I felt similarly today as I did in this journal entry from almost seven years ago. Sometimes as a writer you just don’t have the time to sit down and write. It seems that the obstacles outweigh the ability to focus on the many reels of footage rolling through your mind. The grandson’s sing-a-long show, the cats jumping on the keyboard in front of the computer screen as if this is the only moment they can spare for a petting out of their twenty hours of sleep time a day, and not to mention the dishes, laundry, and yes of course the vacuuming as the delivery man brought a box that detergent was pouring out of (lucky not liquid this time) are all reasons why I end up at 2 am alone in the dark with the laptop writing but not with the zeal of what I had in mind earlier the day before.
Ranch Beautification – Excerpts from the Amateur Cow Whisperer’s Diaries July 2014
How could it be the end of July already? I was creeping down the tree lined ranch driveway in the cool morning hours on a Wednesday. The two handfuls of cows and calves still left on the property for the summer are happily grazing in the green grass of the front pasture that I had been irrigating the past few weeks. That is until farmer Bob had blown a riser valve in the back field. By the time he caught the breach there was water running all the way to the little rural airport. Now all watering was ceased, and the grasses would rapidly be turning brown with the 100+ degrees days that dragged on. I was so tired of the heat wave.
As I curve the pickup truck around the driveway’s circular rock walled flower bed and park, I am cautious not to break the quiet stillness of the morning by shutting the truck’s driver door too loudly. Laptop in one hand and journal and chocolate milk in the other I tiptoe to the side of the garage and peek inside. Pup is still sleeping soundly at the back of the garage nestled on his doggie bed in the center of the wood pile. Confident I have a good hour or so before he will wake and make his morning appearance for his arthritis medicine and treats, I turn and tip toe down the grass towards the empty ranch house.
The porch swing is calling to me, “Come and write, Cow Whisperer.” I have written some of my best work from that old porch swing. Richard is away on a job again and I should have the whole place to myself. As I near the foot bridge I make a stealthy glance towards the largest of the popular trees in front of the swale creek. Yes, the coast is clear. There is no sign of Don’s blue and black bicycle resting against the largest tree trunk. I am finally alone again on the ranch and ready for my mission. Breaking into song would be appropriate but even the frogs would cringe at my singing voice.
If my hands were not full, I would be doing a happy dance down the walkway towards the ranch house. I have not been alone here in far too long. This morning, I have the inspiration to write about the experiences of the hard winter and its losses, the short springtime, and its trials and what has already been a much too long, hot, and dry summer. As I manage the downward steps to the porch, I grimace at the porch swing which is laying at rest on the newly cut grass and not hanging in its rightfully spot on the porch.
It has been stripped of paint and looks woeful. That porch swing is my office, my desk, and from it my best work comes. How am I to get any work done now? For weeks the ranch house yard, my writing sanctuary, has been in chaos but now Don has gone too far and disassembled my porch swing. Oh, I know it is not mine legally speaking but possession is nine tenths of the law, isn’t it?
A quick decision is made, and I rest myself on the front porch with my legs dangling over the edge. This is not nearly as comfortable as the swing, but it will have to do. I have not written one chapter in over a month and I’m craving for the words to flow from me and see them glide across the screen and come alive.
This is the first time I have been alone on the ranch in months and oh how I have missed these very minutes of quiet stillness. I could easily get lost in the day with no one making a sound. For the past couple of months, the ranch has been a hub of activity with farmer Bob harvesting the alfalfa in the fields, me and the girls tending to the irrigation lines and Richard’s son taking an interest (cosmetically speaking) in the ranch house.
He is a caring young man, and I think the world of him, but he lacks the gumption to get his hands dirty so to speak which makes it an interesting parallel around the ranch. His solution was to hire a handyman, Don, for the summer to do the jobs none of us have time to do (or that he wants done but not with his own hands). Some of the jobs are a necessity in keeping the ranch house sound in the harsh winter months but other jobs are only in making it appealing to the eye.
I should be ecstatic that the ranch house is getting a much-needed face lift and that it’s descendants are interested in its history enough to make it so beautiful again. Instead, I find myself green with envy. For the past four years I have taken pride in making the history come alive around this place. Mostly with the resources found here on the ranch. Using my own two hands along with my family’s to keep things going around the ranch. In circumstances that were not always so pleasant, getting filthy dirty, soaking wet, banged and bruised, sliced open and stung repeatedly, and now someone comes riding in not on a white steed but in a white four wheeled carriage to do the fun and easy stuff…
Being a creative writer, I could envision this ranch at its most beautiful state before anyone took the time to give it a second glance. In the tranquility of this once forgotten old family (but not mine) ranch I was able to discover my writing ability once again and let the stories deep within me surface, breathe and come alive. Stories not only about the cows and the ranch but new stories about people and places I longed to share even in fictitious fashion.
Now I had to share this place? If I were standing, I would stomp my foot in revolt. Yes, the green-eyed monster had set in, and I desperately needed him to take a flying leap off the highest hill around because it was hampering my writing time. Sharing this place with its rightful descendants would not be easy even if it was what I had always wanted for Richard. It’s so important to him. Somehow, I would have to find a way.
As I scoped the front yard out, I realized there would be no writing time for me today. Just like each other day I had tried to write there was more pressing work to be done. Piles of brush needed to be moved to the burn pile in the barnyard, unused hoses needed to be picked up, embedded wire panels to be removed from pine trees, debris piles in various places needed sorting through and picked up, and all the other summer chores to tend to before winter was here again.
By this time, the cows had made it in from the front field and were staring at me from the side yard’s picket fence. Button, Domino, and Snow Lily were smelling and licking Don’s tool belt that he had left hanging on the fence post. They were so inquisitive. Peace was clearing her throat and Smudge was mooing insistently. Theodora was looking for my youngest daughter, her owner, and sticking her tongue out at me. Then there was Lincoln who was clumsily making his way down the short rocky path. His tail swirling in a circle as he often did when he heard my voice.
My first place around this ranch would always be out and about with the cows. I was their human mother and frankly, I could not imagine my life without them at this point. I felt quite certain no one else wanted to call that dirty unappreciated job theirs and so I had security around the ranch. Well, that is, if I kept my mouth shut about the beautification, even from a woman’s point of view.
p.s. – Awww… Lincoln, my pet steer, the mascot of the ranch for a while and of course Pup, who adopted us. Now I know what my next blog will be about 🙂
Ranch Beautification – Excerpts from the Amateur Cow Whisperer’s Diaries July 2014