P-Time

That stands for either "puppy-time" or "play-time."

Honey had seven puppies about a month ago, and they are super adorable. We believe it when they say that baby animals are good for your health, 'cuz they sure do make us feel happy.



Below, Binbin is in the bed of the truck that burned about a week ago. One student was teaching another to drive a stick shift. When smoke started coming out of the engine, they abandoned the vehicle several miles toward Deep Springs Lake. As they walked back to the college, they heard two booms and corresponding mushroom clouds as the gas tanks exploded. Now, the truck resides in the "dead vehicle dump" not to be confused with the "dead animal dump." But both apparently are good places to find souvenirs. Last weekend, Binbin came back from the Dead Animal Dump with a cow vertabra; yesterday he came back from the Dead Vehicle Dump with a chunk of melted aluminum that hardened into a puddle shape and a sprinkler.

Detour

On Sunday, we began an adventure drive that was to take us to the dunes in Eureka Valley, next to Death Valley. We drove east through Gilbert Pass, then cut onto a dirt road through the Fish Lake cattle allotment. That area is bleak. We turned right to go up, then down a narrow pass into the valley. There is no water source in Eureka Valley, so it's pretty dry and harsh. The Subaru traversed the pebbly, rocky, and sandy floor, slowly. We jostled about for quite awhile before reaching, at last, a groomed dirt/gravel road. At that point, we checked the tires, and one seemed a little low. The dunes looked way, way off in the distance, so we redirected ourselves to Big Pine. At the service station, we got gas, air, a Sunday LA Times, and a mixed slushie. Then, redirected ourselves again to Manzanar, the WWII Japanese-American internment camp in the Owens Valley. The National Park Service now operates the site as a historical and interpretive center. In WWII, over 120,000 were interned in various locations; about 1/10 of them at Manzanar, where families tried to create a relatively, normal community. The conditions were harsh and bare bones, and it was bracing to think that this kind of racist event happened not too long ago, here in the US. We headed back to our community with mixed feelings in our hearts.

Evening activities

We haven’t made it to bed at bed-time (8 pm) lately. So many evening activities capture our attention.

Tuesday’s public speeches ranged from the serious meaning of games, the mature sense of dissonance in flavors and piano chords, the importance of sleep, why one should read Hemingway, and Sweden as the source of western civilization. In between speeches, our emcee regaled us with original songs that humanized animals. He sang paeans to Magnus (the cook’s dog), puppies (they all look the same), Zane, and one of the cats.

Isreali folk dancing on Thursday evening had us twirling about and stepping on toes trying to keep up with the vigorous young men here. What dance is complete without its set of wallflowers? From the cozy comforts of a sofa, Binbin watched the frantic flailing of arms, legs along with the exceptional coordination of our resident expert.

The evening before, the student butcher screened a film on proper beef slaughtering. The professional was a bit of a square, but we had to respect his technique, including knife sharpening. Binbin gave the film 3.5 stars.

The week ended last night with hump day dinner, served on DS white linen (read white paper duck-taped) tables arranged on the circle. The evening was warm, the beef wellington quite tasty, and we went home with overly full tummies.

Cows Come Home

Cows coming up from Fish Lake, winding their way up to a saddle in the ridge, east of Gilbert Pass. About 12:30 pm.



The leaders have made it through to the western side. About 1:15. The lagging calves forced three cowboys off their horses, and only walked over around 2:30. Lunch was much delayed, and the cows came home about an hour after dinner.



Next morning, the cows need to be sorted from their calves.

Scenes on the Ranch

Entrance to the college, off 168. Cattle guard below, swinging T above. McKay, one of the farm dogs, trotting with us.



Binbin sporting Baba's new cowboy, ranch-style hat.



The work crew working on the ditch in front of our porch. Binbin in bright orange Moxie shirt.



View of the farm equipment beyond alfalfa fields with irrigation going full tilt.



Partial view of the campus from the east, while walking to the upper reservoir on a rare, rainy day.

our routine

It’s Friday afternoon here at Deep Springs Ranch, and kind of quiet. Trustees are in town to debate the issue of whether or not the school should become a co-ed institution, and just about everyone is weighing in on the question, including Binbin. As he clambered in and out of the expanding ditch in our yard, he was decidedly not in favor of admitting girls. But, who knows, he may change his mind.

Jack and Binbin decided to go on their first backpacking trip. Sam, another visiting professor here, was kind enough to offer a ride in his 4-wheel drive pick-up. Thank goodness! We turned off 168 not too far from the college, and headed into Wyman canyon. A few miles in, and the dirt road became rockier, and several stream crossings later, we were in wild country. We took a little detour, past odd rock formations including one called “the shark,” to visit a cowboy camp. Then, retracing our route, took the fork toward Dead Horse Meadow. We dropped them off at the fork. They would have a 2 mile hike in ahead of them. But reports are that the camping spot, near a stream, is quite spectacular. Sam and I are supposed to pick the boys up on Sunday noon. I hope they’re all right and enjoying themselves. I miss them already.

These days, I think we’ve fallen into a regular rhythm at the Ranch. Here is what Binbin’s daily planner would look like:

wake up just before or at the breakfast bell, 7:30
eat, and repeat the rap-like phrase, “D-d-d-d Duh-duh, pizza deliver-Y”
express a desire “to do something”
procrastinate before homeschool starts
reading and/or writing and/or math and/or science in the morning
visit to the library to help re-shelve books
visit to the kitchen to see if Dewey “needs help”
lunch, 12:30
eat, and visit with Elias or Ezra or Daniel
express as desire “to play”
procrastinate before homeschool, part 2, starts
finish homeschool
dig in the dirt, chat with the work crew digging in the dirt
go on work break with work crew to get a popsicle
visit to the kitchen to see if anyone “needs help”
express a desire “to do something” again
reject all suggestions
dinner, 12:30
play soccer with the students, or, lately, play with Elias in the ditch

The routine is broken by special events, like going to watch the cattle drive, or going to see the cows before they go to auction. We’ve also visited Chorizo’s new piglets (she’s more than a little protective—we saw her try to take a bite at the feed man). Top on Binbin’s list of to-do’s after the return from backpacking: puppy time.

Weather

A cloud-filled sky and steady rain greeted us this morning. It reminded Jack of Scottish weather, damp and foggy. A chilly wind had some of the students wearing puffy vests and knit hats. It must be fall.

The weather forced a change in plans. Jack and Binbin were going to hike into Dead Horse Meadow for camping and bouldering, but the rains probably raised the water level enough to make driving the Subaru up the canyon just a little too much. Plus, who wants to camping in the rain...with a potential for more thunderstorms tonight?

So, we spent our day playing various games and mostly indoors. Mid-afternoon, we walked to the lookout point near the Upper Reservoir to take in the low-hanging clouds against the White Mountains. The desert plants are amazingly quick to respond to rain. They are already two or three shades brighter than they last appeared.

The rain also gave me a chance to bake some bread. The process seemed to go smoothly and satisfyingly until the actual baking. Our oven isn't working, so I used one of the ovens in the main kitchen. Well, I picked the wrong oven. One of the students helpfully took the loaves out when he smelled something burning. Although I set that oven for 350 degrees, it registered 600 (is that really possible??) when the blackened bread came out. Alas, the middles were still doughy, and nothing was salvageable. Lesson learned.

Fortunately, the food here is fantastic! (Have I mentioned that before?)