SHE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO LIVE…

…then Smidge, the goat, surprised us.

Those of you who’ve been with us for the past few years might remember the Smidge… http://countrytraveleronline.com/2011/04/01/smidge-a-goat-that-wanted-to-live/ …she was the goat that wasn’t supposed to survive.

She had every reason to fail; lousy weather and an indifferent mother who died before her kid was weaned. For that young goat, death would have been an easy way out. Smart, tough and strong…this spotted goat wanted to live and become part of our flock more than anything else.

She succeeded, perhaps, beyond our wildest dreams.

These days, she’s a four year old doe in her prime. Her kidding record is excellent. She is neither a stand-out leader nor a drag-along follower. Most casual observers wouldn’t notice her, she’s always in the middle of the flock looking for the best morsel to eat, taking care of her kid or staying safe from predators.

However, we see her and use her as a bellwether. If she’s OK, we knew the rest of the bunch is fine.

Sometimes an animal will far exceed the sum of its parts…….we’ll talk again.

HIS HAIR WASN’T STANDING ON END…

…but almost.

I had just dropped off a load of livestock and was walking through the back alleys and hallways of the butcher shop. I saw the owner, Dan, as he hurried around a corner and nearly collided with me. To say he looked frustrated and worried was an understatement.

“Bing, you wanna buy this butcher shop,” he said, a little too loudly, “I can make you a deal!”

Uh oh, bad day, I thought to myself, not sure if I really wanted to know what set him off.

Dan’s the owner of a small business and I realized…all too well…some of the frustrations that can happen during the course of a day. After all, I’m the owner of one and partial owner of another small business. I’ve spent my fair share of time in fits of gasping frustration.

“Ummmm…..how much do you want for it,” I asked.

“Fifteen bucks!” he said, “I’ll pay you right here, sign the papers and the whole thing is yours!”

Dan and I’ve been doing business for a lot of years. I could tell from his body language that he was calming down and using our relationship of trust and respect to blow off a little steam. I figured it was best to keep up the little charade…

“Well, I don’t know if I can take fifteen bucks for your business,” I said, “ya know, I’m going to hold out for a pocket knife.”

Whatever had frustrated Dan in the first place was probably still there, but he’d cooled off enough where he could step into the role. He rolled his eyes and pretended to consider my offer.

“Well….I need to think about that,” he said.

“Ya know, Dan, before I take on this crazy business of yours,” I said, “I need to make sure that pocket knife is good and sharp!”

That did it for Dan. It allowed him a way to save face in that private and frustrating moment. He rolled his eyes again, shifted his stance and pretended to think about my offer.

“I just can’t do it, Bing,” he said, “I can’t meet your price.”

“Ok, Dan, maybe we’ll get together when we CAN do business,” I said.

I patted him on the shoulder and he had a determined look on his face as he turned on the balls of his feet and headed back into the rear of the shop, presumably to confront the original problem.

As for myself, I collected the paperwork and hurried out before anyone could try to sell me anything else. I wondered all the way home what I’d have told my wife if I showed up with the title for the butcher shop. I doubt she’d have been impressed….

Sleep well, I know I will without the headaches of owning another business….we’ll talk again

SPARE CHANGE FOR GAS…

…is sometimes the only thing left.

I stopped by the feed store to see my old friend Jack.

“I need a bag of cat food and another for the dogs,” I said.

“Time to feed the critters again, huh,” he said.

“Yeah,” I grinned, “we ran out of cat food yesterday and I’m not sure the cats are going to let us into the barn until we come home with something to eat!”

Just then a flurry of customers came through the door and I stepped away from the counter to wait.

There’s always a strong possibility of bumping into a friend or neighbor at the feed store. When that happens, you take a few minutes to chat. It’s part of how a far-flung community keeps in touch with each others lives. At the end of the rush, one of the young men running the gas pumps brought Jack a handful of change for fuel.

“How much is it?” Jack asked.

“A dollar and eighty five cents,” he replied.

“Must be the day before payday,” I said, as Jack slipped the change in the cash register.

“That’s happening more and more,” Jack said, “people just don’t have any money around here.”

He went on, “Just a few days ago, a guy came in and paid for gas with three dollars in pennies…we didn’t think much about it until later when we noticed that every one was a ‘wheat’ penny made before 1943.”

Both of us got very quiet, thinking about what that implied…

Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to collect those pennies. Perhaps they used to be a grandchild’s inheritance resting quietly in a piggy bank. Maybe they were the most disposable part of a larger coin collection. They could have been a gift between friends who had somewhere to go and no money to get there. Neither of us could imagine a scenario where someone WASN’T in a damn difficult spot in order to spend three hundred old pennies for less than a gallon of gas.

Whatever the cause, the economy isn’t recovering in farm and ranch country. We need to find new ways to support our communities and help each other hang on. Maybe that support is nothing more than an unasked-for smile or reassuring words–that could be a little bit of kindness before a person heads home to break into their piggy bank.

Slowly and quietly, Jack tossed the cat and dog food in my pickup. It’s good to talk with friends, the news may not always be so welcome.

However, I was glad to get home that afternoon…it’s a good place to be.

Sleep well, folks…we’ll talk again

HEY…WHAT’S FOR DINNER??

Over the years, yours truly has made much of rural ingenuity used by people who don’t have resources and services close to hand.

These are the people who can make a fan belt out of baling wire, re-thread a washed out waterline through a culvert with a goose and make an excellent baby chick brooder out of a leaking stockwater tank.

In this case, I just heard the story about a man who had a new DSL modem installed for more efficient internet use at his remote ranch. The installer showed up on the appointed day and got everything going for the new connection. The rancher was pleased with the way everything worked.

Neither the rancher nor the installer realized the modem was defective. After a short period of usage, the modem would heat up and drop it’s connection to the net–a frustrating situation after several attempts.

The rancher gave the installer a call and said, “Hey, we’ve got a problem here….”

“No worries,” said the installer, “I’ll swing by and swap it out for you…no charge.”

There was, however, one minor issue: the installer’s schedule was such that he couldn’t get back into the area for a few days.

“Can you hang in there for a little while,” the installer said, “I’ll get there as quick as I can.”

The rancher was in a fix. He wanted to finish his project.

A fan wasn’t going to cool the heating modem well enough. A plastic bag filled with ice would provide the cooling effect, but what happens if there’s a leak? Warranties are voided, that’s what. Thinking about it, there aren’t many items around a modern house that will cool a hot DSL modem.

As usual, the rancher used what he had available: he walked out to the back porch and grabbed a package of ground beef from the freezer and set it on top of the modem…then he went back to work. When the ground beef was beginning to thaw, he’d put meat in the refrigerator and go get another package of frozen ground beef.

No one knows if the rancher finished his internet project by the time the installer returned. And neighbors are only guessing at how many ground beef dishes were served for dinner in the rancher’s house that week.

Thank you and a big shout out to my neighbors across the canyon….we’ll talk again.

STUMBLING INTO A STATE OF GRACE…

…at the head of the dinner table.

My extended family was milling around the dining room like sheep with nowhere to go. Their hearts were hurting. The gap in their family structure was raw and exposed like a broken tooth in a lopsided smile.

The man who traditionally sat at the head of the table had passed. For better than 50 years, Ray had presided over family gatherings around a table that was known for fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy and feeding any friend, family or stray person along the way.

This was my extended family’s first gathering without their beloved patriarch. The food was hot and ready, serving bowls on the table. They milled around the dining room, not willing to sit or look at the table’s empty spot.

“We need someone to sit in Dad’s place,” a daughter asked.

“Not me,” said a son-in-law, “I just can’t do it.”

Heads shaking around the room, no one stepped forward.

Standing in the background, I looked up and caught my wife looking at me. She was pleading…without saying a word…for me to step into the gap. Not wanting to intrude on the family’s painful, private moment, I started to shake my head.

Thoughts fluttering in my skull like a bevy of startled quail, I realized these were strong people who would find their way forward without Ray. They had been temporarily overwhelmed with their sense of loss and grief. If I could help them take one step forward into the future, the rest of their paths might be a little easier.

“Would you like me to sit at the head of the table,” I said, “just for tonight?”

Everyone in the room relaxed. Soon they moved to their customary seats. Those most eager began to dish hot food on their plates. About halfway through the meal, the great grand daughter on my left leaned over and whispered into my ear:

“You’re not Grampa Ray,” she said.

“I know,” I replied, “he won’t be here tonight.”

The little girl glanced at her mother to see if that was the way things would be. Her mother quietly nodded. The little girl thought for a moment, then lifted a heaping forkful of mashed potatoes with gravy into her mouth. She would pick up the pieces and move on with her life.

After dinner, I got lots of hugs and murmured “Thank you’s” from my extended family. It felt good being in the right place to give a hand when the need was there.

I can’t often claim a state of grace, but I think I stumbled and fell into one that night.

We’ll talk soon…..

For further stories, check…http://countrytraveleronline.com/2012/12/04/holiday-dreaming/

NOSE TO BEAK WITH A BIRD…

…is a quicker wake up than my morning coffee.

It was a quiet weekend morning on a lovely fall day…no deadlines, crisis or emergencies were on the schedule.

I’m not a morning person. I don’t wake up, ready to charge off into the world.  If there are no dire issues when I awaken, I stretch, moan and groan a little and scratch whatever itches before coffee with my wife.

On this morning I was still tottering around, mid-mumble when my wife opened the glass patio door to feed the dogs on the back porch. Not yet fully functional, I wobbled along behind and watched the process while standing in the doorway.

As my wife stepped on to the porch, she startled a bevy of Quail feeding in our yard. In an explosion of feathers and wings, they scattered in all directions. No big deal. However, one of the Quail flew…at a speed just under 900 mph…directly at my face.

Highly tuned reflexes…the bird’s, not mine…saved my face from a feathered missile strike. Just before detonation, the young quail, with the skill of a born fighter-pilot, turned sideways, brushed my ear and flew into the house. I was still staring out the door in an un-caffeinated fog. I think I had time to open my mouth in a little round….”Ohhhhhhhhh.”

Needless to say, about 3 gallons of adrenaline flushed into my system after my near-Quail experience.

“Duck!” I yelled to my wife so she didn’t get swatted on the head by an escaping bird.

She hadn’t seen the situation and looked at me as if I’d burped loud enough to register on the Richter Scale.

Fully awake by now and able to string more than three words together at the same time, I explained the situation and went in the house to get the Quail. Slipping on some leather gloves, I grabbed him in a corner. He was uninjured so I turned him loose. He flew away.

It took a while for the adrenaline to disperse in my body. I admit that a high-speed bird aimed right between your eyes is an efficient way to wake up in the morning……personally, though, I prefer a good cup of coffee.

We’ll talk again…..

SAWS AND CLIPPERS IN HAND…

…a busload of students showed up at our front gate.

We were having a problem with sagebrush growing up and through one of our fences. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t be a huge issue, but we wanted to makes some changes in that section of fence. While a chainsaw is a necessary tool at our place, that doesn’t mean I was particularly excited about running it. There were plenty of other things to do in my life.

I’d known Martha Ahern at the Madras High School Special Education Transition Center for years. I’d even seen her kids in action around the community a few times, but never connected the dots that they might come out to our place and help wrestle with the sagebrush.

I made the phone call and the offer was accepted.

On the big day after the bus was parked out in our field, the students swarmed our fence–some of them head high in sagebrush.

It wasn’t all work. There was some horsing around, but it was mostly in good fun. They took some extra time trimming the tips from the sage they were cutting out of the fence…

http://countrytraveleronline.com/2012/10/26/learning-and-laughing-in-the-high-desert-sage/

…the kids will make bundles of the ends and sell them for the holidays at the Madras Winter Market on the 2nd week of December at the fairgrounds. They plan on putting the money back into their program and maybe take a field trip.

If you’re going to be in the area, swing by and take a look at the sage bundles–I know exactly where they came from.

They got the job done and saved me a bunch of work on the business end of a chainsaw. I appreciate that.

So, “Thank you, Martha for bringing the kids out and clearing my fence,” but most especially, “Thank you, kids, for your hard work…you’re welcome back next year.”

I hope the kids from the Transition Center get a really cool field trip this year….we’ll keep you posted.

We’ll talk soon…