Last Day at the Ranch

Today is my last day of writing from the ranch. I am overlooking five layers of mountain ranges, a preening peacock, and contented sheep grazing. If I wasn’t missing The Hub and kids (Aunt Jane and Jordan), I would be quite content to sit a spell longer.

I’ve been privileged to participate in meetings my sister had with a major recycling project, and learn how the California government keeps itself relevent by filing frivolous infractions on small/medium business. I learned the zinc content of car tires and galvanized roofing, and more practical things: ideas for helping Jordanian recycling initiatives move forward.

My kids are going to flip when they hear how much fun I had:

Quad Biking - Sister Sal took me on a couple of hour tour of the 400 acres by quadbike as we searched for a missing horse. I’ve done it partially on mule-back, which hurts a bit much. To me, it has always been: why jet ski when you can sail, why snowmobile when you can cross-country ski, and why quad bike when you can ride a horse?   Turning fifty changed my answers to those questions, and more.  We giggled like little girls as we sped along, I accidently threw the 120lb Lab lap-dog when rounding a corner too fast. He forgave me.

3ammto Ammo* taught me how to shoot a 17 HM (Harnady Magnum) rifle and a 45 Kimber pistol.  I figure enough people have referred to me as a colonial-imperialist-with mindset leading toward terrorist kinda gal that I might as well see what I have been missing in terms of firearms. To my shock,  I shredded a can with the 17HM and shot the middle through one with the Kimber. Just like the The Bourne Identity. Scary.

Varmint Hunting. After cans, I moved up to critters. Ground squirrels plague the ranch, digging holes in which the livestock step into and become lame. 3ammo Ammo never missed one, after missing for an hour I got the last two I tried. I would post a picture, but the icky cannibal varmints drag their dead buddies bodies back into the tunnels to snack. TMI?

Corraling Sheep. It was time for market for six lucky Suffolk sheep. Sal, her Hub, 3ammo Ammo , six dogs and I moved them from pen-to-pen and finally into the sheep trailer.  It was a piece of work, especially getting them into the last pen. These sheep are not knee-high Jordanian versions,  the males are as big as donkeys and you don’t want to get trampled.

Other Bits:

Dog-Friendly Offices. Now have you ever heard of that outside of California? My Sis and Hub’s company is Dog-Friendly. Every employee has a dog in their office, sleeping in a pet-like Pac-n-Play. No smells, no accidents. Go figure. Think that would fly in Jordan?

Home-made goods. My Sis, corporate executive by day and ranch mistress after 5pm, also makes her own apricot jam, blackberry jam, apple butter and mint/apple jelly from an apple tree that is 160 years old. She grows rosemary in her garden, just like we do in Jordan.

Community. These independent ranch/mountain folk are surprisingly interdependent and family like. They share a gravel road that they maintain voluntarily, and no one fudges on how much they put in. Sis trades lamb for eggs and veg she doesn’t grow herself. One guy owns a backhoe for digging, another guy repairs it and everyone uses it and trades their own equipment. They all keep an eye on Ella, a fierce 80-year-old woman whose kids live far away, and secretly plow her drive in winter.

(They even have a marijuana grower on the street, who is incensed that big-business will be taking over medicinal marijuana growing in California.  People pretty much ignore him, other than turning him in when he starts planting on their property ‘by mistake’) 

Sigh. Time to switch hats to Chicago living, then back to Cornland and prepare to return to Jordan. After all this beef, lamb and organic greens, I am ready for some hummous and falafel.

(*ammunition uncle, awkward translation)

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