A Reflection of Childhood

When I was a little girl, my mom would drive me out to visit her parents who lived on "The Ranch." I would stay with my grandparents for a week at a time and participate in all things country. (Including country line dancing.) I can recall every detail of that ranch. From the house that sits atop a hill hidden amidst oak trees, to the barn below with a corral, "the squeeze," and the hen house.

I remember climbing down into the well on hot days to swim with my brothers. I mostly held on to the ladder though while they tried to drown each other for fun. Swimming in a tank with a two foot hole for light at the top isn't exactly without its perils. The sides of the tank were slimy and who knows what was under the water!


 There were also rules that accompanied your stay on The Ranch. If Grandpa said "Stop," or "Freeze." You froze. On one blistery summer afternoon Grandpa and I were walking to the barn when he suddenly said very firmly, "Stop." Of course I thought we were having another drill, but no. There was really a snake coiled up to my left. Grandpa ran to the barn and emerged with a shovel. A shovel? Where's the gun? But he had already identified the snake as a king snake which to my delight "is a friend." (They eat gophers and such. AND... they kill rattlers.)  I never have liked killing anything. Unless its after me. Then I'll kill and kill it good. But as long as its being its animal self I've never enjoyed the thought of cutting short its time here.

One of my favorite things to do on the ranch was to go for a picnic. Picnics, ranch style, are nothing like going to a park full of screaming kids. After Grandma had packed and prepared our lunch we would head down to the barn to saddle our horses. I loved this part. First, you take out the brushes and brush your horse down good. Leaving a burr beneath your saddle could make for a rather exciting ride, so as to avoid having a heart attack or obtaining an unnecessary injury... brush well. After a good grooming, you throw on your blanket, then your saddle, and then tighten the cinch. Not too tight or he'll buck with discomfort, and not too loose or you're in for some fun when you attempt to hop on. Once your horse is saddled you grab hold and swing your leg over and into your stirrups. Yeeehaw! Here we go. 


Don't forget your hat, which you should not leave on the fence post. Because if you do, it can blow off and spook the horse. (Learned that one the hard way. You'd be shocked how fast a horse can move when it spooks. I know I was. I felt like a cartoon. There was the horse and I was the blur behind it hanging on for dear life.)

Grandpa always knew the best places for a picnic lunch. I specifically remember one such place. It was back up in a ravine behind the house and Grandpa's workshop. We made our way through the herd, checking the cattle as we went, and slowly made our way up the incline to an old oak tree. 


If I'm not mistaken this is the same area my brother was when he decided to shoot something other than cans and took aim at a large bird flying directly over him. The bird happened to be a buzzard, and my brother happened to hit it. Ahhh ha ha ha.... while plummeting to the earth it must have decided to go out fighting because its wing suddenly folded in such a way that it took direct aim at my brother's head. Ohhhh it hurts my side thinking about him dancing around trying to get out of its way as it spiraled down to earth.

Anyway, back to picnics. Grandpa would unroll the little deal at the back of his saddle and take out the lunch Grandma had made. I remember unfolding the wax paper and there would sit two half sandwiches. One with meat and lettuce and tomato fresh from their garden, and one with peanut butter and home made jam. We would sit in the shade of that oak tree and rest up while enjoying the food that had been made with such care. A little further on up the hill and we had reached the top. Grandpa showed me the old rocks that sat watch up there. I remember they were bedecked with moss of all colors. We thought that was so pretty. We even had a view of the ocean.

Grandma had her part in keeping the place running as well. She was up early each morning making breakfast, doing the wash, and hanging clothes out on the line to dry. I LOVED that part. Grandma's laundry always smelled of fresh air and sunshine. I never failed to notice the scent on my sheets as she tucked me in to bed at night. I would lay there listening to the trucks rumble by on the highway below and feeling so cozy I would squeal into my pillow so I didn't startle my grandparents. 

At times I have dreamed so vividly of being back on the ranch that I awake in that little room that overlooks the highway, with fresh sheets, and Grandma's sewing machine. I have to shake my head a few times to clear it before realizing that I am here in my own home and have lived 29 full years of life. Yet still, a piece of my heart will always remain there.