Didn't you ever play in the dirt when you were little?

Check out her stance.

Lacking-a-Name Pond
also lacking water

Hard to see, but there's a pesky stump in the middle of the picture.
It had to come out before we could safely drive on our new access point.

See how much trouble we would have been in?
We are grateful to "Uncle" Bruce for loan of his tools and teasing.

After.  Isn't it beautiful?

First use of our new access point to the land.
No more driving over the neighbor's hayfield!

Until next time, remember, this is not paradise.  It's Purgatory Ranch.

Man's Dignity Through Work

Labor day weekend, for a time if expected laziness, turned out to be full of labor and effort, much to my surprise and pleasure. (I like to have a task list and complete it.)

Saturday, James' truck Grey Dog blew a head gasket, which resulted in James and a neighbor from up the street pushing a dead truck half a mile home. God bless neighbors who help fools like us. After the truck's demise, James and I cleaned out the truck, preparing it for possible repair/disposal. The wagonload of possessions necessitated a plan to clean the garage in the near rather than distant future.

Monday, James cleaned the garage while I weeded, cleared finished garden beds, and tidied the wood pile behind the garage. We are in the midst of removing our compost heaps in favor of less mousy compost barrels. James also completed the awesome task of hanging the ladders on the wall of the garage, protecting them from rot and leaf debris.

After an exciting and unplanned run to the airport, and a delightful, planned excursion to the park with my family, we decided a visit to Purgatory Ranch would round out the long weekend nicely. I had previously proposed that James chop wood while the kids and I pick up sticks, but that AND cleaning out the garage had been deemed too taxing for a day off. Our intention was to enjoy a picnic supper, after which James would fire his Judge.

Upon our arrival to the land we discovered, much to our delight, that the culvert/access onto our land had been completed! The barbed wire fence was still in place, so we could not inaugurate its use, but we were able to admire it. After supper and a stroll to the (still dry and junked) Six Penny Pond, we spied our neighbor to the south, who shall henceforth be called Boomer, waiting for us.

He generously offered the use of his wire clippers, post remover, and post planter (okay, I don't know the actual names for these. I'll ask him next time I see him.). He showed James how to unbend the wire clips holding our saggy baggy barbed wire onto the post. Then he gave James the post remover and James pulled two posts so we could move them to the property line and the other side of the road access. I am amazed at the ingenuity of the inventor of the post planter. The construction, while requiring knowledge for cutting and welding metal pipe, is still uncomplicated but certainly facilitates the replacement of posts.

James also removed a large rock from the middle of the drive (that would have been a "so long oilpan" type of accident). We also marked the location of a tree stump that needs to be removed. We discussed the need for some smoothing of the joint between the new drive and our land. Boomer offered the use of his tractor, but that will have to wait until he has a new tire on it. He patched the tube himself after driving through a field of honey locusts, but didn't have the oomph to put the tire back in place. He told us he had overdone, and James told him next time to call us.

We need to chop/split wood soon. I pray the cool weather holds!

I have lost, somehow in the writing, the sense of work interspersed with friendly conversation and teasing. We have a good neighbor. It's too bad we weren't able to sell our house this summer. Our next venture closer to the land will begin in May. For now, we will have to content ourselves with frequent visits.

Until next time, remember, this is not paradise. It's Purgatory Ranch.

Farming Doesn't Wait for Cool Weather

Neither do visiting friends.

Without further ado, our final potato harvest for 2011, Rose Finn Apples.  Due to several factors, including later planting and being planted in a new place, the harvest was meager compared to our previous bounty.  They still look like fun!

 

 Shooting for great and small...

 And the survivor tomato survives...

Our neighbor asked us where we'd been, and James answered, "It's been too hot for a once a week farmer."  But we've been back.

I think the heat is even frying the poison ivy.

Until next time, remember, this is not paradise.  It's Purgatory Ranch.

Six Penny Pond... or How Many Ways Your Land Could Hurt You

Hi, my name is Dan, and this is my first contribution to the Purgatory Ranch stream of consciousness. This past weekend we tried to clean up the pond. We arrived in the rain, and realized that there was a lot of junk. A LOT OF JUNK. MORE JUNK THAN ANY OF US REMEMBERED. But, at a place named Purgatory, that's what you get.

I'm merely an amateur anthropologist, but I do have some preliminary findings. The previous denizens enjoyed Canadian Mist, Fords, and lived in a trailer. Nothing more could be divined.

We set to it, endeavoring to make a dent in the pile, whilst having no way to haul more than a Toyota pickup bed's worth of the sundry. Piece by piece, metal panels, skirting, and debris was peeled out of the vegetation and muck and hauled to the pasture for removal at some later date. A snake was discovered, and dispatched with a shovel. Species was unknown, but no herpetologist being present, it was left to the laymen with predictable results. The digging renewed for about 5 minutes before the previously minute field mouse droppings gave way for a large pile of very fresh scat under the lip of an unearthed panel. My father, being a bit of a poop expert took heed, and carefully peeled the panel up to meet a new friend, a fully grown and extremely feisty skunk. Several things happened at once:

1. My father yelled "Skunk! ^$&%! Skunk! Shoot it!"
2. The young person enlisted from a sheltered urban lifestyle to help us, began to reconsider her decision to volunteer.
3. James began to move rapidly in the opposite direction, arms flailing, yelling, and I quote: "AAAAAAIIIYYEEEEEEE, SKUUUNNNNKKK, RUN!!!! AAARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHH!"
4. Skunk hissed, exited burrow, tail pointed to the heavens, and began to amble southward through the junk pile.
5. Wasting a few moments to let it the skunk get out of stank range, .40 S&W rounds began to move downrange furiously.
6. Junk and pond was ventilated, but unknown damage to intended victim.

In the aftermath, there was some disagreement to the actual series of events. The last round MIGHT have found its mark, as the skunk was not seen or heard from again, and a repugnant aroma filled the area.

James swears he was protecting us, and could not go fisticuffs with the villainous mammal since his wife has a sensitive nose.

Shaking, and ears ringing, we went back to work, having stripped the ground down to a metal box spring bed entwined within volunteer saplings in the pond proper. A dangerous exhibition of the power of the laws of physics was about to commence.

On one side of this match of mettle and grit: Grey Dog (Old Toyota Truck) with James at the helm, armed with his "C-130" tow strap, a come-along, and the sheer power of determination. On the other, a bed, a tree, a pond, and Murphy.

ROUND ONE:
I tried to take the easy way out, seeing the dangerous game of brinksmanship now being threatened. I tried to simply come-along the bed up and over the tree. Not a chance.

ROUND TWO:
Grey Dog takes up the slack, James punches it into 4-LO and mashes the accelerator. However, the strap had been hooked to a simple Eye-hook, which immediately and spectacularly fails. We give pause for a post-mortem. Thankfully the strap and come-along are intact. So is the bed and the trees' death grip.

ROUND THREE
Now we're serious. The come-along goes away, replaced by a receiver hitch with a shackle. Once again, Grey Dog leaps forward. And the vaunted strap gives up the ghost. The spectators regroup.

ROUND FOUR
Grey Dog backs in, this time with a huge towing strap, twice as wide as the previous casualty. Attached to the frame of the bed, this will surely work! We step back, a little farther than before. A fiery gleam takes James eyes. He will not fail. He revs the engine, and throws the clutch. Grey Dog strains, the bed groans, and Murphy takes his cue. The hardware plate that had been our anchor point snaps free of the frame and comes back up the hill at Mach 3 with a vengeful shriek, cataulted by the tension of the huge strap. It puts a large dent on the bumper. A hush falls over the land. Grey Dog hisses and clutch fluid smokes.

ROUND FIVE
The strap is attached to the frame and the shackle. We have learned from all previous attempts. Grey Dog surges and the bed is freed from its watery prison. James is victorious!

Somehow in the midst of all of this mayhem, I find an old encrusted Bulova watch valise. Opening it and shaking out the hundreds of ants that have taken up residence, I find six grimy, tarnished pennies. All are from the 60's and 50's, with one wheat penny to boot. Purgatory Ranch is already repaying us for our labors. Henceforth I dub the watershed, "Six Penny Pond"and James the "Towmaster". I consider us lucky to have shared the experience. A lot of work remains, but at least we know what we're up against! I just pray the skunk does not have it's revenge...