Another day on the ranch...

That's what we keep saying here: Another day on the ranch. That one phrase encompasses just about anything, from a south wind blowing the corn sideways (yesterday) to a family of foxes making themselves at home in the barn (the day before).

It took more than an hour yesterday for the two of us to straighten-up the corn stalks. We have been watching that corn carefully as it has grown up from teeny-tiny kernels to plants that are nearly six-feet high. And the day before the winds came, we found miniature corncobs forming, complete with lustrous silk threads sparkling in the sun. My friend F told me that the corn might be eaten up by the squirrels before we get a chance to pick them, but with all the squirrel-eating critters in these hills, I don't think that's going to be a problem. In the twelve months that we've lived here now, I've seen less than half a dozen squirrels. I would guess that the foxes and coyotes keep the corn-eating squirrel population under control.

The foxes have relocated to someone else's barn now. Yesterday morning, I put on my chicken-coop-cleaning clothes and raked the dirt floor in the back half of the barn. (The front half is concrete and not fox-friendly.) The dirt was very Zen-like when I was done, minus the intricate patterns because I kept one eye on the ceiling of the barn and the other on the dirt. Spiders and flying things are in that barn, to be sure, and I didn't want to be surprised by anyone in the insect world just for the sake of raking a deliberate pattern into that dirt. By the time I was done with that dirt floor, my rubber boots were unrecognizable and my slacks were dust-filled up to my knees. I hosed-off the boots before I set foot on the porch and then tossed those slacks into the washing machine as soon as I got into the house.

We checked the dirt in the barn after dinner last night-- no sign of paw prints anywhere, no sign of a fox's dinner or (pardon me) fox-poop, either. First thing this morning, we checked again. The dirt in the back of the barn was still raked and about as pristine as dirt can be. My chickens were happy about that, because I let them out of the coop this morning and also let out of their tent-covered yard. Both Scarlett and Prissy were in the nesting boxes again, sitting on imaginary eggs, but I put my long oven-mitts on and got them both out of there. I'm sure by now, they're both back in the boxes again, so when this is all typed, I will have to go out to the coop and get them out again. The oven mitts (kept just for the coop) are great for persuading hens to get out of the nesting boxes-- you can pick them up with those gloves, but they can't peck at you because the gloves are so thick.

The rain that fell all day yesterday has moved towards the east, and this morning's sun has helped to make the corn stand taller and straighter than it was before the winds hit it all like a freight train. That was so disappointing, to walk into the yard and see those corn stalks all tilted sideways. What on earth do the farmers do when they have acres and acres of corn planted? They surely don't go out there and set them up again, one by one, as we did with fifty plants. We were halfway through with that unwanted task and I said to my husband Just whose idea was it anyway to plant vegetables?

At the beginning of this week, I was in WalMart shopping for groceries. I didn't have it on my list, but when I passed by the aisle with the bug spray, I thought I'd buy a can just to have extra in the house. While I was in front of that shelf looking for the brand I've been buying (Bengal Gold-- the best!) there was a woman standing next to me, reading the labels on some of the cans. She turned to me and asked me if I knew which one was good. I told her about the Bengal Gold, and we both looked for it, but WalMart had sold out of that brand. As always happens in this state, when a complete stranger asks you a question, it usually turns into a conversation.

This woman had lived in Clear Lake, and then moved further inland after Hurricane Katrina threatened the waterfront area a bunch of years back. (Has that been five or six years already?) Then after Hurricane Ike a couple of years ago, she and her husband bought 48 acres up near Burton and they're planning now to build a house on that property. They already have their horses and donkeys up there, and they put a travel-trailer on the property so they wouldn't have to stay in a hotel in town every weekend. Even though she loves the beauty of that 48 acres, she said she wasn't sure how her life would change once they moved up here "completely... you know, with all of my clothes and shoes and all...."

I told her that our situation was about the same as hers, except we have half the amount of property that she does, but no horses or donkeys. "Just a dog and cats, and chickens... and most of my clothes and shoes haven't seen the light of day since we moved here," is what I told her. She asked me if we could exchange phone numbers and could she call me when they came into town next time so we could get together for lunch? By that time, my husband had found me in the aisle, and I made the introductions and exchanged phone numbers with A. Her property isn't all that far from ours, and I can see us getting together from time to time, especially after her house is all built and finished and they're living up here full-time, not just weekends.

I told my husband that A and I already had a lot in common....... she and I were both in WalMart wearing lipstick and dangling earrings, and bracelets and cute shoes, we had Jackie-O-sized sunglasses with teeny tiny rhinestones on the sides, we didn't believe that white capris were only meant to be worn on cruise ships, and we were both concerned about wiping out the insect population in our little corners of the Hill Country.

A had asked me if I missed the shopping in Clear Lake. "The shoe stores... I miss the shoe stores... and the closest SteinMart is up in College Station," I told her. She also asked me if I missed living in a subdivision. "Not for a minute... all of our neighbors have at least fifteen acres.... and there are days when my husband is the only other person I see."

"Oh dear," said A. It was right then, with her next breath, that she asked me for my phone number.