Savin’ this bar, one beer at a time

DSC_0006

Okay, stop laughing. The thought of me, under a pile of drunk rodeo cowboys fighting in the street, while I scream for help like a girl is funny, but you don't have to laugh out loud.

WHAT?  You’ll have to type your comments LOUDER?  I can’t HEAR you!  I spent the night at the street dance: my ears are ringing, my voice is scratchy, and I’m not hungover.

This is rodeo weekend in Grand River, just up the Seven Mile Road from Two Mile Ranch.  In this part of the Midwest, small town rodeo is big time business.  The Leon Rodeo, held in the county seat each July is a URA, MSRA and IRCA triple sanctioned and award-winning rodeo.  The Grand River rodeo draws 1000 – 2000 people each year, not bad for a town with a population of a little over 200 people.

Even though I don’t live in town, I do my part to help out when I can.  I get to the chili suppers, I shop local when I can, and  talk with neighbors.  My friends Eli and Caroline sell their baskets and qilts on Saturdays in town, and I often stop to share stories or catch up on their week.  Eli and Caroline will be butchering my chickens later this fall.

But back to my hearing — or lack of it today. A few weeks ago, Bob stopped his truck at Two Mile.  He  told me of the concert and street dance the last night of the rodeo. He asked if I would be part of the security detail that night.  You know, the guys at the door who stamp your hand, to let you in and out, and stand in front of the stage in lime green or neon yellow t-shirts.   I figured when else in my life would I get the chance to tackle a screaming, little-white-tank-top adorned young woman, and peel her away from  a tight jeaned, guitar playing country musician in front of a few thousand cowboys?

The closed off main street in Grand River as the street dance was beginning

The closed off main street in Grand River as the street dance was beginning (Cell phone pic)

The concert was headlined by Jason Brown, a rising country recording artist and someone I had the opportunity to work with briefly during my work on “Behind the Microphone” – a documentary project on country music.

The show was a benefit for the town of Grand River, and an opportunity for a  TV crew to create a pilot episode they hope to sell to a network about saving small towns and specifically “Savin’ This Bar, One Beer at a Time” the title of a new song performed by Brown.

Truth is, it was a beautiful night, an energetic and polite crowd, and a beautiful way to spend a Saturday night at the end of a summer.  It’s been cool, we’ve had some rain, the temp’s last night were in the bottom half of the 50′s.  The dew was so intense, that by midnight, the sound board was wet enough to stop working, prompting some creative work-arounds on stage by the tech crew and the band.

I spent most of it at the stage gate, stamping hands, and reminding under -age teens (who were leaving to do what ever under-age teens who can’t legally drink do at a street dance)  that they could only go in and out three times.  No young girls rushed onto the stage for their “eight second ride” on a country star, and with the cool temps, all the little white tank tops were covered by 3 layers of fleece.

Under the cloudless night, the stars blazed and by the time I got home, I managed to take off my boots, have a drink of water, and fall asleep.  This cowboy’s eight second rides aren’t quite what they used to be.

Truck, Ducks, and WTF?

Dealer's Photo of the New Two Mile Ranch Pickup

Dealer's Photo of the New Two Mile Ranch Pickup

Since I sold my 1989 Ford pickup (the title read “Brown” for the color, but each sheet metal panel was a different shade of red), I’ve been looking for a “thousand dollar pickup” for Two Mile.  I wanted 4 wheel drive because the few times I would need it, I would NEED it.  I casually looked off and on, and began to get more serious this summer…..but in my unscientific research, cash-for-clunkers has pretty much taken  those trucks off the market.

The few that remain are now $2000 and $3000.  So I traded my car for a 2002 Ford F150.  All of which is good timing as I prepare for the duck road trip tomorrow.

My friends Kwatch and Ev found the house of their dreams, but one of the results is they need to thin their herd of ducks.  After swapping emails for a few months on any number of topics, when they told me of their opportunity, I quickly agreed to give some of  the ducks a new home here with the Cayugas.

So for a Sunday drive, we’re each driving a rediculous number of hours to meet at a secret undisclosed location to trade the ducks and have a quick lunch and meet and greet.

(Note to readers: some of you are nodding and saying “of course” and others are shaking your heads and saying “wtf?”  Well, yes, you are both right. What I wrote to them when they asked “are you sure you want to do this?” is:

… sometimes there are just certain people you trust and certain things you do because it’s the right thing to do.  Somehow in the big picture of life, this is just the right thing to do.

::: On the road again:::

Roosters

It takes a brave man to blog about a subject he knows increasingly less about.

I am talking about  roosters.

Two MIle Ranch Inmate number 1 "Rotisserie"

Two Mile Ranch Inmate number 1: "Rotisserie"

When I bought the feed-store chicks in April, I wanted barred rock pullets, but the store had only straight run. So I rolled the genetic dice with the Z and W chromosomes and bought two chicks.  Both turned out to be beautiful roosters.  The barred rock, with their black and white striped feathers, reminded me of prison uniforms, so the two roosters became named “the inmates”.  This also came from their coop, the fabulous Chicken condo built with plans by Jenny Robson.  Her plans use so much hardware cloth and tight, predator proof construction that I call it the “chicken prison”.  So the inmates earned their name early.

Mike Perry, in his book Coop: A Year of Poultry, Pigs, and Parenting
councils his daughter not to name the pigs the family is raising for meat, to avoid the heartbreak of sacrificing a family “pet” for the dinner table.  But I suppose I’ve broken that rule by further giving the “Inmates” their own distinctive moniker:  “Stew” and “Rotisserie”.

Now when roosters grow up, mine are 16 weeks more or less, they start to establish dominance. And up until this week, the two boys have been getting along just fine.  But lately, the alpha bird has begun chasing the lower bird out of the chicken yard.    They are not fighting to the point of drawing blod, or injuring each other, but the lower bird spends his day free ranging near the pen and if I put him back in the pen, he quickly runs and hides in the nest box.

If Two Mile Ranch were a Warner Brothers cartoon, I would expect a Rhode Island Red to walking in from screen left saying, “Boy, I say, Boy.  You can’t hide in the nest box like that.  What’s everyone gonna say, boy?  You gotta get out there and fight like a rooster.”

Inmae number 2 "Stew" free ranging.

Inmate number 2: "Stew" free ranging.

So it’s gone like this for a few days.  The best part is, if I just  let everyone be, they will work it out on their own. I would like them to get along for a few more weeks until I can put them in the the other chickens who are heading to freezer camp later this fall.  In those birds, I also have barred rocks, and will chose two pullets to move in with the other egg chickens.

As a final and funny observation, each night,  the chickens put themselves to bed. If the lower rooster is still out, I let him in the pen, and he climbs into the roost……and the two roosters sleep right next to each other on the same perch.  Go figure.

The Chicken Condo - "prison"

The Chicken Condo

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...