First, you have to adjust to living with a man who has been on his own for quite a while too. There is his collection of Tupperware lids with no bottoms that you find and negotiate over (throw away). The oven was stuck at 500 degrees and made a kick ass blackened cobbler...if that's your thing. Cleaning out the fridge required bleach and an extra long pair of gloves that I later was informed were used to preg check cows. Ed's brother, Zeke, came through the house right as I was about to tackle the job. He said "Hey fella, whatcha doing?" I told him my mission...he asked me to wait a minute...he dragged up a chair, popped the top on a beer and said I could then proceed. It was a bonding moment as he proved to be a wealth of information on the contents of the fridge. There were a dozen plates of half used fossilized stick butter, mayo that expired a decade ago, and the dark liquid in the bottom vegetable bin was the lost remainder of the garden from last spring. The dark brown glass bottles in the door I was told is medicine for the animals. In the human refrigerator.
Then there are the animals. Horses always fascinated me and the brief time I got to ride a sorrel named Jubilee was among my favorite childhood memories. Horses have personalities just like people. Some you love and some you'd love to smack with a broom handle (read: strategically placed horse training device). Repeatedly. Spending time at the barn grooming the horses became my favorite thing. It was like good therapy for whatever was wrong. Let that brush slide over that horse's hip and you felt a release. Mentally you just let go. The cows are a different story. There is really no sign of intelligent life there. Slobber at one end and processed grass at the other. Ed tortured me by sending me into a pen of Holstein calves that had been bottle fed and directed me to help move them to another pen. They come to you like bovine zombies and refuse to cooperate so I started petting them on the head and naming them...Brisket, Burger, Porter House, T Bone, Rump Roast.
Speaking of cows. You must overcome a language barrier. I learned quickly to stop referring to all cattle as cows. Cows are adult females who have had a baby. Cow is a badge of honor..she earns her keep. There are a whole set of vocabulary words to learn and if you don't know them and pronounce them correctly you are ridiculed by people you mistakenly thought of as "simple." Like chaps, protective leather leggings worn over jeans that Pauly Shore once referred to as cheek chillers. Pronounced with a "sh" sound. If you pronounce it with a "ch" sound you are referring only to the cologne made by Ralph Lauren that was popular in the 80's. Furthermore, a certain breed of cattle known for long ears, being heat tolerant, and have distinctive humps on their necks are "Brammers." (bray-mur-z) If you say Brahman they look at you like you are impersonating the Queen of England. That's not good. When looking at this animal you may feel inspired, as I do, to start singing "My Humps," which also is frowned upon....but I ceased to care what they thought a long time ago.
Being out in the middle of no where should be quiet. Truth: it is so quiet that every noise is heard. The first night I slept on the ranch I awoke to a strange noise that sounded like it was right outside the window. Completely foreign to me and sounded angry. The only thing I could think of was sasquatches now roamed Texas. I woke Ed up and explained my concern about sasquatch neighbors. The sound happened again. Ed looks at me and asked me if that was the noise. I confirmed it was a 'squatch. He shook his head and explained that sound was coming from the neighbor's bull. This sound did not resemble any sound that came from my childhood red plastic "See and Say." Ed further explained that the bull was looking for his women...he was lonely. I laid awake for the rest of night listening to Ed snore and the bull calling out for his women. Men.
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