Note To Self

Today I was merrily cleaning up my daughter's old room (did I say merrily and cleaning in the same sentence?).  She is coming home tomorrow and I am very excited. 

It's funny how quickly things can accumulate in a room when no one is using it.  There were bags of wool I have yet to spin, Mason jars I have yet to use, and old wine bottles we'll one day fill with home made wine.  I was feeling extra happy and quite strong as I carried a Rubbermade tub out to our old shed.  With the few ounces of strength I had left in me, I precariously balanced the tub on one knee as I heaved open the heavy shed door.  Pride flowed through my veins as I carefully escalated up the wobbly stairs while simultaneously holding the crate in my hands and the door open with my rear end.  With one big shove, I pushed the door wide enough to get both myself and my heavy load up the last step and in through the opening before the door could catch my foot or I lost my load.  That's when it happened.  I guess I had more suppressed adrenalin than I thought because although the door swung powerfully open, it came back just as quickly (with the help of a unexpected gust of wind) and slammed shut with me tucked safely inside.

Not so bad, I'm sure you're thinking.  Not so bad unless you consider the fact that there is a latch on the outside and no way to access it from the inside.  That stupid door.  It never closes.  Not even when I slam it from the outside.  Sure enough, in today's 90 degree (plus) heat, the wood shrunk back to its original size and the door performed in perfect working order.

So there I was, dumbfounded.  I didn't even put the box down for several minutes because I was in such shock.  This seemed like something out of a horror movie.  You know, the one where some silly girl creeps up the stairs because she heard a noise... and then SLAM!  The door shuts behind her and she's locked inside with the monster.  Yes, there I was in my very own starring role in this year's biggest headliner, "Woman Skeleton Found Christmas Eve as Husband Pulls Old Ornaments Out of Shed."  What a humiliating way to die.  How on earth will I ever get out?  Wait a minute, I thought, I know Tae-Bo.  I knew all those exercise tapes from the 80's would one day pay off.  I'll kick my way out.

There must be a mathematical equation for kicking solid objects with intent to destroy while baking in a 110* box.  You know the type... How much sweat accumulates, how much energy is exerted, and how many kicking attempts are made if a horror drama queen gets stuck in an over-sized coffin?  You do the math, I already know the answer.

My next thought was to pray.  Actually, I think I was probably praying the entire time because at that moment I could hear my husband's noisy muffler coming down our steep dirt road.  Do I have any energy left to whistle so he can hear me?  I'm known around these parts for my very loud, and completely unfeminine, way of calling people to dinner.  Fortunately, there was no need.  Jeff drove right up to the front of the shed (Thank God!).  You should have seen his face (I could though the only crack I made in the door with my Tae-Bo) when he heard my raspy voice shouting, "Let me Out!"

It took him a moment to realize where I was what had happened and he asked, "How long have you been in there?" As he quickly opened the door.

"Not long.  You came home just in time."

It's so great to have a punctual husband and a very large God!

Wood Stove Phase 25

When we first moved to Abu Peak Ranch, there was one important thing missing from our home that we knew we'd need right away... a fireplace.  Winters, in Auberry, can get very cold.  Occasionally we have snow, but at our level (about 2000 feet), it doesn't last long.  My husband, Jeff, decided to build a hearth for a wood burning stove.  That was eight years ago.  Fast forward to today.  We are now on phase 25 of the "Install a wood burning stove" project. 

The phrase "A carpenter's children have no shoes" also applies to contractors, plumbers, electricians, etc.  I now know why.  When money is coming in, you're catching up from the time it wasn't flowing so freely.  When work has shut down due to storms, snow, or economy, you're living off of everything you just caught up.  There never seems to be a moment when free time and money are both available simultaneously.  This year will be different.  This year we will finally complete some of our ever growing list of unfinished projects! 

Here is a picture of our beautifully installed rock/tile hearth, complete with the wood burning stove.  The hearth turned out amazing.  The small rocks in the center are actually a waterfall.  Who would have ever thought of installing a waterfall in the house?  My husband, that's who!  I stand in aw of his never ending talents and his ability to "think outside the box".  He has certainly earned his title of "Master Craftsman".  But before we all turn to mush over the alkaloids of the amazing Jeff Sanders, can you see what is missing from the picture?  The flu.  I'm guess there will be a Phase 26 in the near future... and maybe 27, 28, ...

Just a short note that my Mom wanted me to be sure to include in my next blog... Why we named our ranch "Abu Peak".  When Jeff first drove me to the site that would one day be our home, he explained to me that the local American Indians inhabited this very spot.  He even had a picture of a small family sitting on our property, their stick tee-pee, and our local mountain range behind them in the background (did they really have cameras back then?).  Eventually, the small family must have moved (and built the casino that is located behind our property).  I told Jeff that we needed a name for our new piece of heaven, an authentic sounding name that had lots of meaning.  He suggested Abu Peak.

"I love it!" was my reply, "What does it mean?" 

"It's 'Peek-A-Boo' backward.  The game we used to always play with Tiffany (our daughter who still lives with us)."

Abu Peak it was.  The ranch now stands tall with it's beautiful, mysterious name.

Raising Pigs

Back in the "old days", people called pigs "mortgage lifters".  Apparently, raising pigs is supposed to be so profitable that you can drop all your other responsibilities and know that your house payment will still be made.  I have a different title for the little bristly freight trains... fascinating, funny, fear-erasing, bruise makers.

We raise a rare heritage breed of pig.  They are called Mulefooted pigs.  Mulefoots are black (red and spotted ones are considered extinct, although we have a red one) and have feet that look like a mule's hoof rather than the cloven foot of others in their family line.  They grow to be enormous!  I don't have an animal scale, but our adults are thought to be right around 400 pounds and they are just one year old.  They stretch out to be almost the length between two of our fence posts (don't you love my way of measuring?) and make a noise that sounds like a bear about to attack.  It is easy to be intimidated by these overgrown Labradors, especially if you're a girl and you have to get something out of the boar's pen and he's feeling frisky.  God is using my project to help me overcome some nasty fears I didn't even know I had.

Recently, we had a batch of piggies born here at Abu Peak Ranch (I'll explain the name of our ranch later).  A couple of days ago, we decided to move the mother and her young over to the big pen where the boar was and move him to the smaller pen they were now vacating.  We had done this before, when there were only two pigs, and it was quite successful.  The plan was to simply make a narrow path, using old wire fencing that was laying around, and create a shoot for them to travel from one pen to the next.  The problem was going to be getting everyone to end up in the right place since they had to pass each other in the shoot.

In my mind, this plan ran like clock work.  I would send the boar over and then open the sows gate,  He would run in and be so curious about the new surroundings that I could scoot the sow out and her babies would follow.  She would happily trot over to the new field full of fresh grass (her personal favorite), both pens would be closed and locked and I'd go inside and have a glass of lemonade.  Somehow, the plan in my head translated to bruises on both my and my husbands bodies after spending hours re-enacting what looked like a scene from The Three Stooges. 

We were able to move the boar just fine.  He and my husband have a mano-e-mano relationship.  They both mutually respect the other because I believe that deep down, they both think they could take the other out immediately, if need be.  The problem presented when the boar caught wind of (literally) his old pen-mate.  I guess I thought that pigs were like nursing women... they rarely had to worry about getting pregnant because who wants sex when you have babies hanging on your breasts all day.  I was wrong!

Fast forward to the scene where both pigs are enjoying their "after encounter" cigarettes.  We finally managed to move the sow, but her babies wouldn't follow.  They were too interested in their estranged father who recently came into the picture.  Now we had to move the boar back in hopes that the little ones would follow.  They didn't.  Plan "B", catch the piggies and move them in a dog crate.

I could hear the imaginary narrator, in my head, announce, "Let the bruising begin!"  If it wasn't so painful, it could have been the runner up for Funniest Home Videos.  Pigs are fast, and greased or not, they are hard to catch.  I won't bore you with the details, but did I mention that my husband and I are both over 50?  Now you get a better picture of how we must have looked.  Cut to the end... everyone ended up where they needed to be and we took out stock in the BenGay pharmaceutical line.  I had to skip the lemonade and go straight for a beer.