The Ranchette Reunion

The Ranchettes arrived bearing gifts...

How could we go wrong with new "Doublicious" Butterscotch Krimpets?

And while I had great, far-flung aspirations for our weekend, there just wasn't enough time to cover everything. Besides, home was far too full of unexplored mysteries.

After the musket ball discovery in the garden

we began the Big Explore in the woods.

Rattlesnake Flower

Lady Slipper

Pointed Blue-eyed Grass

And a couple of flowers we just couldn't identify, even with the book and Google.

But I learned the bird nesting over the back door is a Phoebe.

And we did see some of the local scenery.

Including the view from Joe's deck...

We reminisced with the Ranchettes' standard drink of choice, daiquiris, the first night but moved on to Mojitos for Saturday.

It was a lovely, lovely afternoon- We planted seedlings in the garden, sipped our drinks and...unlike our former, much younger, selves...

I'm ashamed to report...

We were in bed and asleep by 10 p.m.

Sigh.

And we'd only had 2 Mojitos a piece.

All too soon, it was over and they were on their way back north.

 

Technorati Tags: country life

Great Musket Balls O Fire!

 

Look what I found in the garden!

It's a musket ball, isn't it? I Googled musket ball images and they look just like it.

It was in the garden bed by the old walnut tree that had to be cut down.

 

 

That's the other side.

I was planting flowers and waiting for the Ranchettes to arrive for our big Reunion weekend.  I hope they're not lost...

In the meantime, out of the ashes of the old fire pit come the lilies and the gardenia.  It's amazing.

 

It's fun turning the Uglies into Greeners.

The pond is full of Peeps- future "Knee Deeps" the local nickname for Bull Frogs because of the sound they make. "Knee deep, knee deep."

 

 

Technorati Tags: country life

What to Do, What to Do...

 

Tomorrow's the big day.  The Ranchette Reunion begins tomorrow around dark-thirty...Too late to make the scene at in Floyd. They'll be sick of riding in a car anyway...That gives me Saturday and Saturday night to give them a good taste of Franklin and Floyd Counties.

Help! Where to go, What to do?

I know we'll have to go see Joe's puppies.  Betsy One is already talking about how she really shouldn't get another dog but...

 

puppies are just sooo cute!  Half Blue Tick Hound, half Yellow Lab...and the sweetest dog in the known Universe to boot.

Maybe we'll drop by the White Lightnin' Museum.

Maybe we'll wander around Floyd.

But surely I'm overlooking something unusual and wonderful...any ideas?

A Day Without Music is Like...

I realized something a few weeks ago. I'd somehow managed to almost banish music from my day-to-day world.  Music- once the most important connection I had to my inner self. I sang. I wrote songs. I always had a song in my head, if not on my stereo.

If I needed to know what I was really worrying about, or celebrating, or needing, I had only to stop and focus in on the tune I'd been humming mindlessly. It was always the key to my unconscious.

Somehow I'd let it go and quit listening.

I couldn't figure out why my creativity wasn't flowing. I use music as a way to relax my mind. If I'm filling my head with worries and to-do lists, how can I expect to invent new stories?

Lucky Pennies sent me a thank you for wishing her a happy birthday. In her note she said she'd read my profile and thought I had good taste in music. That was my big wake up call.

It was time to update and plug in the new i-Pod.

 

Here's a bit of what I've been listening to-

 

Steve Earle and Allison Moorer- Days Aren't Long Enough

Foy Vance- Be With Me

Jesus Jackson- Running on Sunshine

Front Porch String Band- Hearts Against the Wind

Crowded House-Better Be Home Soon

Kasey Chambers- On a Bad Day

Patty Griffin- Heavenly Day

Brandi Carlisle- Josephine

Kelly Willis- Don't Come the Cowboy With Me

Grey Eye Glances- One Day Soon

 

Technorati Tags: creating your own happiness,writing life

The Ranchettes Ride Again

Back in the day we were wild things...The Girls of the Rubber Rose Ranch. Betsy, the blonde on the left, was my bff before the phrase was even coined. We met when we were 5 and were best friends through thick and thin.

Later, in college, we all moved into a huge apartment above a print shop and became the Ranchettes. Betsy and The Other Betsy (second from the right) trained horses and I sang country music in bars and VFWs, so the ranch theme seemed appropriate.

We made frozen daiquiris for all our important celebrations and drank champagne whenever someone broke our hearts.

Then, after college, we scattered to follow our separate paths.

The picture above was taken at one of our early reunions.

It was right after Betsy's baby was born. The rest of us were single and amazed that one of the Ranchettes could produce a living human being. It meant one of us at least had grown up.

I was clearly in awe.

And Betsy seemed so...different and yet...the same...

Over the years we have grown up...But this weekend, up at the cabin, the two Betsys are coming for another reunion. This will be the first time in years we've all been together without kids and families and other interferences.

The world is our oyster.

We could cause serious trouble.

We might go into Floyd Saturday night and dance. We might ride horses again with one of my neighbors. We might even meet the moonshiner. You just never know with us.

The last time I saw Betsy we went to South Philly to see The Night Watchman (Okay, so The Youngest Unnamed One wanted to go and we were along for the ride. But it must be said, we had listened to his music and we did like him...especially without Rage Against the Machine)

Anyway, we were not having a tame evening. In fact- let's just say it took a lot of physical therapy and other medical rehab before Betsy was able to walk again without a bad limp.

A broken kneecap is nothing to sneeze at.

But then, we were in South Philly. Around there, a busted leg is just the price of doing business.

(Still, I promised her this time I'd do whatever it took to make sure nothing bad happened.)

So see, we Ranchettes take our reunions seriously. We're not lightweights.

We're women. We're probably low on estrogen. And we're still dangerous.

Southwest Virginians, consider yourselves warned...

Hooligans' Shenanigans on Mother's Day

The Hoolies are at it again. This time they've been playing with the camera.

 

 

This was on my computer this morning...followed by a homemade breakfast, then a movie "Baby Mama," and finally a fancy, French dinner at a local bistro. 

My favorite snippets from the day...

The sound of loud, boy voices coming from behind The Youngest's bedroom door after the Eldest realized he'd failed to bring dress shoes or pants and they were about to be late... Youngest "Stop throwing my clothes on the floor!" Then a scuffle and "If you do that again I'm going to punch you in the mouth!"

When I walk into the room The Eldest is struggling to fit into pants and shoes two sizes too small and the Youngest is yelling "I don't care if it is a Goodwill suit- it's disrespectful and if you do it again I will punch you!"

I am laughing because I haven't heard this sort of interchange in at few years and it brings back memories. It also seems to break the tension as now they think I'm the one losing it.

I offer to change into something less dressy and when I do, I say "There, do I look worse now?"

"Oh, thanks, Mom," the Eldest says. "You're saying we look bad!"

I assure them that isn't what I meant. I only meant, do I look more casual?

"Yeah, you look older."

"Older?!"

The Eldest tries to extricate foot from mouth by saying, "Mom, you know what I mean!" And I do.

 

At the restaurant the Youngest says-

"Well, when the guy said beet and vegetable soup, I didn't think he meant beet soup with vegetables in it. I thought there might be a few pieces of cut up beets floating around in the vegetable soup, not this bright red stuff!"

The Eldest says "Hey, this is pomegranate-glazed chicken and I just remembered something. I think in 6th grade I was reading a book to the class and the teacher had a pomegranate cut open on her desk and it made my eyes water.  I think I'm allergic to it...No, I don't want to swap with you. I'm just telling you so that if we wind up in the emergency room, you should take pictures of my face swelling up."

"Are you on drugs?" I demand.

A few moments later he says, "I feel weird, kind of dizzy."

"You are on drugs, aren't you?!"

"No my thermostat is just momentarily off..."

He doesn't die or swell up and we make it to dessert...

"No, Mom, he did not say apple, bacon and chocolate chip ice cream.  He said apple and bacon ice cream and then chocolate chip ice cream."

Moments later- "Eww! What's this in my...Hey-there's bacon in with the chocolate chips!"

"Mom, imagine this...You're eating chocolate chip ice cream and suddenly you taste something that's the consistency of a fettuccini noodle! That was what the bacon was like in that ice cream!"

"Apple bacon chocolate chip ice cream," the Youngest muses. "Why does that even exist? I mean, what were they thinking? Well, they've got all the major food groups in there- meat, dairy, vegetables..."

"What vegetable?"

"Uh," he says..."apple?"

"You mean because it was green?" I ask.

The Eldest tries to rescue him. "Vanilla," he says. "It's a bean."

"And sugar," The Youngest adds, attempting to redeem himself.

This from the child whose first words were "Candy, believe it!" 

We escape into the early evening just as the sky opens up, drenching us thoroughly as we dart across the lot to the car.

"Well it can't get any worse," the Eldest says with a sigh.

I should've warned him never to say that...

When we get home we're briefly locked out in the downpour. Once inside, still laughing, we are rehashing the entire fiasco when the Youngest suddenly begins sniffing and moving.  "What stinks?" he demands, eyeing the big dog suspiciously. "Oh, God! It's the Goodwill Coat!"

He peels out of the offending jacket.  "This doesn't do well when it's wet," he informs us.

"Maybe they took it off him when they exhumed him," I say.

"Mom!"

Well, I'm just saying...

It was a fabulous Mother's Day and I wouldn't trade a thing for it!

 

Technorati Tags: life with kids,creating your own happiness,Mother's Day,creating your own reality

Cabin Life in the Green, Green Hills

 

I drove up to check on the cabin after Thursday night's storms.  While the kitchen fireplace was a bit waterlogged, everything else was fine.  Everything in the garden seemed to have grown a few inches in the span of only 5 days.

 

The rose I transplanted from home is beginning to bloom and one of the tomato plants has baby 'maters already.

 

Up the hill, Shannon's puppies were just beginning to open their eyes when I stopped by to see how his new house is coming along.

As always, the view was awesome...

 

And tomorrow the Unnamed Ones are promising me breakfast in bed.  This hasn't happened since their elementary school days.  Hmmm...adolescent/college boys who routinely sleep 'til noon making Mom breakfast in bed?!

 

Technorati Tags: country life

There's Always Someone Out There...Watching

Maybe it's not the ghost of a moonshiner or a Confederate soldier haunting the land around the old cabin.

Maybe there really is someone out there watching...


Maybe now I know who it is...

Check this.

The Old Cabin's Mysteries...

 

 

Random Blogger wrote in to say:

"The old cabin has to be a wealth of material for anyone with a vivid imagination. Have you gone in? Is there anything left? You mentioned a cave once, right? Perfect place to keep all the things you don't want the law to find, or perhaps a place to shelter while the troops pass through. And I will never forget the iron. This would be the perfect place to give it a wild and rational use."

I have to tell you, it got me thinking.  This is a dangerous- to get me thinking while I'm drinking my morning coffee.  My fertile imagination's liable to go anywhere.  So, Random, thanks! I'm putting your spark to good use and maybe I'll have something to show for it.

In the meantime, to answer your questions-

Yes, I've been inside- most recently with the Unnamed Ones over Easter weekend.  That was when The Eldest and Lovey, his girlfriend, went on Intruder Alert after Mertis swore she saw someone watching her from the upstairs window of the old cabin.

 

I've been inside the cabin quite a few times, so much so that I've spent hours down at the courthouse, researching the cabin's previous owners. I've found bits and pieces of the cabin's past but I don't know enough...(like I ever could!)

I know there are true-to-life stories in this holler and I'm dying to learn them...but I also need to remember where I am.  Franklin County is the self-proclaimed "Moonshine Capital of the World," and the locals have been quick to point out "We don't like people who ask too many questions!"

Tell me about it. 

 

I grew up in a minister's household.  People came and went, secrets were told, catastrophes handled- all without us kids ever saying a word.  As Dad's children, we were duty-bound by the same laws of confidentiality he was held to.  It just came with the territory.

 
Maybe that's why I became a therapist.  We can't talk either.

So, the local moonshiners are safe with me- As if they'd  ever trust me...I'm an outsider.  I could live in this holler for a thousand years and it would still be the same.  Hell, the barber wouldn't even ride horses with me for the longest time because he thought I'd ask him a question. You'd better believe, when I finally met him, I kept my nosy mouth shut!

I wouldn't dime out a moonshiner- I'm a child of the '60s...okay, 70s...

 

And I've done my homework.  I know moonshining was/is the only way some people were able to keep their families alive.  It has always been considered, around these parts, to be an honorable profession.
So, I don't tell half of what I see or most of what I know...But still, I just have to know...

 

Why does Mertis feel a cold chill every time she goes by the cabin? What happened there? When did the third cabin burn? Who's missing? Why does one part of my cabin hum with an unexplained noise that never quite goes away, even when the power's off?

And, dadgum it, who snuck up and left a 10 gallon can of paint inside the old cabin?  It's full.  So, why hasn't it occured to us to take the lid off and see if there really is paint inside?

This weekend Mert grabbed me and told me she'd found some flat, gray rocks lying between two trees.  "They'd be great for your garden border," she said. "But I can't lift them by myself and I'm afraid there could be snakes in the weeds.  If you come with me, I'd feel better about trying to get them."

So we walked across the field and sure enough, the rocks were beauties.  They lay right around and beside a dogwood tree.  Once I'd brushed away a rotten tree stump, we pulled up the stones and carted them back across the lane to the garden.

Last night I was perusing some local blogs and found that dogwoods have a very slow growth habit.  I remember thinking as I pulled up the rocks, that the dogwood was one of the biggest I'd seen on the property.

Then I remembered a local historian telling me I'd find the Confederate soldier's grave by locating some "flat, gray stones."  The man who took down the walnut, and was also a Civil War buff told me, "Sometimes they'd plant a dogwood sapling to mark the grave if they didn't have no headstone."

When we were pulling up the stones, I told Mertis this, because I know how fond she is of ghosts.

"You don't think this is a grave, do you?" she'd asked in alarm.
"Nah," I said, dismissing the idea. "That dogwood's too skinny to be that old."

But now I wonder...

Technorati Tags: country life,cabin life,writing life

Bury-Me-Here! Bury-Me-Here!

 

Let's just cut right to the heart of things, okay?

I am not always a nice person and I have an active imagination.  I think we've established that in previous posts.  Still, when opportunity presents itself, as it did Friday evening, I am not one to walk away.  After all, "Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor."

So, when Mertis told me that ever since the big "Intruder" incident at the abandoned cabin, she can't mow over there without feeling "creepy...like somebody's watching me," I just couldn't let it go.

See, Mertis likes to think she's pretty brave but she freely admits "I don't do ghosts."

So when she said the old cabin "creeped" her out, what was I supposed to do- let it go? Puh-leeze!

I said "Hmm. Well, you know the old moonshiner did drop dead over there by the spring box.  That's not very far from the cabin."

Mertis shuddered.

We're out on the cabin back porch. It's growing darker by the minute and a cool front has just begun to blow through.

 

"Tell me," I said, appearing to mull it over.  "Do you feel like it's colder over there, say, maybe 10 degrees colder?"

Mert's eyes widen. "Don't!" she says.

A soft breeze gusts past the swing where I'm sitting, hitting me before it touches Mert sitting in the rocking chair a few feet away.

"Does it feel like someone's touching you, maybe running their cool fingers across your cheek?"

"Ewww!" she shivers, jumping up from her chair. "Don't do that!"

"Do what? I was just thinking, you know, they never did finish burying him.  Maybe that's what he wants...He wants to be buried. He's doomed to wander the grounds over there until someone..."

"I'll get a damned bulldozer and do it myself, if that's what it takes!" she cries.

"Yep," I say. "They probably got to filling in the grave and then said, 'Hell, it's been a long day, what with the funeral and toting his body all this way out to the buryin' grounds. Let's have a little nip!' And that was that!" I tell her.

A few feet away a whippoorwill begins to sing.  To me it sounds like he's saying "Step to the rear! Step to the rear!" But I say, "Sounds like he's saying 'Bury me here! Bury me here!' doesn't it?"

"I told you," Mertis says, her tone ominous. "I don't do ghosts!"

"Now, Mert, you know I'm just spinnin' you a tale," I say.

"Well, there's a Confederate soldier buried on your property," she says, trying to tweak me.

I look sadly down at the floor and shake my head.  "He probably never made it home. Just a boy.  A boy wanting to tell his mother goodbye...but he never gets the chance...He's looking for his Mama..."

"That does it!" Mert cries, grabbing the screen door.  "I'm getting a beer. You need to go write something!"

She leaves me out there with the whippoorwill crying "Bury me here! Bury me here!" And the Confederate boy looking for his Mama. And the half-buried moonshiner.

"You know," I call in through the screen door, "I believe I'll have a beer, too!"

 

 

 

Technorati Tags: country life,writing life

May Arrives at the Cabin

It's beginning to green up around here- almost as lush as it was the first time I came upon this place. In about 3 weeks it will have been a year.

I found narcissus blooming this trip- a late Spring surprise.


And wild Flame Azalea.



The garden is surviving. The tomatoes are still here, as are the peppers and the beans. The one artichoke I bought as a "wonder what this'll do" is doing better than all the others in the vegetable section. But over in the old fire-pit, one tiny plant is surpassing all his brothers in the "Big Ugly."

Last fall, after Halloween, I put the pumpkin in the pit in order to get ready for Christmas. One big seedling has survived and is making himself known. I discovered this when I went to amend the pit with potting soil and a gardenia. Looks like it'll be an eclectic garden season.



Maggie and I sat out on the porch swing this morning, talking over the options for the day and deciding where we'd go for her walk. It was a beautiful morning, followed by a lovely day.

Aliens May Have Landed but I've Still Got My Feet on the Ground

I am working on creating my own reality.

Because I have a short attention span, it is important that my world be filled with wondrous things...like, for example, the alien takeover of Franklin County, Virginia.

I was cruising along Republican Church Road when I crested the top of a small hill and saw this:

You can perhaps not see it exactly as clearly as I did because I was limited to using my cell phone camera to take the photograph, but there are huge swirling circles in that field.

A less creative soul might've seen this and thought "Ah, the farmer got drunk and drove his tractor through the field."

But I saw alien crop circles. I saw Mel Gibson clutching his wee small daughter, preparing to defend himself and his family against an onslaught of marauding alien invaders.

And while these crop circles were nowhere near as neatly placed as the ones in the movie "Signs," I still decided it could've been aliens instead of DWI farmers behind the event.

It just makes my day a bit more interesting if I take the less traveled neural pathways, you know?

Enter...my butt...

The other night my son installed this in his doorway:

Well, I walked back and forth, passing it I don't know how many times in the span of about 24 hours before mentioning it to a very fit, very athletic friend of mine.

"He can even do one-armed pull-ups!" I exclaimed. "Can you believe it?"

My friend is much younger than me. "How many pull-ups can you do?" she asked.

Little snot.

"Are you kidding me? Have you seen what I'm lugging around behind me? I can't lift that off the ground with both hands, let alone carry my chin along with it!"

But in my little world, where all things are possible, there was just that one small chance that maybe...just maybe...I could indeed do it.

So, once the boy was safely at school and the dogs otherwise occupied, once I was absolutely certain NO ONE was around to witness the event, I walked down the hallway. After looking over my shoulder one more time, to make sure no one was watching, I quickly reached up, gripped the bar with both hands and tugged- at first gently and then as hard as I could.

Nothing happened.

Well, okay, so my shoulder hurts, but the bottom line is, my chin never approached the bar.

A lesser woman might see this as failure. Not I. In my little world this only means I have achieved what some people spend entire lifetimes trying to accomplish...

I am one with the Universe. I am centered in my world.

Yes, dear reader, I am totally grounded.

Technorati Tags: creating your own reality,creating your own happiness

Dr. Phil Doesn't Live Here

 

I'm in my youngest son's beat-to-death 1998 Toyota, riding with him for the first time. 

It's early evening, just beginning to turn dark. This is my favorite time of day. The darkness is not yet complete, more blue-gray than  black. The lights in the homes along the way cast a cheery, golden glow over the rooms inside.

It's raining and a gentle patter of drops hit the car's roof, more whisper than storm.

Here we are- The almost-grown boy and his mom, enjoying the companionship of a non-essential errand. 

We talk about the news show we just watched and what we think of the cops seizing the children in the Texas compound.  We take the keys back to Ellen's house where the Youngest has been dog sitting. I think, but don't say, what a good driver he is and I feel a tiny bit better about him driving alone out in the world.

And then I blow it.

"What do you think makes a happy home?"

The question, coming out of nowhere, blind-sides him. His head whips to the right and he gives me a quick, disbelieving look.

"Dear God, Mom!" he says.  "What was that?"

I try to cover for myself.  "Well, I was reading this article about the qualities of a happy home and they interviewed these kids and..."

"Mom, God, is this one of your psychological issue questions? You sound like Dr. Phil. What is wrong with you?"

I slink down in the passenger-side seat.  "Well, I just thought it was interesting and..."

"Mom, relax. We are happy," he says, reading right through me. "We're fine."

"Yeah,you're right," I say.  "That wasn't one of my kinds of questions.  I should've just said, 'What band do you think is on the edge of making it big?' instead, because that's really a lot more interesting. Besides, if we don't have a happy home by now, it's too late.  It's just what it is, I guess." My voice trails off, uncertain.

"Wolf Mother," he says.

"What?" The kid thinks I should've been more of a Wolf? Is this some kind of metaphor? Is he trying to say I should've been stronger, more directive, more of a take-charge parent?  I mean, if so, he's right.  I should've been more pro-active, about a lot of things not just...

"Wolf Mother," the Youngest says again.  "They're going to make it big." He looks over at me, like he thinks I've lost my mind. "You know, you asked about the band?"

I laugh, sounding, I'm sure, hysterically relieved.  "I thought you meant you wanted a wolf, or you wanted a wolf mother...you know, as part of a happy home?"

He shakes his head slowly, then laughs. "A wolf? Mom, sometimes I just don't know how you come up with this stuff!"

"Me either," I say, sighing.  "So do you have any Wolf Mother we can listen to?"

We pull over. He gets out his I-pod, puts on the music and we start up again, slowly moving our heads in time to the driving bass, agreeing they are reminiscent of Led Zeppelin.

The Youngest Unnamed One is right about Wolf Mother.  They're a good band. And he's right about everything else, too.

We get out of the car and stop beneath the pin oak in the middle of the front yard. "Isn't this cool?" I say. "The tree's branches are so thick it's like peeking out at the rain from inside a tent."

He stops, not appearing to be humoring me but instead looking up and feeling it with me.  "Yeah," he says. "It is."

We stand there for a moment, listening to the sound of the rain hitting the leaves overhead. 

 

 

Note to self-

No more reading self-help/inspirational articles in an attempt to receive validation of my parental abilities. Dr. Phil doesn't live here- we do.

 

Technorati Tags: family life,parenting,teenagers