Where the green grass grows

Yesterday the family and I went out to The Ranch.  This is where I grew up.  Land that my Grandpa found for my dad to buy with money sent home as a young man in the army in Vietnam.  My dad did many things in his life, some of significance in the world, some of significance only to us, but this was his masterpiece.  He was proud of this–it was part of the family.  And, because it was what he and I had most in common–the love for the land, the simplicity of nature, the mostly uninterrupted pasture, and the ranching–it is part of mine. 

My Daddy and Grandpa have since passed on, so my little 100 lb. Vietnamese mom lives there, carrying on in only the house and 1 acre of yard around it.  She gardens.  Excessively.  I’ll leave it at that. 

There are days, like yesterday, when I go out there, roll down the windows, and savor the breeze and the fresh air and the calm going through me.  I sound suspiciously like a dog in the truck bed, tongue hanging out and flapping behind, drooling slightly as my paws hang over the side of the truck.  I feel that way.  But please don’t picture me that way.  It does nothing for me. 

As a child and teenager, I’d wander around by myself, take the farm truck out and sit on the tailgate for hours, contemplating life, daydreaming, observing, decompressing, reading; sometimes in college, I’d come home to disappear and study.  Yesterday, we sat on the tailgate and did much the same thing. 


Here’s a cow I saw.  Random cow.  It has no name.  Nor does the one behind it who looks envious.  On ranches, you don’t name your cattle.  We have our reasons. 

Anyway, as a result of my tongue flapping in the wind yesterday, enjoying the scene of giant green pastures and beautiful green oak trees, that are bursting forth with the fresh color and life of Spring; I feel very nostalgic, reflective, and peaceful today.  I’m reminded that a simple life can be a good life.


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