Ducks, Duke and Digging Out

In my perfect world, all of our children and their families would live within minutes away, we would spend time together often and every holiday as one big family.  I would never miss a single school or church event for any grandchild and time would pass slowly.  But in reality, anything that comes close to that is pretty wonderful.  Like our pre-Thanksgiving weekend.

All but two of our kids’ and their families were at the Ranch.  Those who grew up there call it the Farm, but I’ve never quite understood that.  The land is an active cattle-grazing and hay-baling acreage, but there are no crops grown or even a garden at this point.  Doesn’t matter, it’s a wonderful place no matter what you call it.  Rains or shine, you can hunt fish, target shoot, hike, chase cows, feed donkeys, pet horses, and all while dodging an assortment of kids, dogs, vehicles and animals.

This November weekend featured children ages 11 months to 15 years (Dakota, you aren’t really a child but I can’t quite group you in the adults category yet :), 6 dogs from King Duke at 12½ years old to the younger ones only a couple years over pup stage.  The atmosphere is all the more charming when God blesses us with rain, so that by the end of the weekend we welcomed sunshine and the chance to dry out even with the combined smell of wet dogs, damp clothing and not-quite-fresh men and children.

Whether it’s hog hunting at night or duck hunting in the pre-dawn morning, our guys are hard core.  Duke can still duck hunt with the best of them and continues to amaze the guys at his instinct and retrieval skills.   Saturday night they headed out in the pouring rain to hung for hogs in the Hog Assault Vehicle.  Katelyn and Emily, determined to go regardless of weather, donned heavy plastic bags over their clothes to try and keep our some of the rain.  No hogs were killed but the HAV got stuck and needed digging out.  Which only meant more fun the next day when Chris drove his brand new honkin’ big Chevy pickup down to bring it back.

Brother Joe worked his magic to prepare another fantastic Thanksgiving feast with turkey, dressing and all the fixings, topped off with Heather’s delicious pie.   On full stomachs we settled around games of Parcheesi or cards.  Bedtime comes early at the Ranch, because waking up does too.

Kids  as young as age 9 are allowed to drive the old jeep or mail truck around the property for fun and for free.  Kids from the age of 4 freely walk over to the hay barn and roam among the round bales, cowboy boots not slowing them down at all as they climb the bales and rafters.  That’s nothing after using the ladder to get to the top bunks in the grandkids room.  The mail truck was put to good use as Katelyn, too young to drive legally in the outside world, put the pedal to the metal and covered some serious ground.  The dads used the Jeep or the motorcycle to cover ground quickly as they worked to clear brush and gather wood to build a deer pen.  Our assortment of vehicles also included a brand new Chevy truck, travel trailer, and 4 door sedans.  No shortage of wheels.

Which were used to rescue the little girls.  They became enchanted with the idea of chasing the donkeys, not realizing how far away from the house they’d traveled and how heavy the bag of treats would become.  Also not realizing the amount of ant beds, cow patties and stickers they had to wade through, remnants of each now clinging to their leggings.  At the sound of their cries Carri drove to pick them up and we spent the next half hour scraping shoes and pulling stickers.  Note to self:  buy rain boots for the girls to use at the Ranch.

Inside I busied myself with mending Katelyn’s jacket hem, loving the sense of life back in the day where the most pressing chore involved a few minutes with needle and thread as I listened to my daughters share pregnancy stories and mothering tips.  In the distance I could hear rifle shots and shotgun shells, see several of the men wearing holsters for their pistols.  How many pioneer women had done just that?  Of course they didn’t have my modern kitchen with running water, a custom designed tile shower or a Dollar General close by for staples.   And they didn’t have a large digital picture frame showing pictures from our recent trip to Europe to provide beauty and grace amidst their Ranch life.  Come to think of it, my world is pretty perfect after all.

Owl Visits

They are in the trees by 8:15 p.m.  It’s best if fresh water is in the birdbath before 8.  But I’ve been late before, and as I walk out to the birdbath in the middle of the yard where with a full watering can of fresh water, the little gray screech owls watch me.  Silently, but in an approving, patiently waiting way.  I speak softly in sweet tones to them as they watch me dump out the dirty-bird water, rinse the bath and fill it with fresh, cool water, just waiting for them to enjoy

Almost always they come down for the first drink at 8:20 – you can set your clock by it. 

They spend at least a minute looking on all sides before daring to dip their beak down into the water.  They drink dipping their face straight down into the water, then curving their heads in an upward motion.  So graceful and magnificent.

Completely quiet in flight, you won’t hear them coming.  You have to be watching for them or you’ll miss them.   However I have learned to discern the sound of their “screech”, a misnomer I think.  It sounds more like a high pitched but soft and distant cat purr that dips into low notes before it ends.   Almost imperceptible but once you know what to listen for you can catch it.

Most summers we are lucky to see one owl once or twice during the summer.  But with the severe drought this year they have become regulars.  Most nights there are two of them, but once we had three at a time and one evening we saw four of them perched on the edge of the birdbath.  Amazing.

I think the two regulars are father and son.  The big one loves to take a bath.  After spending 4 or 5 minutes alternately drinking and watching, he’ll dip a foot farther into the bath.  Then he glides into the center and before he’s done he will have completely immersed his head several times, his tail, his full wings and is delightful dripping when he flies up to the branch to dry and groom.  At that point the little one lands or resumes drinking in earnest, but so far I’ve not seen him take a bath.

These silent, pretty, graceful creatures are fascinating to me.  They captivate me with they way they watch their surroundings and are so quick to turn or react to sounds I can’t hear.   The year I feel as if they are listening to me when I speak to them; I even saw one cock his head as I spoke while filling the bowl.  I know they’ll be gone soon but in the meantime you can find me out on my back porch each evening by 8:15.  Watching, and enjoying.

Growing things

My neighbors have turned their entire back yard into an experimental garden.  They are hoping to grow all kinds of vegetables, herbs, trees and some flowers.  I so admire their commitment and ability to grow things.

I used to have a brown thumb, but I’ve gotten better at keeping things alive longer.  The iris bulbs I planted years ago, given to me by a dear friend, bloom every year.  They don’t always last long, and sometimes there are only a few, but the lovely purple flowers remind me that I can plant and grow things.  Of course it’s really God’s design that causes the growth, but I get to be a facilitator and have the joy of seeing the blooms.

This year I’m adding a few pots in amongst the iris to try my hand at container gardening.  We don’t have much sun so it’s hard to grow blooming things, but in this one little strip I think it might work.   I spent a lovely Saturday afternoon messing with potting soil, fertilizer, flower seeds and a watering can – we shall see.

There is also my annual fern.  I say annual because usually there is one freeze yearly my fern can’t survive, and this year the 5 nights of temperatures in the teens did her in.  Each year I drive up to Breeds, my favorite local hardware store, and select the “fern of the year”.  I like the bushy, deep green Boston ferns, but this year they had a slightly different type.  More .. stately somehow, the leaves stand taller and are variegated - Kimberly Queen, a type that originates from Australia.   I picked out the one that called to me – it seems there is always one that wants to go home with me – and placed it gently in the trunk.   I repotted it for the hanging basket, watered and fertilized.  Now to begin enjoying the beauty of a graceful green plant growing over the porch railing.

The Fern of the Year doubles as a home for Carolina Wrens who nest each year in the same spot and hatch their babies.   Just days after I hung the new plant it was visited by this year’s new family.  They love that spot.  I think each year’s family are the babies from the previous year, but who knows.  I only know I love hosting their extended stay – it’s my own private heralding of spring.

I love spring – growing plants, growing baby birds, growing in gratitude for the simple things.