Granite - It's Not Just For Countertops!

We've spent the last week making some walkways and improving the outside areas between the bunkhouse and the cabin. We got a load of granite gravel (decomposed granite). We wanted to use something that was permeable in case we ever get any rain (keep hope alive)! And something that had a natural Central Texas look to it. We also have to be able to drive over it to get to the back pasture. And we wanted something affordable.

Rick and I started out digging by hand to make a trench several inches deep for the walkway. He used a pick and I used the shovel, following in the areas he had picked. Our ground is rocky, so it was slow going. 

The next day we were rescued by our good friend and neighbor Scott and his tractor! He not only did the digging but moved the gravel and spread it out for us, and spread the dirt he removed. We get by with a little help from our friends!

Sarah and Bixby came out that afternoon and Scott gave Bix some lessons on how to operate a tractor. Then we left the fellas working and went to the river to cool off and continue Bixby's river rat training!

We were all done in for a few days and I tackled the outdoor kitchen area today. We didn't dig it out as it is a little low there and somewhat bowl shaped. When it rains water doesn't run over that area. Scott had told me to call him back when we got ready to move some more gravel. But I am always thinking up projects and hate to impose them on others, even though I know he would have come and helped me. It went better than I thought and I was finished by 1:30. I still have to build another part of the outdoor kitchen counter to hold our two burner stove. I'll attach it at a lower height to the side of the bar cabinet I already made. And I still need to add a shelf to the bar cabinet to hold an ice chest.

The next part of the project is moving the fire pit. It will be where the scraped area is in this picture, which puts it between the cabins. Can't wait to gather round it in the winter, star watching and making s'mores! 

The gravel finished off the outdoor cowgirl/cowboy tub and shower, which doubles as a swimming pool for little ones.



With the bunkhouse project winding down, it's on to a new deer blind before hunting season gets here!


"The block of granite which was an obstacle in the pathway of the weak, became a stepping-stone in the pathway of the strong." Thomas Carlyle

Members Only

The sign said "Members Only" and a man stood at the entryway to make sure only members entered. He bent over and looked into our car and waved my dad through. I was only about 10 years old but I remember being surprised that we were members of anything. I didn't understand yet that we were poor but I was pretty sure we weren't rich and I thought only rich people were "Members" of anything. I felt a kind of pride to be a member! And the guard must have known my dad because he didn't even have to show a membership card.

Volman Lake in north central Louisiana sparkled in the sun in front of us. It was closing in on 100 degrees and my siblings and I scrambled out of the car as soon as it stopped. The lake was not the clear water I later found in Arkansas and my Texas Hill Country, but there was a sandy beach there, not the mud of the swamps where my Dad usually took us fishing. It was our favorite summer place to be! To make it even better, our cousins were there also. 

My dad was a good swimmer and he would get in with us sometimes but I don't remember my mom ever getting in the water. Cousin Steve impressed us all by swimming all the way across the lake and back. It was a small lake but still a good ways across and back and the other side had no beach. It was kind of scary to us, overgrown with weeds and overhanging trees. He waved to us from the other side and pushed off to swim back. We were sure he wouldn't make it but he did. Whew, were we relieved!

There was a tree branch that hung over the water on the beach side and the more confident swimmers often jumped off that. I was never a strong swimmer and so most of the time I stayed where I could stand up in the water when I wasn't swimming. There were a lot of people there but not so crowded that we couldn't have a good time. I guess that was one of the benefits of being in a Members Only lake. They probably kept membership small so that it wouldn't get overcrowded.

We took a break from swimming to cut open the watermelons our mom had brought along. Swimming always makes you so hungry! The sun warm on our wet skin, sand sticking to us, watermelon juice running down our chins, our family together, all safe and happy. Our beloved uncles, aunts, and cousins together with us on this perfect summer day. Down the years ahead of us hardships and deep heartache and loss were waiting for us. But on this day we didn't know any of that. 

It's one of the earliest memories I have of my childhood and I can see it clearly in my mind. It resides there only since we have no photos from those trips. I see my cousin Tommy laughing, his smile and face beautiful even as a child. In high school he would become my best buddy. A few years after that we would lose him in the jungles of Vietnam. My littlest sister Deb with her sweet disposition and smile, she too would be lost to us before her children were grown. 

But we knew nothing of that then. We had no reason to think such serious thoughts; we only had the present and it was full of sun, water, sand, laughing, all the things that make childhood happy. We had no neighborhood swimming pool back then; a city pool near us was a few years away. And a pool in our backyard was so out of sight for us we didn't even have a concept of such a thing. We had no jet skis, no tubes or skis pulled by boats, no scuba gear. None of the toys associated with a day on the lake for most people these days. 

And yet we could not have been happier. Like most kids of that era we made our own fun with little. I felt so lucky that my dad and mom had gotten us a membership in Volman Lake. 

It wasn't until I got older and began to understand what was going on in the South then that I came to realize what the requirements for membership were. There was no fee; this was good, because as I also came to know, we were definitely poor. There was only one requirement. You had to be white. 

The scope of my life back then was very small. My family was large and we were close, in both proximity and in how we felt toward each other. A family get-together involved 30+ people. We were hunters and fishermen and women. The men in our family all worked in construction in one form or another. We were laborers and craftspeople. We didn't go much outside the family for friendship and entertainment and all the things that make up life. We were not political and our churches back then were not political as so many are today.

When I look back at the times then in a broader scope I am at a loss as to understand what went on in our country during those times. I was a high school student in the 1960s. We had moved to Houston and my exposure to different people and ways of thinking let me see the world in a much wider sense. 

We have come a long way as a country but we have a long ways to go in the hearts of some people. I hope I live long enough to see more and more changes toward understanding and tolerance. Our country grows slowly into the promise on our statue of Lady Liberty, the message she sends to the world. 

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door."

Some days I read the morning news and it is depressing. It seems we take two steps backward for every one forward. At those times, I am blessed to look out my window and see two jackrabbits and one whitetail fawn staring straight back at me, as I saw this morning. It grounds me and calms me and reminds me once again that we have to treasure the little things.

And one day, maybe sooner than later, we will all be waved through past the "Members Only" sign.

You Can Never Have Too Many Porches

My love affair with porches continues. Last week Rickie took some vacation days and we added a porch/deck to the little bunkhouse. Now we aren't professional carpenters and we have learned mostly by trial and error. Rickie's dad taught him some things and we learned others on our own. This, supplemented with my tiny bit of OCD, gets our projects done, although it's not always a pretty process! We are somewhat like the brothers on Yardcore, the DYI series, or two hissing snarling cats. But we settle into a routine and then things go pretty smoothly. 

We live on top of a hill made of rock and our climate is almost as dry as Mars, so we can use some materials and some methods that maybe won't work where you are. We used cedar for the posts but not for the top of the deck. I love, love, love wire and wood fences so we made the railing out of welded wire and wood. A few years back I learned to use the compound miter saw and I cut all the boards for the project as Rickie attached them. We did the measuring and the leveling together. Once we got past the frame, the hard part, it went fast! 

Many years ago, as a single mom, I lived in a "mobile" home, which was not really very mobile. I wanted a front deck to sit outside and had never built anything before. I worked with a lady who was then the age I am now. She told me how to build one, using concrete blocks for the base. For some reason, my dad told me that method would probably not work. My dad was a plumber in a family of carpenters so I never was sure why he said that. Carpentering was not one of his best skills and he was normally an encouraging person. I think he probably thought I would get it started and he would have to finish it and he wasn't much on projects, unless it was digging in the dirt with his backhoe! 

Larry and John, then 11 and 9 years old, and I went ahead with it and we got it built. I learned from that just to go ahead and not worry too much about it. There are many ways to do something and just because it's not perfect, don't let that stop you. Having had several houses built by "professionals" I've also learned that a person doing it for themselves generally produces a better product than assembly line builders. Looking behind the walls or at the drywall and trim work in a tract house will convince you of that.

The porch added a lot of useful room to the bunkhouse. It gives a place to set ice chests and dirty shoes and to drink some coffee in the morning and some adult beverages in the afternoon. And for the little kiddos that come out, it's a place to play, color, take a nap, dance, and with the addition of a washtub, take a bath! We had two different birds nesting in the trees by the bunkhouse so it's also a good bird watching hangout. We have one more part of the bunkhouse project to complete and that's to add a walkway of granite gravel to the cabin. 

I finished off the porch with some new plantings that I am hoping the deer won't like. Pink skullcap, winter savory, and a native yellow flower I can never remember the name of! 

We've got a few other smaller projects going on out here. I just finished a sandbox, complete with cover to keep cats out, for Bixby. And I've finished the cantina part of an outdoor cooking/cantina cabinet. We're also moving the fire pit to the area between the cabin and the bunkhouse. All I've done on that so far is to tear the old pit apart! And I'm halfway through with a stone skirting project on the woodshed. 

But it's Summer, so I've got to make time to go floating down the river! Life is good out here in the heart of Texas and I never forget how grateful I am to be here and be able to live this life. 

(How far we have come; this photo of the partially finished pumphouse shows the only building on the place when we bought it 24 years ago.)

Sometimes You Have to Kill Your Own Snakes. Or Not.

I didn't grow up in the country. I lived in a small town until I was 14 and we moved to Houston. My dad was an outdoorsman and we went fishing and to alligator infested swamps and lakes growing up. (Photo - me, David, Kathy) For a few years after I was grown I lived in a rural area on a couple of acres. We had horses and I learned to ride and care for them. But I never lived in an actual country setting. Most of my life was spent in big cities.

All that changed a few years ago when I retired and moved here full time on our 54 acres. Most of the time I am by myself and I have had to adapt and learn new skills. If Rick was not gone so much with his job I would never have done some of the things I have had to do, including confronting some deep-seated fears. 

These last couple of years have been the times that try people's soul for me; the best of times, the worst of times.

It all started with the bad drought summer before last and the fear of wildfires. This was a new fear for me. I've always been near a fire truck; in fact, when I was a child we lived across the street from one (in the photo). I've always had one within a mile of me. Out here there is no back way to escape on our street unless you take off on foot. Several times at night and in the morning I have walked outside and smelled smoke from fires. Our neighbors saw lightning start a fire a couple of times. Once I worried so about the smoke I called the Sheriff's department to see if anyone had reported a fire near me. They sent a deputy out to be sure and we walked the property and determined it was smoke from a fire elsewhere in the county. 

Last summer I had a close encounter with a rattlesnake. I was putting birdseed out and stepped right a'straddle one. He came out from between my feet and coiled. He went one way and I went the other. I was lucky he didn't bite me; I can only assume he was as startled as I was! If Rick was here I would have yelled for him. But I was alone so I got the shotgun, even though I was shaking, and killed him and put him in the pasture for the buzzards. I was shook up and my friend Lois said the whiskey manual says one finger of whiskey for each foot of rattlesnake. So I had 3 fingers of whiskey.

Then the least dangerous but the biggest of my fears confronted me. What I call the Invasion of the Wolf Spiders. I am afraid of spiders beyond all reason. Even pictures of spiders, toy spiders, dead spiders, little spiders, big spiders, poisonous spiders, non-poisonous spiders, even Charlotte. I normally don't mention this phobia because I have found that people are cruel and will hide toy ones, etc thinking it is funny to scare me. It is not funny. It is a horrendous handicap to have to live with and I wish I didn't have this phobia but I do.

This past fall we were invaded by these giant, palm-size, furry spiders. They were at eye level on the hay barn inches from my face, on the porch, on the steps, in the sheds (even on top of the drill bits I needed though I seldom use them), in the wheelbarrow, and worst of all, in the cabin. We have had them in the sheds before. We spray for bugs there so usually there were only dead ones and then only a couple. Rick would always try to get rid of them before I saw them. Even the dead ones send my heart racing and fear paralyzing me. My cabin is one room plus bathroom and porch. So I have no place to run. First there was one in the fireplace. I called Rick crying with fear. He said I must have brought it in with the wood, which freaked me out more to think it was so close. Then there was one in the middle of the floor when I returned from town. Again, paralyzed with fear, I called Rick. He said be strong, kill it, throw the wood out, be brave, you can do it, it must have come in the door.

I finally got the book out with photos of the cabin during construction and determined they were getting in from the corners of the fire surround. I plugged these with steel wool. I had the electric company turn the outside light off as we thought that might be drawing them in in large numbers, even though I have another fear, a fear of the dark. Before it was over, I had encountered 21. I imagined another 10,000 living under the house.

But I was as brave as I could be and I got through it, although I was damaged by it and have nightmares still.

Then this week as I was mowing the yard I came upon a 5 foot rattlesnake. I use the walk behind mower instead of the riding mower because I like the exercise. I saw him just as I went to turn around. There was no one to call on for help but myself, so I got the shotgun, killed him, cut his rattles off, threw him in the pasture for the ravens and buzzards, and got the bottle of Garrison Bros bourbon out. 

In addition to these fears and phobias I have come to face, are the usual country chores to learn of caring for the longhorns in rain and snow, covering the garden for the late freezes, water line problems, mice in the pumphouse, and the usual assorted problems of country living. Rick and I were discussing this today and my transformation into a country girl and I was feeling pretty proud of myself. These are all part of the things I endure to live in the country and I figure it's a trade-off I am willing to make.

And then......

We are adding a deck to the bunkhouse and went to the shed to inventory materials me might need. Coming back we walk right past a 5 foot bull snake. He takes off for the canoe and makes himself at home there. Now, I don't have a phobia about snakes. I learned from my dad not to kill a "good" snake and I follow that. I find them beautiful and fascinating. But as my brother Andy says about electric fences "they won't hurt you, but they'll make you hurt yourself". I figure it I run into this fella in one of the sheds, I will harm myself getting out! He's hiding in the canoe still and I hope he wanders off soon but I'm sure he will be my neighbor because it's a nice place to live.

So, just when I think I can relax into my experienced country girl role, one more encounter to see if I'm made of the "right stuff". I'm not sure if I am made of the "right stuff". But I'm sure I'll carry on, battle my fears even though I won't leave them behind, and pay the cost to live the good life. 

Now, let's see, 5 feet of bull snake equals 5 fingers of whiskey.............

A Place For Everything and Everything In Its Place

Over the years lots of things have kept me awake. Getting up with the kids when they were little, waiting on teenagers to get home, worrying about personal problems, and lately the aches and pains that go with being 63 years old and with minor, yet annoying, injuries I mostly do to myself working on my projects.

There are plenty of problems in the world to keep us all awake and as all of you with kids know, you always worry about them being safe and happy. However, none of these things or pains woke me up last night. No, I came out of a sound sleep to worry about where I was going to store our suitcases in the little cabin.

I thought I had accounted for everything we own and had made a place for everything. It's been a few years since we used a suitcase and I guess I forgot we had any!

We really only have a couple of options. Under the bed or the beds in the bunkhouse or in the storage building. I just cleaned the storage building out and unless I want to toss out the holiday decorations I kept, there is no room there.

If I had a car with a trunk I could keep them there. But we both drive a truck and I already use my back seat to store things to be donated and things to be recycled that don't fit in the toolbox. So that's out.

Under the bunkhouse beds I have extra blankets, air mattresses, bulky winter clothes, the sewing machine and fabric, some holiday pillows, tablecloths for the picnic tables, tote bags and purses, and a box of toys for Bixby. I like to leave some room for guests to put their bags so I can't put anything else there unless I toss something out.

That leaves our bed. It has our shoes in boxes and some canvas storage bags where we keep some work clothes. It has a dust ruffle to hide everything. I've left a little room to put some family mementos I wanted to keep but even that is not enough room for suitcases.

Living small requires being ruthless sometimes with what you keep. We have already donated truckloads of stuff and have sold some furniture, some of which we really liked. But, you know, you can't take it with you and it's a comforting feeling to have only what you really need or love.

So, I'll rethink a few of the things I have under the beds, maybe store my work clothes in my suitcase, and make it work. Or use the suitcases as the storage containers for the blankets, etc. Or maybe reevaluate some of the things I kept in the storage shed. Do I really need a plastic container of large margarita pitchers with lids? Maybe I could fill those with water and put in the freezer for when we need ice. Hmmmmm, I think I'll do that anyway. Then I can use that plastic container to store our new garden frost covers instead of buying one.

Living in a small space requires you to think a little more creatively about what you have and what you use it for. It requires "nesting" things that will hold stuff, turning the item itself into the container.

Now, I've got all these new storage ideas running around in my head. I'll probably be awake all night making plans! Let's see - if I put my shoes in the canvas storage bag, then I have room where the shoe boxes are for mementos, then put the purses in the tote bags, and put the tote bags in the suitcase, then etc, etc, etc................

(Photo - Spring cleaning; rugs on the clothesline!)

Now There's Flowers Growing on Ground So Poor That Grass Won't Grow

This morning Rickie and I took our coffee to the garden. He had worked there off and on all weekend and it's a beautiful place to sit a while. A gobbler had been by the yard earlier, as they've been all Spring, and we could hear him talking. 

The poppies Rickie planted from seed in the fall are blooming, as are the larkspurs.

When Sarah was young we used to go to Fredericksburg whenever we were here for Spring Break. We often went to Wildseed Farms near there and they would have fields of larkspurs. We would come home with a handful of them to put in a pitcher on the picnic table. 

In the vegetable area of the garden, we have some little tomatoes already. The snow peas and potatoes look beautiful. We also have peppers, onions, squash, tomatillos, cucumbers, chard, and the perennial herbs have put out. We have had some cold weather this Spring a few nights and the grapes have been nipped pretty badly. The Black Spanish grapes survived fairly well and we may get enough for some jelly. The more sissy Champanelle grapes don't look so good.

Mexican persimmons have been blooming outside the garden. Their flowers are very small and unless you walk up to them you won't notice. We've found only two females on our place although we have lots of males. The females produce a small black fruit that wildlife love. The tree bark is beautiful; they're a great small landscape tree. We have a male and a female growing together by the garden shed. You can see the difference in the two. The female on the left has darker, lusher leaves.

The lace cacti have bloomed and we were able to see them and capture some in pictures, thanks to a heads-up from our friends Martha and Scott that they were in bloom. Over the years, the population of them seems to appear in one area and then disappear some years later only to show up in another place. They like the rocky areas and will grow in any tiny crevice in the rock. Right now they are in a place where no grass ever grows. Rocks cover the surface of the ground and you can see large slabs of solid rock. There is hardly any soil there.

Mealy blue sage is blooming everywhere. It's my favorite wildflower. I love many others but it's the one I associate most with this part of Texas. Before we bought our place I had never seen or heard of it. The first year here we came out one weekend and the whole place was covered with it. I love the way it moves in the wind and the long stems of flowers. This one is growing in the bare ground by the longhorns' pen. 

In the old sink planter I have some of the verbena that grows wild here. It's beautiful and covers the ground in the yard and pastures. It's one of the most hardy plants we have and requires no help from us to flourish. It appears with a little amount of rain and makes a purple carpet over the ground. It transplants easily and I've moved it with success whenever I try. Bixby pulled up a little plant when he was here last. I rooted it in water in a glass in the kitchen window and planted it in a pot with some peppers. I've got in on the front porch and I'm using it to help protect the peppers it shares space with from being eaten by deer. The yellow primrose in the sink is also native but I purchased it from a nursery. 

We have about 25 mulleins growing in the area in the center of the driveway. They're biennials and some of them will bloom this year. It's been a while since we had any of the big ones. Even without blooms they are beautiful. They get no supplemental watering from me and still they flourish.

One of the most unusual and interesting wildflowers we have is the Antelope Horns milkweed. It's a perennial and we have several that come back every year. The last few years more have appeared, I'm happy to say. Milkweed provides food for butterfly larvae. This particular one has the scientific name of Asclepias asperula, named after Askelpios, the Greek god of medicine that brought Orion back to life. You can find out more about this milkweed from the Native Plant Society of Texas website. Native Plant Society of Texas.

As the title of this post reflects, George Jones is on my mind. There'll not be another like him. As I look out across this land where we've made our home, especially during the worst drought times as we've seen in recent years, this song always comes to mind. I've seen the longhorns without a blade of grass to eat, not even dead grass. And yet the Spring will come with it's flowers if we get the smallest amount of rain. "As I stand here looking over this part of Tennessee Texas.... there's a beautiful sight to behold, and no one knows why there's flowers blooming on ground so poor that grass won't grow." 

George Jones - Where Grass Won't Grow

The Last of the Mohicans

He's a scrappy little fella and in spite of his size and their numbers, he doesn't hesitate to go in and try to stand his ground. He's the only one left of the four of his kind that ruled his kingdom here in the fall. He considers this particular ground his, even though he has conceded the other places to them without a fight. 

He goes in from the higher ground first, coming at them from above with his arms waving, making his war cry to try and intimidate them. It's his only hope since he is so outnumbered. He has to bluff his way in. He has faced the reality that he can't run them all off. He is outnumbered 50 times over. His only hope is that they let him share this land that once was his alone. His plan is not to appear weak. They spot weakness in an instant and show no mercy in the face of it.

As soon as he hits the ground they attack. Again and again they repel him. He retreats to the last sanctuary in the kingdom. One that has been largely ignored throughout the year. He knows there is food there and he thinks he can hold out. Maybe they will move on later and he can return to the land he once roamed freely.

He is wrong. They have split their numbers and have taken the last hope he had from him. Beaten and hungry, he makes his retreat. Like others taken over by stronger and more powerful enemies, he is defeated. The powerful show no mercy to him. They rule now by their size and their numbers, as has happened throughout the history of the world. They allow him to live, but he lives at their pleasure, cut off from his food and water supply.

The weak live at the mercy of the strong. Once he was powerful and the land was his to control as far as he could see and travel. His enemies were powerful but they were small in numbers and he had his defenses. He was quick and he could hide when he could not defeat them in battle. His strength was that he endured. That will be his strength now if he and his kind are to survive.

Not everyone likes him. He has a reputation of destroying things others love and he is often cruel himself. He is a killer of babies and a destroyer of crops. His ways are hard but he is trying to survive in a hard world. He knows no other life.

He has one powerful friend and one only. Though she loves the new invaders and is in fact partial to them above all others, she has a soft spot for a beaten people. It is both her weakness and her strength. She will make sure his food supply is replaced when they move on and she will try and stay the hand of the most powerful enemy of all. The one who would put a bullet in his head and be done with him.

The flock of wild turkey hens are back and they have the squirrel on the run. Spring has come to the ranch.