James M. Redwine

JPeg Osage Ranch

Man’s Almost Best Friend

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You may already know that Peg and I live in an isolated cabin where our human neighbors are not close, but often other species are. We enjoy the normal reverie of our own thoughts but occasionally have our space invaded by two and four-footed, uninvited interlopers. We have had to deal with raccoons, opossums, field mice, voles, skunks, ocelots, possibly a rare mountain lion or two, crows, hawks, eagles, assorted squirrels, woodpeckers and songbirds and flocks of quail, among several others, including armadillos and curious coyotes.

During the recent snowstorms and related inclement weather, the armadillos were ascendant with holes appearing almost everywhere. Now, some folks may find all wildlife entertaining and equivalent but Peg and I carry no brief for armadillos who look like armored pigs and lack any furry cuddlesomeness.  We do have a friend who hails from Central America where, I assume, armadillos migrated from. Recently he chided me for depopulating the armadillos who tried to take over our yard. Our friend told me armadillo meat tastes like “the sweetest of pork”; I assured him we would not find a way to make the comparison.

What we have noticed however is that several non-human carnivores also enjoy an occasional repast of armadillos. Chief among those ravenous raptors are the vultures but they are in hot competition for “sweet pork” left-overs with our habitation of coyotes. Our experience has been that coyotes are not so adept at catching armadillos but they are quite efficient at eating the innards and interiors of the housing of the already dead armadillo.

We have also noted that we have a bevy of coyotes that regularly patrol our small ranch for any hapless armadillo that should find itself dispatched by some other non-coyote cause; my 20 gauge for example. The most recent evidence of a symbiotic relationship between our rather almost dog-like coyote population and ourselves occurred during the recent ill weather.

I looked out a cabin window and saw a fat armadillo gamboling in our front yard with its pterodactyl sized front claws. I grabbed my shotgun, checked it was loaded, clicked off the safety, eased out the back door and quietly moved to within lethal range. Voila! One more mess of sweet pork made available.

As it was almost dark, I decided to leave the carcass till the next day. Well, the next day the prize was gone. I rejoiced in the provenance of Mother Nature and gave the matter no more thought until two days later when Peg found a hollowed-out suit of meatless armadillo armor right outside our front door; there was no note. There was a rather neat display that to us was just like the remains of a Thanksgiving Day turkey as left by in-laws along with a bare pumpkin pie plate.

Okay, I get that some would think this a mere happenstance. But those people are not the nature lover I am. I am convinced our quasi-canine coyotes were leaving us a two-fold message:

  1. Thank you; and
  2. Keep ’em coming!

When Pigs Die, Hopefully

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The nine-banded armadillos, the species we now have in Oklahoma, began to migrate across the Rio Grande from Mexico into Texas in the mid-1800’s. They then began to waddle on north with the first documented sighting in southern Oklahoma being in 1936. I had never seen an armadillo until the late 1960’s and then only rarely as road kill, sometimes with a Coors beer can propped up in its dead paws.

Armadillos are generally about 2 ½ feet long and weigh about 12 pounds. They look like an elongated pig that is covered with scaly armor. Each adult female can produce one egg that separates into 4 young. Their front feet have 4 claws, their back feet have 5 claws and they reportedly taste like pork. I cannot verify this. I do have a friend who claims they are delectable. He ignores their reputation for carrying leprosy.

As for me and Peg, we consider armadillos to be nasty rodents that dig numerous large holes in our property that we must avoid or bump over as we mow or walk. We currently have neither horses nor cattle but our neighboring ranches on all sides do and complain that armadillo holes are a danger to livestock.

Years ago, I started out trapping then eliminating them. I do not ascribe to the school that traps varmints then releases them onto other peoples’ environments to be their problems. However, I now just skip the trapping stage and sit on our veranda in the evening with a loaded shotgun. Sometimes I actually am successful in my mission but have frequently found to my embarrassment, the prehistoric prey eludes my unfriendly intent. I often end the evening with the disquieting feeling the armadillos are sitting around their dens exchanging amusing anecdotes about how they have drawn me in then artfully dodged my feeble aim.

Perhaps what I should do is follow the advice of B.F. Skinner and change my approach from one of negative disincentives to a psychology based on positive reinforcement. I may just invite my armadillo eating friend to come to the Happy Armadillo Hunting Ground of JPeg Osage Ranch. Bon Appetit!

Independence Day Jeopardy

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Photo by Peg Redwine.

John Adams, our second president, and Thomas Jefferson, our third president, were great friends who became estranged for years but reconciled before they both died on July 4, 1826. Each was an attorney who championed individual liberty and civil rights. Adams believed the date of America’s birth was July 2, 1776, the date the Continental Congress voted for independence. Jefferson thought our birthday was July 4, 1776, the date the Declaration of Independence was signed. Both Founding Fathers declared we should celebrate our founding with special activities.

Jefferson was the first president to host a July 4 commemoration at the White House. Jefferson wrote about Independence Day, “For ourselves, let the annual return of this day forever refresh our recollections of these rights, and an undiminished devotion to them.”

Adams sent a letter to his wife Abigail on July 3, 1776 in which he declaimed:

“I am apt to believe that it (July 2, 1776) will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival.

…

It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews (shows), Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illumination from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more.”

My family, and most likely yours too Gentle Reader, have carried out these patriotic demands for as long as we have been fortunate enough to do so. For more than the past twenty years my family has gathered around July 4 and reveled in the wonder of the United States of America by engaging in a hotly contested Independence Jeopardy game.

Photo by Peg Redwine

This year our son Jim portrayed Benjamin Franklin, my nephews Dennis and David Redwine, donned the colonial frocks of Uncle Sam and George Washington and teams of relatives vied to earn the Independence Day Jeopardy championship. The competition was fierce and only barbeque and copious desserts could assuage those who came in out of first.

It is always good to get our large and close-knit family together, especially over a hotly contested game of colonial history. It is of special meaning in our current atmosphere of political upheaval to remind ourselves what truly matters. So, happy birthday to all of us whether you agree with Adams or Jefferson or choose some other special time around our founding in the first week of July, 1776.

No More Encores, Please

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Photo by Peg Redwine

Those of us who live near Barnsdall, Oklahoma attended, not voluntarily, Mother Nature’s opening performance of a “small” tornado on April 01, 2024. There was some damage such as felled trees and a slight power outage. But, in general, it was heavy rain and strong winds.

Peg and I escaped most of the storm’s effects except the clean up of downed trees and rearranged lawn furniture. Although we did hear the proverbial freight train pass just above our cabin. It took us about two days to get back to normal. It took Public Service of Oklahoma about one day to restore power.

Photo by Peg Redwine

I guess our narrow escape upset the weather gods because just about one month later, May 6, 2024 at about 10:00 pm Barnsdall was attacked again, this time with a vengeance. Once again, Peg and I, who live in the country near the town, dodged the brunt of Nature’s fury. Regrettably, many others were not as fortunate. A great deal of damage was incurred by a great many people.

PSO trucks parked overnight at JPeg Osage Ranch for 5 days. Photo by Jim Redwine

This time PSO was on the job about the same time the tornado moved on past us. One of the hard-working and polite PSO workers told Peg and me there were about 150 PSO workers who responded to the Barnsdall storm. As PSO has large power lines and a utility easement across our land, we were able to observe a lot of hard and dangerous work by a lot of PSO workers. They started each day at 7:00 am and, at our place, worked until about 7:00 pm. It was an impressive performance. I was pleased to be a mere beneficiary.

Peg and I were pretty well confined to our home for two days but when we were able to get out to get supplies, we saw an army of professional and volunteer responders who provided food, shelter, counseling and hope to many Barnsdall residents. Food and beverage trucks and trailers that operated for free to countless victims were spread throughout the town.

The different police agencies, Barnsdall Police, Osage County Sheriff’s Department and Oklahoma Highway Patrol officers were ubiquitous and helpful. EMS workers were readily available at all times. And countless good Samaritans were offering food, water and shelter. The best of people came through in this second act of Mother Nature’s fury.

Some of the damage at JPeg Osage Ranch – Photo by Peg Redwine

So, we say thank you to all. And I imagine, our thoughts are echoed by many; please Mother Nature make this your Finalé! We don’t need for you to pass this way again, unless it is with gentle spring rains.

 

The Birds

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Peg has an almost pathological approach/avoidance psychosis with the date of April 15. Together we experience each year’s stride, step, stumble and eventual exhausted final shoulder bruising penance of shoving the burden of our tax obligation up to Mount Olympus, that is, Washington D.C. On the other hand, Peg each year becomes teenage girl giddy as the traditional return of the hummingbirds to the feeders she sterilizes and fills with sugar water. No wonder the little woman-made diabetics buzz in and out in a frenzy of laser like attacks. You see, Peg is convinced “her” hummingbirds spend from November to April 15 watching the calendar and calculating when she will hang out the syrupy nectar. This year Peg exceeded all avian expectations, but, the first zooming scout did not come until April 17.

 Each year is the same. About April Fool’s Day Peg begins fretting she has somehow offended the Patron Saint Francis of Assisi and “her” hummingbirds will abandon her numerous feeding stations and soar right over us in search of sweeter pastures. I told Peg that failsafe source, the Internet, also names Switzerland’s St. Gallen (St. Gall), or the disputed Saint Milburga, an English nun, or perhaps the Russian Saint Tryphon Medallion were the patron saints of birds. But Peg said since she and I had been to Assisi and visited the Saint’s tomb, she was pretty sure she should address any complaints about hummingbirds to him.

Anyway, apparently none of the saints have been offended by my destruction of several bird nests built under the eaves of our cabin and bunkhouse. Well, they may have gently punished Peg for my indiscretions by making her wait until two days after Tax Day for the birdlike epiphany.

 However, now all is well and Peg is convinced the hummingbirds actually know our address and plan their entire yearly migration from South America or Mexico to our front veranda to besot themselves on Peg’s sugary slurry. It’s okay with me if she wants to believe it, but I am just glad to see the smiles return to her face as the small kamikazes jockey for position at her feeders. They certainly are aggressive little creatures. They remind me of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels and the gigantic King of the Brobdingnags who is appalled by the vicious nature of tiny humans who invented canon and gun powder instead of seeking peaceful solutions to sharing resources.

Be that as it may, while I view the birds’ infighting over Peg’s largess as off putting, Peg sees everything they do as adorable. Each year we agree to disagree as to the true nature of the hummingbirds. You will note, Gentle Reader, the feeders still go out every April.

Spring Forward

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JPeg Osage Snake

Tuesday, March 19, 2024 was the Vernal Equinox. The sun was directly over the earth’s equator and husbands throughout the world saw their sublime winter days replaced by wives who feel compelled to build nests, or more correctly, to exhort their husbands to help do so. Peg does not care that we live in the country and no one can even see our yard from the nearest road. When spring arrives, my reverie ends. Watching sports on TV fades in the glow of longer days that demand immediate attention to countless tasks that must be attended to, “Right Now!” Never mind that not one of these matters mattered until the ponds stopped freezing over.

The inexhaustible energy of a wife in springtime is exhausting. What is there in the female biology that cannot accept that Mother Nature provides her own rejuvenation of beauty such as dandelions and blooming thistle. Woman-made improvements to nature’s burgeoning bounty of wild growing plants, that Peg calls weeds, must be addressed with rakes, hoes, chemicals and sweat, mine.

It is not that I wish to ignore home maintenance. I agree that grass should be mowed occasionally. However, where is the sin in appreciating what comes from nature? Do we need numerous areas for flowers and vegetables that are readily available from Walmart? Why did we save for retirement if we are not going to retire? And, what about the welfare of all the little critters we are disrupting and worse with god-knows what concoctions that we spray and spread? I ask you, Gentle Reader, well, at least those of you who are husbands, what is wrong with living with nature? Live and let live sounds good to me.

Another thing that comes with spring is the plethora of Nature’s creations that apparently want to live in proximity with us and which Peg cannot abide. About once each day I am startled by, “Jim!” I know from the tone and decibel level that some unlucky snake, mouse, squirrel, scorpion, spider or bird has been doing its spring things too close to ours and my role is to ruin its day. Never mind that all these creatures want is to eat and procreate on their own terms without our interference, they must be dispatched, by me of course.

There is hope for Peg’s yearly compulsion to control the natural world with my labor. Before long the Summer Solstice will arrive and the moist earth and temperate weather will gradually metamorphosize into sunbaked clay and near drought. Then maybe Peg’s condition will cure itself until she hears the siren of autumn’s equinox and the chores of preparing for winter.