Last night brought the first of this year's real snow, followed by many low and long murmurs of rolling thunder. We are still not used to snow being chaperoned by thunder but it seems common place out here. I was already in bed and counted patiently to 50 last night before the first long growl of rolling thunder ceased.
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This morning, we awoke to the scene above, well not quite. We awoke to a pristine mantle of snow but by the time I got the camera out fifteen minutes later, Brou and Daisy had already embossed the landscape irrevocably once they remembered that this white stuff was delightful. Daisy was the least inclined to try it and this probably hearkened back to her previous life of solo confinement outside. When Mark tried to get her to join Brou, she politely declined, turned tail immediately and went back to her bed. After some coaxing, she finally discovered the joys of running free in the snow with Brou and cavorting in their usual summer-long manner. It feels wonderful to see her slowly shedding some of her over-shadowing memories.
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The above photo was taken around lunch time. The clouds had become sparse and a generous amount of clear blue sky was reigning above them but the clouds were moving in noticeably fast fashion - you didn't have to find a fixed point and wait patiently to discern which direction they were moving today.
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Barely ten minutes later, I snapped this photo. Any hint of the blue sky had disappeared. The far juts of mesas were rapidly disappearing and the snow began to fall lavishly once more. Nature was not done with her venting by any means. By the time it was all done, we had picked up about four inches of snow.
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About an hour later, I took this photo. Sporadic patches of blue skies had returned and we sensed that the heaviest assault had passed. The temperatures climbed a little, enough for the accumulated snow to start melting and running off the roof of the Rat in a frequent and steady "tap, tap, tap". Not a single vehicle passed by to disturb the wide, white band of snow which had been the road just yesterday. This whiteness without blemish and the silence was a heady elixir of pure peacefulness.

Tonight it's going to be a few tasty chicken club sandwiches on broiler-toasted French bread with real live French fries after my Thanksgiving folly. That's the thing about living out here without the never-ending onslaught of media hype; I thought that TG was still at least a week or more away and didn't put a turkey down on last week's shopping list. We certainly had stuffing out the wazoo though. If you are going to live this far out and have so few supply runs, you need to plan efficiently for them. Well, we are obviously still working on that aspect. Don't want to hear any smug snickering either - try a supply run only twice a month with absolutely NO little cheat stops at the local quick mart - I would dare you to try it in fact. It might tell you things about yourself that you didn't know or care to acknowledge.
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Stove Top Stuffing Doctored Up

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There, you happy now with that title, Google? I got the biggest kick out of Buck over at Exile in Portales taking offense at some of the word searches that had Google directing people to his site. So how boring is my blog that I usually only get hit up to explain what happens when the creek 'do' rise up and for doctored up Stove Top Stuffing anyway? I mean I'm thinking that I should be a little incensed some how, like a flare or two of the nostrils and a good indignant snort might be in order here.

So, with Thanksgiving coming up for the hopelessly culinary inept like myself, by George, I will now share my own hapless approach to turkey stuffing (you never get complaints from the recently dearly departed - remember this always):

Yep, buy a box of Stove Top because it gives you some vague idea of what to start with and how long to cook it. Like everything else, I usually don't read the destructions until something starts to smell like burning cow paddies but I suggest that you do if you are not a seasoned blunderer like myself. Hey, I usually don't have these problems with mechanical situations, okay?

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Anyway, Stove Top Stuffing is pretty much some itty-bitty morsels of dried bread with some herbs, spices, dried veggies and poultry bouillon powder thrown together. So ... I take some leftover pumpernickel and other breads which have been around far too long and let them dry in my gas oven with the pilot light. Forget them for a couple of days; who cares (as long as you don't forget and preheat the oven for something else like a 400 degree pizza). Been there - don't do it. If you don't have an oven with a pilot light, dry these pieces on a VERY low oven setting or place them out of reach of the cats to air dry; maybe on the top of the fridge (if you have gimpy or ancient, arthritic cats). For owner's of young and vigorous cats, take a 35' ladder (readily available by rental if you don't have one) and place the bread pieces on a pan on any sunny part of your roof from where you have never had to rescue your cats. If you have raccoons in the neighborhood, that's a whole other story. I don't.

While eternity is taking its sweet time drying out the bread, take a nice big pot, add some water, maybe a dash of white dry vermouth or whatever else is clear and taking up needed cupboard space, lob in a couple of bouillon cubes, throw in that impossible to open packet of 'seasoning' stuff that comes with the Stove Top and place on a simmer heat setting and cover. If you get the burning possum smell, you have forgotten to add more water as the whole mess steeps and matures divinely because you picked up a magazine or went on-line and got pleasantly side-tracked. Or maybe you just got all too involved with the rest of that white vermouth or whatever else was taking up far too much space in your cupboard.

BEFORE you are distracted by this aroma of something beyond burning carrion, take one onion and dice it up into dainty pieces (none of this crude proletariat chunking, please, it's a holiday after all) . Abuse at least three celery stalks in the same fashion. Now take some walnuts and whack the snot out of them with the same chopping knife. You can substitute some mostly cooked wild rice but the stuff is price-e-e-y! If you can handle the budget abuse, you can add both - being a special event and all, I won't judge you on this shameful lavishness. It's a mystery melange on a good day so go for it if you feel embarrassingly flush. After the bouillon pot has been simmering along for a while, toss in those aforementioned veggies. Throw in several chunks of REAL butter (NO cheap petroleum by-products for this event, please), a little dried parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme (and remember me to the one who lives there), maybe some caraway or celery seed, pepper, a speck of garlic powder or whatever else blows your dress up at the moment (as long as you can read the spice labels clearly). I cannot stress the importance of that last disclaimer enough.

Now try to remember where you stashed your dried bread morsels. If you are over 50 or in the Boomer category at all, this step might take a while. If nothing animate has moved in with the dried bread, take the whole works and dump it into the pot of previous ingredients along with the mystery bread from the Stove Top box and bash it around furiously with a spoon before any one particular bit of bread becomes too saturated. There! Are you good or what?! Take this whole indiscernible mess and either stuff it or lay it out in a suitable pan for baking.

As always, let your olfactory senses be your guide. Bon appetit!
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Wish Lists and Daydreams ...

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Okay, I admit it, I am wandering away from the journal for the moment. We found a phone message today from Slim (our favorite cowboy and grazing tenant) that he is heading this way from Colorado tomorrow and will bunk in with us. TWO visitors in the same month?! Yeowee! He'll flip when he sees that he gets a real bed this time instead of an old canvas army cot. In the meantime, the clean-up and food planning thoughts along with some symptoms of a possible cold/flu ailment coming on have thrown me off track with the blog so I am posting some terrible scans of old pen and inks that I had done quite some time ago. I came across them tonight while looking for something else.

I have been looking at these mesas lately with a growing desire to consign them to black on white paper someday. Goddess' comment about her things to do "Before I die" list has stirred up these inclinations. I remember my mother mentioning her wish that I would take up the pen and brush again. This was just a day before she died unexpectedly and so her comment bore a very permanent weight to it.

I had worked from my own photographs propped on my cherry and butternut art table back then since I always felt too conspicuous and too shy to ever sketch and ink on site. Now even that art table is gone for good after this last move. It had survived my many relocations for almost 30 years. I wish I could rant and vent some angst here but I won't.
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You should see FOUR drawings. If you don't, hit "Reload" or "Refresh". It's just the usual Blogger quirks.
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This was a photo taken near the Thames. A group of schoolboys in kilts heading home in the afternoon. What stuck me so deeply was the cheerful man trying very hard to console a young boy about something which had brought him to sobbing tears. What? I will always wonder. c.'77
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Of course I had to capture the defiant Boudica in her chariot below Big Ben. c.'77
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The portrait of an old New England barn for a neighbor's friend. c.'80
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Despite my eyes already starting to fail, I was able to provide another building portrait 20 years later. This was my last pen and ink. c.'97

Will my eyes still allow me to take up the tiny pen again? I don't know but it's high on my "Before I die" wish list. In the meantime, we will have a year or two of work left on this homestead which will eventually include a place for me to work on what I enjoy once more.
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