Tipi Wind

It’s Mother’s Day! An annual celebration at the Tipi Wind Ranch, and to commemorate this year I let Robin stain the house. She was motivated, and the weather was favorable, so she broke out her old floral one piece; lathered up with SPF 4 and “gott’er dun,” but not before painting three porch rockers screaming green.

We erected some scaffold, so I can get up on the roof and paint the dormers. While inspecting the job before me, I discovered all the screws holding down the sheet metal roof were loose, so now I have to get up there with a drill and seat them all back down. Add this to my already long list : finish flagstone patio, weld white pipe fence and cables across front of barn and pasture, fix tractor, fix hay implements, train horses, train dogs, and . . . the list goes on.

I prefer to have five projects going at the same time, that way I never get bored. Weather permitting, I work on outdoor projects, weather changes; I work on indoor projects. The ultimate goal here is to not get blown off the roof, struck by lightning, or face premature death by some unanticipated force of nature, or machine.

At 4 PM I made a large fire out back and started preparing my world renowned cilantro chicken, after all, it is Mother’s Day. The recipe goes like this: Take a large seasoned cast iron Dutch oven; pour in a quarter cup of olive oil and add two heaping tablespoons of crushed garlic. Take a whole frying chicken and cut in half down the middle. Place it in the Dutch oven skin side up, cover that with a half dozen hot Italian sausage, then add two sliced green peppers (red or yellow will suffice) add one whole onion sliced; chop a whole bundle of cilantro and sprinkle that over everything, then pour in a 12 oz beer.

Back at the fire I have plenty of hot burning coals and flame, so I set the Dutch oven next to the coals on level ground. I turn it about every twenty minutes, keeping it level at all times. Wisps of tantalizing vapor escape the heavy lid, while I listen to the tune of sizzling delight inside the pot. I pull the Dutch oven out of the fire after an hour or so to check on the progress. When the chicken falls off the bone it’s done; usually about two hours after the cast iron gets hot, it’s practically impossible to over cook this meal unless you leave it in the fire, say . . . overnight.

Presto, another memorable Mothers Day with Cilantro chicken, steamed asparagus and a bottle of chardonnay. Robin received cards, praise, and a familiar little box to mark the occasion, because she’s my little painter.


Big City Escapade

I drove up to Grand Junction (the big city) the other day with the ever popular and lovely Robin. It was my son Tyler’s 21ST birthday, so we went up to buy him dinner and a beer and do all the big city things hay seeds love to do.

Did I mention when it comes to shopping my wife gets tachycardic every time we pass a Bath and Body Works, or a mall for that matter. Honestly she could shop at a funeral. For a woman shopping is like sex, they prefer a lot of foreplay before the purchase, while all men want to do is buy, buy, buy.

I had been shopping unsuccessfully on line for a Yugoslavian AK 47 for months. Tyler, feeling my pain, told me of an infamous pawn shop in town that specialized in gun sales. So after a morning work out and a shower, I wisely dropped Robin off at the mall before calling the pawn shop. I was in luck. They had several models to chose from, so after jotting down some inferior directions, I was left with the impression the place was somewhere in the south east part of town.

For me driving in an unfamiliar city is one endless moving violation. After blowing several stop signs, four illegal u-turns and a couple of death defying lane changes, I miraculously found the place.

You can tell a lot about a city’s culture from the quality of their pawn shops. This particular one was in the notorious part of town, it was small, piled high with used power tools, cheap electric guitars, and shit I couldn’t comprehend. I was standing in line with several other gun enthusiasts, x-military guys sporting army haircuts, green trench coats speaking firearms lingo I can’t understand. They struck me as the kind of guys who could make a bomb out of kitchen supplies, guys who knew how to detonate nitrogen fertilizer, and diesel fuel for the big bang; the kind of guys who scare the hell out of latte’ loving liberals.

So there we were admiring AKs, AR 15s and every kind of hand gun conceivable, but it wasn’t until I said: “Is this still a great country or what? This is much more gratifying than voting,” is when they really warmed up to me. I realized then, these guys where average Joe’s who loved freedom as much as I, and would lay down their lives to defend it should tyranny raise it’s evil head. While stuck in computer gridlock awaiting a background check to ensure I wasn’t mentally deficient, or criminally insane, I took my leave to join Robin, Tyler, and girlfriend Meghan for lunch.

Robin having assuaged her shopping lust with several purchases was ready to travel, so after some laughs and pleasantries we bid the kids farewell and drove back to the pawn shop to conclude my AK purchase, it was then I had the epiphany: if one AK was good, two is better. I considered it a profitable investment, with great potential for resale to another so vested in freedom.

I drove west down I-70 bucking a head wind passing tandem and triple semi’s at 80 mph contemplating the future of fossil fuels when it me: frivolous spending is so gratifying.