Last weekend my cousin officially changed her last name, and we all got together for a beautiful ceremony to see her and her new husband off on their life together.  At this gathering of family, friends, and alcohol, it was mentioned that all the cousins should get together the next weekend at the family ranch to hang out, talk, catch up, and generally have a great time.  I am sad to say that I had not been to this property in almost eight years, so I was ecstatic to be going.  My father had upgraded the tiny box we called ”The Little Blue House” to  a veritable mansion described as, “The Little Blue House with a new bedroom and a bathroom with a shower”.  I was actually looking forward to taking a shower in the sulfur laden water so I too could smell like rotten eggs.

     Of course on the friday to leave, it was raining.  My father adamantly ordered me to keep the recently installed carpet spotless, and wanted me to bring up this deceptively heavy entertainment center (purchased at a thrift store) to further the upgraded luxuriousness.  After not locating one tarp big enough to cover the whole monstrosity sitting in my truck, just three smaller ones, I devised a clever miracle of engineering needing the three smaller tarps, about thirty feet of string, and, of course, some duct tape.  Having found no string, or duct tape for that matter (How can my father have no duct tape??), the plan had another revision in which a twelve foot piece of plastic twine will (hopefully) substitute the aforementioned string and tape.  Finally, after spending an extra hour, numerous busted knuckles and one really bad paper cut that probably needed urgent medical care, I was off.  Through the torrential downpour, I navigated my way.  White knuckles on the wheel, and eyes squinting to see through the barely functioning wiper blades (the coastal bend is harsh on wiper blades… and really anything else that needs to last outside for more than a month).  Almost two hours later I arrived.  I looked back at the marvel of ingenuity that was my tarps and twine.  I was shocked to see a mangled mess of plastic, broken glass, and tarps lying in the bed.  I dove in to assess the damage, and aside from a broken glass door pane, the devil reincarnate structure had survived unscathed.  I took what was left of the tarps, diligently covered the wood as best as possible, and went to see the new mansion my father had created.

     I eventually opened the door after putting my shoulder to it a few times, and walked into a room filled with dark, and apparently some furniture.  I know this because I found the furniture with my toes, feet, shins, knees, and once with my head as I stumbled to where the breaker box should be.  “Let there be light!”, I thought as I flipped the switch, and then, there was light.  I went outside to the water pump, and thought, “let there be water!”, as I opened the valve.  There was no water.  A quick call to my father and I found the new breaker box to the water pump.  Raised the lever and WOW!!!  There was water!  I had water coming out of the shower handle, and out from under the wall!  After I turned off the pump, and mopped up all the water, having used a towel to shield my sensitive and now burning nostrils from the acrid stench of eggs that filled the entire house, two of my cousins pulled up the gravel drive.

     I enlisted the raw manpower that is my cousin’s hubby, JD, to help manhandle the wooden beast of an entertainment center into the house.  I am going to jump over the actual move because numerous curse words were muttered, people got soaked, hands got scraped, and the prized brand new carpet received a christening of mud that trailed from the door to where the inhumane TV stand from the depths of hell now resides (Mom, I cleaned up the mud).  Finally, I unpacked the truck and JD made some gourmet burgers, choosing to brave the downpour and use the grill instead of staying dry and using the skillet in honor of our taste buds and burger grillers worldwide.  That night consisted of great food, beer, wine, and some really interesting board games.  We went to bed.

     I awoke the next morning before everyone else, drank a cup of coffee and went to walk the vast expanse that is our fifty one acres ( I always remember it being much bigger).  With the exception of the standing water everywhere, the property was great!  Tanks were full, the creek was up, and I saw two deer.  While walking the south easement, I noticed some movement about forty five yards up.  PIGS! Fifteen little pigs between forty and eighty pounds. And me without a gun!  Oh well, a hunting opportunity still.  I wondered how close I could get to them.  Maybe I could actually grab one of the small ones.  As I eased up to within ten yards of them, something in the back of my mind spoke up.  What if I startle them and they turn on me?!  I mean, they were all fairly small as pigs go, but there were fifteen of them!  Ok, I decided I was close enough.  I whistled loudly.  Nothing.  I shouted. Nothing.  I walked three more steps, picked up a rock and chunked it.  Direct hit!!  Right in the keester!  The pigs then moved over eight yards and continued eating.  My stomach grumbling and my pride hurt from not being scary enough to run off baby piglets, I headed back to the house.

     Everyone else was up, and we walked the property a few more times, taking pictures, seeing more deer, and the same group of pigs (across the fence).  After cleaning up the house, we packed up and headed home.  A great time was had by all, and we planned on doing this again soon.  Family events are great, and so is having a place to go that held so much awe as a child.  But I am NEVER moving a piece of furniture for my parents again!

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