Travelogue 28, Glen Rose, Texas: Back on the Ranch and Beyond

(As usual, I'm behind on getting this out, so you are reading old news)
High Hope Ranch, Glen Rose, TX, Aug 31-Sept 6, 2012
Well, I'm back at the ranch, with a hairbrush in hand and a renewed attitude toward life. I may not have mentioned when we last left off that I'd be taking a ranch break for five days to puppysit in the Big D. That’s what the natives fondly call the host town of the modern day Cowboys—the ones who have ditched their horses, chaps and lassos to run up and down a rectangular corral in pads and helmets, while millions look on, chasing an oversized  lemon covered in pigskin. My, how times have changed! Anyway, I enjoyed the stay with the puppies. They were much more cooperative than the goats, and smell better too. A dip in the asphalt done me a world of good, being as the contrast raised my appreciate of the slow-down and quiet of country life.
That last travelogue brought people out of the woodwork. Kin and friends alike I hadn’t heard from in ages sent confessions of the similar suffering along with messages of encouragement. I must have sounded in worse shape than I really was. It is my habit to err on the side of exaggeration in these logues, being as it makes for better stories and all. No doubt I was in a funk dunk, but I am as prone to those as I am exaggerating. This last dive just happened to coincide with a missive. I've bobbed back up and am glad to be back for round two on the ranch. Now that I think about it, I do write my life like it is in real time on this blog when it comes to my internal state of affairs. That sort of transparency seems to be appreciated by most, given that it is the part people can relate to.  I'm told it's admirable as well, given that a butt-naked soul is as vulnerable as the skin that covers it when unclothed. Anyway, brutal honesty is what keeps the memoir readers turning the page, that's for sure.
There’s been a fortunate glitch upon return, depending on which side of it you are on. Remember that bath with my underwear? Well, when I let the water out of the tub, the commode started coughing and threatening to overflow, which sent me scrambling, naked and dripping, out of the tub toward the toilet tank to prevent a flood. Pop left his plumping lessons with me at half-mast. I knew that to stop the rising waters I had to lift up that black balloon on a skewer thingy that floats in the tank, but then what? Every time I let go, the cistern quickly returned to filling. What to do? Abandon the bowl on the brink of overflow and run back to the tub to stop the water from draining? Stand there hoisting the buoy in my birthday suit and yell for help? Deciding the goats were the only ones within earshot and the ranch hands and I hadn’t taken that promised skinny dip in the watering hole YET, I went for the tub option. Excellent selection! Pop would be proud. Slowly the waters began to recede and I plunged the stubborn last 3 inches back down to where they belonged…the throat of the commode.
Excitement over, I got dressed and went to report the incident.  Long story short, tree roots had grown into the water pipes, which means ripping up the floor, ripping out the plumbing and starting all over (and by the way, remember the copperhead under the porch? The contractor exterminated him and his live-in girlfriend when they showed up to defend their territory.)  So, what all this means to me is I've had to move from a really nice house to a really, really, really nice house down the dirt road a piece. I mean a super cool, two-story, balcony, indoor fountain, "crow’s nest" bedroom with a circular window over the bed, vacation rental. Last night full moon beams haloed my head ‘til the light of dawn relieved my lunar lover of her duties.

The living area

the crow's nest sleeping quarters

The evening vistors

I dreamed I had a snake in my bed, though, quite explicably. In addition to the copperheads, we saw two two-foot long rattlers on our blue moon night hike. The dream snake turned out to be my necklace that had slithered off my neck in a toss or a turn, and crawled up under the pillow. Still, when my hand met its kinky splay, don’t you know I came up out of that bed with a start. Out of loving kindness for my nerves, I drank a half-caf coffee that next morning rather than the usual high test.
I finished out my final days on the ranch clearing hiking trails in what most call a brutal heat—105F. Swelters don’t faze me much. I prefer any temp over a hundred to anything below 60. Pop would attribute that to my mostly vegetarian diet: “If you’d eat some protein and put some meat on your bones you wouldn’t be complaining that it's colder that a widow's tit all the time.”
“If I ate like you wanted me to, Pop,  you’d be calling me Tubby instead of Runt,” is my answer back to him.

clearing trails

I shall be returning to High Hope ranch in May for what I think will be one of the most exciting adventures of all my travels:  a Vision Quest. You’ve probably heard of this rite of passage in Native American traditions. Basically, you go out in the wilderness for 2-5 days  fast in the elements with only water, a tarp a symbol to represent the focus of your quest. Not everyone’s cup of tea, but for the hardcore spiritual seeker it can connect you to your inner most wisdom like nothing else. More than anything I think it is a fear busting confidence booster. My snake-o-phobia will have to be reckoned with before I go sprawling out beneath the stars in rattlesnake heaven. Maybe it will be to my benefit for once to be skin and bones…the cold-blooded won’t pay me no mind if I don’t put off enough body heat to make it worth a snuggle.
In the mean time, I’m off to California for 3 weeks. Two will be spent in Oakland with a dear friend and the last at a writing retreat in Carmel. Scheduled departure for Uruguay: Oct 3.
The next update will feature a trip to Alcatraz, where my maternal grandfather spent some time for a crime he didn’t commit, and a visit with a first cousin I’ve never met. Until now...
Much love,
G