Author: Joy Hurt

Autumn is a wonderful time to experience harvest. All year, crops are carefully grown and groomed while pests are managed. A farmer is betting everything on good weather and a high sales price. With nothing more than strong faith in what’s happened in the past, farmers hope and wait to see the outcome. Some years are wonderful. Some years, a farmer just turns away to start preparing for the next. That’s the world of real farming.

These days, the little central coastal towns that we’re visiting are in the swing of celebrating fall. There’s a custom that has grown as the years have gone by. The display of the scarecrows. Scarecrows that are seen doing everything from bee keeping to swashbuckling. Each shop owner has put their own spin on their scarecrow. The results are worth seeing.

Colorful and whimsical, these works of art are displayed through the month of October, adding to the number of tourists. Thousands trek to the coast just to see them. Truly adorable.

While visiting, wine tasting was suggested as a possible activity. Having owned my own vineyard raising grapes for Sunmaid raisins, I’ve seen a thing or two. Born into a family that produced grapes for wine and raisins for almost a century, Great-grandparents, Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, and even cousins, were all in the business. Over the year, we learned a thing or two.

This, I can assure you. Harvest is a exhausting race between sunlight, the weather, and the ability to find employees to help harvest the crop. Every single road block you can imagine happen while harvesting a crop that needs to be picked in the span of a few days. Nature doesn’t wait. Fruit continues to gain sugar until, at a single moment in time, it passes its peak. A great farmer hits the sweet spot year after year.

Weather is always fun. Rain and raisins don’t go together. At least five years of the seventeen that I farmed, VST and I were found at 3 AM at the local pancake house. As rain fell on our crop, we’d look out the window, helpless and shaken. All five years, we managed to fix the damage. Rain and raisins are just a bad combination.

Production costs for a raisin crop were around $50,000 for our 40 acre vineyard (1990-2007). Payments for the previous crop were carefully timed, paying for pruning, chemicals, paper trays, and the next harvest. Checks came in. Checks went out. Such is the world of farming.

Yesterday, I visited a toy vineyard and winery. I say this because I know the real thing. In a real harvest, people are so dirty their eyelashes hold a layer of dust. This “grape snipper” was in khaki’s and clean tennis shoes.

“They’re harvesting!!!!” said the woman serving us their version of a chardonnay.

Funny. I heard no shouting, tractors, or barking dogs. No signs of a typical working vineyard. Confused I looked around and what I saw made me laugh from the depths of my belly.

There sat one lone bin of red grapes. A very small plastic bin, maybe 3’x3’x3′. No set of doubles. No forklift dumping a trailer load of grapes. No leaves. Mice. Lizards. Coyote poop. Any of the real stuff that gets dumped with a load of grapes.

Just this little bin of shiny little grapes. Each berry so clean, surely they hired elves to dust them on a daily basis. The employee wasn’t covered with dust of any kind. Looking like he had just popped out from behind a desk, he worked a toy fork lift to move the one bin inside. After gently setting the bin down, he walked over to some dry ice and threw one small scoop on the top of the bin.

A wild fermentation process starts the minute grapes are cut. Wine makers have their own idea of controlled fermentation and don’t want the wild process to start. I assure you. One quart of dry ice on a bin of grapes would do nothing to stop that process. My brain laughed so hard I had to turn away.

Yesterday, I tasted a lot of very sad wines. Wines that were $50 a bottle, and not worth a space on the shelves at Discount Grocery. Very fancy store fronts with fussy people. Terms like bouquet made me laugh in my brain. The descriptors were provided by a fancy writer with a great imagination. Such is the world of wine tasting.

The last place I visited had the best idea of all. They had bottled pieces of grape vines pruned off at the end of a season. We would light bonfires to get rid of this debris at our ranch. Little did we know we were sitting on a gold mine. There on the shelf, they were selling this stuff, adorably bottled, priced at $28 a pint. Labeled as a BBQ additive for a hint of grape wood on your steaks, this was a brilliant marketing idea. Take trash and turn it into extra cash. They got the best score for squeezing the most profit out of their vineyard.

All in all, I still don’t like wine. I’ve seen too much. Having worked at Paul Masson Winery on the swing shift, I know about quality control. I worked in the lab, testing for all kinds of chemical standards found in good wines. It takes an army to make a reproducible product year after year. It takes truckloads of grapes, arriving in a steady stream. It takes hundreds of people who get very dirty. It’s dangerous and on a large scale.

I do like doll houses.

Pretend wineries?????

That remains to be seen.

Have a great day.

So far, vacationing at the coast has been magical. I mean, really. Who wouldn’t have a wonderful time in a little cottage with an ocean view??? Entering the house for the first time, I was home. The pictures on “Air BnB” showed it exactly as we found it. Adorable and perfectly stocked.

On the table sat a card addressed to me with a gift of Snicker Doodle cookies from the Brown Butter Cookie Company. Look them up. They send orders throughout the United States. Order some. You won’t be disappointed. My favorite are the Brown Butter Cookies, their signature cookie. Nothing says you are at the coast better than a fresh baked cookie.

The card read,

“Joy,

Welcome back to Bella Vista By the Sea. Please enjoy this gift and the duration of your stay.”

My eyes leaked a little at their message.

Yes.

Welcome back.

The Pacific has been waiting. Just as I left it two years before, on the doorstep of cancer’s evil clutches, the same beautiful ocean welcomed me, again. There’s nothing better than waves crashing on a beautiful beach. From my life as that little blonde girl until now, as a graying woman of 65, the waves have comforted me.

Santa Cruz was the go-to place we enjoyed as children. Playing in the waves as a little girl, we’d stay in the water until our lips were blue. Bundled up in towels, we’d scurry back to my grandparent’s tiny house to enjoy naps in her creaky murphy bed, which hid under a wonderfully heavy blanket when not in use. Magical in the eyes of any child, everyone wanted to sleep in the bed that popped out of the wall.

So far, I’ve enjoyed a wonderful evening with my best friend, CC, and her new beau at her home in the California foothills. Then, off to the coast for a visit from T and K. After lunching at our favorite restaurant, we played Gilligan and friends. Our tour wasn’t three hours, but one. The weather did start getting rough, and we skillfully took the boat back to the harbor before we ran aground on the sand bar. During our little voyage, we came very close to many sea otters, animals God created to look at when he needed a smile.

The next day, I had a wonderful visit with my God Mother, TJ, and THE CONVERTIBLE GODDESS OF THE CENTRAL COAST. Coastal Royalty, both, you could only hope to be so lucky to sit with them on a sunny day discussing the problems of the world over cake and coffee. Like a day hadn’t passed, I was home with two women I love the most.

Throughout all these activities, there have been quiet little breakfasts and dinners in quaint restaurants. Plants and flowers thrive here. God’s way of laughing. Whales spouting. Dolphins leaping. Surfers riding the waves. People enjoying evening fires on the beach. It doesn’t get better than this.

Forgive me for being late in posting. Sleeping in, I’m finding I’m able write later in the day. After wiping the morning dew from the truck, I have yet to decide what the day will bring. Stay tuned. There’ll be more to report tomorrow.

Vacations are a wonderful time to regroup. I’ll be back tomorrow or the next day! Having a wonderful time. Enjoy your day!!!!!!

Emotional uncertainty rests heavy on my shoulders as I get ready to travel back in time. Driving down familiar roads, I’ll be scurrying backwards in time, finding my ultimate vacation spot on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. For many years, the direction of choice was East, traveling to so many exquisite spots in our country. Mount Rushmore. Washington, D.C. Northern Minnesota. Wyoming. This trip will be different. I’ll be returning to places I used to live. A town I used to know. A home that used to be mine.

Oliver will be enjoying his friends at Puppy Camp. He works while he’s there, helping the newbies with their night frights. He plays with the little ones, wearing them out. Making the staff smile with his antics, he’ll have another fabulous vacation while I’m off making memories of my own.

This is the third time I’ve reserved a little house on the beach. Tiny and adorable, I plan to walk along the shore and think about the past and also the future. I don’t find real comfort in venturing too far from the present. Things in the past can’t be changed. Things in the future haven’t yet been written. The present is the place in which we can all find things we can count on, like good food and great friends.

Returning to California, there are memories that will sting and burn my heart. No doubt about that. It’s time to face them. A little cabin in the woods. A dinner at a beautiful restaurant overlooking the lake. A best friend waiting with a new beau and the best hugs in the world. My new friend, WP, to share with everyone.

Traveling through Yosemite National Park, so many trips and experiences are bound to go through my mind. Stags, Bears, Rangers, and a run-away horse. The most serene meadow of Tuolumne. A place many Californian’s have never seen because it is towards the Eastern side of the Sierra’s. I’ll remember a little boy fishing that, to our surprise, caught a squirrel. Another little boy that celebrated a 10th birthday. A troubled couple that ran to the Sierra’s every chance possible to escape the troubling professions in which we worked. Two people that went through life loving nature and soaking in the breathtaking scenery of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Planning to drive by my old ranch, I’ll remember myself as the little blonde girl that used to get Hydrox cookies from Grammie’s cookie jar. The girl that refused to take naps and had to be threatened with the fly swatter once in awhile. I’ll think of the cellar, always cool, even on the hottest Central Valley days. The rows of canned goods, lined up and waiting for winter. Applesauce, white and orange peaches, bread and butter pickles, and jellies galore. A grandpa that made the best popcorn, delighting three little girls when kernels escaped the pot.

I’ll think of being the young mother that became a farmer, learning about the cycles of the vineyard tended by her Great-Grandparents and Grandparents, Aunts and Uncles, and parents. Vines that were decades old, producing grapes that the average person has never tasted in their life. A barn, big and red and mysterious. Barn doors so big they took VST and his strong arms to move them. Owls that came out on spring nights to teach their babies to fly. Family and friends that came out to the ranch to marvel at the peacefulness of the vineyard. Work. Work. Work. And more work.

A high school where I lost my first love to death my Senior year. A high school where I met VST in choir. A high school reunion where we would shock everyone with a proposal and a Yes. A highschool where my own boys would grow up and graduate. A ranch that would see them to manhood and GoodBye. All these visions will come flooding back as I show these places to someone that grew up in a city far away. California being so vast, as if city and farm were in different galaxies.

Once at the coast, T and K will join us for a day of fun. A lunch at a favorite restaurant that I see in my mind the same as my own kitchen. An afternoon on the water. A chance to visit and smile. A chance to remember someone so dear and special as the man VST was to us all.

Sleeping next to the waves, my dreams will no doubt sneak back to days in the RV. After driving for so many hours, the nights next to the shore were always the most special. Leaving the window cracked a bit, the sound of the waves crashing through a storm were the best kind of lullaby. They will be again.

Finding the arms of my God Mother wrapped around me, I’ll be home. Back to the comfort she has always provided. Back to a woman who has known me longer than anyone else I know. She who knows my heart without every having to ask a question. She, the reason I long to return.

Quite a lot to go through in a week. Wondering what my responses will be to all the visual stimuli, I’ve been getting sleep, good food, and vitamins. Crying when I need to, I’ve been pre-visualizing the scenes that are sure to tear at my heart. I’m so blessed to be going with a friend that will help me get through the hard parts, while helping me make memories with the new ones.

My past was a magical place that held all the emotions and memories experienced by everyone. Traveling through, I’ll give a shout out to the ghosts of the past. Say a sweet Thank You that I was lucky enough to get the life I was given by God.

Stay tuned. I’ll share along the way I while I enjoy a wonderful vacation.

Many people in this crazy world are unable to find a balance of work and play through discipline. Sometimes, I wonder why it is that organization is important to me. In the last few weeks, my daily routine has been turned upside down. Personal discoveries have shown me that being organized allows me to squeeze as much out of life as possible, down to the last drop. That’s the way I roll now, and will continue to roll.

The life of waking whenever to do whatever as the winds blow doesn’t work for me. Certainly not when I had major responsibilities as a young woman, and definitely not now. I find that sleeping too long creates stiffness in my old bones. Wasting the dark autumn mornings only leaves chores that need doing while the sun is shining outside. Missing an early morning soak in the hot tub, I find I’m missing my soaking time all together. Never a good thing. A definite schedule allows me to fit all the jigsaw pieces of my life in a pretty picture that I enjoy. There is time for each and every little piece.

Some people can just roll through a day, putting off chores until the next. Procrastination Central. Being an old woman of 65, I can’t do a long list of physical chores over an entire day. I need to do a little here and a little there, or I’ll pay for it in aches and pains. It’s just the way things are as I travel through my days in the Northwestern Nevada High Desert.

As a Teacher-Farmer-Mom decades ago, people would ask me how I remained organized to accomplish daily tasks. You start out that way. Make a decision to start organizing and stick to it. For me, it’s now a way of life.

Where I’m struggling with discipline is in the area of my diet, as so many people do. Why is it so darn hard to eliminate carbohydrates? Poisonous to me, they cause a immediate and dangerous swelling of the Gluteus Maximus, better known as the butt. No carbs? Life is beautiful. Wonderful. Happy. Skinny. These days, the diet train has derailed. Trying my best to get back on track, I find myself floundering.

VST and I employed teamwork in this area. Embracing the Keto Diet for over two years, we found a healthy way to eat what we liked and remain slim. With an abundance of recipes online, any food type can be transformed into a Keto version. Even Pizza. Great crust can be created with canned chicken. Who knew? It just takes planning. Direction. Vision. 20 carbs a day. And a healthy grocery bill. Keto is expensive.

With autumn upon me, now is the time to rearrange my schedule and get things back in order. The front yard is lovely and finished. The gardener will be coming soon to trim and winterize Winterpast. The gardens are ablaze as the trees say their dreamy goodnight prayers, going to sleep for the winter. Slowly, the yard art is finding its way into the RV barn and the days march on towards winter. Soon, hot tub soaking in the snow will be upon me. Such a fun and relaxing time of year.

Just a note. If you are planning to decorate for Halloween and Christmas, be sure to get to the store now. The shelves are quickly becoming bare, as products are slow to get to market. How crazy! Things we took for granted, like holidays seasons enjoyed in the right months, are now distant memories. Buy Christmas in September. Oh well, such is life these days.

Have a beautiful autumn day. If nothing else, organize the junk drawer. You’ll feel victorious.

My sweet son is an American Hero. Serving in the US Air Force and US Air National Guard for over twenty years, he is brave and sweet. At 42, he is a man’s-man with three young children and a lovely wife of his own. God fearing and country loving, I’m so proud of him. In the next few days, he is making another huge sacrifice, being deployed for six months.

Few of us give consideration to the sacrifices that our military families make on a regular basis. As a father and husband, he’ll be missing milestones in his children’s lives. His wife will be left to make decisions alone regarding school and home issues that face all families. His children will be left to miss their dad during those long days and nights. The holiday table will be missing our hero. Unless friends and family have experienced that, it would be hard to know what that’s like.

My son is a successful business owner. During the six months that he’ll be gone, he will be entrusting his company to employees. Unless you are a business owner, trusting your business to others is a huge leap of faith. No one could possible make decisions with the same amount of dedication and determination as the person that started the business with a dream.

He will be missing all the holidays we love, and not for the first time in his life. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years will all be celebrated with fellow Air Men and Women. These people will be his new family for six months. All celebrated on foreign soil and away from those he loves the best. His family. All while preparing for the “Just In Case” we all hope never comes.

In this day and age, deployment is a wee bit kinder. The internet will allow for video chats and phone conversations from half way around the world. Great mail service will allow for timely delivery of care packages full of love. But, there is nothing like a warm hug at the end of a very long work day. In this day and age, deployment is a wee bit kinder. The internet will allow for video chats and phone conversations from half way around the world. Great mail service will allow for timely delivery of care packages full of love. But, there is nothing like a warm hug at the end of a very long work day. Nothing like helping your kids with troublesome homework. Nothing like building a business and landing a new client. Nothing like HOME.

Please keep him in your prays. He is the kindest and most loving son a mom could every hope to have. Intelligent and successful, he makes me proud every single day of my life. His base needs the love of our country. Our military personnel sacrifice on a daily basis. They are unsung heroes that need our prayers and support. Their families need our help.

Hug a soldier. Pray for God to keep them safe. They are our best and brightest.

Everyone should meet an Oliver at least once in their lives. He’s a nearly human, funny, witty, observant, and expressive standard wire-haired dachshund. Weighing 25 pounds, he’s as strong as a black lab with very, very short legs. Rather like an earth mover, his center of gravity is low. Being a very strong and stubborn little guy, he likes getting his way. He keeps me on my toes.

Three years of his life have passed by. I keep waiting for him to grow into Dog-Hood. He’s firmly parked at Puppy-Hood and enjoying every single little bit of it. He does zoomies with an expression challenging me to race him to the finish. There is no catching him except with his form of kryptonite. Treats. He’s a sucker for dog bones or cheese. Truly, he’ll do anything asked if there’s a payoff. Slowly, he’s learned he can wait me out and get his treat first. I’m a sucker for his dreamy green eyes.

When working as a team, as long as he knows I’ve something yummy in my hand, I have his full attention. Once I give him the “All Gone” hand signal, he’s off to another adventure, not having one second more for me. Oliver and I have been to hell and back. To say I love him is an understatement. I respect him for all that he puts up with on a daily basis. He gives me grief until he sees enough is enough.

Last week, I was in the middle of spa maintenance. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the best about reading instructions on bottles of lethal chemicals. My thinking follows this route. If said chemicals are sold over the counter, they are meant for people like me that really hate rubber gloves or eye protection. After working for so many years on the farm, there are very few things that scare me about home chemicals. Obviously, never mix Clorox and Ammonia, unless you have a death wish. Try not to breathe noxious fumes. But, for most things, just go with it and get the job done. Gloves and eye protection are such a bother.

VST would have had quite the opposite view, always on the look out for unsafe working conditions. With every chemical, one must read instructions while looking for all possible hazardous outcomes. It was nice to have him around to remind me that some chemicals are not cleaning supplies, but potentially dangerous liquids.

After losing VST, I’m left to my own devises. With the sun getting lower in the sky, the filters had soaked for three hours. Taking them out of the vats of acid solution with gloved hands, I carefully rinsed them off and set them out to dry.

No problem, yet.

Until.

Going back into the house, Oliver was complaining. Whining. Wanting to go outside to check for toads. Opening the door, there was no stopping him. Like a bullet. Without one zoomie he went straight to the vat of acid. Nose touched acid quicker than I could gasp in horror. Luckily, the smell caused him to back up, but not before a bit of the diluted solution had touched his sweet and delicate little nose. He looked confused and bewildered, coming to me right away for a hug.

Why, Oliver???

Why? Why? Why?

Immediately retrieving the empty bottle, I read all instructions again, this time looking for signs of possible poisoning. Whisking him off his little legs, I wiped his nose and checked his mouth. Everything in good order, we went to the couch and cuddled for awhile. His eyes told me he loved this part the most. For 30 minutes I watched for excessive salivation, vomiting, blisters, measles, Covid, anthrax poisoning. Any sign that he was ill.

Nothing.

I went to the vat of caustic chemicals. Carefully I put a fingertip in the solution.

Nothing.

It felt like water, so I rubbed some on the top of my arm for closer observation.

Nothing.

Hmmmmmmm.

I didn’t put my nose to the bucket or take a lick, deciding it was more sensible to remained unharmed in case Oliver needed my assistance. Chemical burns can be nasty.

As with small children, when they do something out of the ordinary, you need to wait things out, watching for the normal to continue happening. Oliver enjoyed a piece of cheese. No problem. He had a bowl of water. No vomiting. I prepared his dinner. Gulping that down, he pooped normally. His after dinner nap took him to puppy dream land without a care in the world.

After two hours of observation, I’m happy to report that Oliver remained his sweet little self, none the worse for wear. He survived a possible poisoning event. I’m a little ragged around the edges after that one. It was a reminder that our furry friends use about as much judgement as a blind and deaf salmon when there are new things to taste and smell. They need us to be prepared at all times. Remember that some house and garden plants are toxic to dogs. If spraying for insects, be sure that you choose products that are pet friendly.

Oliver is happily at my feet. Throughout the day and night, I checked for any signs of damage. I’m happy to report that there were no side affects. Through it all, he remained happy as a clam and enjoyed the extra attention.

As the days go by, there are more times when I get brief glimpses of a wonderful grown-up dog. I’m relieved, having passed my Puppy-Hood many moons ago. Hug your pets, keep them safe, and have a great day.

Yesterday was a special day. Sunday’s are always wonderful in my book. Spending time with my church friends is the best. Three baptisms made the day all the more special. An older married couple and my Teacher Friend were baptized. Before church, I asked for permission to view the font. Very interesting. Like a gigantic hot tub, it has stairs hidden from view on either side. One entrance for men, one for women. The pastor stands in view in the back. The temperature is a balmy 98 degrees. Warm enough for anyone.

The premise of the baptism is that the unsaved person dies and is buried, while the saved person arises. All this is done surrounded by prayer and ceremony. Such a beautiful and solemn event. Always a special day when the font is full.

Learning names and to whom people are related, I feel closer to everyone each and every week. One friend is leaving for a once in a lifetime trip to Germany. Others are in need of hugs and prayers. A true family of kindness and helping hands. What a church SHOULD be.

Sharing a talk with the Pastor about troubling issues cleared my thinking about many important topics. Life is confusing when one is a single woman. At times, confounding. Often, ripe with so many possibilities, it’s hard to decide what the correct choice would be. My Pastor always knows the right things to suggest, scripture front and center, from which personal insight can be gained. I’m blessed to have found such a safe place in which to heal. I value his insight and wisdom. His wife always has a calming hug to share. And, she smells really wonderful. I need to find out the name of her perfume.

Attending church to worship God becomes even more special when new relationships are formed over smiles and welcomes. One church couple has been married for 69 years. I can’t imagine all the situations in which prayer was the glue that held them together. Such a beautiful example they are of undying love and care. Sitting near the front, they are a testimony to marriage. An example to the rest of us that a long and happy life is indeed a goal for which to strive.

More new faces arrive each and every Sunday. People are longing for direction and comfort in this crazy world. Something that makes sense like the beautiful old gospel hymns we sang during service. More than once, I heard people say, “I don’t like the new church music. I want to hear old hymns.” At Baptist on Main, we sing old hymns full of memories, sometimes causing leaky eyes of the best kind.

Things like this only happen in the mind of the writer, and yet, it seems it is happening right here in the high desert of Northwestern Nevada. Enjoy your day, whatever you do. Try a new Pork Roast Recipe with family and friends. Be sure to bring laughter and great conversation. Take some pics. You won’t be sorry when you capture a great moment on film.

Life around Winterpast is kicking into high gear. With a major trip just a week away, I have a full plate just getting everything done. The autumn chill has arrived. This morning, it’s 38 degrees! Just delightful. The last of the apples hang tightly on the tree, waiting for a pie. What a year! Blueberries, plums, apricots, potatoes, and green peppers are all just memories. Time to turn off the sprinklers and get ready for winter.

Yesterday was Taco Tuesday at the local Mexican restaurant “Palomino”. For $0.99, you can enjoy a wonderful street taco. Miniature versions of the real thing, they’re delicious. Just like everywhere else, the owner struggles finding dependable help. He works long hours taking orders and busing tables. He tends the cash register and washes dishes. Restaurant owners are unsung heroes of this pandemic. It has been risky, but also trying in so many ways. Support your local business men and women. Things are tough for them right now.

For the next few days, I’ll be extremely busy. Kind of like the restaurant owners, it’s just me manning the fort. Needing a little time, I’ll return Monday, October 4th. Please take this time to try writing something on your own. Try out a new recipe, or pick up a real book that has been waiting for you. I’ll be back!!

My first load of leaves went out with yesterday’s trash. Wishing I could burn them in neat little piles, I did the proper thing by raking and stowing them in the two trashcans. The threat of fire is just too great. With 35 – 40 trees all undressing at once, I have my job cut out for me for a little while. The temperature has been cool enough for Oliver to spend time outside on toad patrol. Fall is such a lovely time of year.

Summer 2021 was a hot one, for sure. Only my second, I don’t know why I didn’t expect the inferno of the high desert. Lulled into a false sense of wonder the summer before, I just expected more of the same. Summer 2020 was a mild one. The days were still hot, but not scorching. Evenings were pleasant. This year, the desert didn’t hold back, giving us a real picture of how lethal she can be. Yikes.

The mustangs are down from the mountains now. Looking for every blade of grass and drink of water they can find, they were munching on the lawn at In-Town Park yesterday. Lawn ornaments. They seem so quiet, surely they must be gentle. Hahaha. It is a felony to approach or bother them in any way. They aren’t your barnyard friends, for sure. These wild animals are protected, rather like cows in India.

The thing people don’t realize is the volume of stuff a horse consumes and leaves behind. This isn’t a small amount. Gallons of liquid. Anywhere, anytime. Pounds of solids. Anywhere, anytime. The solids much be dealt with. Hope you have a really large scoop shovel on hand when you need one. No, city folk just look at the beauty, not the reality.

The other day, I was coming home from getting a milkshake at Dairy Queen. If you haven’t tried their Blizzard products, run, don’t walk, to the nearest DQ for a treat. Yum. They also have a Hot Fudge Milkshake that is superb. Anyway, I was making the turn on the West end of Main when the traffic stopped. Flashing lights ahead, it was going to be awhile. I assumed road work. For some time, the flashing lights slowly traveled West down main, towards our line of waiting drivers.

The closer they got, the more strange the problem. Two police cars were traveling side by side, filling both the East and West bound land. Traveling slowly, they had their lights blazing. On the side of the road trotted two mustangs, just ahead of the bumper of one of the patrol cars. It was a round-up by cops!!!! The mustangs had made it dangerously close to the interstate. Big rigs and horses don’t mix. The outcome could cause a major collision.

The policemen had obviously done this before, being skilled at keep the two marauders moving along towards the hills. One of the horses is a troubled horse, always in the middle of action. Pure white, this horse is a ring-leader. The others always follow, getting themselves in trouble by doing so. This horse actually reminds me of something out of a fairy tale. Not a true albino, it’s eyes are brown. Not a palamino, but rather a translucent white, he shimmers. Being a stallion, he’s unpredictable and dangerous. He insists on getting his way at all times.

So, there we sat. Happily, I downed my milkshake while the mini-rodeo went by. Eventually the city gravel truck turned off its warning lights and we were allowed to proceed. It won’t be the last time the horses cause a traffic jam. It’s just always a relief when no one is injured in the process, including the horses.

The horses used to be managed so that everyone could enjoy them. Every year, quietly, the herd was thinned. The native animals could share the range with the invasive horses. Nobody starved. Everyone was healthy. Now, that’s not the case. There is nature’s law of carrying capacity, basic and exact. There is a finite amount of food and water for a certain number of animals. When their numbers gets too big, the weak animals die off. It’s simply supply in demand of food and water. Without any management, the horses are now at a number more than the land sustain. Many are starving. Many will die a painful death. Not much can be done, unless the numbers are artificially sustained, which only makes the problem worse. It is illegal to feed wild horses.

Horses complicate life on the high desert, but are also a rare treat. The other day, WP and I were driving to church when a few bachelor horses decided it was time to run. In the seven years I’ve lived in Nevada, I can count on one hand the times I’ve been lucky to see a galloping herd of mustangs. Traveling all over the high desert, it isn’t a sight you see very often. Galloping uses up calories. Calories are precious in such an intense environment. WP made the same comment as we both watched their special show. The Running of the Mustangs. Something must have spooked them. Just as they run across the plains, they can just as easily spook and run across the roadway. You never know what they’ll decide to do.

Other than the horses and leaves there isn’t much other news. That’s the beauty of the high desert. Quiet and open, you can hear the autumn winds approaching over the mountain canyons. The train whistle in the distance. The hum of the trucks on the interstate reminds me how lucky I am to sit and write in my PJ’s. Have a wonderful Tuesday with whatever you decide to do.