Putting Up Tree Stands

My weekend was submerged in testosterone and male related activities.  This week, we found out that my husband and my dad got drawn for archery bull elk, and my son got drawn for rifle cow elk.  It will be our boy's very first big game hunt.  To say he was excited is a gross understatement.  Needless to say, it's going to be a very busy fall for our family!

The preparations for the hunt are already underway.  On Friday, we all spent the day with my dad, and went to go put up tree stands around their favorite remote water hole in their hunting unit.  It's inaccessible by vehicles so we each put on packs full of supplies, and hiked our way back to the base of a hill where the water hole was. 

Here, my baby is hiking up ahead with her Grumpie.  He's normally a really fast walker, but he was slowed down by the weight of carrying the tree stand and a pack full of gear.  My baby was holding some signs, and walked at a brisk trot to keep up with him, but they looked so cute together.  She chatted incessantly the whole way, leaving a slim to none chance that they would sneak up on any animals on the trail.

I think it was good for Dad to have her as his little tag-along for the morning.  It turns him into a softy.

Here's the rest of the crew hiking with packs full of chains and rope. It was a gorgeous day for a hike.  Sunny, calm and temperatures in the 70's.

Here's the water hole.  It's dry now, but during our summer monsoon rains it should fill up... just in time for the hunt.  In this particular area, there isn't much water available so the elk use these water holes quite frequently.  They come in to water several times a day, and that's why it's a great place for a tree stand.

My dad is waaaay up in the tree while my hubby is getting ready to pull the tree stand up to him with ropes.

Here he is, making sure that he can get a clear shot  without any branches in the way.

Here I am...doing what I do best....sun tanning. I was lending moral support to the men.  No... actually I think I was nagging at them to be careful before they fell out of the tree and broke a leg.  It's what being a mother has done to me.  I'm now an expert at risk assessment and analysis.

Next, it's my husband's turn to climb the tree on the other side of the watering hole to put up his stand.

After all feet were safely back on the ground, we hiked back out, and made our way back through the forest and into town for a burger and fries.

I'll leave you with a few of the game pics I took that morning. 

What?

You didn't think I'd write a blog about hunting without some pics of wildlife did you?

Antelope.

Another Antelope.

Elk.

More elk.

Only four pictures. That wasn't so bad, was it?

The End.

Until I write about part II...

"Paintballing with the Boyz"

Movin' on Up!

For those who are new to this blog circus, and those who may not remember, up until two weeks ago, I was number eight on my dad's speed dial.  Yes, number eight.  Not that stellar, but a good round number.  You can read the preposterous reasoning behind my low number of importance by clicking here:
http://wranglersandribbons.blogspot.com/2010/08/appalling-speed-dial-discovery.html

My mom has been gone a month now, and while my dad and brother were out of the country, the silence was deafening on my end of the phone.  It was during this time of quiet solitude that I had an epiphany...an awakening, if you will, regarding my eighth place standing on my dad's speed dial.  Suddenly, it occurred to me that there was now going to be an opening for the speed-dial #2 position.

(Speed dial #1 is for voicemail, so technically, speed dial #2 is really 1st place in importance....are you following me?)

My mom has always been #2 on Dad's phone...and rightfully so.  But Mom's gone now, and therefore won't be needing the #2 slot anymore.  My plan, if executed flawlessly, was to strike while the iron was hot.  I had to lobby my dad for a giant leap from #8 to #2.  It was a huge risky strategy, but time was of the essence.  I didn't want my brother, my grandfather, my husband, or my uncles, who hold all of the other numbers on the speed dial, to try to move up in the ranks.  I had to prove my worth.  It was a bit like making a sales pitch in the board room that would send me from the first floor cubicle to the 10th floor corner office with views of the city.  It was like trying out for the major leagues as a high school senior. I was swinging for the fence.  I was putting all of my chips in, and I would either bask in the glorious victory, or go down in flames trying.

As of right now...my dad has told me that I'm top dog...#2. ( I have not verified this, mind you, but that was his verbal assurance.) 

With the glory of being on top comes enormous responsibility.  A burden that is much more difficult than I had anticipated.  I don't really know how Mom did it.  It's incredibly hard.  When you are #2, and the only woman on speed dial, you must be prepared to answer questions...lots of  questions.  You must be a proverbial encyclopedia of all things domestic.  Already I've been summonsed to give my wisdom about the following things:

-How to wash muddy socks
-The importance of browning roasts to seal in moisture
-When to use Oxi-Clean, and when to use bleach
-Reminders about saving receipts to enter in the checkbook
-What brand of soap and deodorant to buy

I just hope Dad doesn't ask me something I don't have the answer to, like how to make Mom's Deer Chili.  I called my mom at least twice a month for the recipe, but never wrote it down.  I'm really kicking myself for that now. I don't have all of the answers.  I don't even have half of the answers...Mom can never be replaced.

The other responsibility that comes with being #2 is always answering  the phone.  Availability is crucial.  This is a nightmare for me.  I'm not good at remembering to bring my phone with me.  It's my tragic flaw.  I hate the bulge of carrying the phone in my pocket, but my purse is a black-hole where phones get lost for days.

Being #2 is like having a new born: I'm always holding the phone, always listening for it's ring, and I take it with me everywhere. I now have an unsightly lump in my pocket from keeping it near me at all times, which is a real fashion faux-pas.  I have to put the phone on vibrate several times a day while at church functions, meetings, and libraries, and then I have to remember to actually take it OFF of vibrate when I'm through.  I take it with me on walks and in the bathroom, and put it near my bed.  It's exhausting! I do not want to miss a call.  I can't miss a call.  If I miss a call, I will go back to #8.

 Failure is not an option.

Going back to #8 is not an option.

But truthfully, I don't know how much longer I can keep up with this whole facade of responsible phone handling.  OH, the pressure of being at the top! The only place to go is down, down, down! I'm not sure I'm cut out for it.  I'm not sure I'm qualified...in fact, I KNOW I'm not really qualified.  But I will carry on with the tremendous responsibility of  being #2... until I make a fatal phone error...like leaving it on vibrate...inside my coat pocket... deep within my closet...for 3 days.  Then I will be demoted back to #8.

But for now, I will celebrate. Whether it lasts for 1 day, 1 week, or 1 month, I am QUEEN OF THE WORLD!!!!  Oh sweet victory! How I long to shout it from the roof tops!

"I am number TWOOOOO!!!!!!"

Happily taking in the view from the top,

Nell

P.S.- If Mom were reading my blog right now, she'd be laughing her butt off!

Crafty Kids

My nine year old son has hi-jacked the duct tape from my husband's tool box, and has used this unusual medium to design things.  I'm not sure how I feel about this, but one things for certain...he's creative.

A while back, he made this duct tape wallet that he carries around everywhere.  It even has a place for cards. His inspiration? A duct tape wallet for sale at our local hardware store.  He thought, " I can make that!"

It's slightly embarrassing when he pulls it out to pay for things. After all, he DOES own a "real" wallet at home that is much less "shabby chic", but he prefers this hobo looking thing.  He's proud of it, and that's all that matters, right?!?

His creativity didn't stop with the wallet, though.  Nope, he took things to a whole new level! He pulled out the roll of silver tape, and decided to make something for his sisters.

A duct tape purse???

This handbag is heavy duty, and is made from only the finest materials.

 For work, or play, this purse will transition from office hours to cocktail hour, seamlessly.  At least, that's what my daughters think.  They think their brother is pretty awesome. They also think the purse is a work of art. 

It's hard for me to see past the $5.00 worth of tape that was used in the making of this bag.  Tape is elusive in this house.  I can never find it when I need it.  Now I know why.  It's being used by my son to create art that's both modern and functional.

That's young male creativity for you...the complete opposite of his sister's creativity.



My daughter has been learning to sew, and I'm so proud of her growth in this area.  Today, she made the most beautiful throw pillow for her bed:

She sewed it all by herself for her 4-H sewing class.

It's a pillow cover that can be removed to be washed.

She picked out the coordinating fabric, and carefully cut, ironed, and stitched each piece of material.  Her project did not involve duct tape in any way, but is still every bit as creative as her brother's little master piece.

With both male and female influences in the house, things never get boring!



Saturday Afternoon Drive

Yesterday, we did our usual Saturday chores which includes checking the yearlings.  All was well so we had a little sling- shot competition with my son's favorite weapon/toy.

All I'm going to say about this is that I've got mad rock chucking skillz (with a z). 

Afterward, we made a pit stop to Dairy Queen, and then decided it was a nice day for an afternoon drive. For the first time this year, the lower forest roads are drivable, and we decided to take the long way home on dirt roads.

We love to drive through the woods because of the abundance of furry woodland creatures. In the spirit of competition, we all keep our eyes peeled for animals.  Whenever someone spots one we say, "You've got your game eye on!"  Whoever finds the most wild game wins the competition and has bragging rights, and declares themselves to be the "Great White Hunter" etc. etc....

Here are a few of our finds:

 Do you suddenly crave mashed potatoes, rolls, and stuffing? No? Maybe it's just me.

Do you see 3?

The roads were fairly good. With the exception of a few muddy areas and the occasional snow packed path on the north facing slopes, we made our way just fine.

Here's the only spot that required four wheel drive.  It was worth it though, because the views were gorgeous!

After a long snowy winter, nothing beats the first spring drive through the woods.



Embarassing Moment #2,236,598

The year was 2001.  My husband and I had just moved back to the mountain, and we were renting a little house in town.  A very nice Hispanic family lived next door, and I was looking forward to meeting them. 

Our neighbor on the other side was an elderly gentleman who would chat with us over the fence.  While conversing with him one day, he asked us if we'd met the brown family next door.  I thought it was a bit odd that he called them that,but I just remained quiet and gave my husband "the look".  You know... the one that says, "I can't believe he just said that!"

A few days later, my husband disappeared for a while, and when he returned, we had the following conversation:

ME: "Hey, where have you been?"

HIM: "Oh, I was just talking to the brown family next door."

ME: *GASP* "What did you say?"

HIM: "I said I was just talking to the brown family next door."

I immediately slugged him in the arm as hard as I could!!! Then I said the following thing:

ME: "That is the most racist thing I've ever heard you say! How are we going to make friends when you go around calling Hispanic people "the browns"???"

HIM: *BUSTING A GUT FROM LAUGHING* "Noooo. You've got it all wrong! Their last name is Brown! I wasn't referring to their skin color! I was just repeating their last name!"

ME: "Ohhhhhh, right.  The B-R-O-W-N family. HaHaHaHaHa!!!"

I felt so horrible for jumping to conclusions! How could I have thought something like that about my husband? How could I have thought the sweet old man next door was a racist, too?

The Brown's were such a nice family!

 We moved from that house shortly after the incident, but we still see the "Brown's" from time to time around town.  We can't help but chuckle every time we run into them because of my little "misunderstanding".

We have trouble remembering their first names after all of these years, but we will NEVER forget their last name.

Ever.

An Expensive Pet?

This is the kindest, most gentle, and friendly bovine creature around.  He's curious, and personable, and comes to greet us whenever we're in the pasture.  He licks, he sniffs, and he follows us like a dog. 

 My baby is in love with him.



My baby + red steer = True love 4 ever





We have a slight problem.  My five year old has claimed him for her own.  Out of all of our cows, she has chosen this one to be her favorite.  She didn't choose a heifer or cow that will be around for a decade...she choose a steer. It's because of his red fur.  My baby is partial to red hair on people and animals, and although her hair is lightening up to a nice strawberry blond, she still considers herself to be a red head.  She feels a bond with other creatures of the "red" variety.

The problem...and it's a BIG problem: my five year old doesn't understand the fate of steers.  I thought she did, but I was WAAAY wrong. One afternoon, I flippantly said that the steer was going to be in our freezer one day, and my baby suddenly got a glimmer of understanding.  Then the wailing started.

She cried, "You mean....we're going to eat him???"

"Well, that's what we do with our steers, baby.  We either sell them for other people to eat, or we butcher them for our family."

"But why???"

It's tough to be a kid that has close contact with her food sources.  Most kids think meat comes from a store.  Most kids don't associate a pretty face with their food.  Especially not a face with shiny, red fur.

We've raised steers throughout our marriage, and the other two children know the routine.  We pick out the bull calf that we want to keep, make him into a steer, name him "T-Bone", "Chuck" or some other meat related title, and then we let him graze on grass.  Near the end, we put him in a pen to feed him out until he's good and fat.  And then we butcher him. My baby has obviously been oblivious to the entire process.

She wants to keep him forever and ever.  She has spoken her piece, and as far as she's concerned, the discussion is over.

If she has her way, you're looking at the most expensive pet we've ever owned.