Carol and I were reminiscing via email about how much we liked to gather at milking time in the evening. Milking happened twice a day, but usually we kids didn't make it to the early morning milking. All of our milk, cream and butter originated with the milk cows, and none of us will forget the sweet taste of the fresh, warm milk straight from the cow...all foamy, sweet and delicious.
We had three to four milk cows at any given time in the early days, and they usually wandered up to the milking area at the appointed time to be milked. They knew when their udders were full and needing relief. The milking area was near the "calf pen" where their calves were housed. If the little ones had been left with the moms, the milk for us would be gone in a flash with the calves suckling frequently. We always felt a bit sorry for those babies growing up without access to their mamas, but such is life on the ranch. The calves were fed fresh milk in nipple buckets and, later on, were given a "calf formula" manufactured to simulate cow's milk. We loved to pet the little ones, and they became quite tame.
Our dads gave the cows grain in a trough next to the calf pen. And then the milking began.... we kids, with cups brought from home, gathered to get a fresh cup of milk. It was delicious! Sometimes my dad would give one or more of us a surprise shot of milk in the face when we least expected it! There was much laughter and giggling!
The ranch cats, probably up to a dozen, gathered at milking time too and got their reward when our dads would aim a squirt of milk directly at their faces.... The cats became quite adept at slurping up the stream of milk. Then a dollop of milk was poured into a pan for the cats to finish off. This warm milk and all the mice and chipmunks they could catch were the diet of the ranch cats. The cats were never in the houses and, though, some were petted, were really kept to take care of the rodent populations.
My dad always had the funniest names for the cats, cows, dogs, horses and kids... One tabby female cat was known as 'Lots of Cats'; one of her litters was 17 kittens! He named one cow "Crisco" and others were also named for brands of shortening. There was a sweet cow named "Goofy". There were many other names, generally picked due to the nature of the cow. We lived in fear of one cow who did not like children and, if she was approached, would snort and make every attempt to knock the encroaching kid down, there to be rolled around on the ground with her nose. We learned to never go near "Chasey Cow" unless the dads were present. I can remember one kid or another shouting "Chasey Cow is coming" and we would all run for safe territory!
After milking was done, we went to the chicken house and to the other nests to gather eggs. The nests were located in the chicken house and in various outbuildings. We always seemed to have a chicken who managed to hide her nest and produce a flock of chicks. Oh my! Were they ever protective of their babies... If we got too close, the mother hen would charge at you with her wings spread out wide and feathers ruffled, all fluffed up.. Made her look big and scary! Those baby chicks were so cute!
After milking was done, the calves fed and the eggs gathered, the milk in buckets was taken to be "separated" using a machine called a "separator" which filtered the milk and operated by a centrifuged process separating the cream from the milk. Initially, the separator was manually driven with a crank handle to make the milk spin and separate. Later, when electricity was brought to the Ranch, we had an electric separator.
The cream was so thick that, when cold, it was nearly solid and so sweet. The milk was similar to skim milk after this process and supplied three or four households. Note that we all drank fresh unpasteurized milk from childhood to adulthood, and no one was ever the worse for it. Undoubtedly, we came away with strong healthy bones! We sold our excess cream in Collbran at the "Creamery" and in Grand Junction to another place.
Cleaning the milk separator was an arduous task and sometimes when the moms were away, the "big" girls got to do the job. It was very important to do it well and keep it extremely clean. Carol remembers learning to wash it when she was about ten years old.
One funny milking story involved Carol's little brother, Allan, who came running into our house to tell his mom about milking a cow. His excited story went like this: "Mom, Tom, Dan and I milked a cow together!"
Marian replied "How did you three boys manage to milk one cow?"
Allan replied "Tom was on one side, Dan was on the other side and I got to sit at the back end of the cow!" All Marian could do was smile! I think she was thankful the cow didn't decide to cover Allan with a fresh cow plop or kick him out of the way!
Our moms were very smart to never learn how to milk a cow. As my mom put it, "If you don't know how, you won't have to do it!" I, however, decided to learn to milk and did. Consequently, on several occasions, I had to milk one of the cows when one of the dads or brothers were missing! Bad/good choice on my part. There was something very sweet about sitting on the milking stool, snuggling up to the warm side of the cow and rhythmically pinging the milk into the bucket.
More later on the curious naming of the ranch animals and other escapades of the Currier kids growing up free and strong!
Monday, June 22, 2015
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Two little girls with bells on their shoes.....
Carol and I grew up together on the Ranch. I was nine months old when she was born, and we spent quite a bit of time together as toddlers and pre-schoolers. The picture below is, from left to right, Carol, my brother Tom, and me with our Great Uncle Frank Ricker behind.... Carol, blond as a child, and Tom and I with very red hair. From whence the red came, no one knows. Tom and I attributed it to our pediatrician!
Unlike today's children, we were definitely "free-range" children. The Ranch is sixteen miles from the nearest tiny town, and, when we were children, the road to travel those sixteen miles varied from gravel to dirt track with grass growing in the middle of the two tire tracks. It was safe from any stranger-danger, and we were taught what not to get into. Other things were self-teaching, like nettles and thistles. A child walks through those only once!
Back to little Carol and little Marcia....since we were pretty much "free-range," our moms decided to put little bells on our shoes so that they could hear us as we wandered about. It was a great idea, however, we discovered that shoes were quite like boats and could be floated down the creek, giving us lots of little-girl giggles. We didn't, however, bring them home after we got tired of floating them. We just pattered home barefoot and told our moms what great fun we had had! They were not happy. Shoes cost money and money was often in short supply.
We each were the recipients of little red wagons that were just the right size for us to pull along with miscellaneous treasures in them. One fine sunny day, we towed our little wagons down the road toward the aforementioned creek and, since it was such a fine warm day, we took all of our clothes off and put them in the wagons and roamed about stark naked for the next few hours until our moms discovered their little nudists. They were somewhat pleased, though, that we hadn't floated the clothes down the creek to join the shoes!!
We also were found in our birthday suits down by the creek on another warm day. This happened after looking through a National Geographic magazine and being wondrously awed at a photo essay that included little black children in Africa. We grew up in an almost totally Caucasian world, but, fortunately, with no negatives regarding other races. Carol, Tom and I stripped everything off and plastered ourselves with dark mountain mud so that we could be like the kids in the magazine. The moms were not happy, though they did giggle a bit, when we trotted our little naked muddy selves into one of the house to show off our new selves. We got hosed off with very cold water in short order.
Our little wagons came in handy on another occasion when one or the other of the moms asked us to go to the garden and get a cabbage and bring it back. We trundled to the big vegetable garden and twisted a cabbage loose and put it in one of the wagons....and found that it was great fun to twist the cabbage head loose from its root. And we found it even more fun to twist many cabbage heads off and load them into our wagons. Our moms were not happy that we decimated about half of the cabbages in the garden, and they had to promptly get busy making sauerkraut so that the cabbages would not be wasted. Not something they were planning for that day!!
Another favorite joy was to pick wildflowers and take back big "bouquets" to our moms. Of course, the stems were all different lengths and the bouquets often had flowers that were upside down, but the moms loved them just the same.
Wildflowers abound at the Ranch with different beauties blooming at different times of the spring and summer. The blooming season is only approximately three months long beginning in late May or early June with the wild iris (also called flags), daisies, creamy white chokecherry, white service berry, and, of course, dandelions, huge, beautiful dandelions. The wild sunflowers start in June and bloom copiously, depending upon water supply, through the summer. The blue columbine is prevalent and gorgeous in late June and early July. Favorite picking flowers were the larkspur and the lupine and in the fall, Indian paintbrush. We didn't pick the prickly wild mountain roses, though we carefully sniffed their sweet fragrance.
As Carol and I grew, another baby joined the Ranch clan, my brother, Tom, and as time passed he became a great pal and co-conspirator, especially to Carol, since they were both very adventurous and mischievous. As I grew older, I became a "house mouse" (a nickname) and enjoyed cooking and sewing and baby tending. All three of us "big" kids, though, participated in many of the adventures to still come in this blog.
Carol and I are still very good friends, almost sisters, and keep in regular touch via email and text. Carol has primary lateral sclerosis which has robbed her of her speech and much of her mobility. She contributes memories to this blog via email and text, a very laborious process, but well done, nonetheless.
Unlike today's children, we were definitely "free-range" children. The Ranch is sixteen miles from the nearest tiny town, and, when we were children, the road to travel those sixteen miles varied from gravel to dirt track with grass growing in the middle of the two tire tracks. It was safe from any stranger-danger, and we were taught what not to get into. Other things were self-teaching, like nettles and thistles. A child walks through those only once!
Back to little Carol and little Marcia....since we were pretty much "free-range," our moms decided to put little bells on our shoes so that they could hear us as we wandered about. It was a great idea, however, we discovered that shoes were quite like boats and could be floated down the creek, giving us lots of little-girl giggles. We didn't, however, bring them home after we got tired of floating them. We just pattered home barefoot and told our moms what great fun we had had! They were not happy. Shoes cost money and money was often in short supply.
We each were the recipients of little red wagons that were just the right size for us to pull along with miscellaneous treasures in them. One fine sunny day, we towed our little wagons down the road toward the aforementioned creek and, since it was such a fine warm day, we took all of our clothes off and put them in the wagons and roamed about stark naked for the next few hours until our moms discovered their little nudists. They were somewhat pleased, though, that we hadn't floated the clothes down the creek to join the shoes!!
We also were found in our birthday suits down by the creek on another warm day. This happened after looking through a National Geographic magazine and being wondrously awed at a photo essay that included little black children in Africa. We grew up in an almost totally Caucasian world, but, fortunately, with no negatives regarding other races. Carol, Tom and I stripped everything off and plastered ourselves with dark mountain mud so that we could be like the kids in the magazine. The moms were not happy, though they did giggle a bit, when we trotted our little naked muddy selves into one of the house to show off our new selves. We got hosed off with very cold water in short order.
Our little wagons came in handy on another occasion when one or the other of the moms asked us to go to the garden and get a cabbage and bring it back. We trundled to the big vegetable garden and twisted a cabbage loose and put it in one of the wagons....and found that it was great fun to twist the cabbage head loose from its root. And we found it even more fun to twist many cabbage heads off and load them into our wagons. Our moms were not happy that we decimated about half of the cabbages in the garden, and they had to promptly get busy making sauerkraut so that the cabbages would not be wasted. Not something they were planning for that day!!
Another favorite joy was to pick wildflowers and take back big "bouquets" to our moms. Of course, the stems were all different lengths and the bouquets often had flowers that were upside down, but the moms loved them just the same.
Wildflowers abound at the Ranch with different beauties blooming at different times of the spring and summer. The blooming season is only approximately three months long beginning in late May or early June with the wild iris (also called flags), daisies, creamy white chokecherry, white service berry, and, of course, dandelions, huge, beautiful dandelions. The wild sunflowers start in June and bloom copiously, depending upon water supply, through the summer. The blue columbine is prevalent and gorgeous in late June and early July. Favorite picking flowers were the larkspur and the lupine and in the fall, Indian paintbrush. We didn't pick the prickly wild mountain roses, though we carefully sniffed their sweet fragrance.
As Carol and I grew, another baby joined the Ranch clan, my brother, Tom, and as time passed he became a great pal and co-conspirator, especially to Carol, since they were both very adventurous and mischievous. As I grew older, I became a "house mouse" (a nickname) and enjoyed cooking and sewing and baby tending. All three of us "big" kids, though, participated in many of the adventures to still come in this blog.
Carol and I are still very good friends, almost sisters, and keep in regular touch via email and text. Carol has primary lateral sclerosis which has robbed her of her speech and much of her mobility. She contributes memories to this blog via email and text, a very laborious process, but well done, nonetheless.
Monday, June 15, 2015
The Tom Currier Ranch....Homestead in the high country....
The Eight Kids On a Horse (7 on and 2 on the ground) would never have happened had our grandfather, Thomas Carroll Currier, not come west in 1892 from Iowa as a boy of 8 years, settling in the Grand Junction area with his parents and four brothers.
In around 1902, as a young man, Tom took advantage of the 1862 Homestead Act and made his first claim in the Colorado high country north and east of Grand Mesa as did his brother Lucius and with the help of a friend. The 1862 U.S. Homestead Act generally allowed a homesteader in Colorado to claim up to 640 acres in designated areas. Following that, the homesteader had to live on and improve the claim for period of three to five years to "prove" it as a viable homestead and then be granted a "patent" by the President of the U.S. which then recorded ownership. He also bought properties available through the Homestead Act.
Tom was very prudent in his first selections, gaining beautiful acreage bordering National Forest Land with water rights that allowed not only grazing but also cultivation and farming. In 1903 he took his first herd of cattle to the homestead property. The three men spent the first three years in an old dirt-roofed, windowless "dungeon" and built the first log cabin in 1906. The pictures below show his covered wagon in the winter and the first cabin built for his wife and two little boys.
As other homesteaders left due to hardship and other reasons, Tom bought up their claims and eventually expanded the Ranch to approximately 8,000 acres where he raised both registered purebred Hereford cattle and a herd of commercial Hereford cattle.
Tom had only an 8th grade education (which is probably more than equivalent to a high school diploma in today's schools!) but was a natural and talented businessman and cattleman who never borrowed money. He was active in the Mesa County Farm Bureau, was President of the Plateau Valley Stockgrowers Association, the Colorado Cattleman's Association and was elected to the first advisory board of the Bureau of Land Management. He held that position until his death. He was also a member of the Grand Mesa National Forest and was a Director in the Grand Valley Water Users Association. A staunch Baptist, he was on the Board of Trustees for the First Baptist Church in Grand Junction. His registered Hereford stock was well-known throughout Colorado. My recollection is that he imported one or two bulls from England who sired many beautiful animals. Cattlemen from all over Colorado came to the ranch to buy bulls for their own herds.
The story goes that our grandmother, Chastine Elizabeth Harris, spotted Tom as he rode into Grand Junction on his horse and proclaimed "I'm going to marry that man!" They were married in November 1916. She was raised in town, and I'm sure that the primitive homesteading was a real challenge for her, especially as they soon had two little boys born, Thomas Franklin (co-author Carol's father) in 1918 and Robert Carleton (my dad) in 1921. She was a tough woman and managed to meet the challenges, improving their living quarters a bit at a time. Tom was oft heard exclaiming about something she had done "Great Scot, Chas!."
Together they built the Ranch which was/is bordered by National Forest and ranch properties homesteaded by Granddad's brothers. Carol's Dad, Franklin, and my Dad, Carleton, worked closely with their dad and after college for both and WWII in the Pacific for Franklin, they joined in the ranching operation and continued it until retirement.
They each married in the mid-1940's, Carleton to Joy Fitzgerald and Franklin to Marian Quist. Beginning in 1945, there was a new Currier baby almost every year. The co-authors of this blog were the first Ranch babies-Marcia then Carol. Carol had two sisters and one brother; Marcia, three brothers and one sister.
The ranch no longer owns any cattle or horses, but grows hay and sometimes leases pastureland to others as well as offering private big game hunting. It is a place filled with memories, incredible beauty, ghosts, abundant wildlife and an aura of healing quiet and calm. Those of us who grew up there have an intense longing to go back, especially in the spring.
We "kids on a horse" were so fortunate to have grown up in such a free and wonderful way. Our adventures continue in future blogs as Carol and I recall our childhood.
Note to siblings and cousins who may read this....please let me know if I have erred in my recollections or if you have any information/stories that might be shared.
In around 1902, as a young man, Tom took advantage of the 1862 Homestead Act and made his first claim in the Colorado high country north and east of Grand Mesa as did his brother Lucius and with the help of a friend. The 1862 U.S. Homestead Act generally allowed a homesteader in Colorado to claim up to 640 acres in designated areas. Following that, the homesteader had to live on and improve the claim for period of three to five years to "prove" it as a viable homestead and then be granted a "patent" by the President of the U.S. which then recorded ownership. He also bought properties available through the Homestead Act.
Tom was very prudent in his first selections, gaining beautiful acreage bordering National Forest Land with water rights that allowed not only grazing but also cultivation and farming. In 1903 he took his first herd of cattle to the homestead property. The three men spent the first three years in an old dirt-roofed, windowless "dungeon" and built the first log cabin in 1906. The pictures below show his covered wagon in the winter and the first cabin built for his wife and two little boys.
As other homesteaders left due to hardship and other reasons, Tom bought up their claims and eventually expanded the Ranch to approximately 8,000 acres where he raised both registered purebred Hereford cattle and a herd of commercial Hereford cattle.
Tom had only an 8th grade education (which is probably more than equivalent to a high school diploma in today's schools!) but was a natural and talented businessman and cattleman who never borrowed money. He was active in the Mesa County Farm Bureau, was President of the Plateau Valley Stockgrowers Association, the Colorado Cattleman's Association and was elected to the first advisory board of the Bureau of Land Management. He held that position until his death. He was also a member of the Grand Mesa National Forest and was a Director in the Grand Valley Water Users Association. A staunch Baptist, he was on the Board of Trustees for the First Baptist Church in Grand Junction. His registered Hereford stock was well-known throughout Colorado. My recollection is that he imported one or two bulls from England who sired many beautiful animals. Cattlemen from all over Colorado came to the ranch to buy bulls for their own herds.
The story goes that our grandmother, Chastine Elizabeth Harris, spotted Tom as he rode into Grand Junction on his horse and proclaimed "I'm going to marry that man!" They were married in November 1916. She was raised in town, and I'm sure that the primitive homesteading was a real challenge for her, especially as they soon had two little boys born, Thomas Franklin (co-author Carol's father) in 1918 and Robert Carleton (my dad) in 1921. She was a tough woman and managed to meet the challenges, improving their living quarters a bit at a time. Tom was oft heard exclaiming about something she had done "Great Scot, Chas!."
Together they built the Ranch which was/is bordered by National Forest and ranch properties homesteaded by Granddad's brothers. Carol's Dad, Franklin, and my Dad, Carleton, worked closely with their dad and after college for both and WWII in the Pacific for Franklin, they joined in the ranching operation and continued it until retirement.
They each married in the mid-1940's, Carleton to Joy Fitzgerald and Franklin to Marian Quist. Beginning in 1945, there was a new Currier baby almost every year. The co-authors of this blog were the first Ranch babies-Marcia then Carol. Carol had two sisters and one brother; Marcia, three brothers and one sister.
The ranch no longer owns any cattle or horses, but grows hay and sometimes leases pastureland to others as well as offering private big game hunting. It is a place filled with memories, incredible beauty, ghosts, abundant wildlife and an aura of healing quiet and calm. Those of us who grew up there have an intense longing to go back, especially in the spring.
We "kids on a horse" were so fortunate to have grown up in such a free and wonderful way. Our adventures continue in future blogs as Carol and I recall our childhood.
Note to siblings and cousins who may read this....please let me know if I have erred in my recollections or if you have any information/stories that might be shared.
Friday, June 12, 2015
Mule, the horse, visits Aunt Marion's house....
Given a remote place with no television and an absent aunt/mom, mischief is bound to happen.....
My recollection is that my brother Tom and my cousin Carol (co-author of this blog) were the dual think tank for this adventure. I was a co-conspirator however.
On with the story....one fine sunny morning, Carol's mom, Marian, left to drive into Collbran (about a 16 mile drive) for some grocery items leaving Carol and her siblings home with my mom down the road a piece to take care of any emergencies. We kids had Mule bridled up. We were not allowed to use a saddle, unless we were with adults, due to the dangers of falling and catching a foot in a stirrup and being dragged by a panicked horse.
Somewhere in someone's mischievous brain, the idea surfaced to see if we could get Mule to climb the 12 or so steps to the back door of Aunt Marian's house. This new idea came to us from watching western TV shows where the cowboys always rode horses into the saloons. With some "encouragement".... pulling the bridle reins, pushing his rear end and using a willow switch for extra incentive to keep moving......Yep, he made it up with no problem and the next devilish idea was to see if he would go INTO the house. A few steps later, Mule was in the laundry room where her balked, backed up and left a suspicious Mule-sized indent in the screen door....and.....then..voila..into the kitchen!
It was at about that time when we heard Aunt Marian's car coming up the road! Immediate panic hit. We had to get Mule out of the house and fast. However, turning a horse around in the narrow kitchen and getting him to move quickly to the front door was a task that, alas, didn't go well for us. He was clopping through the living room and has made it partially out of the front door when Aunt Marian came in through the back door as his rump disappeared. She looked at us very suspiciously. She asked what we had been up to and, of course, we replied "oh, nothing," but when she gave us her knowing look (she had a very good mother's alert system), and asked what Mule was doing in the front yard, we confessed. To give her credit, she wasn't mad, only very amused and burst into gales of Aunt Marian laughter, a wonderful sound, by the way. Luckily for us, he left no horse apples behind.
This horse story spread fast and has never been forgotten by those who were there and those who weren't (but wished they had been...)! We didn't do that again, but imagination brought many more events in our free, growing up days on the Ranch. How lucky we were.
My recollection is that my brother Tom and my cousin Carol (co-author of this blog) were the dual think tank for this adventure. I was a co-conspirator however.
Mule was the kid horse pictured in the initial post to this blog. He was a very gentle and patient buckskin gelding who had been relegated to the job of providing transportation and entertainment for the kids on the ranch. He never kicked, even though his tail was used as a mode of mounting his back when no fence was available. He never bit even though he probably should have....more Mule stories later....
On with the story....one fine sunny morning, Carol's mom, Marian, left to drive into Collbran (about a 16 mile drive) for some grocery items leaving Carol and her siblings home with my mom down the road a piece to take care of any emergencies. We kids had Mule bridled up. We were not allowed to use a saddle, unless we were with adults, due to the dangers of falling and catching a foot in a stirrup and being dragged by a panicked horse.
Somewhere in someone's mischievous brain, the idea surfaced to see if we could get Mule to climb the 12 or so steps to the back door of Aunt Marian's house. This new idea came to us from watching western TV shows where the cowboys always rode horses into the saloons. With some "encouragement".... pulling the bridle reins, pushing his rear end and using a willow switch for extra incentive to keep moving......Yep, he made it up with no problem and the next devilish idea was to see if he would go INTO the house. A few steps later, Mule was in the laundry room where her balked, backed up and left a suspicious Mule-sized indent in the screen door....and.....then..voila..into the kitchen!
It was at about that time when we heard Aunt Marian's car coming up the road! Immediate panic hit. We had to get Mule out of the house and fast. However, turning a horse around in the narrow kitchen and getting him to move quickly to the front door was a task that, alas, didn't go well for us. He was clopping through the living room and has made it partially out of the front door when Aunt Marian came in through the back door as his rump disappeared. She looked at us very suspiciously. She asked what we had been up to and, of course, we replied "oh, nothing," but when she gave us her knowing look (she had a very good mother's alert system), and asked what Mule was doing in the front yard, we confessed. To give her credit, she wasn't mad, only very amused and burst into gales of Aunt Marian laughter, a wonderful sound, by the way. Luckily for us, he left no horse apples behind.
This horse story spread fast and has never been forgotten by those who were there and those who weren't (but wished they had been...)! We didn't do that again, but imagination brought many more events in our free, growing up days on the Ranch. How lucky we were.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
Oops...7 on and 2 on the ground!!
Eight Kids on a Horse! Ooops....7 of us on and 2 off one of the "kid" horses named Mule. Poor Mule.......
This blog is a joint effort with stories and reminiscences of my cousin Carol and I. We both spent our entire childhood from birth through college on "the Ranch". The Currier Ranch is located approximately 16 miles east of the little town of Collbran in Western Colorado (northeast of Grand Mesa and about 60 miles east of Grand Junction).
We had a very unique childhood in a beautiful remote place that fostered good values, great imagination and creativity, and a healthy environment. We grew up strong and true following the five cardinal rules for growing up on the Ranch: 1) Never touch Dad's gun 2) Never go into the dynamite shed 3) Never touch to blasting caps 4) Never swim in the pond without a parent present and 5) Come home immediately when Mom honks the car horn. These rules served us well and we all grew up without getting shot, blasted, drowned, or lost!
Carol and I are the oldest of the Ranch cousins....4 kids in Carol's family and 5 in mine. We were born about 9 months apart and grew up together from babyhood. Our mothers were good friends and depended upon each other, since they were the only young women in a very remote and isolated ranch with a mother-in-law that tended to be critical and demanding.
We will try to entertain and inform our readers with true stories of our growing up years and hope that you will enjoy our trials, tears, successes, and "mischieviousnesses." Much more to come!!!
This blog is a joint effort with stories and reminiscences of my cousin Carol and I. We both spent our entire childhood from birth through college on "the Ranch". The Currier Ranch is located approximately 16 miles east of the little town of Collbran in Western Colorado (northeast of Grand Mesa and about 60 miles east of Grand Junction).
We had a very unique childhood in a beautiful remote place that fostered good values, great imagination and creativity, and a healthy environment. We grew up strong and true following the five cardinal rules for growing up on the Ranch: 1) Never touch Dad's gun 2) Never go into the dynamite shed 3) Never touch to blasting caps 4) Never swim in the pond without a parent present and 5) Come home immediately when Mom honks the car horn. These rules served us well and we all grew up without getting shot, blasted, drowned, or lost!
Carol and I are the oldest of the Ranch cousins....4 kids in Carol's family and 5 in mine. We were born about 9 months apart and grew up together from babyhood. Our mothers were good friends and depended upon each other, since they were the only young women in a very remote and isolated ranch with a mother-in-law that tended to be critical and demanding.
We will try to entertain and inform our readers with true stories of our growing up years and hope that you will enjoy our trials, tears, successes, and "mischieviousnesses." Much more to come!!!
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