Mountain Girls Have More Fun

When I first saw this settled patch of Ponderosa Pines quilted together with scraps of fields undulating with buffalo grass and wild flowers, I just knew we could make it home. It came with a hidden to-do list that seems to get longer one day to the next but each job conquered makes this patch of earth more homey in a warped don't have time for TV anymore sort of way.

Little did I know wild prairie has to be mowed twice a year or scrub oak takes over like a mountain girl at an REI garage sale. So we got a little something to help do the job. I think the tractor can plant corn too. Next purchase on the manly to do list is a bee bee gun. Sigh. I can hear my side of the arguments already.

"No dear, breaking and entering the bird feeder is not a crime warranting the death penalty."

"The bear did what? That's all that's left of the trash can?! Okay, one bee bee in the bum."

"That sweet innocent looking squirrel family digs into foundations?!? Hand it to me. No not that sorry excuse of a pop gun, get me the shotgun!"

Don't judge until you've had those evil little monsters teach their four juvenile delinquents to mess up an entire shed, poop at each of your doors every morning and who are now key suspects on the wanted dead or alive posters of rodents who got into our basement and ruined all the insulation. Besides, those baby squirrels are tender right off the grill.

Now before any card carrying members of PETA post any hate I actually ordered a catch and release trap instead of the AK40 I had my eye on and besides anyone who's seen me catch and release everything from spiders to moths knows I would never hunt them down and stretch their little sorry hides on the side of my log home.

Lord, help me. Hubby's looking at chain saws now because a couple of pines block some of the view. Don't get me wrong, my honey's a handy wood working wonder of a guy but give him a tractor and suddenly he's a lumber jack? Time to research the nearest ER and one of those redneck recipe sites for honey barbequed baby-back squirrel. Yep, mountain girls may ruin a manicure but we definitely have more fun.

Packer Man's Got a Funny Bone

Packer people in Virginia taped an interesting label to a baggie of craft moss. Ha, ha. Very funny. But seriously are you trying to get me arrested for carrying a banned craft substance across state lines? Or maybe you figure hey they're moving to Colorado where apparently the mountains aren't recreation enough for the California transplants. Heck maybe I should just open up a recreational weed store for the creative pot-head? Sure why not. I can see it now.

Want to impress your fiends at your next POT-luck dinner? We have over 500 designs of joint rolling paper sure to match any china pattern. And have you seen Martha Stewards latest book -- Living the Good Long Life High? Or what about the latest issue of Psychedelic Beadwork Magazine? They have an inspired article on the wire wrapped bong that will have your guests gasping with envy.

Yep the packer people may have just opened up a whole can of seed beaded weed. Gotta love that their packing tape isn't wound too tight to pull a prank or two.

B'Log Home Sweet Home

We finally did it. My husband and I got out the bucket list and moved near the mountains into a log home. We're camping out in the house until the movers finish delaying the delivery. Chin up. Imagine where all our stuff will go. Where to put my coffee cup so I can see the chickadees eat breakfast. How to arrange the formal dining room on the deck so the hummingbirds play the mood music. What wall to shove the bed against to get the best view of the sun setting between the pines.

But don't get any warped ideas that it's all fresh air and columbines here in the foothills of the Rockies. People who dream of escaping to the mountains need to understand that so do the deer, bear, bats and a whole nefarious gang of outlaw rodents. A gang that doesn't give a wooden nickle for who's name is on the land deed.

It doesn't help that the house was decorated with the bring the outdoors indoors philosophy. It was so dirty it took me half a day to clean just one closet. After I rolled up the carpet of inch thick cat hair woven together with dust, I found a hideout littered with nails, screws, wood chips, a Christmas ornament, broken glass and even cat litter. But my favorite was a mouse trap. A mouse trap like some trophy of how the sharp shooting pack rat Billy the Pinkie outwitted the stupid humans without bending a whisker. Did I mention it's in the cat's closet. Takes one cold steady paw to pull that job off.

Next on the to do list. Pest control. The pest control guy plugged a hole in the garage so big it was like a saloon sign advertising free beer to every mouse in the neighborhood. Might as well install a swinging door and a teeny tiny welcome mat so at least they wipe their paws before they scurry all over my stuff.

Pest control guy suspected bat or rats poo every morning at the back door. I bet my REI hat and my horse it's the gang leader -- he goes by the name of Jesse James the Squirrel. We had a discussion one morning about bird seed rustling being a hanging offense. I think he forgot who's bigger -- me or him. This porch ain't big enough for the two of us partner.