The Vilisar Times

KICKING BACK ON THE RANCH; A WALK BY THE RIVER; CHICKEN DINNER; WHOLE-WHEAT BREAD
Monday, 19 September 2005

A relaxed Sunday on the ranch. In the morning we get the pigs moved to the new quarters. We also select the cock that we intend to eat. Dutch not only gets the chicken ready (beheading, plucking, gutting, scalding, cleaning) but makes a great chicken soup as well. The rooster had not exactly led a long and arduous life. But he was not that plump and tender either. And, since we were half-expecting to have to feed quite a number of mouths (there was a chance that some people might be coming over from another ranch for a visit), chicken soup seemed like the way to go. While it is simmering, like The Three Bears, we decide to go for a walk along the Tutuaca River, which from the big windows of the high ranchhouse we can see S-curving its way across the valley floor in the middle distance. Originally Bob had proposed that we ride out. But Simon was not around to bring in the horses and, anyway, Bob’s tail end is still so sore from our long cross-country ride three days ago that he can still not sit a saddle.

It is bright and sunny, the air completely pure after the big rain and hail storm on Saturday night. But, to be honest, around here the air is always clean and fresh. This morning it is scented with the grasses, shrubs and trees along the way. The mountains to the south of us stand out clearly before us in the late-morning intense light. High overhead a large group of turkey vultures hang on the thermal currents while near the ground songbirds and doves spring up from the grass as we approach. Meadow flowers carpet the river pastures. The river itself is up after the rain, murky with the churned up sand from farther upstream. This silt will eventually wind up in the Sea of Cortés and the Pacific Ocean for it is rushing down the western side of the nearby Continental Divide. Down near the ford a mare and a “mula” each with a colt watch us approach. At some point the mule decides that five strange humans heading her way can only mean trouble and starts hurriedly for the higher ground and the trees, the other animals following in a mini-stampede. Warily, they watch us pass from the safety of the pine trees to our left.

After twenty-five minutes of walking down the hill from the ranchhouse and then along the river flats, we come to an adobe bunkhouse situated just back above the high-water mark. This is relatively new house and has its own solar power though not yet its own cooking facilities. Bob tells us that it was built partly with the assistance of university students learning techniques of eco-construction. It is locked and Bob has not brought the key with us. But we look through the window and see a hammock slung and various beds and gear around. It looks roomy and inviting.

Not far beyond, the river flat is squeezed down to the water and we can go no farther without wading to the other side. There doesn’t seem to be much enthusiasm to hike in wet boots this morning. But Bob tells us we should check out the left bank of the Tutuaca River as there is a really interesting camping spot farther along. He also points out the swimming hole just there near where we are standing. The current has scoured the bottom around a big rock on the outside of a curve in the river to a depth of eight to ten feet. An hour and a half later we are back home and sitting at the table a exclaiming over the chicken and dumplings.

The day passes with reading and little chores. At one point the alarm is put up when we find that Porky and Schnautze have managed to get out of their new sty and have got into the feed bags in the walkway. We do not manage to get them back in before nightfall. It will be interesting to see if they come back to the Ramada Pig Sty or to their old pen. Return they always have so far; a night in the woods is not that interesting I guess.

The feedbags in the walkway however are an attraction for other animals too. About 0300 in the night I hear sounds of footsteps and munching and the moving around of storage bins. I finally come to full consciousness and eventually convince myself that it is not just Tank, the big old blind mastiff getting into the dog food. I get up in the light of the full moon to investigate. I find three or four Shetland ponies busy stuffing themselves on cattle feed, the bags broken open and the contents scattered on the concrete floor. I flash my pocket LED flashlight at them. They scurry to get back out through the little gate near the house, their hooves clattering on the concrete kicking over several metal objects on their way out and making a huge racket. I am trying to get everyone to remember to keep that gate closed since in the two weeks since we have been here, not only these ponies have entered through there but two or three big mules, a horse, the pigs several times and who knows what other animals that I didn’t spot as well. Unfortunately, since I was the last one to go to bed last night, I probably left the darned thing open myself.

Whole-wheat Bread

Late in the day I decide to bake yeast bread instead of the quick breads that I have always made up until now. I find a recipe for whole-wheat loaves in a paperback edition of The Fanny Farmer Cookbook on a shelf with some other cookbooks in the kitchen. Eli and I enjoy ourselves slapping the dough around and punching it down when it rises. At first the dough will not rise at all and I fear I have somehow misused the yeast. I finally catch on to using the “cold” oven as a warm spot; the pilot light seems to provide just the right amount of heat. When the two loaves finally come out of the oven, though, it is already nearly 2130 and only Bob, Kathleen and I are still up. We fall greedily upon the bread and devour half a loaf while it is still warm, the slices steaming and running in butter and/or jam. Delicious! Simple pleasures.

posted by rjb,
12:31 pm

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		News From Ron and Kathy Bird__
For more pictures of Ron and Kathy Bird and the Vilisar, see these beautiful photos by Albert Pang Click here to e-mail Ron Click here to e-mail Kathy Archives January 2004 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 February 2007 March 2007 Vilisar Translation Expert German-English translation available; business and finance our specialty. SachverstÃ¤ndige Deutsch-Englische Ãbersetzung; GeschÃ¤ft und Finanz unser Spezialgebiet.	Monday, September 19, 2005 KICKING BACK ON THE RANCH; A WALK BY THE RIVER; CHICKEN DINNER; WHOLE-WHEAT BREAD Monday, 19 September 2005 A relaxed Sunday on the ranch. In the morning we get the pigs moved to the new quarters. We also select the cock that we intend to eat. Dutch not only gets the chicken ready (beheading, plucking, gutting, scalding, cleaning) but makes a great chicken soup as well. The rooster had not exactly led a long and arduous life. But he was not that plump and tender either. And, since we were half-expecting to have to feed quite a number of mouths (there was a chance that some people might be coming over from another ranch for a visit), chicken soup seemed like the way to go. While it is simmering, like The Three Bears, we decide to go for a walk along the Tutuaca River, which from the big windows of the high ranchhouse we can see S-curving its way across the valley floor in the middle distance. Originally Bob had proposed that we ride out. But Simon was not around to bring in the horses and, anyway, Bob’s tail end is still so sore from our long cross-country ride three days ago that he can still not sit a saddle. It is bright and sunny, the air completely pure after the big rain and hail storm on Saturday night. But, to be honest, around here the air is always clean and fresh. This morning it is scented with the grasses, shrubs and trees along the way. The mountains to the south of us stand out clearly before us in the late-morning intense light. High overhead a large group of turkey vultures hang on the thermal currents while near the ground songbirds and doves spring up from the grass as we approach. Meadow flowers carpet the river pastures. The river itself is up after the rain, murky with the churned up sand from farther upstream. This silt will eventually wind up in the Sea of Cortés and the Pacific Ocean for it is rushing down the western side of the nearby Continental Divide. Down near the ford a mare and a “mula” each with a colt watch us approach. At some point the mule decides that five strange humans heading her way can only mean trouble and starts hurriedly for the higher ground and the trees, the other animals following in a mini-stampede. Warily, they watch us pass from the safety of the pine trees to our left. After twenty-five minutes of walking down the hill from the ranchhouse and then along the river flats, we come to an adobe bunkhouse situated just back above the high-water mark. This is relatively new house and has its own solar power though not yet its own cooking facilities. Bob tells us that it was built partly with the assistance of university students learning techniques of eco-construction. It is locked and Bob has not brought the key with us. But we look through the window and see a hammock slung and various beds and gear around. It looks roomy and inviting. Not far beyond, the river flat is squeezed down to the water and we can go no farther without wading to the other side. There doesn’t seem to be much enthusiasm to hike in wet boots this morning. But Bob tells us we should check out the left bank of the Tutuaca River as there is a really interesting camping spot farther along. He also points out the swimming hole just there near where we are standing. The current has scoured the bottom around a big rock on the outside of a curve in the river to a depth of eight to ten feet. An hour and a half later we are back home and sitting at the table a exclaiming over the chicken and dumplings. The day passes with reading and little chores. At one point the alarm is put up when we find that Porky and Schnautze have managed to get out of their new sty and have got into the feed bags in the walkway. We do not manage to get them back in before nightfall. It will be interesting to see if they come back to the Ramada Pig Sty or to their old pen. Return they always have so far; a night in the woods is not that interesting I guess. The feedbags in the walkway however are an attraction for other animals too. About 0300 in the night I hear sounds of footsteps and munching and the moving around of storage bins. I finally come to full consciousness and eventually convince myself that it is not just Tank, the big old blind mastiff getting into the dog food. I get up in the light of the full moon to investigate. I find three or four Shetland ponies busy stuffing themselves on cattle feed, the bags broken open and the contents scattered on the concrete floor. I flash my pocket LED flashlight at them. They scurry to get back out through the little gate near the house, their hooves clattering on the concrete kicking over several metal objects on their way out and making a huge racket. I am trying to get everyone to remember to keep that gate closed since in the two weeks since we have been here, not only these ponies have entered through there but two or three big mules, a horse, the pigs several times and who knows what other animals that I didn’t spot as well. Unfortunately, since I was the last one to go to bed last night, I probably left the darned thing open myself. Whole-wheat Bread Late in the day I decide to bake yeast bread instead of the quick breads that I have always made up until now. I find a recipe for whole-wheat loaves in a paperback edition of The Fanny Farmer Cookbook on a shelf with some other cookbooks in the kitchen. Eli and I enjoy ourselves slapping the dough around and punching it down when it rises. At first the dough will not rise at all and I fear I have somehow misused the yeast. I finally catch on to using the “cold” oven as a warm spot; the pilot light seems to provide just the right amount of heat. When the two loaves finally come out of the oven, though, it is already nearly 2130 and only Bob, Kathleen and I are still up. We fall greedily upon the bread and devour half a loaf while it is still warm, the slices steaming and running in butter and/or jam. Delicious! Simple pleasures. posted by *rjb,* *12:31 pm* Comments: Post a Comment
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Monday, September 19, 2005