A Horse, Of Course

My horseback riding party at the Marriott Ranch in Hume, Virginia

I guess it was inevitable--just a matter of time. The Rainy Day Ranch might get a horse or two. I've resisted this urge for a while. Horses are temperamental and even dangerous. They're expensive. They demand a lot of time. They're a major commitment. But some people sail, some people travel, some people restore cars, some people have kids. In other words, a lot of people have costly, risky, and time-consuming interests. There's really no excuse for an urban cowgirl to deny herself a horse. (Well, except for the fact that I know next to nothing about horses.)

Although the Wrangler has rather mixed feelings about my plans to acquire goats, sheep, and alpacas, he actually is fully on board this Pony Express. I'm going to get started. First step: lessons.

Guest Contributer: The Wrangler Speaks

This being my first guest blog entry, I feel obligated to introduce myself. I'm the Wrangler. You may be saying to yourself, I thought this Wrangler guy was just a fictional character in one of those crazy stories where each chapter is more random than the next. What I mean is, if you've been following Starr's blog, you've read about sheep, goats, chickens, and alpacas. You've been to a Texas livestock store, Farm Camp, Christmas tree ranches, through the L.A. wildfires for Ethiopian food, and back to Texas for the rodeo (just to name a few places). The theme of the blog brings to mind a book Starr gave me back-in-the-day, The Journals of Dan Eldon. I won't go into the details of this young man's extraordinary life because I couldn't do it justice. But the essence of his story is that The Journey Is the Destination. I remind myself of this every day. I love this journey and hope the destination is never found.

--The Wrangler

A Dashing Lad

Our little guy Dash skates by on his good looks. If he weren't so darn cute, I'd be tempted to set him outside for the owl. Of course, I say this in jest. Dash is a good-hearted fellow--he's not a complete monster. He can be very sweet when he's not barking, squirming, biting, chewing, and destroying stuff.

Icarus(es) R Us

Going to Costco three times in as many weeks was, perhaps, ill-advised. The Costco moratorium is back on. Today the Wrangler flew too close to the sun with his 8-lb bag of frozen potstickers and 15 lbs of bloody, fleshy chicken wings. There are just two of us. I don't feel like seeing Ziplock bags of chicken wings in our freezer for the next four months. Is it so much work to stop at the market a couple times a week for the fresh stuff? "Stocking up" on the ranch should involve things like jars of preserves from the garden, not a five-year supply of frozen processed potstickers. I looked down at the madness in our SUV-sized cart and bolted.

Dearest Costco, it's not you, it's me. Well, maybe it's a little you.

Here Comes Trouble

Our first Jack Russell Terrier clearly tricked us into thinking that all the rumors about JRTs just couldn't be true. Stubborn? Nah. Hyper? Not at all. In fact, even as puppy, Fenway was pretty darn good. He never went through a biting or chewing stage. He never made a peep--we didn't even know he could bark until we'd had him for four months. He still isn't very vocal. He likes his little puppy pen, which made crate training a breeze. He chills quietly when we have to leave him at home. He loves going for rides in the car. He can sit still and relax.

Although it might be too early to tell, it is looking like our new JRT is going to be a more typical terrier--trouble! Dash loves to bark. He hates his crate. He can't sit still. He bites us with his sharp puppy teeth and chews on everything. He screamed like a cat--and at the top of his lungs--the entire trip to and from the vet's office.

But that little face! It is impossible to resist. The hardest day with a puppy is more fun than the easiest day at work. I can't help thinking that we should get a third JRT ASAP. Let's get the puppy stage over all at once. Three dogs isn't too many, right? Or maybe a nice even number, like four? Better get working on finding that ranch.

We All Go to Costco

I have an on-again, off-again, love-hate relationship with Costco, but I can think of only two other Costco holdouts among my friends. Whenever I inquire about a particularly nice patio set, beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers, cool surf board, stunning custom photo book, or delicious steak, the answer invariably is, "Thanks! I got it at Costco."

On our last visit to Costco a couple years ago, we had just renewed our membership after a two year lapse. The Wrangler, who unabashedly loves Costco from the $999 flat-screen TVs right down to the 39 cent hot dogs in the cafe, was giddy. "Better get this now, before things get picked over," he kept saying happily, as he filled our cart with things like a lifetime supply of Ziplock sandwich bags and a herd's worth of beef jerky. I grew increasingly annoyed. "Warehouse stores like Costco and Sam's Club represent everything that is wrong with this country," I told the Wrangler indignantly. "What have we as a society done to get to the point where we need six-packs of full-sized boxes of Raisin Bran?" A tray of cinnamon rolls looked yummy, but when I picked up the tray, four other trays came with it. We didn't need five trays of cinnamon rolls. "Who cares," said the Wrangler grandly. "At these prices, just buy the five-pack and throw away four." With that, I imposed our most recent two year hiatus from Costco. We didn't have room in our tiny cottage for the 20 boxes of Ziplock bags, and I ended up donating 19 of the boxes to the Ocean Institute. (The OI goes through a lot of Ziplock bags because it apportions the frozen shrimp it buys in bulk...probably from Costco.)

All this being said, we just renewed our membership a couple weeks ago. The Wrangler, itching to take advantage of Costco's great deals on HD sound systems, explained that if we plan to live on a remote ranch, we have to start adopting the "stocking up" mentality. "On the ranch, a snowstorm could hit and we might not be able to get into town for days or even weeks," he cautioned, as the sun streamed in the window of our urban beach cottage. This was a bit rich coming from someone who constantly employs the "we don't live on a ranch just yet" reasoning to shoot down sensible ideas like getting a pickup truck or two for livestock. "Plus, think of our grocery list for the dinner for 40 at the Friendship House," he wisely argued. "We really do need 20 cans of tomatoes and 15 cans of beans."

And so we embarked on our first trip to Costco since 2007. I will admit that the deals in Costco's electronics section alone knocked me off the soap box, and by the time I cleared the book and DVD aisles, my self-righteousness was but a silly phase of years past. We bumped into friends there, of course. We also happened upon a brochure introducing us to Costco's no-haggle, no-hassle car buying service. The following week, said service saved us a tidy $2000 and a day's worth of headaches when we bought a new car. Costco now has my allegiance. At least $2000 worth.

Friendship House

It's been quite a week here at the ranch. I got six hours of sleep last night, which felt luxurious indeed after getting a total of six hours of shut-eye from Tuesday to Friday. It's Puppy Time, and sleep deprivation is only part of the game. We had to leave the little guy at home alone for the first time today while we made dinner at the Friendship House, but we had a neighbor stop in to get her puppy fix while we were gone.

Each month about five of us plan a menu, buy the groceries, and prepare dinner for 40 people "in transition." The Friendship House isn't a soup kitchen; the residents are people actively getting their lives back in order. They may stay for up to 90 days and must be employed and sober during their stay. Our friend John, a lawyer by day but a wonderful cook and skilled gardener in his free time, leads the team of us sous chefs. My daily recipes tend to require things like a can Campbell's cream of mushroom soup, a package of frozen potatoes, or canned fruit cocktail (lest anyone forget that I am from the midwest) but, thanks to John, we don't stoop to using convenience or packaged foods at the Friendship House. Nor do we serve your standard cooking-for-a large-group type of meals like bland spaghetti sauce over sticky pasta, a generic tossed salad in a bag, and over-seasoned store-bought garlic bread. It's cool to see the residents lingering near the kitchen to take in all the good smells as we're working in the kitchen: potatoes au gratin baking in the oven, a delicious stew simmering on the stove. Today we made bread, cornbread, three-meat chili, vegetarian chili, Anasazi beans, salad with homemade croutons, apple crisp, and rice pudding. Everything was made from scratch with organic ingredients.

Even the halfway homes are luxurious in Laguna Beach--the Friendship House has great ocean views, and we always break for a couple minutes to see the sunset. Even better than the sunset? We don't have to do any dishes or other cleanup after the meal.

The Daily Coyote

In 2005, Shreve Stockton decided to move from San Francisco back to New York City and embarked on a solo trip across the country on her Vespa scooter. A month later, after reaching New York, she decided to return to a small Wyoming town, population 300, that she had scooted through in one day.

After settling in, Shreve took in a wild-born coyote after his pack was shot and killed in a state-sanctioned coyote management operation. Since then, Shreve has raised and lived in harmony with Charlie, who walks on a leash, plays with his cat and hound-dog friends, and snuggles in bed. Nonetheless, Shreve never forgets that Charlie is a wild animal.

Shreve's story is fascinating (and includes lots of gorgeous color photos of Charlie). Don't worry--I'm not about to start raising wild-born coyotes. I'll leave that to pluckier folks who undertake solo cross-country Vespa trips and randomly move from big cities to cowboy country. But here's to those who can live a life less ordinary and tell us about it.

Reading Material

I bought three years of back issues of Hobby Farms magazine on ebay. It's like Christmas when each new bundle of magazines arrives. Five years ago, I never would have guessed that I'd read and dream about things like caring for chestnut crops, herding water buffalo, building an electric propagating bed for spring gardening, and plucking meat chickens. I'm either crazy or branching out. Or maybe both.

Puppy Prep

Today I bought a new puppy crate (I inexplicably tossed out Fenway's puppy crate the last time we moved), a Sherpa bag for in-cabin airline travel, puppy wipes, a stuffed cow, and lots and lots of rolls of paper towels. On Wednesday the Wrangler will fly to Dallas and return the same day with our new puppy who, appropriately enough, hails from a real Texas ranch. Which makes the puppy more of a rancher than any of us clowns here at the RDR.

Buckle Up

The Wrangler scored these custom-made cowgirl-appropriate belt buckles, one for each of the Six-Button Cowgirls. I'm commissioning the Denver-based Cowgirl, who is getting into leather crafts, to stamp or brand our names into the belts. Fancy!

Back to Work

As the English proverb warns, all good things must come to an end. And so, after 16 glorious days away from the office, today I recharged the Blackberry and traded my Ranch-wear (Uggs, comfy but decidedly unflattering jeans, t-shirt, and a hoodie) for lipstick, heels, and a dress.

View from my office on a smog-free day: tiny strip of ocean and Catalina Island in the distance

Ranch Cookin'

I just found a great cookbook this weekend, The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Recipes from an Accidental Country Girl, by Ree Drummond. Ree grew up in a city but married a real cowboy (she calls him the Marlboro Man) and now lives on a cattle ranch in Oklahoma and home-schools her four kids. Her book is fun and has lots of great pictures and simple recipes. I had to laugh a little, though, when reading her intro: "As members of a working family ranch, we aren't 'weekend ranchers' who moonlight as attorneys or doctors or Hollywood actors..." Hey, now!

New Beginnings

It's January, so you know what that means--new classes are beginning. As I've mentioned, I optimistically enroll in new courses each quarter. Within a month or two, my enthusiasm for some or all projects usually has waned considerably. Nonetheless, I'm undeterred. One of these days I'll find an interest that sticks. This time around it's an online course for beginning farmers and ranchers offered through Cornell University's USDA-funded Small Farms Program, and the Backyard Skills series at the Ecology Center in nearby San Juan Capistrano (the winter series includes workshops on terrariums, sprouting, non-toxic homemade cleaning products, organic and homemade beer brewing, garden design, sourdough, and composting with worms). A dance class and puppy kindergarten complete my winter line-up. This week: hip-hop on Tuesday and terrariums on Saturday.

11 Days and Counting

We're getting ready to welcome the new baby on January 13.

Time To Put Some Money Where My Mouth Is?

I spent the first day of 2010 taking down the Christmas decorations and researching USDA loans for new farmers and ranchers. The number of financial resources (federal and state loans, loan guarantees, and grants, including special programs for beginners, small family farms, and women and minority farmers and ranchers) surprised me and sort of freaked me out. What if all this Rainy Day Ranch stuff really could happen? Am I all talk, or am I ready for it? 2010 could be an interesting year.

A Very Fancy Sort of Torte

Once a year I channel Martha Stewart and make a seven-layer Hungarian dobos torte, my one and only culinary endeavor with a true "wow" factor. Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook has an elaborate dobos torte recipe, but I prefer the recipe from my Hungarian friend Laura, a partner at my former law firm in D.C. If you can stand one more reference to my vintage 1930s regional cookbook, I'll tell you that an almost identical recipe appears in the "Wisconsin Dutch" section. So, you might say that this recipe has withstood the test of time--or at least 70 years.

Frosting:

1. Melt 9 oz. of chocolate (I use a 2 and 1/4 giant Hershey's bars). Cool to room temp.

2. Whisk 9 egg yolks and 3/4 cup sugar over a low burner for 15 minutes until the mixture becomes a thick custard. Stir constantly, and make the sure the mixture is smooth (if you cook too long or don't stir enough, the eggs can get chunky). Cool to room temp.

3. Blend 3/4 pound of butter until light and creamy.

4. Add the cooled custard mixture into the butter, then add the cooled chocolate. Beat well.

Cake layers:

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

2. Beat 6 eggs and 3/4 cup sugar until very thick, almost like beaten egg whites.

3. Fold in 1 cup + 2 Tbsp. flour and a pinch of salt.

4. Turn two 8- or 9-inch round cake pans upside down and butter and flour the outside bottoms. Using a small gravy ladle, spread a thin layer of batter on the outside bottoms of the pans. The layers should be thin; not like pancakes. (I put both cake pans on a cookie sheet to catch any batter that runs over.)

5. Bake about 7 minutes or until firm to touch.

6. Loosen and remove the layers from the pans and cool on a wire rack. Make 7 layers.

Assembly:

Place a cake layer on a plate and spread frosting (not too thickly) on the layer. Cover with another layer and repeat. Spread the remaining frosting on the tops and sides of the torte.

Daily Inspiration

The Colorado-based Six-Button Cowgirl, a litigator by trade, often employs her advanced trial advocacy skills and persuasion tactics to convince the Wrangler and me to relocate to her neck of the woods. She recently sent me a daily reminder of the appeal of the Centennial State--a calendar of Colorado ranches. She's crafty, that one.

Farm Mentality

My dad was raised on a farm, and I think the "stocking up" concept stuck with him. While growing up in his household, I suffered not for any lack of canned goods. In particular, we never, ever, ran out of baked beans. I can guarantee you that, as I write this, my dear dad has at least eight cans of baked beans in his pantry.

Some of us may resist it, some of us may embrace it, but there's no denying the fact that we become more like our parents with each passing year. Their quirks become our quirks but manifest themselves slightly differently. This was very clear today when I returned home from the grocery store and attempted to put away a new box of powdered sugar...but couldn't find any room for it among the eight other boxes. Doh!

Make Lefse, Not War

In my blog post on Food Anthropology earlier this month, I'd commented that the lefse recipe was the only recognizable recipe in a collection of Minnesota Scandinavian recipes from the 1930s. We made lefse over Christmas and, although I can't think of any apparent connection between lefse and cowgirls, it's an interesting tradition that we'll keep alive on the ranch. Much like bread-making, lefse-making is a cozy and communal activity that produces something simple but comforting. The potatoes are cooked, riced, and transformed into dough. A small handful of dough is rolled on a pastry board to form a very thin plate-sized sheet, which is transferred with a special lefse stick onto a round lefse griddle. The tortilla-like sheets are cooled between layers of dishtowels. Before eating a piece, we butter it, sprinkle it with brown sugar and cinnamon, and roll it tightly. Mmmm.