My wife tells me I find solace at the ranch because no evil exits there. The notion may hold some truth. I did not begin cavorting with the sordid side of human existence until I packed my pillow and left home long long ago. The ranch is the one place I can nurse a cold beer without having bad thoughts percolate into my brain. That is solace of one kind. Another is taking time to re-explore nature at the ranch.
Yesterday I “rediscovered” the pea-sized fruit of 'granjeno', the desert hackberry bush. Quite a few remain on the thorny shrubs at the ranch. I'll still pluck off a few plump ones, pinch the tiny fruit between my thumb and index finger, bring it to my pursed lips and perform the perfunctory blow to cleanse it before popping one into my mouth. I am reminded of when I was a boy at the ranch. That's solace.
2 days ago