Wilson Banner Ranch Musings

The Haircut

2012-02-22T12:06:00.000-08:00

Farmers don’t have a very serious dress code, we are about function. Most farmers I know spend more on their boots than they do on health insurance. We are a practical bunch to say the least. Most of us aren’t overly concerned about our personal maintenance. My answer to high fashion is a good hat and clean jeans.

I don’t think much about haircuts. It’s not until I’m blinded by a swath of annoying strands clinging to my eyelashes and obscuring my view that I consider the whole concept of beauticians. As a general rule a good hat and a scrunchie will pull into submission even the most unruly hair. It’s when I have to start searching for bobby pins that I draw the limit. We recently adopted a newborn (human child this time). The early feedings combined with lack of sleep and full scale 80’s hair was bringing me to the point of clippers. On a recent trip in to the feed store, I decided to book in last minute to the local beauty school in town. Over the years I’ve met some great young people and had some wonderful service at the school. I was in a hurry (when am I not in a hurry?) and was delighted they could fit me in right after another appointment.

When I arrived I was met by all the frivolity of ‘Spirit Week’ at the school. It appeared that the lovely young girl who did my hair cut was a fairly new student. Her constant questioning of the instructor on basic technique showed insecurity. This really didn’t trouble me, but the comment that she’d “ruined the mannequin’s hair” gave me pause. I sat even more stoically.

As a child my mother would admonish me to ‘hold still’ as she cut my hair. I think I was in a hurry even then. She would place the scissors along my bangs and cut carefully, repeating “DON’T MOVE!” Then when she’d finished the sensitive part around my face I was allowed to get my wiggles out. My mom still cuts my hair when I can book in, but she’s in high demand…not just for haircutting, for everything. So I try not to overbook her with things I can get done by someone else.

Overseas and later in college, my friends were on a tight budget. I’d watched my mom cut hair for years, she was the resident beautician (bookkeeper, chef, chauffer, landscaper, doctor, and educator) and I figured it couldn’t be that hard. There’s a learning curve in everything, right? I bought a pair of decent scissors and trimmed ends, learning as I went... using the oft quoted “hold still”. I wasn’t great at it, but for a group who wore baseball hats I was passable and the price was right.

Back to the beauty school chair, my young miss was dealing with the conundrum of my bangs. Her fear of getting too close with the scissors was palpable. I closed my eyes. Slowly, the snipped ends fell in my lap, as she moved from one side of the chair to the other. I waited. The scissors receded. I opened my eyes. Sheldon. Sheldon from the Big Bang… oh well, I wear a hat and the price is right.

Food Partners

2011-07-14T11:57:00.000-07:00

Food Partners

I have several friends where one of the partners is slender and gifted with a high metabolism, and the other partner is more generously proportioned and doomed to calorie counting. It occurred to me the other day as I was visiting with one of these vivacious couples that like many of us in partnerships we are often responsible for each other.

As a child I had a girlfriend named Christy. She was hysterically funny, with a voice that could make angles weep. Christy was gorgeous and large. As a kid, in what they now call 'tweens, I noticed that other folks weren’t always fair to her…and neither were her folks. Many times Christy decided she wanted lose weight. She was very active and popular and never lacked for events to keep busy, but the kicker for her was her mom. Christie’s mom could guilt a girl into eating an entire roast chicken, two helpings of mashed potatoes, four ears of corn and a whole peach pie at one sitting. I know, because I got asked over a lot. Christy’s mom was painfully thin. Mom would then make comments, like “Oh sweetie, you're getting so big.”

Now, I’m no Dr. Phil, but I can spot a train wreck and I know that most of us are in some way responsible for the way the other folks in our life relate to food.

When our partners turn to us and say, “How about dessert?” we need to think through the answer. (“No way, Chubby” is never the right answer, by the way.)

I’m very lucky when it comes to having a great food partner. My partner recognizes my need to eat before I go into melt-down. Over-hungry is not a good time to make food decisions. We both eat lots of fruits and vegetables and neither of us begrudges the other occasional calorie indulgences. We both avoid high fats, because he’s genetically at high risk for heart attacks and I’m not capable of digesting them. This turns out to be a food marriage made in heaven.

Back to my vivacious couple: Mrs. Mac is a fabulous chef. The woman makes Paula Deen look miserly with her Southern Style Home cooking. Mr. Mac? Yep, he’s packing an extra 150 since he met his beautiful little bride. Easy to do. Right? Been there done that, own the scale... So even though Mrs. Mac isn't affected by her divine high calorie cooking, she might be loving Mr. Mac to death. (Yes, we could ALL just eat less. But do you? Sounds easy, but 34% of obese Americans would disagree)www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/overwt.htm

Slender partners are often accomplices to their heavier counterparts. We need to recognize that our eating habits can be kryptonite to others, and if that person just happens to be the person we want to have around for 40 or 50 years…it might just be worth investigating some Farmers’ Market snacks. I recommend cherries, apricots, peaches, sautéed (olive oil!) onions, salad greens with mixed herbs (instead of heavy dressing use a little vinegar/oil/Mrs. Dash), strawberries…the choices are many. Get out of the junk food aisle and steer clear of the boxed frozen food section. Eat dinner together and remember that beautiful, magical person you hang out with is partly your responsibility to maintain (and vice versa!). I'm glad my family loves me unconditionally. I'm also thankful that they recognize my need to be fit and healthy and help me stay on that path.

Wilson Banner Ranch Musings: Biannual Crescent Moon Ball

2011-06-20T20:50:00.000-07:00

Wilson Banner Ranch Musings: Biannual Crescent Moon Ball: "I realized today how many single animals there are in the orchard. Must be lonely. I’m considering opening up an internet dating site, s..."

Biannual Crescent Moon Ball

2011-06-20T17:59:00.000-07:00

I realized today how many single animals there are in the orchard. Must be lonely. I’m considering opening up an internet dating site, something along the lines of eharmony.com or maybe more craigslist singles.

Young Male Cougar seeks plump dim witted white tail Doe for a quick bite.

Mama Mink organizing speed social prefers sleepy poultry, fat voles and young muskrat.

Big Bull Snake finds conversation tedious wants short term relationship with small Rattlers, Voles or Orchard Mice.

Beaver looking for long term relationship with tall healthy wood, prefer expensive bark in nice rows.

Pheasant invites insects to cocktail party.

Robin Red Breast too busy for mate; likes diamond fruit, not too ripe. Please leave nest alone.

Coyote in search of…anything. Not particular; Likes fur, feathers and fat. Bring it on!

Maybe it should just be announced through a large megaphone by an interpreting Babel Fish (for those of you not versed in the Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy…Run to your nearest library). We could throw a Biannual Crescent Moon Ball in the Corn Field and everyone could come wearing masks. I myself couldn’t stand the excitement, but perhaps a Coliseum type affair would go over well. We could sell tickets and those into Gladiator sports could ring the hill with their night scope opera glasses and settle down for a ghoulish dance.

What do you think?

Define Local

2011-06-16T17:08:00.000-07:00

Local

Ever noticed how the term local gets tossed around lately?

Everyone use it, but no one defines it.

Safeway advertises Northwest Local or locally grown produce, politicsrespun.org/2010/09/safeways-lies-about-bc-produce/, which presumably means that if I live in Boise and my produce is from Seattle, 405 miles away, Safeway considers it local.

What about Wal-Mart? They’re so big Mexico might be local since most of their products are from China. Although the new regime is embracing a buy in-state “local” program, www.npr.org › News › US, that has some Locavores questioning distance. Afterall, what could be more local to Clarkston than Lewiston? Oops your out of state!

Albertsons, while northwest owned, has become a cumbersome corporate monster, http://www.fundinguniverse.com/company-histories/Albertsons-Inc-Company-History.html. With all of their acquisitions Albertsons now require produce managers to buy from distant warehouses, this keeps their sourcing through corporate headquarters and eases paperwork. Of course, it’s anyone’s guess just where their produce is wheeling in from. http://bikeacrossamerica.wordpress.com/2010/07/05/mippy-got-grass/.

Costco focuses on corporate organic, they don’t even try to play the local game. I admire their honesty, if not their handling of local growers.

It always amazes me this flip use of English, having grown up here, I AM local. I didn’t necessarily want to be. As a teenager I found the continent furthest away to escape to, misguidedly hoping my family wouldn’t know anyone and I would finally be free from the weight of being known (turns out they did know people and it was helpful…). Local was my childhood curse.

Now every two bit salesman with a gimmick and a fast car claims local status before you sign and they dive off the edge of the horizon with your cash. If I sound cynical – I am.

Our farm has been here over a century. My great grandfather caught the Pullman car, after ferrying across the river, with his deliveries to the Palouse in the early 1900’s. My Dad and Uncle helped create the Moscow Farmers’ Market as a way for local farmers to sell direct to the public. My sister and I grew up going with dad on deliveries to all the local Greek Houses and college campus cafeterias in Moscow and Pullman. I remember sitting in the back of the first Moscow CoOp licking peanut butter off a spoon next to the bulk barrels while Dad talked business; that was 35 years ago. Last season we delivered to the CoOp, Rosauers, WINCO, Family Foods and Dissmores (check our website listings). Their sales managers and staff worked with us to incorporate local produce into their line-up. We’ve been selling and servicing our customers in the greater Quad cities area for over one hundred years. We try to pick and deliver the same day. When we tell people we are fresh and local, we are.

Same family, same farm, same place, since 1888; try getting that defined any more simply. Local; it’s who we are.

Don’t be afraid to ask your produce manager where their produce is hauled in from; when it was picked; who the farmer is. You’re eating it. You deserve to know. If they can’t answer you; take your business elsewhere and let them know! There are places locally to buy good produce. Support them, and more good food will follow. Check our website for retail store listings or quality local produce establishments and farmers’ markets. Recognize that not all vendors at farmers’ markets are local – some markets allow anyone to show up, others are very strict.

Calamity Jane

2011-06-15T10:31:00.000-07:00

I get to fix fence today. No. Not the barn yard or the cattle fencing, the house fence. Turns out if you inadvertently pop the clutch in the old work Ute, that’s revved up so it won’t die (again), while reversing into the walnut shade next to the cedar fence…. That’s right, four broken boards, one lose upright.

The cedar is ancient. I acquired it from a cousin over 15 years ago when he was upgrading. I was just getting started and anything to keep the cattle and pigs out was a great boon at the time. My fledgling landscape was getting rooted up by pigs weekly and the cattle would graze through the middle of my yard happily whenever they escaped from the pasture fences. At the time, I didn’t care what the fence looked like, I was sort of hoping for razor wire and guard towers, but the weathered boards fit right in with the rustic farm setting and I’ve loved their versatility. I’ve treated them with linseed oil a few times, but cedar’s amazingly durable – until you drive into it.

To add injury to insult I bruised by ankle bone in the process of slipping clutches and brake levers, netting yet another ice bag and getting to go bootless for a while. After some choice words (darn it, golly but a new carburetor would be nice, ramrodding-this is new) I promptly left the load of iris rhizomes and went to the house (the dogs watched all this from the deck laughing and didn’t even offer to come down and help me up the hill). I came in and mopped the floors (sometimes a good cooling off period helps remind me how much I love fencing) before going back out with a new perspective.

Market Day in Lewiston – I get to cut all the last remaining blooms from the production field. Reminds me of a scene from Mommy Dearest where they shear down a garden full of roses…

Here’s looking forward to a Calamity Jane Free Day!

The Buzz

2011-06-13T22:15:00.000-07:00

Our beekeeper stopped in today, got me off the tractor in the steep part of the Nectarine Orchard, bless his heart. It got me thinking how much work goes into bee management. My grandfather kept bees. I remember the hives were always right across the bridge on our way up to the bus stop in the fall. You had to walk slowly through the late afternoon swarms to keep from attracting attention. When we wore yellow we had to brush the honey bees off our shirts. My sisters would remind me in the morning as I got dressed and I’d hunt for less interesting clothes.

Now that Jason’s taken over we don’t have to worry as much about the honey bees. Diversification has some serious advantages. Jason took a big hit over the last ten years with all the collapse issues, but he’s attentive and he’s way ahead in the management department, so he recovered quickly. Listening to him talk about his bees you’d think he was discussing cattle. It’s similar; livestock health, keeping weight on, feeding hives in low nectar areas. We grew up with Jason and always thought he’d become a cattle rancher. Turns out he’s doing something a lot more useful as far as we are concerned. He’s still wrangling, just a different sort of critter.

Quiet Sundays

2011-06-12T22:44:00.000-07:00

The last open weekend at the Iris Garden ended nicely, beautiful weather and some lovely people. On to the next adventure.

Had a great pancake breakfast on the veranda and discovered the head mouser had kittens in the climbing honeysuckle. Her 4 new babies are safely ensconced in a hanging pot 6 feet above the ground and completely obscured by leaves. We look forward to these new additions as there have been 2 or 3 dead voles out in the drive every morning. I think our pride needs reinforcements!

I spent most of the day icing my wrists after doing a face plant on the concrete in the barn Saturday. Stella (our St. Bernard) was helping and wove through my legs just as I was turning back around to feed the young pullets, bam down like a sack of bricks. She was kind enough to break part of my fall – resulting I suppose in my not breaking my wrists…sigh, what I wouldn’t give to heal like a five year old!

Did only a couple of hours today on the mower before cooking down; came in to my wrist ice packs, a good book and a sun beam in the office. Needless to say I slept a good nap this afternoon. All the while Derek helped customers, welded the new roof (a recycled canopy) onto our up and coming chook house and stacked unusable wood by our campfire. When I emerged MUCH later we shared a big bowl of fresh salad greens and a drink by the fire and listened to the owls by the creek.

I do love Sundays!

Wilson's Wildlife Preserve

2011-06-10T16:31:00.000-07:00

Woke up to constant banging; Went into the office to find the annoying culprit was a male Oriole puffed up and fighting his dastardly self in the window glass. His sweetheart, the female Oriole was sitting in the walnut tree, laughing. I shuffled back through the house to go out and put the shades down, only to see Bundaberg, our big Tom skulk around the side of the veranda and chase off my morning guest.

Just as I was getting dressed and sorting out the day, Dad called, oh hey, there’s a LARGE cat…no make that a Cougar in the Cherries. Would I mind terribly coming right up? Seems the critter’s eating a Peacock. Spent the morning with my sister and the neighbor stalking (felt like we were being stalked) a kitty that’s responsible for taking a young Deer down in front of my sisters, scarring up a few of the neighbors Horses (taste sweet they tell me) and dining royally on several of our Peacocks. I found several unhappy remains above the spring.

The house in Middle Earth has several huge old walnuts, one of which is housing a big mama Red Tail Hawk and her chicks. When I finished up with my work in the Cherries I drove back past in time to see the mama Red Tail Hawk dropping a Pack Rat(?)into the nest. Pretty cool watching her fly overhead with furry stuff in her talons.

Bailed out at the Iris Garden to help a nice couple from Lewiston dig a rhizome for their collection and got buzzed by a Humming Bird dipping into the wild roses…which reminds me I must tell the guys to be careful when they thin around the Jonny’s. I mowed around a mama Quail’s nest yesterday that had 8 eggs all nestled down under the tree row in the shade. I gave her as much space as I could, I don’t want anyone accidently stepping on the eggs, they should hatch out soon.

Chased that stupid 3-point Buck out of the apples again yesterday. Jerry just told me he was up mowing his back lawn for him last night. I guess, maybe we can eat the tree wrecker this fall and I won’t feel so bad about all the damage he’s done to the trees…hmpff.

All this after the Mink ate half my flock of chicken two weeks ago. Of course we solved that little issue. Day’s only half over, it’s monsooning again and there’s no way I can get the 2-wheel drive in to mow the Apricots now. That leaves glorious housework….or cooking! Maybe I’ll bake something….

May you be sustained with enough…the Wilson’s

Late, late, late…

2011-06-09T18:38:00.000-07:00

Alice in Wonderland following the White Rabbit down the hole couldn’t have been more confused than we are by this weather. The cherries ARE coloring though. We keep looking at them wondering if we’ll spend the entire month blowing water off the trees. The pumpkins are all planted. The squash are going in now. Another field is being prepped now for sweet corn seed. I spent another 3 hours flat strap on the tractor in the apple orchard, reclaiming the wild life preserve… the new to us mower working hard to cut down the forest of rain fed grass. I’m still trying to find regulations that will allow us to have the chickens in there; until then they will be content to roam free in the iris garden. This is our last weekend open in the Iris Test Garden for UDIG, so if you want rhizomes this year, hustle out! Time to go out and start evening chores…I’ve got to start hiking the cherries every week now. Start dreaming of those ripe Chelan’s now!