It is Official

 After the unwelcome, radical change in the population at the Double Barrel Ranch in January of 2021, there came months of introspection. Then years. Finally a decision was made. In July 2025 it became official, I sold the Arizona Ranch to some wonderful people. Now I am on the cusp of buying a piece of land with a home in my new region of the country. Later this month, if all goes well, I will sit on my new land and see what its name should be. The simple life, the rural woman, has moved to the northeastern US. 

1977 Feature Story

    In my Junior year of College, at what is today St John Fisher University, I was given an assignment to write a feature story. At that time I had been working for a flower retailer who employed me on Saturdays to take surplus flowers to the Rochester (NY) public market to sell. So here was my report on 30 July 1977. I got a grade of B/B+ on it. Tough grader! 

Market Impressions '77

 "Nice apples, nice apples here!" an old man chants over his eight-month old produce.

"How are the hen fruit today Dave?" asks a customer of the egg man.

"Look at the size of that hanging basket!" exclaims a lady pointing at a amazon vine. 

The Rochester Public Market on North Union Street is a grand profusion of people. Two long open sheds are the main business centers on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings. Now under construction is a third enclosed shed that is scheduled for completion by winter. 

But for now, behind the trucks at the open air market, two men meet: "Hi there! Hey listen, you wanna buy a tax-free bond?"

A hot dog vender tinkles his bell. The enticing smell of fresh roast peanuts drifts over the sheds. 

Sellers can rent a stall with ten feet of sidewalk frontage for $35 a month, if they can find empty one.

A quiet man standing alone among his baseball bat-sized squash is greeted by a friend, "So this is where they're doing all the business this morning." He smiles. 

"Only a dollar on a bushel of beans, how 'bout it lady?"

The farmer said corn was 50¢ a dozen because it is so old it could collect social security.

Dispelling the myth that men are not long winded talkers, two men discuss at length the changing face of the market: "It's not like it used to be." The other man nods in agreement. Still, one cannot imagine it being any busier.

"Hey, I even sell mayonnaise!"

"Lettuce! Six heads for a buck!"

If you need a live chicken, duck, rabbit, or goat, you can find it at 280 North Union Street. If your tastes run more to the exotic, there are tropical plants, carob cookies, daggers, fresh caught sunfish, wind chimes, and statues of lions.

For the grocery shopper there is a nearly unlimited selection --

-nectarines, 2 lbs. for $1

-large eggs, a dozen for 85¢

-American cheese, 1 lb. for $1

-English muffins, six for 20¢

-cabbage, three heads for 50¢

A fruit vendor is asked about his cheap grapes. "People don't care about quality here, all they want to know is how cheap it is."

 He turns away. "Grapes! 3lbs. for a dollar!"

"I can tell he don't like corn," said a Penfield farmer about a little boy who was sizing him up.

How?

"Because he's chewing gum -- can't eat corn while you're chewing gum."

The little boy is frightened away, but his mother buys a dozen ears anyway.

"Hey old man, what d'ya say?" echoes through the morning. The sparrows chirp in the rafters.

"Green Peppers 10¢ -- only a few thousand left!"

Some of the younger venders gather and speculate on the wealth of the old men. "Geez, he's got so-o-o much money! But man, he's tighter than the bark on a tree."

At nearly noon, when the venders pockets are bulging with bills, a big husky man comes through the markets flashing his fingers full of rings and a remarkable assortment of diamond watches and necklaces. He opens a velvety box in front of one of the men. But the prospective customer turns away. The big man pursues a few steps, "Hey! What d'ya need boss man?" 

The boss man quickly turns and answers, "Money! That's what I need, money!"

The big man continues on his way, unruffled. 

Since most of the sellers arrived by 6 AM, by noon the signs of weariness are plain to see: cracking voices, extensive yawns, more sitting down between sales. And it may be a long ride home for some of the farmers. Ontario, Sodus, Batavia, and Phelps all contribute to the melting pot. And when they get home, there is more corn to be picked, hogs to be fed, cows to be milked. 

"It wasn't too good today" said a small wrinkled man as he tenderly packed up his basil plants. "Next week will be better." 

1849

In 1971 I was a huge admirer of Canada and all things Canadian. All their wide open spaces were very attractive to a teenager suffocating in a dying industrial city in the eastern US. I bought an LP (a long playing vinyl album for those unfamiliar with the term) produced by a jazz-rock fusion group (out of Toronto, Ontario, Canada) called Lighthouse. The Number One hit from the album was titled "One Fine Morning". Thank you Skip Prokop for such a joyful and uplifting 5 minutes 11 seconds! "All the universe will smile on us."

Another song on the album was less ebullient. "1849" is a tale of the gold fever which guided the hopes of 400 people in 61 wagons heading to California. Those adventurers set out in confidence "that their fortunes would appear." When I traveled west in 1988 it was less rustic and I followed paved roads, not fur trapper trails. The song warned of the cost of chasing riches. "No one thought their greed for gold would change their lives that way." I wasn't seeking gold in Arizona, unless wide open spaces was my gold. 

Those seekers in 1849 soon found out that dreams must change. I never became the great long distance endurance horse race rider in the Arizona sun that I envisioned.

Instead I found fulfillment in just being in God's creation. I loved the mountains and the deserts. Those wide open spaces filled our years with adventure and appreciation.

It's been 3 years since I lost my companion. The song lyrics describe a pretty dress for Sarah, later used to bury her sister Fay. My sweetheart, my husband, was buried in camouflage hunting clothes under the desert sun. There is loss across the years whether you stay put or challenge the world someplace new.

The song ends with a refrain: "A promised land in 1849." There's toil and pain everywhere, no escaping that. But everywhere I place my foot is a promised land to me from my God.

Incident at the Daisy Belle Saloon

 Way, way back in 1970, I wrote a short cowboy tale for English III, 10th grade, chock full of tired motifs or recurring themes from Westerns I'd likely watched. I was influenced by Roy Rogers and Bonanza!  It doesn't make a whole lot of sense (give me a break, I was just 16) but here you go for your Old West Days enjoyment. 

    It was a long dusty ride. So I wandered into the Daisy Belle Saloon and ordered myself a tall, cold beer. That first gulp tasted mighty fine. I noticed the muddy smudge I left on the glass. Then I looked up at the frightful reflection I made in the mirror behind the bar. Five days growth of beard and dirt grinned back at me.

    Then it occurred to me to check my pistol since strangers in town could be mistaken for anybody who ever had their picture on a wanted poster. The gun was clean as a whistle but I was running low on ammo. I took another gulp out of the glass, then realized something odd was going on. The bartender had stopped drying the glass he was holding and was looking rather intently toward the door. I looked up to the mirror because I was too darn tired to turn around. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway. His manner was not too friendly. In fact, he was ready to draw! A hush settled over the barroom. I began to wonder if that dude might have seen me bump off that old man in Stevetown and had come after me. My fears were soon alleviated when the mysterious man drew and shot the bartender full of lead.

    As I learned later, the Daisy Belle was a union men only saloon. It seems this Virginny boy didn't really appreciate that because the Daisy Belle was the only bar in town. So I retrieved my nickel for the beer and left the dizzy Daisy Belle for safer country. 

A Farewell To Arms 1971

 This has nothing to do with the Double Barrel Ranch, but it's my blog. (Not following the rules again.) 

 When I was 17 years old, I had to write a critique of "The Style" of a book we had read for 12th grade English class. Even at this age, my iconoclastic tendencies were apparent as I'm sure that 99% of my fellow students were writing approvingly of the famous novel's presentation. I begged to differ:

2 December 1971 "The Style"

"The characters in A Farewell To Arms by Ernest Hemingway are not very active. There are many pages devoted to how Frederic Henry did nothing. How he spent his time in the hospital, how he did nothing in Montreux, how he did nothing while waiting for Catherine to have the baby, etc. There was a lack of action in the book. And there doesn't seem to be much of a reason behind the book, other than to tell a nice (or not so nice) story. There should have been more life to the the novel. Less conversation and more description would also help. Hemingway's style seems to be to let the reader guess who is talking and what the listeners think of the speaker's words. Very seldom did he use the words "Catherine asked" or other identifying and descriptive phrases. Also I searched and searched and I was unable to discover the fate of Barto, one of the guys with the ambulances. He just disappeared from the pages without a word. This is kind of ridiculous. If his style includes such mistakes then he should never have been published. Not once does the book mention anyone's age. His style does not take into account any facts. What year is it? Your guess is as good as mine. 

When writing is vague and uncertain and the story line is weak (the weak love affair), it is boring. If it didn't have a war going on with a threat of danger, the novel just wouldn't hold water. 

A lot of symbolism will escape most people so it is better to be straightforward and be sure the reader understands. That, I believe, is the main object of a novel - to get something across. And if it is vague, shrouded in symbolism, full of guesswork, contains mistakes, and is spotty in action - then it needs a lot of work. I haven't the faintest idea why the book sold."

The teacher's notes on my critique are interesting. She asked why it was important to know people's ages? Why was the year important? People disappear from our life and we never know what happened to them happens in real life. She said maybe I couldn't grasp the story line? And perhaps I didn't know why the book sold because I just didn't appreciate it? Umm, yes?

I guess today, 53 years later, and having never read another work by Ernest Hemingway...I will have to say that the style of including character ages, year, stories with things resolved are all important to me. Is it a teenager or a 40 year old? Is it WW1 or WW2? And to have a meaningful conclusion to a story, etc. are all important to me. The assignment was to critique the style not to highly praise the best selling author like a million others have done. There was no grade indicated on the paper. Today I would have explained that appreciation of "style" is subjective. Maybe I should have left out the last sentence saying I couldn't understand why the book was ever sold? Yes, that was maybe a bit over the top. But give me a break, I was 17...and a budding iconoclast!

As the Petals Fall

 This has been a time of change here on the ranch. After my house was stunningly painted, I got a new sliding glass door and then 4 new windows. The new glass is double pane and has tint to reduce solar gain through it. The previous glass was single pane; you could get sunburn through it! This is nice tight little house now. 

 Anyway I got the brick for laying a wall behind my wood burning stove. The wood burner is just for ambiance or a power failure. I’m not trying to heat my house all winter in the desert with wood. It is possible because of the forests on our mountains, but for me at this time, eh, it’s ambiance.

Winter has been seasonably cold and my natural gas bill reflects that. It’s nothing like the northern climates though. And I don’t heat my house to bikini temperatures. Remember I’m the one who winter swims.

Speaking of swimming - the local gym with the indoor pool saw me the other week. I haven’t been in my 40ºF pool since early this month. I really should…

My large pot of geraniums has continued to flourish. Pink and deep red flowers. I carry in outdoors in the morning and inside at night. The colorful flower petals drift off on the floor. It makes me smile, like when they throw flowers on the path of the bride going to the altar to be joined to her beloved. It’s just geraniums in my hallway, but it just seems more significant. Like being blessed by nature. I’m such a romantic.

Late Autumn 2023 Thoughts

The autumn season is marching on and soon will draw to a close as the winter chill increases every day. 36ºF/2ºC this morning. 

My house exterior stucco was repaired and the house painted green with white trim. I love the color.

Shortly after this expense, my chronically misbehaving clothes washing machine quit. After 10 years of battle - I give up. I’m going to haul it to the dump. I bought an attractive shiny grey replacement that is a front loader, instead of the top loader. So far I am very pleased with this new LG washer. If my opinion means anything, don’t ever buy a Crosby top loader. It warrants many unprintable words.

The orange marigold flowers are still blooming their hearts out and my girlfriend gave me a pot of mostly pink geraniums. Together they make a striking display as you approach my front door. This is especially true as the native plants fade away, their small leaves dropping unnoticed. Only the Barrel Cactus fruit ripening to yellow brings color to the dull green and brown/grey landscape of these short days.

Soon I’ll be buying nice Christmas cards to mail to my friends and family. Even as the days are shortening in the northern hemisphere, at least the mailbox will be brightened by messages of hope and cheer. There’s likely not going to be any snow for me to dash through here in the desert, but the mountain snowstorms will play out above me on Mt Graham. I will marvel at the wind and the play of cloud and sun. It is amazing that mankind has survived all that nature can dish out to us, especially when you hear how people get so seriously troubled by the inconsequential. I like to count my blessings, and not the slights.

Prepared For Heat and Storms

It’s been a long hot summer. I didn’t intend to be here through the torrid days here in eastern Arizona’s desert, but circumstances kept me on the Double Barrel Ranch. I made the best of it. My swimming pool has been a godsend. Unless you were raised in a hot climate, when you move there as an adult, I think your blood can’t reestablish a homeostasis in the high heat. I have no trouble with a climate that throws below freezing temperatures at me. Of course I was raised on the shore of Lake Ontario waving at Canada across the waves.

On August 7, 2023, a very destructive rain and hail storm struck. 3 1/2 inches of precipitation in a little over an hour.

 Siding and roofs and vehicles and anything outside not made of armor sustained damage. But the worst thing I suffered was my pristine blue pool was polluted by backed up runoff. The hail clogged the natural slopes which normally safely carry away the deluge. It was quite shocking to check the water quality after the storm and see this.

 After monsoon rains I generally add some muriatic acid and shock chemicals and all is well. Instead I had to drain, power wash and refill the whole 8000 gallons. 

But the native desert plants have taken it all in stride. They haven’t survived in this harsh climate for millennium by being frail. Flowers are everywhere. 

Several neighbors have substantial property damage. I fortunately had minimal damage to my house and my truck. I guess they were both built with armor for that once in a lifetime storm. Kinda reminds me of Paul’s letter to his friends in Ephesus, in modern Turkey. Chapter 6, verse 13 “ …put on God’s armor so you will be able to resist the enemy in time of evil.” If you wait until you are in the storm, well, it’s kinda getting too late, right?

Sonoran Desert Ocotillo

Ocotillo is native to this area. But they aren’t common on the Double Barrel Ranch. I suspect many years ago they were harvested and utilized for their formidable branches to make excellent fencing. We brought them back in our “cactus garden” in front of the house and they have self seeded.

April has been a month without any measurable rain. But the Ocotillo faithfully produce their flowers, waiting patiently for the pollinators. The branches only sprout leaves during the warmer months when there is sufficient rain. And when the rain goes elsewhere, the leaves are shed. This sprouting and shedding can occur more than once a year. 

So here are these naked, thorn-studded branches, waving in the wind, with their glorious color.

April Anniversary

 The ranch is suddenly in a heat wave: a few days ago it was 29º and I had concern for my bare water lines. Yesterday it was 93º. The mesquite trees are leafing out and traditional stories say the mesquite waits until all threat of frost is gone before it leafs out. Sounds sound to me! 

Today is the 35th anniversary of my permanent arrival in Arizona. (We had come from Mansfield, Pennsylvania. We left on April 1 and had many adventures but that's another story.) Somehow I never took a photo of my caravan but we pulled into the Double Barrel Ranch with an Oldsmobile sedan pulling a 20 foot travel trailer, and a GMC 3/4 ton pickup hauling a horse trailer with 2 horses. I drove the truck, and Fred drove the Olds with his 18 year old daughter as co-pilot. There was nothing here. Not even a place to pull in. Taming the wilderness and building a homestead began. And there on our land were those two Barrel Cacti, growing side by side.

Addendum to - the Long, Long Trip.

 My Ultimate "Insurance" Policy

For those who don’t know, I have been a born again Christian for many years. That “event” was basically a dedication to living my life as God directs. He gave us the Bible as a guide book. I will admit to often being more taken with secular subjects than the Bible. Things written prior to 1960 seem so archaic! But with the guidance of many teachers, preachers, and of fellow Christians - I have attempted to follow the lifestyle that Jesus laid out for us 2000 years ago.

During trials such as the “Long, Long Trip”, I made reference to saying a prayer or other oblique mentions of my faith. This was done to not offend non-believers who might have found my story entertaining. But it is not the whole truth. I depend 100% on the Lord to guide my steps. Things aren’t always rosy. The famous psalm mentions walking “through the valley of death.” That is not a walk in the park! But God promises to be with me.

I tell my story for others to see how I handled life handing me multiple unpleasant, potentially dangerous, situations. If we do not share our stories, then what good are the lessons we learn? We try to insulate ourselves from catastrophe. We buy insurance policies, we do maintenance, we seek advice from counselors. But one day I found myself alone on a cold and lonely road. Yet I kept smiling. I had no doubt, no doubt, that I was in the loving hands of my Creator. I hope you have this assurance also.

Long, Long Trip, Part 5. The Conclusion.

 

I am now back to my friends in the Pelican State. The dog gets a great new home. The friends get to play tourist in Louisiana and Texas and then they head back to Arizona, going right through little isolated Van Horn, Texas. The repair shop finally notifies me late on Jan 10th that the truck is “fixed,”  the $400 worth of parts installed. I pay the bill over the phone. My girlfriends volunteer to pick up my truck on Friday morning Jan 13th. T.A. becomes an official member of W.W.D.D.P.A. (Women Who Drive Diesel Pickups of America) which is a society I just made up. She’s a brave lass! This is great timing. It means I did not have to travel six hours back to Texas myself to get my truck.

Everything goes well for 262 miles/420 km.

The engine quits and T.A. glides off the interstate highway into a large parking area in New Mexico at the Continental Divide. It is an absolute miracle - the timing of it - that she is able to safely get off the road. I get a phone call…

After a number of calls, my friends are able to leave my truck and continue their trip to Arizona. A tow driver picks it up later and takes it into Lordsburg, New Mexico where, surprisingly, there is a Ford Dealership, which means actual Ford trained mechanics. They reassure me that they will get a look at it soon. Soon? 

I call them every couple of days. They are just about to get to it. Again and again. Meanwhile I am getting rides, and borrowing a car in order to buy the necessities of life. Must Have Coffee! My community college night school classes begin but I can’t get there. Please don’t drop me from the class!

After an entire week goes by with nothing from the Ford experts, they finally - on a late Friday afternoon - regret to inform me that nobody on staff has the expertise to diagnose what is wrong with my truck. Why he didn’t know this within a day, I do not know. They recommend the truck be towed to my town. The best diesel shop in the area is right here where I am living. Okay. So I call for another tow, this time about 82 miles/130 km. For those keeping count, this is tow number five of the trip. The final tow is set for Monday Jan 23.

A freak snowstorm hits on Monday Jan 23. A snowstorm in the southwest! Tow truck does not leave for New Mexico as it is snowing there too. It is not a crippling storm, but where it only snows even a little bit maybe once a year, any snow is significant. I go take snow pictures and wait.

My baby, or my beast (nickname depends upon my mood) truck finally arrives in my town on Tuesday Jan 24, about three weeks later than I expected. And it sits in the shop parking area. And it sits. The diesel shop is slammed with work. As is the case in many professions, there are not enough people to fill the jobs. Finally the main issue is identified. Parts are ordered. Contributing issues are also identified but these can be addressed later. 

It is a humbling experience to live far outside a town and have no transportation available. Although people continually offered me rides or to loan me their vehicle. I have so many wonderful friends! But I kept busy getting a lot of material ready for the landfill and one just doesn’t load up a borrowed vehicle with refuse! Anyway, it had been 50 years since I had been without ready access to transportation. Oh, a day here and there, of course. But this was now 4 weeks without my truck. Thank goodness so much commerce can be transacted online. Cat food and cat litter came to my door by FedEx and UPS. Happy cats are a priority! 

The day my baby finally came home and finished its trip from NY to AZ was February 2nd. I can go to my college night classes. I can go to the dump. I can go buy groceries, coffee even (!), just anytime I want, day or night. I can just step out my door and jump in the truck and go anywhere I want, whenever I want. As long as I can afford the fuel! This is a freedom I will never take for granted, ever again. The experience has been challenging, I applied much patience. But the joy of being blessed by strangers, and friends alike, it was just priceless. May they all reap outsized rewards in return!

For any mechanics out there, the main culprit was an ICP sensor. Once the other nagging issues are taken care of next week, the diesel expert believes I will have a dependable truck for at least the next 100,000 miles. I certainly hope so. It is a wonderful beast! Even if it did give me some grief - and a long, long trip!  

Long, Long Trip, Part 4

When the office manager leaves for work, she assures me that she will let me know as soon as the truck is done. So I peek in my food storage and things are getting pretty scarce. Then I notice there’s a mini-van parked at a residence behind the motel and a sign on it says “taxi”. I am getting desperate. I call the number. Yes, she will take me to McDonald’s and back. A lady about my age shows up having just finished a cigarette but I am not judging. I am hungry. I spend $7 on food and $14 on the taxi ride.

At noon the office manager comes back to the motel for lunch. She regrets to inform me that the delivery of parts from El Paso is rather late today. So even if it shows up - there is not enough time in the day for the mechanics to “drop the engine” and replace this set of parts that cost over $400. But it will be done on Monday! 

Being prepared for this, I ask her if she could drop me at the U-Haul rental store on her way back to work after lunch. They rent me the only truck available. A very large 26 foot cabover. Very costly. But I am not staying another night in Van Horn. Due to all the items I am hauling back from NY to Arizona, I cannot rent an automobile, even if there was such a business in Van Horn, which there was not. But my few belongings look pitiful in this enormous van.

The final insult is when I check out at 1:00 pm I ask how much is the late check out fee? Normal check out is 11:00 AM. Obviously I had no way of checking out prior to having a vehicle. So here is a 16 unit motel, only 2 rooms are rented. I am checking out 2 hours over the limit. They tell me, oh, so sorry. No late check outs allowed. I must pay for the entire night. 

One of the shop employees helps me load my van of my truck bed boxes and such. That was decent of them. I am about to leave and Cruz shows me a box. Look what has finally showed up! My parts. It’ll be done Monday, they will call me…

It wasn’t bad to drive such a big van. Smelled new too as it only had 9000 miles on it. Everyone stayed out of my way through El Paso where construction meant restricted narrow lanes. But if the semi-trucks could handle it, I could. It was such a relief to get out of Texas. Mind you I know lots of Texans. Most are the finest people on earth. But I just had a bad taste in my mouth from some of the people in Van Horn.

I covered the 375 miles/600 km from Van Horn, Texas to Safford, Arizona in a bit more than 6 hours because of the slow big truck. Arrived after dark, which meant no water that night but this was not a big deal. I would have electric lights and I would have natural gas heat and my gas stove. I knew I would appreciate that cook stove after 16 months of enduring a hard to operate electric stove.

Another embarrassing wrinkle was I had asked my neighbor to leave my back door unlocked. I had not been able to locate my house key. (I later found it had fallen and was hiding under things on the floor of my truck - which was of course, still in Texas.) Except he thought I was going to be there on Tuesday and this was Friday night. He didn’t think I’d want to have that door unlocked all that time. So I go to get into my house and everything is locked. I call my neighbor and he is an hour away, out of town, on his way back, and he has the key on his keychain! So he invited me to wait inside his house which was much warmer than outside of course! Temperatures at night can be near freezing in January. 

Eventually I get into my house! I’m home! On Jan 6th, at last! But it is cold in the house so I go to turn on the furnace. The batteries are dead in the thermostat! Where are batteries? I can’t remember. So I rob batteries from a wall clock and put it back up. It is 52ºF/11ºC in the house as I hear it fire up. I get my cats and a few things unloaded for the night. Put my food in the refrigerator. My bedroom furniture is all piled into other rooms. The bedroom is totally empty so the remodeling could be done while I was away. It is wonderful! Painted a cheerful blue, the white trim is sparkling, the wood trim is even enhanced. I throw down my camping cushions for the night and my sleeping bag. But… it doesn’t seem to be getting very warm in here? It is now 50º/10ºC!! What? I shut off the furnace and get out my little space heater for the bedroom. At least I’ll warm up one room and figure it out in the morning.

It’s 49ºF/9ºC in the morning. So I call the Heating/AC company for a weekend call. This why I wanted to arrive during the week. You get weekday rates but now I have to get costly after hours service. (I expected to arrive Tuesday or Wednesday.) Technician shows up promptly, takes one look at my furnace room and says, oh, your gas valve isn’t turned on. He turns it on and I got heat. What the heck? The gas company turned on my gas service, checked my gas stove, but turned off my furnace gas supply? What on earth? Why would they do that? I didn’t even know there was a gas valve in there. Live and learn. 

The story of my hot water heater is another deal. For 35 years the gas appliance has faithfully heated water on my back porch without setting my house on fire. Now the gas company tech said it cannot be lit due to inadequate ventilation. It does not pass code. It needs an exhaust vent pipe. It is outside on an open porch. But it needs a chimney to pass code. Okay. Whatever. Due to the effort of an angel, a vent pipe was installed and I got hot water after a few days delay. Cold showers are not optimal! 

Using a heavy wrench I go turn on my water valve. Find the toilet running but no other leaks. So finally I think, that must be it. 

I go to make coffee and part of my coffeemaker is missing. What? Why is this? So I make instant coffee. Oh well. Basic coffeemakers are cheap. Very strange though. 

Later I try to heat something up in my really old microwave and it dies mid-operation. Totally dead. Oh well. Microwaves are not terribly expensive.

Not 12 hours later I am sitting in my arm chair relaxing. Except for my truck, which means having no transportation, things aren’t so bad. I’m home. I’m safe. The cats are safe. I can go get food in my big U-Haul truck. I need to return it on Tuesday. (It is Saturday Jan 7.) I’ll figure out something to be able to retrieve my truck from Texas next week. Then I hear the odd gurgling, coming from my refrigerator. After an hour of that music, the refrigerator dies. Totally dead. What? 

So, I start to think, is this the last thing? When do I get a break? But really, what do I mean? Things are getting better. I’m learning something new every day. (There’s a gas valve in the furnace room!) I wake up in the morning eager to see what opportunity will present itself that day.

I got hot water. I got central heat. I got delivery of a nice new black refrigerator after I borrowed a dorm frig for a few days. Walmart had coffeemakers cheap and a sale on microwaves. I got wall to wall rug installed in my new bedroom and moved my furniture back in. I feel like a queen every time I walk in the room.

Oh yeah, the U-Haul management messed around with me by telling me it would be impossible for me to drop off the van here in town, I had to take it 40 miles/64 km to Willcox, Arizona. This was so inconvenient to have to ask someone to follow me so far so I could drop it off when my contract said I could drop it in Safford. I call it a rather underhanded business practice. It is not up to me to get furious over how I was treated by U-Haul and the motel in Van Horn. There are ultimate penalties for how we treat others, whether we are a business, or in a personal interaction. I have peace. I know it is not up to me to get justice for being wronged. 

But when do I get my truck back? To be continued…

Long, Long Trip, Part 3

 AA Auto and Truck repair was one of the biggest repair shops in tiny Van Horn, Texas, population 1753. The tow truck driver, Cruz, was a lifelong mechanic. My impression was he was trustworthy. I felt pretty confident when he said it could be a clogged fuel filter. When did I last change it? Umm, fuel filter? I don’t know anything about a fuel filter. I had major work done in 2019, new batteries, etc., so I assumed things like that were done? I was starting to feel like the proverbial dumb blonde although the blonde is mostly grey now! In my early 20’s I did things like change oil, filters, clean spark plugs, but that was many moons ago. I had a husband who was very handy and he did all the mechanical chores. I grew away from the greasy fingernail jobs. Now as a widow of two years I am being asked when I last changed a fuel filter. I shrug my shoulders.

New fuel filter. It does not start.

A couple more mechanics join the group looking under the hood. Maybe it is the crankshaft sensor, someone said they saw that cause this once. It is ordered from the auto parts store. Eventually it arrives, is installed and turn the key. But it does not start. Mechanics drift away to work on a semi-truck needing a wheel bearing. Cruz starts to wiggle things. I turn the key. Nothing. Wiggle something else. Nothing. Wiggle this and vroom! We have the answer!

A conclave a mechanics is assembled and the general consensus is that I need to have this expensive job done, but I am so close to Arizona, that they all agree that if it was them, they would take the chance and get it repaired as soon as possible. If engine loses power again, I should just get under the hood and wiggle that thing. It seems a reasonable plan of action. I play the ridiculously expensive bill and buy fuel (prices not bad here) and I’m rolling down the highway again, on a beautiful sunny afternoon. Until I wasn’t. Engine quits. I climb under the hood and try several times, wiggling the thing. But it isn’t working. 

Cruz comes out to rescue me, again, as I’m only 13 miles west of Van Horn. They don’t charge me for the second tow job. Which is the only break they ever give me. Unfortunately tiny Van Horn does not stock this expensive thing so it must be ordered from El Paso and should be delivered at noon or 1 pm tomorrow. Would I like the office manager to take me to a motel?

She takes me, the cats, the litter box, the cat food and dishes, my ice chest and my personal items to the Budget Inn. She owns the Budget Inn. It is at the very bottom of acceptable for comfort, and cleanliness. Not a single luxury. No coffee pot. No radio. No shampoo. No hair dryer. One thin towel, one thin wash cloth, one thin hand towel. Decor from the 1980’s. A TV that has lines through the picture. But the bed is comfortable. I can handle this for one night. Cats hide under bed which is actually cleaner than the Motel 6 but I wouldn’t call it “clean.” She does not charge me extra for “pets.” But the daily fee is $20 more than the Motel 6. Whatever. It is just one night. And it is very quiet. It is located way out on the far edge of town. No stores or restaurants within many blocks. Van Horn, like many southwest interstate towns, is a shadow of its former self. More empty and abandoned buildings than occupied buildings. There was one tiny restaurant a block and half away. I walked over there only to find that it is only open on weekends, if the elderly owner is feeling up to opening. There is a McDonald’s - on the other side of the interstate, maybe a 1.5 or 2 miles away. But due to my annoying foot and leg problems, this is far too far for me to walk. But it is only for one night…Wednesday Jan 4 comes to an end.

Thursday morning the office manager drops me at a wonderful Mexican restaurant for breakfast, on her way to work. The food is divine. I have really missed authentic Mexican food during the months I’ve stayed in the north. Then I start to walk back to the motel. How far is it? I walk and walk. I find a couple places to sit and rest. My legs, my feet, are telling me that this is not a good idea. I spot a lady with grey hair coming out of the post office so I ask her if she is going west because I really need a ride to my motel. I explain my truck is in the shop, etc. She says she’s actually going east but she’d be pleased to run me over to my motel, it’s not too much trouble. What a delightful lady and her chihuahua Peanut!

Out of the blue, I get a call from A.A. (a friend I know from Arizona) who is traveling to Louisiana and will be stopping in Van Horn for lunch. Do I want to meet? You bet! A friendly face is welcome indeed. She and T.A. are relocating a large dog to a new home in the Pelican State. I get to see my friends, pet a dog, and eat some really hot Mexican food in the same restaurant. 

The office manager informs me that the part was not in today’s delivery but it should come tomorrow (Friday) for sure. Then they can get me back on the road. I ask repeatedly to make sure I will only need to spend one more night. Answer is “Absolutely.” The shop does not work on Saturdays. So if it can’t be done by 5 pm Friday. It won’t be done until Monday. 

Okay. I'm not happy. But I can handle one more night in the Budget Inn. The sun goes down on Jan 5th. The low lonely sound of the Union Pacific railroad rumbling by puts me to sleep.

To be continued…

Long, Long Trip, Part 2

 Around 30 years ago I knew a young lady who I'll call E.R. She moved back to Texas with her parents and I lost track of her. Due to the miracles of social media, I found E.R. living in Fort Worth with her own family now, and very cute Munchkin Scottish Fold cats. So, as I sat in my ailing truck in Fort Worth, I gave her a call. Her home was sadly enduring Covid, but although she couldn't help directly, she gave me the name of a trustworthy shop to call for help. I limped to a Motel 6 for the night and called for a tow in the morning. I had no idea of the seriousness that awful noise.

It is a small production to carry to the third floor: two cats, cat food and water dishes, a litter box, ice chest, plus whatever regular overnight items a person needs for a motel stay. Both cats immediately vanished under the bed. You would think that would be an inaccessible place because of the platform? No. It was pulled away from the wall, just enough to allow cats to squeeze under. I called the manager to help me rescue them from the dark recesses. Two men came in and helped dismantle the bed. I caught the cats, secured them in the bathroom and they reassembled the bed and secured it to the wall. They did not clean up the Doritos and other debris that had been uncovered during the operation. My advice is to never, ever, look under your bed in a motel. You don't want to know.

I turned on TV to pass the evening, and watched the shocking football game where the young Buffalo player suffered cardiac arrest on the field and the game was suspended.

In the morning a tow truck hauled me, the cats, and my truck to the  independent repair shop my girlfriend recommended. They quickly diagnosed a bad wheel bearing. Since, according to the mechanic, if one front bearing had gone bad, the other would likely follow soon. I had them both replaced. It was very expensive. The office manager gal and the mechanic were both sympathetic to my plight. They went out of their way to get me back on the road quickly. The weather was 70ºF/21ºC and sunny. It was a nice day to relax in the sun as I waited for parts and the repair. This was January 3rd. I had 850 miles/1370 km to go. And I returned to the road with optimism and a big cup of delicious McDonald's coffee. Depending upon how much I needed to sleep, I could be home tomorrow at noon. 

Previously I had arranged for my electric, gas, and water utilities to all be turned back on January 3rd. Therefore I could look forward to heat, and light, and if it was daylight, I could find my water valve and get that going. I didn't want the main turned on until I could be there to check for any leaks. My toilet flush valve was cranky after 10 months of drying. It needed attention so it is a good thing I didn't have the water going into my house or that toilet would've run non-stop. As it turned out, it would have been running for 3 days straight. But I am getting ahead of myself.

My neighbor said my refrigerator did start. So I was pretty confident that everything would be normal when I arrived.

As daylight was fading over the west Texas plains, I felt a peculiar jerk in the truck power. But it went away. Hmm. I wonder what that was? I looked out in the night at the flames off in the distance coming from oil or gas fields. I took a nap in a truck stop in Odessa. It was a cold night. Expected to be in the upper 30ºs (about 4ºC). I continued on in the clear night. Interstate 20 merged into Interstate 10. My house is only about 25 miles/40 km north of Interstate 10 in Arizona. I could feel excitement building! 

According to my map, a large highway rest area lay ahead near Van Horn, Texas. I had driven 480 miles/770 km since I left the afternoon sunshine in Fort Worth. The engine power jerked off and on again. What was this? I definitely aimed for the Rest Area to park, use the rest room, and pray about this concerning behavior. It was the middle of the night. 

As I slowed and pulled in to park, the engine totally quit and I rolled into a safe location. I decided to take a nap and try later. But I soon woke up due to the cold. Got out more blankets and tried to snooze again. In this mild part of Texas, they do not have heat in the restrooms. The "throne" is rather icy! Apparently it rarely goes below freezing there.

After some time passed, with temperatures getting frigid, I cranked the engine and it started. I put the heater on immediately! Then I decided to try for the Love's truck stop or someplace where there was heat and food. Pulled out and headed down the ramp back on the highway but the engine died again. There was no restarting it. I had rolled to a stop under a street lamp so I tucked in until daylight when I called for a tow. This was not what I expected to be doing on January 4th. I was cold, but I was safe. I still had some food in the ice chest. Things would work out. The shop in Van Horn would fix me up and I'd be home tonight. How bad could it be? 

Worse than I imagined... to be continued.

Long, Long Trip

It wasn't meant to be long. Like other trips, I planned to drive all, or almost all, the 2300 miles (3700 km) straight through. I don't take chances on the road. I pull over and take a nap when needed. Or get a motel for a night. But I love to drive. I adore long hours on the road. Day or night, fair weather or foul, I love the open road. 

My current and only vehicle is a white truck, a 1999 Ford F-250 Lariat, 4 wheel drive, 7.3 liter diesel. It is one of the best engines ever put into a Ford. I have added a few after-market improvements like a hard plastic tonneau cover over the 8 foot long bed, and an upgraded radio so that my phone connects. It has a compact rear seat that folds down for two cages where my cats, Holly and Stalker comfortably ride.

This would be my 4th cross-continent drive with this set up. I left at 7 AM on New Years Day because I saw it as a light travel day and it was. It seemed rather special that my mileage, as I left my worried sister in the predawn light, was 234,567. Temperature was above freezing. No weather concerns in sight. It was just another enjoyable trip! I didn't look forward to the total cost of the fuel I would be purchasing. Inflation had certainly hit diesel prices very hard, much harder than regular gas. In fact at one station diesel was exactly $2 more per gallon than regular gas. I shake my head.

Across western New York State I traveled, where the week before the Buffalo area had seen historic 4 foot snowfalls. Only shrinking snowdrifts remained. I passed through the corner of Pennsylvania near Lake Erie. I had lived in northern Pennsylvania for 10 years, beginning in the late 1970's. It is a beautiful, mountainous state! I headed away from the Great Lakes plain after Cleveland. Ohio is a large state so it was nearly dark as I eventually passed Paycor Stadium in Cincinnati in southern Ohio. The lights were all on but I realized the football game would be held the following night, when my Buffalo Bills would visit the Cincinnati Bengals in a game which would be cut short by a near cardiac death right on the field.

At night I reduce my speed, especially through the rural areas of Kentucky and Tennessee. I took my short naps as needed and snacked from my ice chest. Eventually the sky lightened and a new day arrived as I drove across the Mississippi River at Memphis and into Arkansas. Every state has natural beauty. But every time I travel through Arkansas, I am reminded that their nickname "The Natural State" is not exaggeration. It has an outstanding, natural landscape. And Hot Springs!

Last February I had a careful drive along Interstate 30 from Dallas to Texarkana due to an ice storm. But 10 months later, going in reverse direction, the road was dry, the weather fairly warm. I managed through the Dallas metro area without too much traffic since January 2nd was the official "Holiday" for New Years since the first was on a Sunday. A lovely long weekend for most people.

Then as I came near Fort Worth, I thought I heard a grinding noise coming from my front right tire or wheel. I pulled off the highway into a shopping center. Something was very amiss. Things proceeded to deteriorate after that.

To be continued...

Feral Kittens

 Back in late March or early April I made the discovery of 3 kittens in my barn with a mother cat who I had seen hunting around the ranch. A few weeks later they were still there and kittens were getting big. Then some time later I see increasingly skinny kittens wandering around outside. No sign of mother cat. I couldn't stand to see it. Nature can be very cruel. I began to put food & water out for them.

Mother cat never returned.

I had 3 kittens for awhile until about August first. Then the all black kitten vanished.

Now I have Annie, a female tabby and white. And Stalker, all black with one white dot on his chest. Outside cats. But they are getting older, i.e. sexually maturing. Uh oh.

I didn't ask for these babies. I have had no luck in finding a local person to adopt one. The local cat rescue is full. My house cat is very offended at their presence. Stalker often squirts by me into the house when I go out the door. I scoop him up when Holly greets him with a loud hiss. These two are friendly, loving, healthy, 5 month olds.

 Where is their new home?

My YouTube Addiction

During this Coronavirus social distancing time, I seem to have become addicted to YouTube. All the series I've been watching are produced by independent creators with a variety of emphases. Rural life, travel/camping/RVing, low carb lifestyle, technology, and politics. (There has to be politics in these days of EVERYTHING being political.)

Here's my list:
Rural - My Self Reliance, Shawn James, Handmade Houses with Noah Bradley
Travel -Traveling Robert, CheapRVliving, Creativity RV, Steve Wallis
Low Carb - KenDBerryMD, Diet Doctor, Dr. Sten Ekberg
Technology - Hobotech, DIY Solar Power, Mobile Internet Resource Center
Politics - PragerU, Blue Collar Logic, The Rubin Report, Tom Bilyeu

Who needs broadcast TV these days?

Anyone have a suggestion to add to my subscription list? Too darn hot to do anything outdoors anyway. (Forecasting 111ºF this week.)

Yukon Jack

     I regret to report that AM Yukon Jack passed to the great green pastures of eternity yesterday. He was 34. "Jack" was a 14.3 hand Grey Arabian gelding of mostly *Raffles (English) breeding. I got him from his breeder, Al Marah Arabians in Tucson, Arizona in 1990. He was saddle trained in Duncan, Arizona and lightly ridden during his lifetime because of an accidental hock injury sustained as a colt on a ranch near Williams, Arizona. His most striking feature was the bloody shoulder on his left side which is said to denote particular bravery in the animal, from a Bedouin legend. He put up with me for 30 years, so I guess he was brave. His coat was always soft as puppy hair.

     Fair breezes and few flies to my big puppy!

50 Day 8932 Mile Trip, Final Segment, Part 9

     Our next adventure was June 21st, the first day of summer we traveled to Geneva, past Hobart and William Smith Colleges (Beautiful campus!), down the eastern shore of Seneca Lake this time. We viewed many historic sites marked by the blue and yellow NYS signs. We saw places where Iroquois villages once stood. We continued south to Sampson State Park. Once a US Naval Training Station, this large park has hundreds of camping sites, a military museum, and a lovely little beach. Visiting the museum someday is on my bucket list!

     Before reaching the southern end of the lake on Route 414 there is a magnificent roadside waterfalls at Hector. We parked just after the bridge and walked carefully back to view it along with several other waterfalls admirers. We all survived the close quarters with zooming traffic. The upper cascade is about 50 feet of layered splashing and on the lower side (after the creek passes under the bridge) there is another 100 foot drop but it is on private land and not accessible, but is an interesting view. Absolutely delightful stop!

Hector Falls

     Traffic is slow through Watkins Glen, but we made our way to Montour Falls to see three more fabulous waterfalls. First on the edge of town is Aunt Sarah’s Falls right on Route 14. It drops 90 feet in a slate gorge so I had to snag a souvenir piece of slate. In the middle of town is Shequaga Falls which is an impressive 165 foot cascade that was lovely that day but has been known to look like Niagara after heavy rains. A quiet pleasant park fronts the falls which is different from the traffic dodging one does at Hector Falls and Aunt Sarah’s. Finally in a secluded glen, with limited parking at the end of a dead end street, on the edge of town is Deckertown Falls. The trail was very slippery with mud and the thought crossed my mind that if I didn’t fall into the creek, it was still going to be tough to get back, even though the trail isn’t very far from where I parked. However I made it back unscathed after enjoying this sparkling gem. Not a high falls but dual cascades. Peaceful, very peaceful.

     There are many more waterfalls in the vicinity. It would be a fun day to explore them all. Additionally in Watkins Glen State Park where there are 19 waterfalls along the amazing trails there. But we didn’t even attempt that due to my husband’s mobility issues.

     The drive up out of Watkins Glen is a steep road with great lake views. There was a motel with rooms and a swimming pool that had a stunning view of the beautiful blue Seneca Lake. Along Route 14 are many, many vineyards and wineries, but the Climbing Bines Hop Farm and Brewery caught my eye so we stopped. I took a few pictures, had a couple sips. It was excellent! I’m sure it even rivals the breweries in Germany! The hops are certainly fresh!

     On my last day in Monroe County, I visited my cousin in Webster again. We had a nice dinner out.

     Left out of my story was the two times I swam in Lake Ontario. The first swim was long before any of the local folks would attempt it. The water was cool, but I thought it was certainly tolerable. Also I must mention the hospitality of my brother and sister who wined and dined us. We very much enjoyed sitting on the patio at the lake where in addition to the company and the lovely water, there were boats, and geese — many, many Canada Geese, and ducks, and Mute Swans! And we often sat on my brother’s deck in the woods watching the deer, the bluebirds, and those neighbor’s turkeys. Then there were the fish fries. Rochester Fish Fries are legendary. Nothing, anywhere else tastes like it. I ate fish every Friday. It was a requirement of mine!

     On June 25 we took leave of NY and finally found our way to Rome PA and stayed with husband’s son. He again got to go fishing, this time with his grandsons. Unfortunately we had to cut short the visit due to some agitation from husband's ex-wife who has still not accepted that he left her in 1986. Talk about long grudges!

     We managed to see husband’s sister in Owego NY and pop in to see his brother in Litchfield PA before we set off home in the afternoon of June 26th. I stopped in Troy PA to see the house we’d rented the upstairs apartment in in 1986-87. The house was gone! It was no paradise but they paved it over and put up a parking lot! (Apologies to Joni Mitchell and the song “Big Yellow Taxi”.) A few miles later I made a valiant attempt to locate the home we rented near Roseville PA. I could not find it! I lived there for about a year! (1987-1988) How could I miss it? Unfortunately the “Map” feature on my phone only works when you have a cell phone connection. And in the Pennsylvania backcountry, this is barely ever available. I gave up. We got to Altoona and hit the sack for $76 in another Super 8 inn. My aggregate motel spending as part of the Super 8 parent company “club” has entitled me to a free night or a discount at one of their resorts.

     The next day we drove through the scenic Appalachian Mountains in Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia. Into Kentucky we were the 6th car in line stopped for a spin out. We just emerged from a heavy downpour on Interstate 64. I got out of the car and spoke to a couple of friendly men also out surveying the wreck. It did not appear to be a fatal, thank God. A Kentucky local spoke to me and asked rhetorically: I wasn’t from around there? No... and then he told me it would be best if I didn’t walk in the grass in the median in case there were chiggers in the grass. I hopped out of the grass forthwith. It’s good to get local knowledge! Thank you sir!

     South of Lexington the homes and farms are so beautiful it made my horse-loving heart just ache. On the fairly new Cumberland Highway we flew as the daylight faded and we entered Tennessee. In Nashville I was in the wrong lane and we headed downtown so got a look at it before I managed to swing back toward Memphis. And somewhere between those two cities I stopped for gas late at night and found Elvis Presley postcards! Yay! In the night we crossed the mighty Mississippi River. Someday I’d like to see this river in the daylight! I always seem to time our crossing in the middle of the night! Maybe in 2019...

     By the time we got to Little Rock, Arkansas the sun was rising again. The Arkansas River was wide and amazing along the highway. Next stop was for breakfast at a Waffle House in Clarksville, Arkansas and I did not see any trains. (“Last Train to Clarksville” The Monkees, 1966... oh my, I am really showing my age!) I really liked the people in the Waffle House. When has it ever happened that a song comes on the restaurant radio and nearly all the patrons and staff join in singing the words? It happened in Clarksville!! Plus the countryside between there and Fort Smith was Ozark beautiful. I really want to see more of this area someday.
Eastern Oklahoma is a lot of Indian country. Another unique flavor of America. In Oklahoma City I needed to stop to buy ice for our ice chest and I certainly got off at the wrong exit for that, but eventually found some. And then I saw a Hobby Lobby in a shopping center and had to go see that too. I had heard good things about the store but had never visited one. Loved it!

     In Western Oklahoma we again stopped, this time at an “Indian Trading Post” to do our tourist thing. Bought more postcards! Then it was westward on to Amarillo. I tried to talk to my brother on the phone as we entered Texas because I was seeing hundreds of wind mills. I could SEE the cell tower. But my phone kept dropping the call. Must have been the turbine blades slicing the air, eh?

     Decided to call it a day in Amarillo and I found another Super 8. We got in the room and I was so disappointed. It was the worst accommodation of our trip. Not really clean, not a good smell, no pool. I went and got chicken take-out for us at a local chicken place, not a franchise. I expected it to be tasty. It was disgusting. I wasn’t going to take it back, if I could even find the joint again. Very disappointing. The city is bisected by the interstate highway, making travel from the south side to the north probelmatic. In the morning, in the cramped Super 8 lobby, the included breakfast featured a waffle in the shape of the state of Texas! At least something positive!

      Traffic near Albuquerque was the last traffic I saw. We got to Socorro, New Mexico and turned into the western hills, then into the mountains and the rain came. Five hours later we turned into our driveway and the temperature was almost cold! A monsoon storm had also swept our home area. What great luck to have cool temperatures to unload the car!

     Such a trip! 50 days. 8932 miles total, more if you count the times we rode with others. Overwhelmingly a good time. Hundreds of photos and videos. 

     I love to travel.

THE END