Friday, December 7, 2018

I Hate Eleanor Roosevelt

Man, I started out 2018 with guns blazing, cranking out a post almost every week.  Dispatches From the Ranch was humming right along.  And then summer hit.  I knew there'd be a lull in my writing as hay season takes up a good portion of my energy.  But once fall rolled around I figured I'd jump right back into my old writing habits.  Nope.  Work, hunting (an upcoming post, for sure), and general laziness gave me the title of a measly once-a-month blogger.  December was looking pretty grim to even put a single post out into the ether, that is, until Grady came home from school and told us that he hated Eleanor Roosevelt.  Regina looked at me and said, "Well, there's your next blog."

Grant's not bad, but that Eleanor Roosevelt?
Just awful.
Of course, I couldn't let that one go unnoticed, even if technically he didn't tell us.  Grady, as many of you know, talks to us through a mixture of sign language, a few words, and in iPad app that he either types on or uses picture icons to put together words and sentences.  A great way for us to check up on his day at school is to look through his talking history.  It's an odd peek into his day and we piece the words and phrases he's used to paint a picture of what he learned that day.  I feel like a linguistic detective.  Grady's very into LEGO people, so their names often pop up in his history, as well as classmates, and random icons that he clicks because he found them interesting.  Harry Potter pops up frequently, as does Harry Styles (I'm still really not sure why the latter made the cut to even have his own icon, but someone in R&D must have been a big One Direction fan).  There's stuff that pops up from his science lessons, language arts discussions, and numbers from his math lessons.  And then there's always a few head-scratchers in the mix.  That's where "I hate Eleanor Roosevelt" comes in.  Eleanor Roosevelt?  Never mind where you stand politically, she was quite a badass (and was niece to a genuine badass, Teddy).  Eleanor was regarded as a humanitarian, a thoughtful diplomat, patient, and kind, and generally well loved.  No one hated her.  Until now, I guess.

Grady dismissed our questions about it with a shrug, so we may never figure this one out.  And while politics are usually not a favorite dinner table conversation, it's gotten really quiet since First Wives are off the table too.  I guess we can always talk about religion and sports.

Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Adulting 101

The Eastside Gang spent last weekend off the ranch luxuriating in the East Bay with our friends Perry and Lisa.  They have a couple of pretty rad girls, so we brought our monkeys and turned them loose on the electric scooters that can be found on every corner in Oakland.  Ok, that would be irresponsible, but we did find an abandoned Byrd, or Lime, or ScootScoot, and all took turns ripping up and down their cul- de-sac.  The adults spent 3 days eating and drinking our way around the greater Bay Area.  I kicked it off right by immediately devouring 2 lunches on our first day there.  How could I not?  On our way to tacos we passed a nondescript corner store with a line of people out the door.  There was a hand-written menu taped to the window with 1 sandwich, 3 pies, and 4 kinds of cookies.  Lisa causally mentioned, "That's Bake Sale Betty's."  BSB?  WTF?  I'd been reading about her delicious fried chicken sammy for years, so, of course, I had to pop in after devouring several tacos to give it a try.  Yep, well worth it.

Perry is my favorite bartender.  Never mind that he works in a bank, if he had a waxed mustache, sailor tattoos, and rolled up the cuffs of his jeans over his Danner boots he could work nights in the hiperest of hipster bars.  And, after a dinner of my only favorite pizza in the world (Zachs: deep dish sausage, mushroom, spinach), he made an assortment of cocktails that had me sleeping like a baby.  He might have roofied me for all I know, but the delicious drinks were worth it.

The only hiccup in our quest for the best food in the Bay was at a science fair.  But, it was a science fair at AT&T Park, so as the kids and I examined eyeballs and brains in the visitors' dugout, my stomach didn't really care that all it was getting stuffed with was ballpark fries.  And I didn't really care either, because I knew we were heading for a shining star (or, rather, 2 shining Michelin stars) for dinner at Chez Panisse.  Regina and I have wanted to eat there for years and so we decided to treat ourselves for our 19th anniversary (it's the food anniversary, according to my made up list).

I made the reservations and that, in itself, was a challenge.  Reservations can only be made 1 month prior, so I set a reminder on my phone and, one day while I was out feeding cows, I called.  It was busy, so I called again.  Still busy.  I hit redial.  Yep, busy.  I had the feeling that this might be a popular joint in town.  Redial, redial, redial.  I felt like I was trying to win Metallica concert tickets through a radio station -- 97th caller wins! -- but finally, after 20 or so tries, I got through, and got the last seat for an 8:45 dinner reservation.  8:45? Were are we, Lisbon?  That's often my bedtime, but anything for Alice Waters.  Of course, the meal was amazing and, besides our friend Paul asking the waiter why the burnt-honey ice cream was burnt, was super adult-like.  For us, anyway.

The East Bay offered us even more than that.  We got to hang with friends, eat good food, dive into cool cocktail bars, go on a distillery tour, and even go to a youth soccer match that amazed Dylan and Grady (matching uniforms! more than 2 soccer balls for warmups! painted field lines! a ref!).  We drove home, wore out and happy.  When we adult, we adult well.

Monday, October 22, 2018

The Season, Vol. 1

There are a few things that once you start, it's nearly impossible to stop: Cool Ranch Doritos, Camel Lights, and coaching youth soccer.  Now, every fall, whenever the PAL soccer organizer calls me, he just says, "You're coaching again, right?"

Both teams tackled me on my birthday.
I've always wondered how many 10-year olds it would take
to beat me up.  The answer is fewer than I hoped.
This year, like the previous, there were just two teams in the older age bracket.  We had the Killer Llamas and the Killer Llama Killers.  I coached the latter.  My buddy, Arnoud, coached the former.  Despite is European roots, like me, he's a former rugby player, not a soccer player, and soccer "rules" were often improvised.  Whenever Regina watched our matches she had to bite her tongue as Arnoud and I often would look at each other after an infraction and just shrug.  Our league is the XFL of soccer.  It's a faster and more aggressive game because we play on a field that's A) maybe 40 yards long and 50 yards wide, and B) there's a noticeable uphill slope (or downhill, depending on who picks) to the pitch.  If you're playing downhill, it's pretty easy for a goalie with a good toe to score with a simple clearing kick.  Plus, the field got shorter each time the grass got mowed because whoever ran the lawnmower pushed the goals in and no one bothered to reset them.

The Killer Llamas weren't too thrilled that we mocked their name and came out and beat us soundly in the first 3 games.  It's only a 6-week season, and I felt the team slipping away.  I wish I could say I stepped up my coaching skills by Googling "How to win at soccer," but in reality, I just upped my candy bar bribes.  We won the next 3 to finish the season 3-3.  The coolest part was watching the players transform into decent little soccer players.  The boy who always kept his hands in his pockets turned out to be a pretty good goalie; the girl who insisted on only playing defender turned into an awesome midfielder, and the boy who wouldn't go near the ball turned into a thunder foot who could launch it a mile.  The best, for me, was watching Dylan.  This season, things really clicked for her.  She turned into a scoring machine and my promise from 5 years ago of a candy bar for every goal she scored really bit me in the butt.  I'm sure her dentist won't be thrilled either.  Best of all, she plays soccer like a rugger.  Boys complained when she knocked them down.  I just shrugged.

The only downside to coaching is I couldn't watch Grady play.  His team played on the field next to ours so I could peek over and catch a little of the action.  And, aside from bouncing a soccer ball off his braces once, he had a blast.

So, the cleats and shinguards are back in the closet, mildewing away, and Tuesdays and Thursdays just don't feel the same without dashing to town and trying to squeeze late dinners in after homework.  But we'll figure out something to do with our free time.  I hear basketball is starting up soon.

Monday, September 17, 2018


Between ranch work, drill team, mountain trips, and even horse camp, Dylan and Grady's horseback skills have skyrocketed this year.  It's been pretty cool to watch.  Dylan started, as a cocky cowboygirl toddler, with a limited set of skills and an overabundance of confidence.  I was certain I was raising the next horse-whisperer.  On one fateful cattle drive, I put her on Barney, the oldest, steadiest horse on the ranch.  Ol' Barney was perfect for her; she could act like she was in charge and he'd point her in the right direction.  I knew Barney was so reliable, I didn't even have to hold his lead rope while I checked the cinch on my horse.  For some reason, Barney saw his chance to break and bolted like he was running out of Shawshank.  I turned around to see a geriatric horse and a screaming toddler go galloping down the road.  Dylan hung on, barely, and Uncle Tony had to chase them down in his truck.  Adios, confidence.  It took years before Dylan would even break into a trot.

But now, Dylan rides Dad's old horse, Romeo, and the two are a great pair.  She's become a fearless rider again and I love the transformation.  So when I need an extra hand with ranch work, I call on them.  Such was the case last Friday.  I loaded our horses and picked up Dylan from the front of the Jr. High and off we went.  I needed to move a small herd of cattle that had holed up in a meadow we call Paradise Hollow.  It's a place I'd hole up in if I were a cow or a fugitive: good grass, clear creek water, nice scenery.  But the feed was running low and it was time to bring the cows home.  This was normally a job I'd do with at least one of my brothers, but they were busy, or stoved up, or both, so Dylan got the nod.

Dylan and I had a blast.  We crashed through brush and trees, hopped over creeks, and pushed pairs down a steep, dusty trail.  Dylan, as usual, happily chatted the whole time while I just listened.  When we finally got the cattle close enough to the lower meadow, we turned the horses up the hill and followed bear tracks back to the truck.

We made it off the mountain in time for Dylan to make it to yet another horse-activity: 4-H horsemanship.  She traded her ball cap for a helmet and she and Romeo practiced more obstacles in an arena.  "How'd Romeo do?" I asked that evening.  "He was okay," Dylan said, "but he didn't like going over all the obstacles."  Hmmm, I thought.  Poor Romeo was probably a little wiped out from all the down logs, creeks, brambles, and boulders he'd just spent the previous few hours stepping over and around.  I tossed Romeo a little extra hay the next morning and thanked him for being the King of Steady, and cut him a little slack for being lazy on the 4-H obstacle course.

Wednesday, September 5, 2018

Paintin' the Town

When ranchers really want to go out and paint the town, they do one of two things: they go to a rodeo or find a field day.  Last Saturday we got to do both.  Maybe a little too much town-painting for the family that hits the hay before sunset, but sometimes you have to buckle down and be social.

The field day was hosted by the Siskiyou County Cattlemens Association and the Ag Extension office and is a tour of a local area and highlights how other cattlemen and women operate.  We hit our first feedlot at 8:30 AM and were at our third by 11:30.  Cattle, cattle, everywhere.  The kids mentally checked out when the donuts ran out at 9:00.  But still, I learned a few things.  Any chance I can ask, "How'd you plumb that water trough?" or, "Where'd you get them perty heifers?" is a win.  We cruised through a valley which is, literally, just over the hill from ours, and saw areas that I'd only heard stories about.  We also visited a prominent ranch that I hadn't visited since I was 12 (which was probably the last time they hosted a field day).  I really need to get off the Eastside more.

After the 4th ranch on the tour, it was time to load up and hit the Jefferson State Stampede Rodeo.  The kids ate kettle korn and snow cones and the adults found the Etna Beer booth.  We watched my little nephew ride his first sheep and cheered on friends and neighbors.  We got home waaaaay past our bedtime (9:30), fell asleep and was awakened 3 hours later by the entire purebred Angus herd grazing on our front lawn.  Regina and I spent the next hour gathering them in the dark.  I guess I didn't have to leave the Eastside after all, sometimes field days and rodeos just find their way to you.

Sunday, August 26, 2018

A Tale of Two Towns

Guess who didn't want her dad making a big
deal about her 1st day of middle school?
School is back in session and for the first time, Dylan and Grady are not only going to different schools, but are going to different schools in different towns.  Grady is still an Etna Elementary Mustang, but Dylan has graduated on to become a Middle School Panther in Ft. Jones.  It's another step up in logistics prep for us, but we're 5 days in and no one's been forgotten at home or late for school, so our confidence is soaring.

Super stoked for 4th grade!
I was, back in the dark ages, the last class to complete jr. high at the high school in Etna before the old Ft. Jones high school opened up as the middle school.  I've only watched my nieces and nephew go through 8th grade graduation there, so the school is as new to me as it is to Dylan.  This is a fact that, while completely uninteresting, I chose to share with a parent of one of Dylan's friends not once, but twice at our back-to-school orientation.  She gave me a look like I'd just told her I was going to be President of the World someday and then quickly moved on.

So, while Dylan is navigating rotating classes, new classmates, and a PE program with uniforms, Grady is rockin' it in the 4th grade Boys' Academy (there are only 5 girls in his class).  It's basically the same ol' routine for him, aside from having a new teacher and a stricter hat policy.

We're excited for the challenges the year will bring us, and if you catch us at the bakery on Friday mornings, I might even tell you about the time I narrowly missed going to the jr. high in Ft. Jones.  If you're extra lucky, I'll tell you twice.

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

Pre-Fair, Post-Fair

I was talking to a buddy today about the fair and he said that it's a lot like running a marathon.  He's right.  But it's a little more like doing a few 100-yard windsprints during a marathon, while chugging keg beer and eating a corndog.  It is, obviously, the greatest and most challenging 5 days of summer.

For 4-H and FFA kids, fair preparation is year-round.  Last year, Dylan picked out Dolores the day after the fair.  This year, we're waiting a whole week.  Dylan and Grady have been working with their fair animals all summer long.  Dylan caught her heifer, Dolores, twice a day and brushed, washed, groomed, and walked her.  Dolores had her hair professionally clipped and her hooves trimmed.  Her showbox looked like a Jersey Shore bathroom counter.  Turkeys, of course, are a lot easier and daily baths would probably kill them, but Grady was pretty good at keeping them well fed and watered.  Robot and Batman even got a good scrubbing and bath just before the fair.  You ever have to wash a turkey?  It was an all-hands on deck kind of job.

And then, voila, fair time.  Dolores had to be there a day early to get weighed and preg-checked.  When Dr. Amy pregged Dolores, her eyes widened and she said, "Any day."  So a 1528 pound, very pregnant heifer was led to her soft bed of shavings, where she'd spend the next 5 days getting washed, fed, groomed, and coddled.  Robot arrived Wednesday morning for poultry inspection (apparently, birds carry a lot of bugs).  He passed his mite test and sat on the scales at 45.8 pounds.  A tad heavy, but since Grady is still in PeeWee Showmanship and can't sell, Robot could've weighted 100 pounds and it wouldn't have mattered.

I'll skim though the next 5 days, mostly because they're a blur.  Grady showed Robot as the only PeeWee turkey showman.  And while the judge was impressed with his turkey knowledge, he was really impressed with his beast of a bird.  Dylan showed Dolores and finished a very respectable 3rd in her class, and, the following day, finished well in her market class.  Since Grady was the only kid showing a turkey, he automatically made it to the PeeWee finals on Saturday.  There, in the big showring, he marched Robot back and forth, shook the hands of random bystanders, and pointed out all the weird parts of his bird.  Dylan got back in the ring on Sunday for her final day with Dolores.  Thankfully, our awesome neighbor, Bob, bought her and promised he'd let Dylan come visit Dolores and her new baby.  That was a huge weight off Dylan's shoulders and made her goodbye a thousand times easier.

Demobilizing our fair set up made me understand why the army just dumps its tanks and helicopters into the ocean whenever it leaves a foreign war.  I wanted to do that with all our crap, but Yreka creek is dry, so I had to cart it all to the truck.  We are, still, in a bit of post-fair hangover mode.  But things are looking up.  I'm starting to miss fried pickles and 4-wheeler crashes and we're already talking about picking out next year's fair heifer.  By August 2019, we're bound to be ready.