Ranch Dressing

Welcome to "Ranch Dressing"

2012-02-04T10:39:00.000-08:00

On August 25, 2009 we moved to this five-acre paradise and named it "Chestnut Pinto Ranch." We needed to bring our horses (chestnuts and pintos) onto the property before the first snow but there were no stalls, no shelters, no paddocks and no fences. What follows are stories, poems, photos, videos, and ramblings on dressing up the ranch, not only for horses, but for our comfort and good old fashioned country living.

Autumn

Spring

Winter

Summer

A huge "Thank You" to writer, Sherri Hoffman, who used my
scattered bits and pieces to assemble this beautiful blog.

Please enjoy the various words, images, and voices.

Poetry Corner

2012-02-04T09:00:00.000-08:00

To the right there four poems and a speech from Shakespeare. From top to bottom:

Hamlet's speech to the players by William Shakespeare

"When the Frost is on the Punkin" by James Whitcomb Riley

"The Black Horse" by Archie Fisher

"When the Poet Goes to Indiana" by Mary Oliver

"A Barred Owl" by Richard Wilbur

Please feel free to comment or make requests.

Fence Completed

2012-02-03T12:09:00.000-08:00

The fence has now circumnavigated our property.
The old fence has gone to scrap metal. (See photo to right)

The North fence below has now connected to the
East (or Front) fence. See the old North fence
with doe and her two fawns to the right:

East is East and West is West (Not Rudyard Kipling)

2012-01-11T21:06:00.000-08:00

More fence news. Yesterday we put up the WEST
fence (in back of our property):

New West fence

Old West fence

The East fence
(in front along Polehn Drive):

More "Don't Fence Me In"

2011-11-23T20:32:00.000-08:00

Trees had to be cleared before we put up the South fence.
Brian cut down several trees that were leaning over where the
new fence would go.

However, there was a slight accident with the chainsaw
that sent Brian to emergency for nine stitches. It was just a
surface wound, nothing broken or punctured.

Forest with old fence above and new fence below and to the right:

                              Ivan and Brian

Don't fence me in!

2011-11-15T10:33:00.000-08:00

Well, we had to put up a better fence. This photo was taken when we moved in on August 25, 2009:

However, horses getting loose, neighbor's dogs walking up to our paddocks and scaring the horses,
a better look to the property, and
just plain old peace of mind made us go ahead with a new fence.

Old fence down




                                                                                                                   Posts in (above) and
2009 Blackberries to the left along the road,                                                                                                                    rails on:

are gone in 2011:

Writers Night out at the Ranch

2011-08-21T07:55:00.000-07:00

Saturday Evening, August 20, 2011, eighteen writers and guests assembled in the garden of Chestnut Pinto Ranch for a gathering of friends and a reading of original "Pastoral Poems or Paragraphs." Good food, good words, and a good time.

Jackie reads a poem

Hosts Brian & Vicki enjoy the evening

Stevan, Tony, Mark, &
Michael dish up.

Kate & Jackie, friends forever

Vicki & Kate

Liz reads a poem

Michael, Harold, &
Anne relax after dinner

Stevan, Rick, Sherri,
Vicki,& Cheryl

Vicki's Round Pen is in

2011-06-13T19:54:00.001-07:00

The area above the barn was a lumpy wasteland when we moved in. Vicki saw a perfect location for her round pen and voilà, now she can work her horses and even ride.

Last fall (2010) the big cat came in to
excavate.

Then Dave, the tractor operator,
smoothed out the surface so we could
bring in two loads of sand to settle
during the winter.

This spring (2011) when the ground was finally hard we brought in two more loads of sand and Dave spread it out. We then put up the gate and the fifteen12 foot sections. It was just Vicki and Brian on that job and we couldn't quite finish. Phil came over the next day and helped complete the job. Thanks, Phil

The beauty of spring

2011-06-03T07:00:00.000-07:00

Finally, a sunny day at the ranch. Look at those blue skies. June 3rd. (We're lucky, last year it was July 3rd before we saw the sun.)

The Garden is Coming, Phase 1

2011-04-02T20:00:00.000-07:00

A picture is worth a thousand words. Here are six thousand words:

Stump removed

Patio started

Gravel in

Cement is coming FAST

First raised bed

Patio poured and Lavender planted

And my Walla Walla sweets and beets are in.

2010-12-24T15:36:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays, Vicki, Brian, and our animals

A Cool story

2010-11-23T09:00:00.000-08:00

Sixteen months into living at the ranch and the electric furnace is toast. It went out two days after the wood stove started smoking up the house. It's December and the wood stove is out of commission, the heater doesn't work, and it's Saturday night. Pretty cold until the small space heater warmed our kitchen. Luckily, the temperature outside was in the mid-forties.

Sunday: The wood stove (an Earth Stove) is now working because I figured out how to use it. We're warm in all the rooms except the lower level (TV room). Blankets on for watching the tube.

Tuesday: Now we're listening to heating company salesmen give us their spiel and bids. One yesterday, one today, two tomorrow. The electric furnace was 31 years old so it was about time for its demise. We might also put in a new heat pump. We'll see what the bids are. (The bid from yesterday is not fit for day time blogs.)

Wednesday: We went with a new heater and heat pump from Jacobs Heating & Air Conditioning. Best by far. Photos to follow after installation on Saturday. Wood stove still working.

Saturday: New Electric Furnace and Heat pump going in as we type. Major, Major, Major, project! Catch-22: You spend the money to put in a new heating/cooling system and you can no longer afford to live in the house. (Notice the word play?)

Monday: Heat pump installed today plus some corrections to Saturday's work and some minor problems with the heat pump. It didn't work. Our technician, after much looking and checking and calling the office and checking again, finally found the problem: the fuse, the one that came with the heat pump, supposedly new, didn't work. The technician changed the fuse and the heat pump works great. Not all done yet, however. Thursday the technician and an electrician will come out to do more technician work and electrical work and finally be done with the installation. (Photos to follow, really!)

Old Heat Pump

New Heat Pump

Friday, Christmas Eve: All in as of yesterday. A long ordeal but definitely worth it. (Here are the photos)

Old Furnace

New Furnace

Round Pen

2010-10-27T15:15:00.000-07:00

In the fall of 2010 we started excavating for Vicki's round pen. A round pen is used to work the horses before riding. Dave Terry and Johnny with his backhoe did this project.

Preparation for winter of 2010/11

2010-10-26T14:51:00.000-07:00

Last winter (2009/10) the two paddock entrance gate areas were sink holes. So Dave Terry and his friend Johnny (with backhoe) fixed the problem.

Highway material

3" rock

3/4 " minus rock on top of 3" rock

Sand added and complete!

Autumn

2010-09-22T09:01:00.000-07:00

Fall is here. Different sounds, different looks, different visitors, different smells. The landscape alters but the beauty remains.

The photo at the top of this blog represents another season at Chestnut Pinto Ranch. Gypsy is headed back to her stall. She's in heaven. So are we.

Hunting for Bounty?

2010-09-15T16:34:00.000-07:00

Bounty from Chestnut Pinto Ranch: garlic, tomatoes, Walla Walla sweet onions, and lavender. (Dried lavender flowers are added to the blend of Herbes de Provence.)

We're waiting on the corn but besides what's in the photo, the herbs, potatoes, carrots, Swiss chard, spinach, green beans, and lettuce were plentiful. Deer did some damage but we all gotta eat.

It was an odd year. The spring rains didn't stop until July 2nd, May and June were the wettest on record, and then there were 60 days without measurable rain.

Adorable

2010-09-10T20:21:00.000-07:00

Here are the two fawns mentioned in the Post "New Additions" below, quite confused as to where their mother is. However, I saw their mother run up the trail outside that chain link fence, maybe spooked by Jack, the neighbor's horse, who is now a little unsure of these two tiny ungulates. Of course Vicki calls them "adorable" I, on the other hand, think they are obnoxious. The one on the left, I suppose Vicki has a name for him (I assume he's a buck), is as obnoxious as an ungulate can be. He not only ate all my grape leaves, he devoured all, and I mean all, my Swiss Chard. (Check below for my love of Swiss Chard.)

Anyway, here's a photo of the two "adorable" fawns trying to find their way back to mom with a befuddled Jack looking on.

For my best friend on August 14th

2010-08-14T09:06:00.000-07:00

On this most distant day from the day we celebrate love, I profess my love to you. You are my best friend, the one with whom I share my innermost secrets, the one who makes me laugh, and the one who greets me every morning with a smile, a "Good morning," and a kiss. I'm excited every time I see you. Ours is special friendship that began before we fell in love, shared during our wedding in a high school theatre classroom, and continues as we settle down in the country with horses for you and a garden for me. I love you for all you are, all you do, and all you give to me.

Scat

2010-08-07T20:36:00.000-07:00

Scat (no, I don't mean "Get outta here," and I don't mean the cool lyrics that Louie Armstrong made famous when his music dropped to the floor) is covering our ranch. There is poop from one end of our five acres to the other. Horse, deer, rabbit, bird, coyote, dog (not ours, we don't have one - yet), cat, and just yesterday I discovered elk! ELK! Elk are walking across our property. We've seen every other animal above, including a baby mountain lion (that apparently didn't poop) but we have not seen the elk. Only elk poop. Vicki suggested we sleep outside over night up by the forest so we can see him/her in the morning. I think it's a cow and a calf because of the poop. So maybe we'll sleep out one night. Watch aurora borealis and catch a glimpse of the cow elk and her calf. Nothing could be finer. Stay tuned to this blog for the latest scoop on poop.

Yes, Virginia, there is a heaven.

2010-07-12T08:16:00.000-07:00

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have not lived in the country and enjoyed a good country meal. Perhaps they have been affected by McDonald's or Taco Bell. They do not know the taste of fresh fruit and herbs and vegetables grown in the country. They can not think outside the bun. But there is a world, an entire universe, out there to enjoy.

Yes, Virginia, there is a heaven. It exists as certainly as love and generosity and imagination exist. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no heaven. No place that one could look to for total happiness, total satisfaction in a life well lived. Virgina there was a movie awhile ago called "Black Robe" in which a Jesuit Priest is told by a young Frenchman that the Algonquin Indians have an afterworld. "They believe that in the forest at night the dead can see. The souls of men hunt the souls of animals." The Jesuit Priest asks "Is that what they told you? It is childish." And the young Frenchman replies, "Is it harder to believe in than Paradise where we all sit on clouds?"

Virginia, nobody sees heaven until they're there. And once you're there you know it as sure as life itself. It may be your first ride on a bicycle. Or your first kiss. Or maybe it's something you won't ever experience but something that you always anticipate. Something in your mind that you imagine. That's why your imagination is so important, Virginia.

For me, Heaven can be an emotion, a feeling, or an experience. Just last night, while preparing dinner, I walked out to the garden next to our barn where the horses were munching their evening meal, and picked some fresh Swiss Chard. A whole shopping bag full of fresh Swiss Chard. I brought the bag into the house and cleaned each leaf, put them in a pot, and steamed them. Virginia, when my wife and I ate that fresh steamed Swiss Chard, that was Heaven!

No Heaven! Thank goodness there's a heaven. And it will be there forever. A thousand years from now, Virgina, nay, ten times ten thousand years form now there will be a heaven, whether it's an actual experience, a location - such as a forest, or clouds, or anything your mind can imagine heaven to be, it will be there.

Daisies

2010-07-09T12:21:00.000-07:00

Remember "Those lazy, hazy, crazy, days of summer?" Lyrics in the song by the great Nat King Cole? Well, Charles Tobias who wrote the lyrics could have written: "Those lazy, hazy, crazy, daisy, days of summer." Have you seen the daisies? They're everywhere out here in the country. Our ranch is plastered with them. Not that they aren't nice to look at. They are, from a distance.

But a few appeared in my garden. I thought about keeping them but, I don't know, the stems are scrawny shoots that rise three feet in the air with no leaves to give them body. Daisy? Daisy? I'm half crazy. The silver-dollar-size daisy on top is beautiful: white petals that surround a mustard-colored pincushion. But the plant just ain't that pretty in a garden. Not in my garden anyway. They're out! In the fields, along the roads, and fences, they're okay, beautiful in fact, but they're not right for my garden. Sorry Daisy Bell.

New Addditions

2010-07-05T09:37:00.000-07:00

A pregnant doe and her twin yearlings hang out above our corn patch. The yearlings, we discovered a few weeks ago were bucks - small nubs on their foreheads. Now, in velvet, they are "spikes." A term I use in the Wallowa Mountains on hunting trips. But when I looked up from weeding the stalks of corn, six feet away, maybe seven, the larger of the two yearling bucks picked up his head to look at me. "Hello," I said. He looked at his mom, then at his brother, then went back to grazing.

I stood up, carried my 5 gallon bucket of weeds over to the wheelbarrow, dumped the weeds, walked back to the next stalk, and knelt down to weed. The three deer continued to graze, unfazed by my movement.

Today, the doe (the same doe we believe) walked down our trail while we sat and enjoyed a cup of coffee. And immediately behind her were two fawns. Spotted and bouncy and full of life.

First International Bank of Shakespeare

2010-06-23T18:50:00.000-07:00

Below is an incomplete poem in honor of Midsummer Night's Eve.
Read the poem then go to the comment box below and add your own borrowings
from the Bard (or people who have already borrowed from him). I'll add them to the poem and we'll build it together.

First International Bank of Shakespeare

We borrow from the Bard of Avon almost daily.
Much of the time, without interest.
We borrow at Will like there's no
Tomorrow or Tomorrow or Tomorrow.

It's a Brave New World
With instant communication
By four-year-olds who understand not the text,
But how to text.

Study, for a moment, the tale of Romeo and Juliet.
It's not just about teenagers from Verona;
It's about young lovers everywhere -
Neither an East side, nor
A West Side Story.

Congratulations to "bleerdon" for sending in these two verses:

"Consider, too, our journeys -
World-weary marches made lighter by
A 450 year old playboy, who
Taught us that no pots of gold, but rather
Lovers, found at the end.

And day to day, truth be told,
The Bard's prolific tongue still wags
In matters both great and mundane;
As we assay our plots,
As we confront our Brutes,
As we usher our dammed canine Spots off the furniture."

Add your own verses in the comment section. There must be at least one reference to Shakespeare in each verse (please site your source). Let me know if I can give you credit and what name to use. Let's see what we compose.

Redland

2010-06-21T10:20:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, in my forties, on a trip down I-5 toward California I passed Oakland, Oregon and noticed there were a lot of Oak trees on the hills. Ah, my clever self thought, Oak trees. That is why the town's name is Oakland. Going down I-5 there's also Ashland and Weed and Redding and Red Bluff. And, a few miles from where I was born, there is Oakland, California. But somehow, I didn't make the connection between those city names and the environment until my forties. Oakland was Oakland.

Now, at sixty-eight, I'm living in Redland, Oregon with a five-acre plot of land on which I can plant anything from arugula to zinnias. I'm in heaven! Down on my knees with both hands in the soil I pluck out pesky weeds or plant carrot seeds the size of no-see-ums. But the soil here is RED. "Hummm." I thought, my goodness, this is Redland. And the soil is a dense, red CLAY!

That's why my French Tarragon, Basil, Butternut Squash, and half-a-dozen other plants, even though I spent a fortune to amend the soil, withered up and died. So I researched and talked to neighbors and gardeners at local nurseries and found out what to do with clay soil:

Add pumice, 1/4" minus rock, and sand to the compost. The organic material will rot and the clay will come back. BUT the inorganic material stays and allows the soil to breathe. Long live my French Tarragon.

Carhartt

2010-05-29T20:27:00.000-07:00

Carhartt

The retirement home sits to my left
On my walk to the 24-hour Fitness club.
Today, at 6:00 AM, a man,
Heavy and bulky in his wheelchair
Parked out front,
Stares, expressionless, at the crow
Who pecks at a McDonald's bag
Flattened on the street.

A cup of coffee sits, within the man's reach,
At the top of a brick wall
That surrounds a flag pole.

He glances up at me as I pass and says,
A monotone, "Mornin.'"
Then looks at his cup of coffee.

"Good Morning," I say with some enthusiasm
And continue on my walk

At no more than seven paces, I hear,
"Carhartt."

I turn my head to see if the remark
Was addressed to me,
(Not sure exactly what was said).

"Are those pants, Carhartt?" he says,
With a smile makin' his face look bigger.

"Yes," I say and slap my raw sienna pants,
"Carhartt."

"Those are great pants," he says
With that smile now a stretchin' out his cheeks.

"They are," I say, "Great pants."
And continue on my way,
With a smile now a stretchin' out my cheeks.

Fiction Fun: "Dear John Deere"

2010-05-26T17:58:00.000-07:00

Dear John Deere,

John, dear and loving husband that he is, or was, has gone off the deep end. He no longer depends on me to nudge him out of bed in the morning. He's so obsessed with his new riding mower, he gets up with the crows and marches out the door with his green John Deere baseball cap you sent him, the one with "Owner's Edition" embroidered on the side, and hops on his mower to cut the grass. Oh, in case you aren't aware of your demon machine and its powers, Owen Case, the neighbor a half-mile to the east, is also obsessed with his John Deere. What is it with men and their machines? Deer used to roam through our property in the afternoon while I enjoyed a proper tea ceremony. This was important to me, me being English and all. But no more. John, with green hat on, practically killed a fawn cutting the lawn while the doe and I looked on.

Mice in the Country

2010-05-18T14:02:00.000-07:00

In order to bring Vicki's horses to our ranch we needed to build two shelters, one in each paddock. These shelters had to be large enough, 12' X 36', and strong enough to withstand the bumps and nudges of horses that weighed over a thousand pounds each. The roof needed to withstand wind gusts of up to seventy miles an hour.

Vicki and I started the first one in early September 2009. The roof on the shelter where Vicki boarded her horses had a two-twelve pitch, so that was the pitch for the roof on our shelters. The design was easy, I've done that before to build sets for the stage. And carpenter work is my meditation: I love the smell of green lumber, the tink, tink of a twenty-two ounce hammer against the head of a sixteen penny nail, and the smooth cut from a worm-drive circular saw. Each morning on my walk to the shelter location in the chill of autumn my blood pressure dropped and nothing mattered but the stacks of lumber and metal roofing on the ground.

Vicki took to the construction work like she was grooming one of her horses and in early October when we lifted the final sheet of galvanized roofing off the ground, we discovered a community of mice. There were intricate tunnels of dried grass that curled into a maze of tiny mice home tufts. The tunnels pulsed with mice movement as the inch-long rodents scurried throughout their disoriented neighborhood. However, since we only saw the mice at tunnel intersections we soon tired of them and returned to finish the shelter. Vicki's three mares arrived at our ranch on October 15th.

Just last week, in the warmth of spring, when Vicki lifted the trough in that same paddock to pour out the old water, she noticed a small individual tuft of dried grass on the ground. The tuft looked empty but because the trough is moved and cleaned and filled with fresh water every other day she didn't want mice to build their home in a danger zone. With delicate hands she took the tiny tuft to the garbage can and, just before depositing it, turned it over to examine its structure. Five mice the size of a dime dropped to the driveway and wiggled their pink bodies in a confused fervor. Vicki screamed. She bent down and picked up each mouse and slid it back into the dried grass then rushed with outstretched arms to the paddock where she placed it back under the trough.

Vicki came into my office and sputtered out the story between sniffles and sobs and shivers before she collapsed into a chair convinced the five baby mice would die. My explanation on the survival instincts of rodents did not help. However, the next time she lifted that water trough to empty it, mother mouse darted out of the grass tuft and three mice, now the size of a quarter, ran around in circles. Vicki jumped for joy.

Paragraph from my Memoir

2010-05-11T01:29:00.000-07:00

Today is Miss Xuan's birthday and in her honor I post this paragraph from my memoir.

The memoir covers the year I spent in Vietnam as a Marine Lieutenant working with Vietnamese school teachers and three return trips to visit two of those teachers. The paragraph comes at the end of a chapter in the memoir that discusses my first meal in Miss Xuan's home. It's July 1966 and Miss Xuan lives with her family in a small village north of Danang. The meal is bun bo and after the meal I receive an old cobwebbed pepper mill as a gift because I admire its unique qualities.

"Miss Xuan and her brother walk me out to my jeep. I wave goodbye and drive the bumpy road toward MASS-2. I'll write a letter to my wife, I say to myself while I keep an eye out for anything unusual at the dark edges of the road. I'll explain each detail of the evening. I'll send the pepper mill home. My wife will read the letter to our daughter and they will both enjoy my evening's experiences: the meal, the books on the shelves, the orangey brown color of the walls, the subdued lighting, the photos and miniature bananas on the altar, my pistol and web belt that sat too close to the altar, the dishes on the table, the celadon teacups, and the smiling, inquisitive, honey colored faces of my hosts. This visit to the home of Miss Xuan was a gift, like the old broken and cobweb-strewn pepper mill that I hold in my lap."

Spring Poem (working draft)

2010-05-07T09:18:00.000-07:00

Spring is Near

You can tell when spring is near:

A lemon drop unfolds on the forsythia,

Just one on a barren branch,

Then another, and another.

The nascent necks of crocuses and daffodils,

And chives and garlic,

Breach the soil and stretch

Into the frosty air.

A gazillion grassy weeds,

Rooted in the devil’s clutch,

Flow across the loam like lava.

And tender red-hued leaves of velvet

Slip, unnoticed, onto the rose bush stems

To presage the petals and perfume

Of Paradise and Picasso and Peace.

Opera Images

2010-05-05T14:14:00.000-07:00

A Mall and the Night Visitors

Spring

2010-04-07T12:01:00.000-07:00

It is now Spring and the ranch is alive with flora and fauna. Quail, rabbits, robins, and towhees flit through our grassy five acres sequined with apple blossoms, daffodils, iris, and pansies. The deer and our four horses graze with an occasional nod toward the rancher who carries her muckrake. A flicker taps the top of our horse shelter like a jack hammer then looks up. The silence lingers.