Orchard in Bloom

Our tangerine, orange, and lemon trees are bearing fruit. Last year we had only lemons, so this is a nice surprise. No word yet from our avocado tree.

Holy Cow!

I know women who hide certain purchases from their husbands--the kinds of purchases that guys sometimes don't understand, like expensive handbags. Unfortunately for me, the Wrangler doesn't mind when I buy handbags but takes a very conservative approach to stuff that would be impossible to hide. Like, say, cows.

I had not given a lot of thought to keeping a cow on the ranch but, as of late, I'm seriously considering a nice Jersey cow (or two, as I think it is nice for animals to have a familiar companion). Averaging just 900 pounds, a Jersey is quite small...for a cow, at least. They are known for their delicious milk, which is high in butterfat. They also are known for their pretty faces and relatively docile (although somewhat nervous) dispositions.

A typical Jersey gives about five gallons of milk a day. There are miniature Jerseys, but I'm not going to go there. I'm not building a hobby farm of miniature animals; miniature sheep and goats will suffice. Plus, I'm confident that I won't be overwhelmed by a standard Jersey. They are sort of a "starter cow," in that novice cattlemen with small pastures can do well with Jerseys.

The Wrangler is very supportive of the beekeeping and chicken coop plans. He's moderately on board with the sheep and llama/alpaca, meaning that he isn't necessarily eagerly awaiting their arrival, but he isn't protesting. He has said no to donkeys and the verdict is still out on pigs. Once in a while he will mention randomly that "goats are the worst," and I'm not entirely sure what that's all about.

He speaks well of bison, so who knows where cows will fall on his spectrum. But think of all the lovely fresh butter, cream, milk, yogurt, cheese, and ice cream that our bovine pets would provide. Thankfully, the idea practically sells itself. Because I can't think of a way to sneak a cow into the backyard.

Some Light Reading

Keep It Simple, Sweetie

After seeing Food Inc. and reading a couple Michael Pollan books, I jumped on the bandwagon and began making a greater effort to eat organic and locally-produced food when possible. But the funny thing is that, despite these efforts, I hadn't been paying much attention to food labels. I mean, I knew that homecooked meals usually are better for you than buying packaged convenience food or eating out. But I still wasn't paying very close attention to ingredient lists.

A couple weeks ago, the Wrangler picked up a bag of store-bought bread and read aloud the ingredient list:

enriched bleached flour, water, skim milk, high fructose corn syrup, vegetable oil, yeast, salt, wheat gluten, corn starch, mono- and diglycerides, ethoxylated mono- and diglycerides, sodium and calcium stearoyl-2-lactylate, datem, calcium peroxide, ascorbic acid, azodicarbonamide, enzymes, yellow corn flour, natural flavor, paprika extract, calcium propionate, monocalcium phosphate, calcium sulfate, ammonium sulfate, calcium carbonate, ammonium chloride, distilled vinegar, soy lecithin, soy flour

That is the actual ingredient list for the store-bought bread! In stark contrast, let me list the ingredients in my homemade bread:

organic unbleached flour, water, yeast, kosher salt

Yep, that's it. And, as I've written before, the artisan bread recipe I use allows me to bake a fresh loaf each day in about an hour. (And only five minutes of that hour is "active" prep--the rest of the time the dough is rising or baking.) I don't need high fructose corn syrup, corn starch, vinegar, paprika extract, and at least 15 unpronounceable chemicals in my bread, so I'm going to pay attention to labels and no longer buy bread with this kind of stuff in it.

Similarly, I've been making homemade ice cream lately instead of buying it. My recipe has three ingredients: organic half-and-half, sugar, and pure vanilla extract. Sure, my ice cream tastes a lot better than store-bought ice cream, but I'd never noticed that a premium brand's "homemade vanilla" contains: milk, cream, sugar, corn syrup, egg yolks, natural flavor, guar gum, salt, carob bean gum, annato. What the heck is annato, why are there two kinds of gum on this list, and what is corn syrup doing in my ice cream?

Feeling like we were onto something, the Wrangler and I read the labels on our canned goods. What you've heard about the ubiquitousness of corn syrup is true! I suppose that whether it's really bad for you is debatable, but I don't see why it's in everything--even canned tomatoes.

Chalk up two points for this cowgirl tonight. I have a batch of my freshly mixed bread dough in the fridge, and the Wrangler and I have just helped ourselves to two heaping bowls of homemade ice cream. (Clearly, simpler food is not necessarily synonymous with diet food.)

New Year

Happy New Year! 2011 is off to an auspicious start--my orthopedic surgeon officially discharged me from his care today, which also means that I can quit physical therapy. It has been six months to the day since I fell off Moto. Things still are creaky and hurt now and then, but I really can't complain. I've also got a full line-up of activities this season: yoga, ballet, piano, and horseback riding lessons. As one of the Six-Button Cowgirls points out, swap soccer for yoga and mine is the schedule of a 12-year-old girl. Ah, but there is little danger of illusions of youth here. Especially now that my once-broken bone throbs when it rains--certainly, the hallmark of the aged.

No Ark

This photo shows the water line from the flood at the Laguna Beach Animal Shelter.

Photo by Kent Treptow / L.A. Times

Last week Laguna Beach got hit with six days of torrential rain, which caused over $10 million in damage to businesses, homes, and city structures. Mudslides and flooding wiped out the Laguna Beach Animal Shelter as well as the Pacific Marine Mammal Center. (I've mentioned the Marine Mammal Center on here before.) Fortunately, no patients were injured in the floodwaters at the Marine Mammal Center, which were four feet deep. All sea lions were safely evacuated to another animal care center.

The Animal Shelter incurred at least $800,000 in damages. The flood and mudslide destroyed all the computers, files, and office equipment. The night before the mudslide, shelter workers had placed stools in the dog kennels "just in case." When workers reached the shelter the next day, the dogs were standing on the stools. Tragically, the storm took the lives of two chickens and one bunny. But all cats and dogs were relocated.

Incidents like this make me hug my pets even tighter. I love giving them a warm, safe, and happy home. I wish I could make sure other pets are just as fortunate.

A Rocky Mountain Christmas

We're home after our fourth consecutive Christmas in Denver. It wasn't a white Christmas this year, but the pets, nieces, and nephews provided plenty of holiday cheer. We timed our road trip perfectly. We had impeccable driving conditions, but a massive snow storm closed the major interstate roads on our route just one day after we arrived home.

While in the Denver area, we toured the Celestial Seasonings tea factory in beautiful Boulder. The tour, which includes a stop in the infamous peppermint room that makes your eyes water, is an olfactory (pun intended) treat for all, but it was especially interesting to me since I've replaced soda with tea as my beverage of choice. I stocked up on holiday teas--peppermint, gingerbread, chai, and even sugar cookie-flavored tea.

We also headed downtown to the aquarium, which has an impressive collection of species--sea horses, sharks, jellies, and even a tiger. I lobbied to conclude the visit with lunch in the aquarium restaurant but was shot down. Seems that the others felt weird about feasting on a platter of calamari just steps away from the giant octopus tank.

We took a little driving tour of some equestrian communities mixed in with cookie-cutter suburban subdivisions. I loved the tidy ranch homes with horses, goats, and chickens grazing peacefully in the yards, Pike's Peak looming in the distance, and a comforting Target, Borders Books, and stadium seating multiplex just five minutes away. (Because who am I kidding? I love suburbia just as much as I hate it.)

Upon our return home, I was thrilled to find that our gorgeous Noble Fir still is very much alive and kicking. There are no signs of dry needles, and the tree is drinking 1/2 a pitcher of water a day. At this rate, the tree may be around for Valentine's Day. I can't send a thriving tree off to the wood chipper.

Goats!

Crunchy Granola

Tonight I made homemade granola, and I'm pleased to report that the Wrangler pronounced it "the best thing you've made in a really long time." Although, now that I think of it, what is this saying about my other culinary efforts? Hmm. My recipe is based on the granola recipe in the Mountain Sky Ranch cookbook (the ranch that hosts the spectacular Wild West Women Adventure in Montana). It's a quick and easy project with yummy results, and the house smells cozy and Christmasy:

4 c. oats

2/3 c. each - roasted cashews, walnuts, almonds, pecans, and peanuts

1 c. coconut

1/2 c. brown sugar

1/4 tsp. cloves

1 Tbsp. each - cinnamon and nutmeg

1/2 c. vegetable oil

2/3 c. honey

2 Tbsp. vanilla

In a large bowl, mix the oats, nuts, coconut, brown sugar, cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg.

In a saucepan, heat the oil and honey but do not boil. Remove from stove and add vanilla.

Mix wet and dry ingredients together.

Spread evenly on two parchment-lined baking sheets.

Bake in a 325 degree oven until golden brown, about 30 minutes, stirring every 10 minutes or so.

If desired, add dried fruit after baking. I added about 1/3 c. dried cranberries to one of the baking sheets. You also can add raisins, apricots, dates, etc.

Let cool. Store in air-tight container. Makes 12 cups.

Mind Your Own Beeswax

Today the Wrangler and I headed over to the Ecology Center in San Juan Capistrano for the beeswax candle-making class. The Ecology Center is in a bright, airy farmhouse built by Pony Express rider Joel Congdon in 1878. Five of us gathered in the pleasant farmhouse kitchen to learn how to melt and pour beeswax. Yes, it's as easy as it sounds. The beeswax from a local hive looks lovely and natural and smells like fresh, delicious honey. I couldn't help but feel ashamed of the unnatural and probably toxic sparkly and fake-scented candles I have around the house. Pouring votive and mason jar candles takes just seconds (and about an hour to dry), and dipping tapers is oddly therapeutic--like kneading bread. I can't believe I haven't been making my own candles. Well, that is going to change.

I remember my dad making candles by melting old candles in a coffee can. When I told him about the class tonight, he introduced me to another candle project--ice candles. Apparently, if you pour the wax over a cup of ice, it creates beautiful candles with lots of small holes.

The best thing about this activity is that if you somehow mess up or aren't happy with the candles, you can just re-melt the beeswax and try again.

Making Music

The Wrangler's handyman acumen is in somewhat short supply, which is not a big deal because he has so many other talents. After all, it's only fair that he's bad at something. (It is, however, exasperating when he embarks on home repair projects armed with nothing but his trusty roll of duct tape and package of zip ties.) Until last weekend, his tool box contained a pliers set that is, after 12 years, still in the plastic package; a Phillips screwdriver and a standard screwdriver (and I can't say for certain that he knows which is which); a tape measure; and his high school photo. He had a nice little hand saw for making a fresh cut in the Christmas tree trunk. And that was all.

But things are changing around here! We made not one, not two, but three trips to Home Depot last weekend to buy man tools and wood. Four nights in a row the sounds of sawing and sanding (from borrowed tools) emanated from the garage. The Wrangler is building a cigar box guitar.

I'm not exactly sure what this entails, but there was a cutting step, a gluing step, and a sanding step. As I write this, I hear pounding...so apparently there is a hammering step too. As far as I can tell, there are no steps involving duct tape and zip ties. He provided me with this picture of his work from last night. As you can see in the photo, he designed the fancy sides for the headstock of the guitar, traced his design onto wood, and cut the pieces. I will post more pictures as he moves onto other steps.

I am so excited to see him so excited about building stuff. All he needed was a connection between art and tools. Think of the possibilities! Built-in bookshelves, a gazebo, sturdy fences for the sheep...

Hay Fever

I made five trips to the barn between Friday night and Sunday afternoon. I had a riding lesson on Friday evening and then returned later with the Wrangler to decorate Francie's stall for the holiday stall decorating contest. I didn't win, but I had an interesting time trying to think of sturdy, all-weather decorations, affixing them to a stall door, and keeping them out of the reach of a very curious horse. It was a chilly 46 degrees at 9PM on Friday, and we could could see the horses' breath as they peeked out of their stalls. Each horse was strapped into a thick winter coat.

I had another riding lesson on Saturday morning and then headed back for the barn holiday party. (I brought my cake pops, which actually turned out!) We made one trip today for the stable's Holiday with Horses event. The barn hosted a small-to-tall breed introduction (from miniature horses and wild ponies to Arabians and Fresians) followed by an impressive jumping demonstration with Grand Prix-level jumps. In addition, the stable hosted a natural horsemanship presentation (where the rider guided her horse through an obstacle course with no bridle), a Western cutting demo (with a flag on a pulley system substituting for cattle), and a dressage performance. Someone brought her pygmy goats in elf costumes. Perhaps next year I will bring my sheep in snowman costumes!

Holiday Tee Time

Overlooking the golf course from the tea room at Pelican Hill

The Laguna Beach area has several very posh resorts, and all of them offer a number of festive and reasonably priced, if not free, events for us local, not-so-posh peons. Last weekend we stopped in for the tree lighting ceremony at the Ritz Carlton, and my mom and I went to Holiday Tea at the Pelican Hill resort. The St. Regis Monarch Beach resort and the Montage resort also hosted tree lighting ceremonies and wine tastings. As we swayed to Beach Boy cover bands (nary a holiday carol to be heard at the Ritz), sipped hot cocoa, and pretended to be cold, I tried not to compare the highly orchestrated tree lighting ceremonies at these blandly elegant resorts to those in cities with souls, like Chicago and Boston. Similarly, it felt a little odd to be reveling in a full holiday tea service while overlooking a very green golf course. It's my seventh December in warm climate, but I haven't stopped dreaming of a white Christmas.

I'm not a complete Grinch, though. I give the resorts credit for trying, and I have to admit that the views, while not Christmas-y, are breathtaking. And it's 13 degrees back in my hometown as I write this. Brrr! I like cold weather but I'm not crazy. Maybe a white Christmas is overrated?

Blechh Friday

Ah, Black Friday. The day on which greediness, materialism, and bad manners are rewarded. Women lace up their running shoes in preparation of mowing down anything standing in the way of a $15 savings, men forego Thanksgiving with their families to camp out in front of Best Buy--a friend really did see people lined up in front of Best Buy on the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving--and sales personnel are forced to report to work before their turkey dinner is digested. I self-righteously declared a Black Friday Black-Out this year, vowing to spend not one cent on this disgusting excuse for a holiday tradition.

The day dawned innocently enough. I had no plans for shopping, but we did have a tree to decorate. But after "thoroughly" searching the attic for the Christmas lights, the Wrangler reported that we must have thrown them away last year. (The fact that it didn't seem odd or out of character for us to inexplicably throw away perfectly good Christmas lights is, in itself, evidence that we are in no position to judge Black Friday shoppers.) I felt no compunction heading over to CVS for lights. CVS is not Target, I reasoned, unreasonably. I further assured myself that it is not 4AM, I'm not looking to score a mad deal on lights, I do not plan on shoving old ladies out of my way, and I will not fight anyone for a parking spot. I am not a crazy Black Friday shopper. I am a calm, rational consumer with a legitimate reason for buying something.

I found some cool snowflake tree lights and bought the last two boxes. Upon our return home, we were dismayed to find that we had purchased enough lights for exactly one spin 'round the tree. To make a long story short, three trips to two different CVS stores and NINE boxes of lights later, we had enough of those blasted snowflake tree lights to barely cover the Christmas tree. We mustered half-hearted applause during our tree lighting. I guess multiple trips to the store to drop $100+ on lights will usurp some of your yuletide anticipation.

Later that day, I climbed up into the attic to put away the turkey roaster. And what was the very first thing I saw at the top of the steps? A large box clearly marked "Christmas Tree Lights." I simply do not know how the box escaped the Wrangler's purview. This is the dude who spotted a $20 bill in a pile of leaves, people. From a moving car.

Even more disconcerting: somewhere out there, Black Friday shoppers are wrapping their $39 ipads and $79 flat-screen TVs. Yeah, I sure showed them!

Thanksgiving Eve

Tonight I baked two loaves of bread (one for the stuffing, one for the table), roasted and pureed four sugar pumpkins for pie, and made a 1/2 gallon of homemade vanilla ice cream. The theme this year is Thanksgiving on the Farm. For the first time, I won't be opening cans of green beans, cream of mushroom soup, and fried onions for the green been casserole. Nope, I'll be using fresh organic green beans, mushrooms, chicken stock, and my own caramelized onions. I'm roasting and creaming corn for the scalloped corn casserole. I'm making the stuffing from scratch, right down to the fresh sage, thyme, and rosemary from the spice garden. The only remnant of my Minnesota upbringing that will grace the table is the Jello salad. I'm using fresh fruit instead of canned fruit cocktail, and yogurt instead of Cool Whip, but I just can't think of an acceptable substitute for the Jello itself.

So, here I sit on the night before Thanksgiving, feeling ambitious and inexplicably smug. But check in with me 'round this time tomorrow. I'll either report that Thanksgiving on the Farm (a) was amazing and not really any more time-consuming than my old way of doing things, (b) was significantly more time-consuming but well worth the extra work, or (c) was a colossal disaster and a waste of time and ingredients. I guess we will see if I can kick the cans.

Cake Pops

Cupcakes and tart yogurt are so two thousand and late. We've moved onto cake pops--delicious, decadent, decorated tiny balls of cake on a stick. No more agonizing when faced with chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, and pumpkin cupcakes. With cake pops, you can have all four flavors and not feel too guilty.

I bought Bakerella's Cake Pops book last week and ambitiously signed up to bring homemade cake pops to the holiday party at the barn. This is the kind of thing I have to do in order to get some follow through around here. Without my commitment in ink on the sign-up sheet, chances are good that the Cake Pops book would join my artisan gelato books on the dusty shelf.

And so, tomorrow I am off to Michaels craft store in search of paper sticks and styrofoam holders. Do note that, in a most excellent move, I perfectly timed this endeavor to my mom's visit over the holiday weekend. Mom...help!!!

'Round the Ranch

Dash getting his nails trimmed. To keep that scruffy little jerk from biting us, we have to set down a jar of peanut butter and let him have at it.

Here at the ranch we're gearing up for the holidays. The weather admittedly has been pleasant, with low 70s during the day and cozy-ish low 60s at night. Things have been busy but banal--just a blend of pets, PT, riding, yoga, and lawyering. I'll have more time for some cowgirl ingenuity once I shed the thrice-weekly PT from the mix. I spent last weekend playing the semi-perfect homemaker: baking bread, roasting butternut squash, dutifully doing laundry (but then getting banned by the Wrangler from any such future endeavor; apparently my signature dumping of clean clothes from the dryer into a five-foot heap on the guest bed causes wrinkles--wrinkles that can't be remedied because we don't own an iron), scouring a holiday bazaar for Thanksgiving decorations, wrapping presents, designing the family Christmas card, ordering our Noble fir from Oregon (which will be chopped down this weekend and, like last year, fedexed to us in an astonishing display of environmental unfriendliness...but hey, a girl's gotta have some vices...), and lining up festive plans for holiday shows, teas, and tree lightings. It's a wonderful time of year!

Head of the Class

Now that I can sit comfortably and use my arm again, I'm back on the workshop circuit. This month and next I'm taking a series of Backyard Skills classes through the local Ecology Center. First up: a pine needle basket weaving class. Although I have to raise an eyebrow at the class description's proclamation that weaving with natural materials "awakens us to the intricate and inextricable web of life we are all woven into" and "opens our hearts to feel gratitude for the gifts of the earth" (uh...okay...), I do think it's cool that we'll be making something useful with locally harvested pine needles. Next up is a beeswax candle making class whose description simply mentions that beeswax candles burn clean and much longer than candles derived from petroleum. Nothing about the "intricate and inextricable web of life" here, thankfully.

"Hey, do you want to take a couple classes with me?" I asked the Wrangler.

"What kind of classes?" He sounded cautious. The poor man never knows what I might have up my sleeve, and he has learned the hard way. The yoga for dogs class comes to mind.

"A pine needle basket weaving class and a beeswax candle making class." I braced myself for a "no-thanks-go-with-a-girlfriend" type of response. I was pleasantly surprised when he promptly agreed.

"Sure. Sounds like the kind of classes I took in college."

Ah. I sometimes forget that my artist husband is open to a fairly wide range of creative experiences. Since he's game for so many things, we've done a fair amount of crafty-type activities together, like the watercolor tide pool class and the marine mammal sculpture class.

This here is one lucky cowgirl.

Doll Face

I try to keep upbeat on this blog, but October found me feeling a bit blue. It was the everyday stress from work and other responsibilties--you know, life--combined with the tedious recovery from the accident, dealing with my new fear of riding, and longing for a real autumn. To literally add insult to injury, I'm virtually and virtuously viceless these days. I'm doing whatever I can to avoid breaking any more bones the next time I fall off my horse (and, assuredly, there will be a next time). So I've sworn off soda, sweets, caffeine, red meat, and anything else bad for me and taken up the dreaded yoga. Clearly, something had to give.

I thought long and hard about what I needed to do to snap out of my indulgent despair. I looked at Chanel bags (too la-de-dah). I considered a vacation (too temporary). I thought about a new car (too expensive). I signed up for an SLR photography class (too complicated--the Wrangler ended up going in my stead). Then, magically, last week at Border's an extraordinary book fell off the shelf and into my hands: Storey's Guide To Raising Miniature Livestock.

I've previously mentioned my plan to one day add some babydoll sheep to the family. Well, friends, that day has come. I am on the list to acquire two Olde English Babydoll Southdown sheep after lambing season this coming spring. As the Old English Babydoll Sheep Registry states, these minature sheep "are outstanding pets who produce wool that is a hand spinner's delight." They provide organic weeding and make excellent companions. Their gentle nature "makes them a joy to own," and their "wooly teddy bear face will always give you a smile." They generally are 18 to 24 inches tall and weigh about 70-150 pounds.

I guess it's official: there's a lot of work to be done and things to be figured out between now and May when the new furry friends arrive. The spring in my step is back.

I'm Baaaack!

The Wrangler kicking back and watching my big comeback

There's been plenty going on here at the RDR, but I took a brief hiatus from blogging until I had some good news to report. Even I was tired of hearing about my aches and pains. For a while, it was looking like I might have the dreaded "frozen shoulder," but I've made some progress. (Ultimate remedy to frozen shoulder? Doctor unfreezes shoulder with force while patient is unconscious. Um, ouch?) My thrice-weekly physical therapy habit is beginning to pay off big time. Not only was I able to start playing the guitar again this past weekend, I started riding again. My mom pointedly ignores my emails discussing riding. She cannot be convinced that the doctor who cleared me for riding is anything but stark raving mad. My mom would prefer that I never ride again. She did mention a compromise of sorts...something about a miniature horse that is small enough so my feet would touch the ground when I ride. She did not suggest this in jest. Ahh, a mother's love and concern. But I had to get back on. I can't swaddle myself in bubble-wrap and sit at home the rest of my life.

I'm far from fearless, though. Truthfully, there are times when the thought of riding freaks me out. I clearly remember the feeling of hitting the ground and seeing my lifeless arm. I'm thankful everyday that my injuries were not worse. Unfooled by any bravado on my part, the trainers suggested that I regain my confidence on a very gentle 19-year old mare with an exceptionally smooth gait. I'm sad that I'm not leasing Moto; it wasn't his fault that I fell. But it's a long way to the ground from atop Mr. Moto. So, for now, I literally have a new lease on life with the slightly smaller, mild-mannered Francie. I think we'll be a good team. I hope to lease Moto again once I'm fully healed.

And thus things are resuming to normal around here. Most parts of the country are reveling in the full glory of fall, but for once I won't moan too much about the lack of seasons here in SoCal. I've pretty much used up my complaint allowance for the year--I definitely was not the angelic invalid cheerfully bearing her burdens with a smile, uttering nary a complaint. Beth March, I am not.