The Ranch

If I could live anywhere in the world, it would be on Aunt Meta and Uncle Loren's ranch in the 1960's. Not that the 1960's was the only decade I was happy there. I was always happy there. Bob and I even spent a night of our honeymoon at the ranch because it was home. Aunt Meta and Uncle Loren made it home to all of us in the family. But the 1960's were the best. I was little and hadn't a care in the world there. Life was safe and good and free of anything scary on the ranch. Well, actually, the ranch was full of things that could kill a kid but we didn't know that. Other than the giant propane tank on the side of the woodshed. Aunt Meta made sure we knew and understood that even touching it would make it explode and we'd all be dead. I was terrified of that thing well into my thirties and kept my word to never touch it. When I told Bob this story after we were married, he laughed and told me the tank would not explode if touched. My feeling was if Aunt Meta said it, it was true. Besides, what does a city boy know about exploding propane tanks? 

                                                          

This is Aunt Meta's kitchen. One of my favorite places on the ranch because it was always full of people around the table, eating, drinking and talking. Most of the time, my sister and cousins and I were under the table playing and listening to the adults. Some of our favorite adults like our Uncle Swiss and Peter Silacci, pictured here with 10 year old me, would slip salami or cookies under the table to us. 

Those glass cabinets held the dishes that Aunt Meta would allow us to set her table with. Something we were never allowed to do at home because we might break something. The tall cabinet that's partially open was freezing cold inside and had wire shelving in it. You could look down and see the basement below when the light downstairs was on. Opening that cabinet brought a whiff of the cold, musty basement while keeping everything in the pantry, like butter, ice cold. It was magic! 

The sink in the back was where I watched my Aunt Ruth dye her hair black more than once and where my cousin Mickey and I washed and warmed baby pigs trying to keep them alive. It's where I was allowed to wash dishes like a grown-up even though I wasn't and where Aunt Meta gave Willa Mae, the monkey, a bath when she needed one. 

This kitchen is where Aunt Meta would hand us bowls and send us to the backside of the old creamery to pick blackberries after dinner. Then, when we rushed back inside, bowls full of warm goodness, she'd pour sugar in our bowls and hand us mashers to make the most delicious vanilla ice cream topping ever. 

Aunt Meta's kitchen is also where Peter Silacci, a long-time local cowboy and family friend, in the photo above, promised to take me to his ranch to ride horses and he did. It's where Aunt Meta fought over politics with Joe Perry, throwing him out of the house only to have him back at that same kitchen table the next day, drinking coffee and talking cattle. There was something magical that happened in that kitchen. It brought people together and back together throughout my entire life there. 

I was 8 years old when I took these three photos with my dad's little camera. I was so excited to get to use it and I wanted to take pictures of something special, so it had to be the ranch and the cows. I'm standing behind the barn to the right and the house and work sheds are on the left. If you look to the right of the trees, you'll see the road into the ranch. There's a bridge on that road that crosses the creek. Crossing that bridge was like entering Narnia for me. It was a mile into town and as kids, we were allowed to walk across the bridge and head into town to one of our other Aunt's houses, or a friend's house like Julie Bettencourt or to Josephine Ferrari's to see her niece, Becky. Town was full of family and friends. You were safe because you were known and watched by everyone in Cayucos. Town was really just an extension of the ranch to us kids.

If one picture of cows is good to an 8 year old, two is even better. I hiked ever inch of those hills as a kid and an adult. I bet all my relatives on my mom's side and some from my dad's side could say the exact same thing.

And if two pictures of cows is good, well, then three is perfection. This is right next to the barn, where we played with cats and swung into hay when it was there. It's where Aunt Meta carried us in what seemed to be the middle of the night and laid us in blankets on straw while she and Uncle Loren brought cows inside. It's where the long, cement water troughs full of pollywogs called to us kids late at night. So, off we would go with jars and flashlights, hoping to catch enough to watch them turn into frogs. It's also where we'd go late at night to lay on the ground, away from the lights of the house and look up at the stars. Something that seemed impossible to see in the city but was otherworldly at the ranch. 

Kelly, age 3 years old and a sweet baby calf. If there were calves and we wanted to play with one, we never had to ask twice. Aunt Meta or Uncle Loren would head to the barn and bring back a baby for us to play with on the back patio. There were no time limits or rules. It was heaven.

Even though Kelly grew up to be quite the city girl, she loved animals like I do. The only difference was, one of us grew out of messy hair, dirty clothes and letting calves suck on our fingers. I'll let you guess which one.

If we could have taken this baby home with us at the end of the summer, we would have. 

Yes, that is an ice cream cone. Yes, I believed in sharing. I still do.

I sure do miss her. Kelly too.

Bob Hansen, I need a cow!

There are so many other stories that flooded my memory of the ranch as I typed this post. Maybe I'll share some more in the future. It was a great place to grow up and I miss it. Thanks for going back there with me tonight. Until tomorrow....