Its a "Mash a Button" world we live in.

Wow has it been a while since I blogged! It's winter feeding here on the ranch and I have been commissioned to write about it. Been a little distracted by that assignment and all that needs done to keep animals healthy and fed. I have a new one for you though and I hope you enjoy!

It’s a “Mash a button” world we live in.

The term “Mash a button” came lovingly from my Dad.

My parents are in their mid 60’s and retired. They have worked very hard for the better part of 45 years for what they have and I am proud to say I’m their Daughter.  My parents believe in hard work, living up to their word, and making good choices. Often times I’ll go to Mom and Dad for advice, they are my one stop advice shop and I know without a doubt how lucky I am to have that. When my Dad pulls their camper into a campground and “Mashes a button” I smile when the jacks all come down, the thing levels, the water heater ignites, and the slide outs glide smoothly into position and he has yet to leave the driver’s seat. They deserve it.

Our camper, however, does none of those things. Most times we don’t even bother with the jacks, the hot water heater needs a hubcap to cover it so the wind doesn't blow the pilot out, and my idea of “creating more space” means throwing out the toys and lawn chairs.

Once upon a time we lived in the “Mash a button” world and knew no different. Mash the button to turn the furnace on and heat floods the house. Now we delicately light the wood burning stove and wait. Mash buttons on the phone and in 30 minutes or less fried chicken shows up at the door. Now I plan a day ahead and fry my own chicken (and it tastes better). Mash a button on the clothes dryer to take care of the laundry. Now I hang it diligently on the clothesline and Mother Nature does the rest. Mash a button on the microwave and 45 seconds later sit down with your bowl of popcorn. We don’t even have a microwave. Need bread, eggs? Get in your minivan and in 15 minutes your leaving the grocery store with your booty.  Yes, it may take me all day to make bread, and I regularly argue with the chickens (OK mainly the rooster). However, when my 3 men sit down to dinner and devour a whole loaf of the bread I made myself and a dozen or more Yorkshire puddings made with eggs from those chickens, I know a “mash a button” life is no longer for me. No Ma’am. The last time I mashed a button was on the telephone to call and ask Mom what goes into her famous stuffing.

When we made the jump to the ranch 2 years ago we truly found the lifestyle we love. A “Mash a button” life may fit for most people, but not for us. I am eternally grateful everyday for the friends and family who understand that and don’t hold it against us. 

Happy New Year from the Stephensons!!

Just a Dog

I have heard many times that phrase "just a dog" and it offends me every time.

I have had a handful of dogs in my day and followed no breed loyalty. I let them choose me.

Loyal dog #1 was beige colored teacup Poodle mix thing named Taz. Cutest little thing you ever saw. Mom and Dads Poodle got friendly with my Brothers Cockapoo and the result was Taz. That little dog went everywhere with me. She liked best to ride in an inside coat pocket where she could snuggle down and keep warm. When she was about 2 she dislocated her front paw from the leg. That required a flying trip to the vet on a Sunday. I had her 4 or 5 years when I learned my Grandma was horribly lonely and not doing well. Maybe something to look after would help her? Taz lived out her days in Wyoming being spoiled by an old Lady who doted on her. Rhinestone collars and the whole shebang. Lucky little dog.

Loyal dog #2 was a German Shepard bitch I called Kisses. Rescued from the pound in a southern Nebraska town at 6 months old, all she did the whole ride home was kiss. Everybody she could reach got the blessing. I entertained the fact that she was just so happy to be out of that filthy little wire kennel kissing was the safest way she knew to say thank you. She was by far the smartest dog I have had so far. Show her something once maybe twice and she had it down. One night I convinced a wayward group of skinny dipping teens she was a police dog. She growled in all the right places and the teens decided not to question our authority. They left and we went back to camping in the refound quiet. I lived in a place once that the bathroom door would swung shut of it's own accord. Very useful if you have kids but not so when the little dog goes in to drink from the toilet and gets stranded. I trained Kisses to "get the door" in which she would amble down the hallway and push the door open with her nose. The little dog would come out and all would be well until next time. She was about 2 when I gave her to a man who trains dogs for the police department. I lived in a trailer after all and she grew into a pretty big dog. Last information I received on her was that she had served the Columbus Nebraska Police Department and was living out her retirement with the same officer she served along side.

Loyal dog #3 was a rat terrier named Princess. I answered an ad in a weekly publication about Rat Terrier puppies. "Farm raised", "Loving family", and "High quality blood lines" were in bold print in the ad. What I found were bitches in cages, a sire way past his prime and too many puppies to count in a space way too small. I was seeing first hand the horrors of a puppy mill. As I looked at the pups wondering what to do I spotted her. Sat way in the back, her nose in the air, passed over too many times to be hopeful. She was a runt from one of the previous litters and the "loving family" were planning to use her to breed. I gave the woman my $60 and picked her up. As she curled into a tiny ball in my hand, I snuggled her down in Taz's once favorite inside coat pocket and we went home. The very next morning I called the authorities and by the end of the week that dirty, rotten, nasty, smelly place was devoid of dogs. With the exception of the too old sire of whom they had to neuter in order to keep. Princess grew into a fine specimen of  Rat Terrier despite being the runt. Powered by high protein ALPO she surpassed the Vets dire prognosis of being tiny and skinny. Filling out to nearly 20 lbs and 18 inches tall she happily followed me through life without a care in the world. She never wondered what we were doing or where we were going just as long as she could go too. She would ride with me on road trips with my job, in the John Deere combine with yet another job, got me through one divorce and 3 boyfriends, then eventually chose my forever husband. Princess was my side kick for more than a decade. Living out nearly 14 full years. Never bit a single person, and was even good with the kids. In the end the Diabetes stole her sight, stiffened her muscles, and just drug her down. Age crept up on us slowly then BAM was in our face. I held her until the end. Telling her what a good dog she was. Seeing her take her last breath and feeling the thump of the last beat....*sigh*. We took her ashes home and spread them in her favorite romping spot. That'll do Princess, That'll do.

Loyal dogs #4 and #5 are classic black and white Border Collies and boy do they liven things up around here. We had adopted the pair from a working dog rescue. Half brothers brought from New Mexico hoping for a new life in cattle country. The kid's and I went to visit them in Ft Collins and I saw my Tucker for the first time. I knew he was my dog even before he saw me. When we made eye contact he walked straight to me, through a room full of people and dogs, put his head on my knee and gave me "the look". You know the one. That look that just melts your heart. That was it, we had connected. They were a packaged deal so I arranged to bring them home. Almost as quick as I had connected with Tucker, Jack bonded with the husband. It was clear from day one who's person was who's. Going from one small, old, not so high maintenance, kind of dog to two high energy very young border collies really opens your doggie eyes. What was old hat to Princess was new and exciting to these additions. Cats being the first hurdle...chickens being the second. We had the Collies a grand total of a month when last May Jack came up missing from the back of the truck. Scouring the roadside we find him crumpled in a pile in the ditch. He was just coming to so we wrapped him in a blanket to fend off shock and loaded him up in the car. The brave brave boy didn't even whimper once in the hour ride to the Vet. A few days later we brought him home with only the addition of a newly plated femur. Healing of the bone went as smoothly as we could have hoped for and few days ago Jack went back into the Vet a second time to have the plate removed. It had started to hurt him and we learned it was interfering with tendon function. Grand Vet total.....$2000 smackaroos. It's a good thing he's a smart dog or I might have packed it in with him.Our Jack remembers things. Like that nurse that stabbed him with that sharp thing last time? Nope not going to get near him with it again he says with the low rumble. Bring out the muzzle and the growl comes once more, deeper this time and more from the diaphragm. She hands the muzzle to me and I try to explain to Jack the situation. He's a pretty smart dog and I'm sure he gets my drift. He gives me the "do I have too" look but sits silently still while I put on the muzzle. I took it off as soon as Doc would let me just as I promised poor Jack I would. Like I said, he remembers. Tucker, who had been patiently sitting in the corner hoping none of this would happen to him, came over and gave Jack a little lick on the muzzle. The dogs locked eyes for a sec and I could see the silent communication between the brothers. It's like Tucker was saying "It's OK Jack, You'll be OK, I'm here for you dude". Jack blinked once then laid his head back down to drift off to sleep. Tucker returned to his corner and continued to try and be as invisible as possible, still hoping this wasn't his fate as well. After all those times Jack has tattled on Tucker for being naughty, attacked him ruthlessly trying to entice him into a fight, and Tucker is still there on his team rooting for him.

There are obviously stories I have missed and will remember in the dead of night. The sticker patch incident, the chewed up sandal fiasco, and for goodness sake don't even mention shoes. Those memories are mine to protect. To cherish and covet. To have and to hold close to my heart.  To bring out when I need to be strong, for when that steady beat thumps it's last yet again.  

It's never "just a dog"
Barb

Cowboy Hide and Seek

Anyone who has ever lived, worked, or fed anyone on a ranch knows this game well. It begins with a phone call; someone needs lunch, parts, fuel, first aid, help, etc etc and hopefully includes a current location. From there on it is up to you. You are it. Find the Cowboy.

First thing you do is round up whatever item it is they have requested, this time it was jumper cables, and determine if you have enough fuel in the correct vehicle.  Once I did that, I headed for the last known location.  

Of course no one was there when I got there but they had left behind some very important clues. Tire tracks. They can tell you a lot at this point. General direction being one, what vehicle you’re looking for is two, and are they loaded or unloaded for three. Today I’m looking for the black Ford Ranger that was rumored to be in the Allard Home. He couldn't have gone far as like I said, he needed jumper cables. 

If you’re lucky enough to find your quarry has traveled via a gravel road you simply look to see what side the tracks are on. That will tell you what general direction they are headed, however if they have traveled cross country you will need to look at the grass. This was my clue today. The tires had pushed the grass over to point me on my way. I scanned the field in the direction the grass was pointing only to find a complete lack of a stranded Ranger.  There was only one set of tracks therefore I knew he hadn't left the field yet. I got back into my truck and ventured on.

Our irrigation is gravity fed from local reservoirs and occasionally you need to cross a ditch. This is another good way to cipher out what direction you need to head. The first crossing I came to lacked any tire tracks so I moved on. I finally found the familiar chunky treads of the supposedly stranded Ranger 3 or 4 crossings later looking to be on its way into the next field. Cursing myself for leaving the binoculars at the house I stand up in the bed of the truck to try and get a better view. I’m pretty short and the grass was thin here and hard to read. The binoculars would have come in handy.

There, on the other side of the next field over, closing the gates on the same stack yard I had sworn never to visit again, was the Cowboy in question. The husband and I had a run in with a porcupine at that stack yard last winter resulting in a broken tongue, 4 scared shiftless Percheron horses, and a 5 mile walk back to the ranch. Not something I’d like to repeat thank you very much.  Quietly stowing my porcupine phobia away by telling myself there were no horses involved today, I hop back in the cab of my truck and point myself in the correct general direction.

“This is not the Allard Home” I playfully remark to Ben as I lift the hood of my truck. “Yea?” He says questioningly, gazing around as if this were the Allard Home 5 minutes ago and he’s confused as to why it isn't anymore, “well it’s a good job you found me then”.   I’m parked nose to nose with his stranded Ranger and the minute I attach the negative cable I realize why it has become so. I grin as Anthrax or some other metal band comes blaring from the open windows, pushing the factory speakers further than they have ever been pushed before. I too have run dead the occasional battery while buried in good music, or NPR. Does that make me boring that I have actually run a battery dead listening to National Public Radio? I hope not, but I digress. Ben gets in his stranded Ranger then, as if having a sudden thought, leans out the open window to shout over the blaring guitars and feedback “What field is this then?”  I’m not 100% sure myself but I don’t want to look like an amateur so I knowingly shout back “Lower Field” thinking I have heard Peter call it that once before. He throws me a look as if to say “note to self”, and reaches for the key. 

The Ranger starts right up and I bade him good bye as I toss the cables back into the truck. He has more stack yards to close and I likewise have things to do. Bouncing across the ditches heading back to the house I mentally put another mark on my score card. Find the Cowboy for today is over and I win yet again.

Homemade

I stare out of the kitchen window peering through my binoculars watching the road. I am expecting a package today and the truck bringing it to me is late. It’s no wonder with the latest weather over Rabbit Ears Pass. These binoculars are usually reserved for watching cows calve, watching for the hubby to come home from a hard day at work, or for making sure the children aren't killing each other out in the pasture.  

Today I am watching for UPS. The special gift he holds for me a Junxifu Pasta maker with adjustable pasta roller, 4 different cutting plates and chrome plating. Oh the possibilities he brings. I can make spaghetti, fettuccine, lasagna noodles, and even ravioli noodles. If I could make that sound old Jerry Clower makes when he gets worked up, I’d be making it right now. How about that sound Tim the "Tool-man" Taylor makes when talking about “Man Stuff”.  UPS not only holds the key to savings (it should pay for itself in about 43 years) but it also holds my family’s well being.

Who knows what really goes into the food you buy? Just because it say’s “flour eggs milk salt” on the box doesn't always mean that’s what’s inside. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for convenience foods, but where do you draw the line. When we moved out to the Ranch a year and a half ago I started making my bread from scratch. Sometimes in a pinch I’ll buy a loaf of “Floppy Bread” as my family calls it, but not very often. They prefer the homemade stuff. From bread to biscuits and cake to pasta they want it real and un-messed around with. Maybe I spoiled them but I don’t really care. This is how I show my love.

I put Yorkshire Puddings on the table in front of my English husband and he knows I was thinking of him while cracking the eggs and beating in the milk. I show up at school with cupcakes decorated like clowns and my birthday boy knows I had just him in mind. When I ask “what would you like for supper?” and the answer is “spag ball” (spaghetti) my family probably won't think about the hours spent peeling and chopping the garlic and onions, sauteing the meat, simmering the sauce forever and now making the pasta, and that's OK. I do it because I know that’s just how they like it.

I put my love into each onion I chop, into each loaf of bread I bake, and into each pie I conjure. Sometimes the gratitude doesn't quite get vocalized but when the English muffins are gone the next day, when a boy is hanging with his head in the fridge looking for the chokecherry jelly, and when boys are fighting over who gets the last Yorkshire Pudding, that is when I get my thank yous.   

My UPS guy finally did show up with my Junxifu and we indeed had homemade pasta for lunch the next day. Homemade does not always mean cheaper, faster, or easier. However, it always means more. More to me, more to them, and that’s why I do it.   

I'm dreaming of a white October!

Cradling my coffee cup in my hand, I stand and look out from the dining room window. It's by far the largest window in the house and offers one of our best views of Rabbit Ears, Spicer Peak, and the Sleeping Bear. Today however, I gaze out upon the vast whiteness that is our scenery. About 6 inches of the fluffy stuff fell overnight and still continues to fall today. Should make vaccinating calves interesting to say the least.

After layer upon layer of clothing are donned, the Boy's and I head for the corrals. We are armed with sleds and ready to face the snow.

The white gold fell steadily from the sky throughout the morning and well into the afternoon. Snow rested inches deep on the tops of fence railings, trucks, the platform we stand upon and even on the backs of the calves themselves. It didn't however change the calves attitude about going into the run. They didn't know what was down there and they'll be damned if they are going to find out.

We had calves in backwards, calves wanting in 2 at a time, calves trying to go up over the sides and calves on their backs. Couple that the snow, the cold, and the slippery conditions and one would expect attitudes or tempers. The overall mood however, was surprisingly easy going. Someone would invariably look to the poor snow covered sucker next to them and say "So, ya think it might snow today?" as the snow fell from the brim of their cowboy hat.

I must make a confession here for I cannot take credit for spending the entire day playing in the snow. With kiddo's home from school on Fridays and the temperature hovering at about 25 above we decided to wait and go out at lunchtime.  Therefor, after preparing the nice hot beef stew to help offset the cold and the wet we headed out. While everyone sat in pickups eating their cold sandwiches and potato chips we hunkered down with the heavy hearty food I had so lovingly prepared. Watching the snow fall around us, we eat our lunch listening to the sound of bawling calves and happy kids.

300 or so calves made it through and almost all got their shots. There is always one or two lively buggers that slips through the sorting.

It's supposed to be 60 degrees above in a few days time. Mother Nature must be feeling as lively as those calves. A person might think this was still Nebraska.

Keep your head up, your eyes peeled, and your mind open. Even a challenging day can be an enjoyable one.
Barb

Meatless Monday!!

It's Meatless Monday folks!!

We are trying a new recipe tonight called "Penne with herbs, tomatoes, and peas" and invite you to try it with us. Find the recipe at the link below. I don't happen to have any cherry tomatoes so I plan to substitute canned tomatoes instead. I also plan to omit the parsley. Please let me know of any substitutions you make. I'm curious to see....

http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/penne-herbs-tomatoes-peas-50400000128125/

Happy experimenting!
Barb

Teamwork at it's best

One can never be too prepared and sometimes teamwork is essential. Today was a good example.

Yesterday-The guys have been working to get the hay into the stack yards before the Elk, Deer, Antelope, and/or Moose decide it a free buffet.  The stack mover they use is a pretty large unit and maneuvering it can be a bit tricky sometimes. I myself nearly lost control of it last fall while gathering broken bales, but that is a whole other post. There is about 12 or 15 teeth ridden chains all driven by a single drive chain. It's designed to tilt and back under the edge of the hay, the teethed chains then pull the stack up onto the mover. Did I mention this stack weighs about 20 tons?

They were on the last stack of the day and apparently the Boss Man neglected to disengage the PTO, causing the stack to come to far forward against the back of the tractor, which in turn put too much stress on the drive chain and..it snapped. The tractor, stranded due to the 20 tons of hay now wedged against its back tires, adorns the side of a hill sitting down on its haunches. The stack, now immobile as a result of the broken main drive chain, stands proudly on its mover, patiently waiting for the next step. The guys assess the situation, look at their phones (it's 4:30), and took a vote. The stack, the tractor, and the mover were definitely not going anywhere. The plan was to go home and think on it. Attack the problem first thing in the morning. After coffee that is.

Today-The phone at our place starts ringing at 7 am. First it's Monte's mom, reporting I'll not have him today since they were just going to a volleyball game and will take him with. Then it's my niece and why haven't I called her back, do I never check my messages etc etc. Then it's Monte's Mom again and could I have him after all since she was going to be recording at the game. Absolutely! We love Monte, he is such a character and fit's so well with whatever it is we are doing. Then it's Pete, could I come to the field and help out with this stack fiasco and with that my morning was decided.

Thinking to myself that one can never be too prepared, while waiting on Monte, I proceed to throw items in the back of my truck. My tool kit complete with sockets and wrenches, snacks and toys for the kids, our Super Rope and tow straps, and since this is North Park I tossed in a couple extra coats. Just in case. When I arrive they had encircled the stack with chains, cables, and straps. We need the stack moved back far enough on the mover to get to the drive chain and fix it. The plan was to put Pete on the Caterpillar D6 chain it to the stack and pull back. I was to be in the tractor slowly pulling forward the minute my wheels would turn. Being careful not to spin the tires as it has now started snowing. Boss man would be on the ground giving simultaneous hand signals to the both of us.

This whole set up work great! The stack moved back by a dragging inch and I could now move again. Then the cable broke. The end of the cable flies through the air like a rocket and lands nowhere to be seen. We search the close vicinity of the hay field but after not finding the end loop and clamps Boss Man jumps in the truck to head for the home ranch for more.  Before he has a chance to get out of the field however, I find the offending end, complete with it's clamps. It had come to rest about 200 feet behind my husband. Boss Man returns and I ask Peter if next time we do this could he please sit a little lower in his seat. Just in case.

Now we have the clamps and the cable but no tools. Who the heck doesn't keep tools in their tractor??  I mentioned I have my tool kit in the truck and we're back in business. My pulling forward, Pete pulling backwards and Boss Man on the ground doing his marvelous silent mime.

2 more times that cable broke and the shorter it got the more desperate Boss Man became. Now that the tractor was mobile we had moved it to a steeper hill hoping that gravity was on our side today. When the cable snapped a third time the tension in the field was so thick you could cut it with a butter knife.

"Alright" Boss Man declares "Plan D" I thought we were still on plan A but whatever.
"Whats plan D?" P asks "Set the stack on fire, claim insurance, and head for the Stockmans?" This breaks the rising tension and Boss Man giggles out a retort "No that's plan Z." Woohoo only 32 more plans to go.
"I'm going to help you by pushing with the backhoe." Your keeping count on the sheer amount of large machinery we now have right? If the stack still won't move plan Z is looking better and better.

So with Peter on the Cat, me in the loader, and Boss Man in the backhoe we make one final attempt. The stack is moving! Inch by beautiful inch. Boss Man makes a sign to me that I took to mean raise the bed. I pull the lever and the tractor bogs down, I hit the throttle to give her more power (ever notice the big machines are usually a SHE) and with a heart lurching thunk the stack starts to lift. The bed is rising up, the stack is moving back and we are getting somewhere!!  Enter the spinning tires.

The front wheels on my loader have started to spin. I have lost traction and the cat is pulling me backwards. Peter, feeling something isn't quite right and because he can't see around the stack, stops his cat, I stop my loader and Boss Man stops his backhoe. They give everything a good look over and the stack has stopped right where it needs to be for them to fix the drive chain. At least we have accomplished something.

Now I'm sitting on the side of a pretty steep hill, with a 20 ton stack and no traction. My loader is stranded again. Pete brings the Cat around and I surrender my tractor to Boss Man. They get everything chained up and the Cat effortlessly pulls the loader and the stack to the top of the hill. The tractor takes over and can finally, for the first time in over 18 hours, move it's own stack.

Feeling useful and needed, I round up my tools, climb in my truck full of kids, crank up the heat, and head back home. My work here is done. The men can handle the rest.
  
Thought for the day: Never offend a woman who can operate heavy machinery.

Have a marvelous Friday everyone!
Barb

Shame on you

I watch him from across the restaurant fidgeting in his chair. His earlier entry and subsequent phone call got my attention. “I’m here” was all he said and then hung up, sat down and impatiently waited. I don’t know why he intrigued me so but I couldn't help but watch him. Every few seconds he would stretch up and peer out to the parking lot from his seat. I guessed him to be about 70 or so. Bent from age and haggard from years of hard work, his khaki shirt was as stained as the dickey’s he now squirmed in.

I wondered what his story was. Who was he waiting for that could possibly have him so worked up? He seemed to me to be a no nonsense kind of guy. The kind of hard core ranch owner who shoots first and asks questions later.  He was the kind of guy that nothing could fluster, until now.

There was no question when his party arrived. His demeanor changed completely when she pulled in. Leaving 20 years and a glass of iced tea behind, this decrepit old man leapt from his chair like a pouncing lion and practically sprinted across the restaurant. The stern look he carried disappeared and his gruffness vacated as he stood straight and held the door for his company.

She looked to be about 30 years old or so with a nice enough face. Her killer body filled out the blue jeans and tank top nicely. Very deceiving considering the 3 little ones she had in tow. “Good for her” I said quietly to myself.

Chivalry abounded as he pulled out her chair and fetched a booster seat for the littlest of the three kiddos. He coo-chee-cooed the baby as she put her in the chair and ruffled the little 4 year old boys hair all while giving financial advice to the eldest. He had given him 50 cents on the way to the table and was advising him on how to save. “Look after your pennies son and your dollars will look after themselves” He quoted the familiar quote I had heard from my own Grandma many years ago.

I couldn't quite figure out this relationship. He wasn't acting like she was a daughter and neither was she acting as this was her father but they were related somehow. Of that I was certain. I decided maybe a niece or a long lost cousin’s daughter.

My query would be answered when she came to the counter to order. After placing her and the kiddie’s orders she commented with a certain amount of disdain that she would probably have to pay for her father-in-law's cheeseburger as well.

That didn't make any sense at all I thought to myself. My own Father-in-Law filled my mind and although he passed away some years ago he still lives on in my husband. All those little things my husband didn't think he needed to learn come out when he talks to our own sons. Seeds of knowledge pop out of his memory bank like popcorn in a hot pan. I also thought how I would never speak of my own Father-in-Law with the same disdain with which she now spoke of hers.   

 She obviously didn't want to be here, of that I am sure. Looking at her watch every few seconds showed me she was uncomfortable and impatient. I can almost imagine the conversation between her and her husband. Her wondering why couldn't he take the kids to see his Dad? Why does she have to do it? He wasn't her dad after all. Then him saying how he has to work and he would go himself but he just can’t get away. I can hear him saying how she only has to stay an hour and he would make it up to her. Her reluctantly giving in with a comment about how yes, he would make it up to her. Lobster and roses swimming behind her eyes.

 “Please lady” I wanted to say “Don’t waste this; he will be gone before you know it. Gather the knowledge now while you can.” I wanted to grab her and make her understand what a rare opportunity this was. To have his undivided attention on her and her children is a special treat. It’s a chance for her children to absorb his knowledge. “He needs this” I wanted to say “He needs to pass on his legacy. Cherish what a gift this is. No matter what he did to offend you.”  Alas, I didn't say any of those things. I sat in silence watching the show.   

She obviously missed all mental pleas on my part and one hour was all she gave him, not a minute more.

He stood by the curb for a long time watching her drive away, willing her to return and give him some more precious time. He had possibly waited for this lunch all week. Planned for it, anticipated it, and prayed it went well. Looking for those brief moments when he can share his wisdom with the younger generation, with his Son’s children, his grandchildren. Meanwhile she dreaded the thought of going to some Podunk town and sitting in a run down bowling alley for a whole hour. Where they probably didn't even have a decent bottle of water. Listening to an old man ramble on about stuff she didn't care about while thinking all the while of what she will demand in exchange. Not knowing how important this is for the old man.

Now she was gone and the haggard bitter old man returned. Those shoulder slumped once more as he got into his old ford and slowly drove away. Shame on you lady, whoever you are. Shame on you for thinking your time is more precious than his, shame on you for not cherishing what little time he has left, and shame on you for not being smart enough to know you're doing it.   

Welcome!

Hello my friends and welcome!!
First off for those who are unfamiliar with me I'd like to introduce myself. My name is Barbara Stephenson. City girl turned ranch wife. Until may of last year I lived in a city of 8000 comfortably surrounded by close friends and family. Safely cocooned in their familiar protection. Then after a few eye opening events my husband Peter and I decided we weren't living life. Life was living us and we needed a change.
We moved from our close knit family and big home town to a wide spot in the road in northern Colorado. Accepting a ranch job after much deliberation, was by far the best decision we have made for us, our boys, and our sanity in general. For the past 16 or so months we have been living and learning in beautiful North Park. Walden, a town of 800, has become our home and these people have slowly become our people. Excited about our new lives I have been posting updates or funny things to my Facebook page.  After several suggestions that writing might be a strong suit of mine I decided to delve into the boggling world of blogging.
SO, here each week (or so) I'll recant a funny story, quip, or an experience from our daily ranching lives. The run in's with cows, horses, dogs, or chickens and the near misses will no doubt continue to make us all say..."What the...?". Also, I plan to provide hints and tips on anything from advice with children to money saving household tips as well as links to websites containing useful information.
Therefor, stay tuned and lets see just how many of you I can continue to corrupt.
Barb