#12 - Deputy Dave's Easy Tres Leches

If you've never had Tres Leches, then you need to probably stay away from this dessert because it is dangerous. Once you have tried it, then you are hooked.

However, if you want a special, unique dessert for your family, prepare this recipe. It is quick, relatively easy, yet impressive. If you take your Tres Leches to a social gathering, then be prepared to stand to cut little pieces to hand out until the entire pan disappears because there might be a riot. I've seen this happen; not a joking matter to mess with someone's serving of Tres Leches.

One little disclosure...my husband makes this recipe. Actually, in our house, times have shifted and he's now the main cook. Everyone in my family will confess that he is the better cook. I humble myself because he earned this reputation by cooking many delicious meals.

Once upon a time, I would make Tres Leches, but I prepared the long-version and I can promise that it doesn't taste any better than the quick and easy version that my husband is intelligent enough to make.

The last piece...yum.

Deputy Dave's Tres Leches

INGREDIENTS
1 regular Vanilla Cake Mix - it's better if it is NOT a "pudding-moist" mix, just get a regular boxed cake mix
2 cups of Whole Milk
1 (14-ounce) can of Sweetened Condensed Milk
1 (12-ounce) can of Evaporated Milk

TOPPING (Don't skimp on the topping by using Cool Whip, take time to make this topping, it is perfect).
1 1/2 cups of Heavy Whipping Cream
1 Cup of white sugar
1 Tsp Vanilla Extract

DIRECTIONS
1.  First, cook the cake according to instructions on the box and let it cool.
2.  Use a small knife or fork to poke holes all over the cake, especially in the high points of the cake, but don't worry about the holes being too noticeable because you will be putting a delicious topping on the cake, which will cover the holes. (See photo above). The holes will help the cake to absorb the milk sauce.
3.  In a medium sized bowl, combine whole milk, sweetened condensed milk and evaporated milk, then mix them very well together by stirring.
4. Slowly pour the milk mixture over the top of the cake, making sure to pour it evenly, all over.
5.  To make the topping...In a large bowl, put 1 1/2 cups of the heavy cream, 1 cup of sugar and 1 teaspoon of vanilla and whip it with a hand-mixer or with your strong hand until it forms peaks. Don't panic about any sugar grains being raw because they will dissolve before the cake is served.
6. Spread the topping evenly over the top of the cake.

Put the cake in the refrigerator for about 30 minutes to one hour before serving; the longer it sits, the more moist and delicious it becomes. The cake must be kept cool at all times. When handing out slices, remember that it is rich and filling. Be sure to spoon a little drizzle of the sauce onto the serving plate for an extra nice aesthetic touch and delicious taste! This cake stores well in the refrigerator for a few days after preparation, so it technically could be made a couple of days in advance of your event. Just make sure you keep the Tres Leches covered with either a taut press and seal plastic or lid so it won't disturb the topping, yet will help keep the cake moist.

* For a nice twist, you can add a few berries...blueberries, raspberries or sliced strawberries to the serving plate or leave the berries in a nearby bowl for guests to add, as desired.

ENJOY!

At our house, we have the famous PURPLE FOLDER which holds a collection of very special recipes. The folder is plain and getting to be rather old. Duct tape may be in its near future as extra "binding." For a recipe to be entered into this folder, it must have been prepared at least twice and have consistently been a delicious winner. So, all the recipes inside the folder are favorite traditions. We will slowly add the PURPLE FOLDER recipes to the Farm Life Lessons online version of the PURPLE FOLDER. The Tres Leches dessert above has definitely made the PURPLE FOLDER.

#11 - Turn at the Trellis

Having an emergency and being able to handle it fast was a topic on our mind when we'd go to our acreage. When you are deep in a forest and do not have a phone with service, you are extra cautious. 

Deputy Dave cutting a path with a machete to other side of land to shorten our hike.

 Living within a densely populated city means that you have easy, fast access to emergency services. In our area, a quick call to 911 would mean that we could have the police, EMS or a firetruck at our house within three minutes. I don't take that forgranted.

Deputy Dave and his grand-nephew at Easter in front of our house.

In 2001, we purchased our land and bought a 30 foot RV with slide-outs. We situated the RV about three acres inward that had been partially cleared. This was thrilling!  For those long weekends on our property, we would be able to relax with a few creature comforts such as having beds to sleep on and a toilet! Yes, we have a septic tank --- we are no long city-sewer limited people.

Septic tank. Exciting stuff.

If we needed to talk on the phone, we had to drive to Highway 190 and sit in the corner store parking lot.

More than that, when we were on our land, if Deputy Dave was on the backside of the land and yelled, I would likely not be able hear him, nor would anyone else. It would be unlikely, especially if the direction of the wind was working against us.

Here is a little area we had previously cleared, but Mother Nature is ruthless and powerful. Ok, I love the baby pines.

The good AND bad thing about our land is that we have NO neighbors. No one to our immediate left. No one to our immediate right, no one across the street from our property and at the back there is a spring fed lake. Our acreage is tucked away in a forest and out of sight.

His favorite past-time.

Look around our lake. No neighbors in sight there either. Don't people like to live in the woods?

Spring fed lake directly at back of our property - we love it.

 One solution was to get high quality walkie-talkies. These helped tremendously as Deputy Dave worked on one side of the land and I was at the RV. Timed check-ins on the walkie-talkies do help you know whether everything is okay or not. I don't even want to think about the "or not" possibility. Eventually, we changed cell phone service to the ONLY provider who can offer reception on our land...AT&T.

However, we soon discovered that we could call 911 for an emergency, but our land was so raw that it did NOT have a 911 address. Without a "911 address" the emergency services we'd need would not be able to find us very easily. Not at all, especially not in the country.

Turns out, we learned that our acreage did not have a street address, it only had a "legal" address. I discovered this back in 2001 as I was trying to update my little black address book and discovered that I could not find a street address or a mailing address for our new property! What the heck? Didn't those come standard with any piece of property that you may have purchased?


Winter shot - one very large tree has fallen upon another. More yard work!

How did we get a 911 address? Well, you have to go to the Post Office and register for one. You sign up and you are set. After we registered, we were told that we could actually put up a mailbox! Like real country people with a real country address!
It's so lovely because our address is off of a FM road...a Farm to Market road. It is dreamy! My country address even has the word "FARM" in it!

By the way, in our area outside of Houston, we have very few Farm to Market roads. That's because there's no longer a need to take produce from the Farm to the Market. There's a Walmart on every corner and in between there are jam-packed stores of every kind. The farms have disappeared.


One of our private roads winding deeper into the property. Don't attempt
to drive this during the rainy season!

 We bought a nice mailbox and my husband installed a sturdy post, then mounted the box in a perfect spot. It was set back enough to let the rural mail carrier pull over enough to be out of the road.

Of course, we had no idea that people in the country on this Farm Road would be so bored as to take a bat to our innocent brand new mailbox. I think those bored people NEED to move to the city!

I now understood why people in the country have boulders surrounding their mailbox. Let those trucks hit a boulder before it hits the mailbox.

Better yet, build the mailbox INSIDE of a boulder!

I seriously considered pulling sniper duty with a paint ball gun for a few nights. I'd sit still among the trees, well, I'd TRY to sit still among the trees and wait it out with my face painted green to blend in with my element. I had to reconsider this mental picture of revenge because of bugs and night creatures. The paint balls would have exploded all over their extended arm as they were getting ready to pummel my mail box, I'd take perfect aim at their flannel-fabric covered arm, and I'd make sure to paint-ball their beloved truck. How do I know they are driving a truck? Well, surely it's a truck since everyone in Texas country owns a truck. After they are splattered with bright orange, green and yellow, I would be laughing so hard that tears would be rolling down my painted green "camo" face.

A city girl's camo.

Wouldn't that have been a glorious moment? It doesn't end there...

Then, I could put out a little sign next to my mailbox buddy the following day that says in big black letters, "Next time, those won't be PAINT-BALL bullets."

Oh well, it's a fantasy of revenge because it is so important to me to get all of my valuable junk mail.

Actually, my husband told me that those kids will grow up one day and have their own mailboxes vandalized and they will remember their own escapades. A new batch of teenagers will only take their place. These kind of things don't bother him much.

Why can't bored teenagers pull up to my lonely mailbox and jump out to plant beautiful flowers for me to suddenly discover in the morning light? I'd put out fresh cookies for them the next day, right on top of the mailbox. We'd all be happy and the world would be a better and brighter place with all those flowers and cookie-happy tummys.

Anyway, I'm happy to know that we have a 911 address and now the only problem is to make sure emergency personnel know where to turn --- in between all the trees. We have two entrances to our land from this FM road and we wouldn't want them six acres away from us on the other side of our land with a creek as a barrier in between us.

The "other" side.

A little trellis at the far entry solved this problem. Actually, I WOULD have told the 911 operator to have the emergency personnel turn at the entrance near the mailbox, but we know that won't be a land-marker.

See the trellis? We own the other entrance, but this is not the part of land where we often stay.

So, a 911 call will be like this...take the FM road a few miles and at the first major dip in the road, carefully look along the treeline for a trellis and make your turn. Go down our private road until it comes to a dead end and someone will be there to lead the way to the emergency location on the acreage. Oh yea, be sure to wear your hiking clothes.

At the FM road, so we better use a leash. Don't want to encounter another stray dog or perhaps...a jogger. Ha ha.

It's so weird because my friends here in the city tell me, "You're crazy for going out there to that land and to volunteer to be so isolated from all kinds of help!"

First of all, emergency services in the country are pretty darn good and fast. Just think, they don't have speed bumps or traffic to hold them back.

Don't blink or you'll miss the trellis!

I find it just as scary to live in the city and to see my husband go off to work every day in uniform which requires a bullet proof vest to be worn underneath. What kind of "safe" life is that? In Harris County? Let's get real now...I do love my home, but I'd rather be in the country. Very soon, we'll be able to live there full-time and it can't be soon enough for me!

Whether I am in the city or in the country, I have 911 available at my fingertips. And, if we ever had a need to dial 911 from the country, we probably won't be laying in an emergency room alongside mutiple gun-shot victims. Well, in the country your emergency room neighbors just might be splattered with the contents of paint bullets, but the rainbow boys will be just fine.

Teenage boys fishing on our lake. After we came out of the forest for a dip, they got scared and left. I wished they wouldn't have left because I'd rather them fish than be out with their bats having fun with mail boxes!
No, actually, I am sure these are good kids who were simply scared of the crazy city people known to own this land.

#10 - Will You Marry Me a 3rd Time?

This is unreal. There's no way that I have been married for almost 25 years, but I have. As our anniversary approaches, it hits me, I've been married forEVER. I'm 43 and will be married 25 years! But, the truth is, I love, love, love it --- most days...

For our 25th wedding anniversary, my husband and I are going to renew our wedding vows on our beautiful land. We'll be making a fresh start on our future farm land. In the middle of our raw acreage and the Piney Woods wilderness we still stand and recite renewed vows to each other with a few family members and close friends as witnesses. Since our land feels sacred to us, we can't imagine renewing our vows anywhere but in the midst of our towering trees, beside the running creek and with all of the birds singing a wedding harmony.

First, we'll need to remove the old rusty refrigerator that washed down the creek onto our land. That will make for prettier pictures.

However, the budget will be minimal, so this will take a lot of creativity. We'll not have a "pastor" to marry us. That's kind of silly since we're already married. Initially, we considered my brother conducting the renewal ceremony, but I think we could say our vows to each other without a pastor. I don't know.

Regardless, it looks like we're probably going to have a Redneck ceremony. We'll probably blast country music from the truck with the windows rolled down: we'll have sheets and blankets for people to sit on; we will have the BBQ pit fired up and cooking brisket while we're reciting our vows of renewal, and my bouquet will be made from the wildflowers available for picking on that day.

Mostly, we want to renew our vows to honor our marriage and to show our family and friends...

1) That we've made it this long together. In fact, we are as shocked as everyone who said, "It'll never last."

2) That we can love each other without a wedding ring. Our original wedding rings shrunk many, many years ago, so a few years ago we bought new ones from James Avery. But, they keep having to be replaced. Deputy Dave's went into the ocean along with a throw of his six foot cast net, and I nearly "lost" my ring after it mysteriously flew over our backyard fence into the neighbor's yard on one very special, intense evening. Good thing I have a sweet neighbor who gave it back. Whew!

3) That we have such a long history together and this includes two incredible daughters, lots of moving
around, too many dogs, and our exciting future building a farm while going through big-time circle of life stuff.

I wanted us to do something special for our 25th wedding anniversary. So, a few months ago I reversed rolls and got down on a knee to ask my hunky husband if he'd marry me all over again. He was so sweet and decided to live another day by saying, "Yes."

Actually, it was a very precious moment. We began talking about renewing our vows. It's something we had always wanted to do on our anniversary. We wanted to renew our vows on our 10th wedding anniversary,  and then on our 20th wedding anniversary, but both passed by too quickly and life got in the way. Now, in the blink of an eye, we're at the 25 year mark. We are not letting this one pass us by.

However, there is a complication...

On September 6th, 1986, my husband and I stood in a church in a small refinery town within Harris County outside of Houston and we pledged our love before God and all of our family. It was a beautiful wedding, but we were keeping a secret.


September 6, 1986...Our Wedding Day in a Church.

No, I wasn't pregnant! Here's the complication --- as we stood in church that day, we were actually already secretly married...to each other.

My family did not know, but a few months prior to the big church wedding and huge reception, we had eloped in a small town outside of San Antonio, Texas. Actually, we found a very, very small town on the outskirts of San Antonio and that's where we got married, in Cibolo, Texas. I had been 18 years of age for less than one month.


Here we are, eloping a few months before our church wedding.


Back then, this town had a posted sign touting a whopping population of 549! Salute!


City sign with a Population of 549 posted as of June 14, 1986, the day we eloped.

I was making the four hour drive, one way, nearly every weekend from the Houston area to San Antonio, just to be with David. I was only 18, but I'd been working since I was 16 at prestigious Rice University, which is located smack in the middle of downtown Houston and the Medical Center.

Daily, I was exposed to dignitaries, some of the world's most intelligent people and famous athletes. It was an exciting life for such a young girl, and I made an excellent above-average salary. But, I wanted to marry my childhood sweetheart who had just joined the military.


My husband and his buddy, Rex, on base in San Antonio.

 Just so it is clear, there was no way that I was going to not have a church wedding just because we had eloped. It was expected by me and my family. My family would have put a hit out on my husband's life if he hadn't married me in public, before God and in front of all our family and friends. They expected us to be married with the ceremony conducted by a respectable preacher in God's house. No negotiations.


In church being married.



At the J.P.'s office, but he gave us a Christian wedding, not secular. Thank God!

My husband was in agreement that we definitely should still have a church wedding, then we could have the relief of having our marriage be exposed! However, until we were married in church, we were NOT living together. We were secretly married, but nothing else changed in our lives, Except for my weekend trips to San Antonio, I still went home to my mom and dad's house to be a kid. I'd lay on the bed chewing gum while talking on the phone to my friends and listening to vinyl records in my bedroom. It didn't feel like I was married.

After we were married in church, I did feel married and we did live together.

As for eloping in Cibolo, Texas...How did we decide upon this very country place to get married you ask...or that I still ask myself? As for me, before our wedding day, I'd never been to this small town and I'd never even heard of this town with the weird name.

Being the mature kids that we were...we stopped at a phone booth where Airman Dave thumbed through the attached phone book to find a justice of the peace. Neither one of us knew the San Antonio area very well, we were only Houston savvy. He found a J.P. listed, so he dug in his pocket for some coins, made some calls and BINGO, we have a wedding in the making! Who would've thought that my military honey could be a wedding planner?

Panicked about not having anything to wear, my husband found a 1-hour dry cleaning service to clean my dress that I'd bought from Sakowitz. I wore high dollar clothes back then...before marriage, military life, kids, and chickens. I had worked that past Friday and had worn the dress. As I packed for the weekend to San Antonio, I shoved the dress in my overnight bag, just in case. We'd discussed eloping, but I didn't know if we would REALLY do it or not. My childhood sweetheart was not going to let our chance pass us by and since my dress was important to me, it was important to him. The dry-cleaning seemed to cost a week's paycheck! As it was being cleaned, we ate breakfast at Denny's.

Since then, every anniversary morning we go eat at a Denny's.

Eventually, we got on the road to make our way toward Cibolo. We were getting married. On the way, I sat in the passenger seat and prayed the entire way with eyes closed and head bowed. I could not be distracted. He respected me and gave me space and peace so I could be with God.

In Cibolo, we found the justice of the peace in a collection of old old cedar country buildings joined together just like in the Old West. One building had a sign that read, "Justice of the Peace," and next door was a store that had the signage, "Feed Store." That was it. How quaint. Truly, I was a tad frightened. For the most, the town was vacated long ago. This was a true rural town. I looked around and became more terrified, but my Airman smiled at me and the fear melted away.

One thing was for sure, we had grown up together and we knew, with all our hearts, that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.


A kiss in church.



A kiss at the Justice of the Peace.

Walking up to the Justice of the Peace front door, we noticed a hand-written sign that read, "You can find me next door at the feed store." And an arrow pointed the direction, just in case you couldn't find your way to the only other store in town that was in business. Wow. This really was a small town. I couldn't believe that the Justice of the Peace also ran the Feed Store. The main street in town was vacant, dusty and tumbleweed actually blew around in the street. Real tumbleweed.


Can you see the town looks abandoned?

 Our wedding day was simple, elegant, beautiful, and a young girl's dream...I had one of my best friend's from Rice University with me and I wore that CLEAN dress from Sakowitz that I loved so much and David wore his Air Force uniform. We were styling.


He's slipping the ring on my finger.



Here goes the ring moment again, but it's
even more special because our family and friends are there.

Looking back, I can see that we are going full circle. It's strange that we began our marriage in a small Southern town that was 100% country to find ourselves married for 25 years. And, these days, we partially live in the country as we anxiously look forward to settling down in our own wilderness to start a farm, very soon.



I am a happy Texas gal!

My complicaton is resolved --- we will renew our vows on the land in September, in honor of the 2nd wedding we had in a church. This time, we'll be standing under the God's sky instead of a man-made roof. I am ready for this one!

Plus, I'll be sure to "serve" Deputy Dave a heaping piece of wedding cake...stay tuned for pictures.

The love of my life. And, the love keeps growing deeper and deeper.

#9 - Can I Live in the Country Now Please?

Our Australian Shepherd is pretty awesome. This past weekend, we stayed in town and didn't go to the land because the kids were all going to be home for my birthday celebration. I have an awesome family and all of us have Australian Shepherds! So, when the company comes, my house fills up with large dogs as well. At least it's interesting! On Saturday, the group decided to make the short drive to spend the day at the beach in Galveston. Howdy was most happy because he was able to enjoy the freedom from our confined backyard in the suburbs.

Our oldest daughter is playing the "jump and catch"
game that I love to play with Howdy. Keep in mind,
Heather is nearly six foot tall. That dog CAN JUMP.

The beach is loads of fun, but Howdy truly loves going to our acreage. If we are getting ready to go to our future farm site, we start loading up the trailer with the Cub Cadet Lawn tractor (it fits in our garage) along with all of the equipment we'll need for the weekend and Howdy gets hyper because he knows it's a sign of where we are about to go.

If the backdoor of the truck is left open while we are loading up, he will jump in and we can hardly get him to jump back out, "Howdy, we aren't leaving for another two hours, get out of there!"

Howdy on our acreage during winter months...he's always got our back.

On the beach, Howdy's strong athletic abilities are evident. In the picture below, you can see his buddies are with him. Of course, our old gal Lyla is there too, but she's smart enough to sit inside her open-door kennel and enjoy the breeze. She says, "No jumping for me."

Howdy has two buddies with him in the shots below. Tux is the multi-colored Blue Merle Australian Shepherd and he is the entire reason I fell in love with this breed. He can jump, but not like Howdy - who you can see in the air. But, Tux has his specialty and it is speed. Incredible speed. That dog is faster than fast. The other little guy, the reddish Australian Shepherd is Dunk. He is actually one of Howdy's boys - literally, Dunk is a chip off the old block. He wants to jump, but he's still young and too timid.


My oldest daughter, Heather, and the three
Australian Shepherds on Galveston Beach this past Saturday.



Howdy's jaws are in business!

My future son-in-law, Henry, is tall enough to really play "jump and catch"
with Howdy because Henry is six foot five inches tall. This gives an idea
of how high Howdy jumps and NOT from a running start, this is a jump
from a sitting position. He launches himself upward to unbelievable heights.

Both of our dogs are incredible. But, Howdy is truly a fun dog. He's a gentle creature and has a natural ability to herd our chickens with sweet firmness. He is awesome with children and very intelligent; he learned at a young age exactly how to open doors. He is an indoor dog for the most part, but every now and then, when he needs to be outside for a short while, I must lock the doors to keep HIM out.

Howdy, the beach, farm, chicken herding, athletic, door opening,
kid loving, protective, loves-to-hug dog.

At our house here within Greater Houston, I had a chance to again see my Howdy in full protective mode. Just a few months ago, during daylight hours, I had a huge young man come to my front door. Of course, I did not open the stained glass door. We have solicitors every so often and I never open the door. I just look at them through the glass door, tell them politely, "I'm not Interested" and with a friendly wave, I turn around. It usually works because I am not interested.

But, on this day, I did this and the fidgety man only pressed closer against my glass door. He wasn't getting the message. The dogs at my feet had already judged his character to be sour. I told him straight up, "As you can see, I have guard dogs and cannot open the door and I'm not interested in anything you are selling."

My stained glass front door with a full side glass panel revealed this young, large man to be off his rocker. I was standing in the foyer of my home without a phone on me. Instantly, my dogs went into fierce protective mode. They sensed danger right away.

While rambling non-sensical words, the man brazenly began hitting my glass door and side panel with the back of his hand, hard enough to break it, yet it thankfully held. The front glass door was already cracked from Howdy jumping on it and my husband had put reinforcement plexy glass on the inside to protect it from breaking further.

I did not show intimidation and said, "I'm not interested in anything you're selling, you need to leave my property."

He was argumentative, and told me he wasn't selling anything. He had already been talking in an abnormal high pitched voice to my dogs, saying to them, "You guys would let me in, you'd be my buddy. You'd let me inside." To this, my dogs become highly agitated and I became very alarmed, yet I did not show it.

I was definitely creeped out. Now, I am ready to make the lunge for my gun, kept nearby. However, it was not nearby enough at that moment. Did I mention that I'm a Texan?

Well, my dogs were clearly NOT going to be his buddy. The hair along their spine was upright, their lips were rolled back and upward to completely reveal sharp teeth and their low growling, snarling and warning barks were not of a friendly nature. They were ready to do battle. Even my sweet Lyla is part boxer and she can go into ferocious mode at shocking speed, but only when she senses palpable danger.

Both dogs positioned themselves in front of me. Howdy's snarling jaw was pressed against the glass. My dogs were determined that this man would go through them before he got to me. They had no fear.

The man was rambling like a crazy person, telling me that he'd be able to stand on my porch at night and I'd not be able to see him at all and he began this wacko dance, jumping rapidly back and forth as if to "prove" his point. I carefully took a couple of steps backward just in case he propelled himself through the glass door. It was crazy. I knew deep within my soul that someone listening would tell me to turn and run for the gun or the phone, but my deeper instinct told me to stay put and stare him down. If I turned, I felt as if this guy's predator mode would kick in fully. I knew that I should not turn my back on this guy.

With my dogs making their intention clear, I stood my ground inside my home, with only bits of glass in between us and I stared back into his crazy eyes so he'd know that I was not playing games while I repeatedly kept saying in a clear, deep voice, "Get - off - my - property."

Finally, he gave me this perplexed expression, as if he second-guessed my determination and he ran off. At the time, I didn't know where he'd ran to because I was running the opposite direction for my gun. But he'd gone across the street to my neighbor's house.

Later that day, I'd discover what happened over there after my husband went around and spoke with the neighbors. Crazy man had gone straight from my house to our neighbor's house and he began another confrontation. Perhaps he was on drugs? This was another bad decision by crazy man; he'd gone straight up to the house belonging to another Sheriff's Deputy.

My neighbor did open his door and immediately told crazy guy to leave his property. He responded, "What you gonna do about it? Call the police?" And he stepped forward into my neighbor's face.

This is when the beautiful part comes...my neighbor was wearing "normal" clothes, for goodness sake, he was at home! But, fortunately, he was prepared and pulled his duty weapon from the back of his waist band and said, "I AM the police."

Meanwhile, back over at my house, in these brief seconds of time, I now had my 357 magnum in hand. Even though my body was severely shaking, I knew I would still be able to shoot a perfect shot, if needed.

Since I didn't know that crazy man was on my neighbor's porch, I was worried he might have gone round to the back of my house. I wasn't sure if he would try to come through the backyard, but I wasn't going to sit around to wait and see. I'm not that kind of woman. I'll take my chances head on instead of hiding in a closet like I'm in a horror movie.

The police station is literally around the corner, but I wasn't going to take a chance. I stepped outside onto my porch to look for him, so he could see me waiting, if he decided to return. Plus, I didn't want to be trapped in my house if he had gone to the backyard. However, I still could not see him as he stood on my neighbor's porch because it was tucked too far inward, out of my immediate view. Nevertheless, I would NOT be taken off guard. In our house, that's hard to do anyway, we are all well-trained, down to the dogs.

I didn't see him, so I stepped back inside and locked the door. At that moment, over at my neighbor's house, a gun met crazy guy's surprised face and this caused him to miraculously find a huge dose of mental awareness, enough to encourage him to high-tail it back to his van parked down the street with out of state license plates. He tore out of the neighborhood and no one could find the guy. All of this had happened in the span of only a few minutes, but it felt like an eternity.

My neighbor, also an FBI agent, stated that the man was definitely psychologically disturbed or on drugs and he had clear aggressive tendencies, possibly violent tendencies. He seemed to be trying to get into a confrontation, but he selected the wrong block.

But, I wonder...if this man had tried to approach a house in the country, I believe there would have been more than two dogs for him to confront and he would not have had the fortunate circumstance to have a glass door protecting HIM. As a Texan knows, the bigger they are, the wider the target.

Our neighborhood drama had just started. The very next day, a nice owner of the convenience store at the corner of our neighborhood was shot. The shooter ran into our neighborhood, was seen jumping fences and we were told by the police to stay inside our homes as police cars formed a barricade at each entrance and exit. Soon, a police-search helicopter buzzed overhead. After years in our neighborhood with relative peace, there was too much happening at once.

As I sat in my tidy house with all of my creature comforts listening to the helicopter circle overhead, I couldn't help but wish to be relaxing on our acreage and not care about the lack of air conditioning in the Texas heat.

In support of our neighborhood store, after the shooting, EVERYONE was showing their love for our local commerce owners by making a point in finding some reason to stop by the store. For a few weeks, you could not even find a space to park in the spacious lot. I was one of those people making a point to go buy something little. You don't have to live in the country to give and to receive compassion; it can be right around the corner in your part of the world.

A week after the shooting, I took a cut rose from my garden and told the recovering owners at the store, "Don't let a worthless punk ruin a great place with wonderful people." I went on to say, "There's always a bad one in the bunch, anywhere you go," and I handed him the rose. He was bowled over.

Store surveillance cameras caught the cold-hearted robber concealed by an over-sized hoodie holding up the store and the footage was played on every Houston news station. I felt so bad for the two men in the strip center who were accosted and treated like animals, dragged by the cuff of their shirt into the back room where the shooting occurred. They were brave men, relatives, and they went back to work right away. The one who was shot had his arm in a sling. Now, THAT is courage...WORKING for a living instead of stealing!

After these two days of unwanted excitement, to tell the truth, my nerves were frazzled. I know the world is full of punks, but when they show up on your doorstep, the battle-front is your home-front. Those who search for trouble just might find it.

Thankfully, my dogs are my faithful companions. Lyla and Howdy aren't my only protectors. There's also my little steel buddies, the bullets in my gun's chamber that I call "Hello and Goodbye." That's a bit of Texas humor, deadly serious humor. Okay, I'll stop, for now.

From now on, I go to the door Old West style, with a holster in place and a smile on my face.

Me and my oldest daughter, Heather.



Me and my youngest daughter, Stefanie.

My two protectors and empty-nest syndrome solutions!



#8 - Sexually-illiterate Farmers!

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to have my own chickens. If someone doesn't want chickens, I am slightly puzzled by their lack of chicken-love. Of course, when I was growing up, my mother didn't share my passion for chickens. My friends would not even discuss such a "disgusting" matter, and I didn't know anyone who even had a chicken. But, they sure looked interesting on t.v. and in books.

It's weird because my mother loved cooking eggs. She could cook every kind of international gourmet egg dish. No doubt, my mom could create Egg Heaven in your mouth.

Even though my mother could not be convinced to raise chickens, she understood the value of fresh farm eggs. For most of my childhood, she paid extra to have a small farmer deliver a large carton of eggs straight to our front door, every week. Often, I'd rush out of the house to meet the farmer at his truck built with special racks to hold rows of egg cartons. He was so happy to deliver his eggs and to know that we were enjoying them so much.

As a grown woman who still loves eggs, I often cringe when having to buy them at the local store. Nothing can beat the taste of a farm fresh egg. Even one day can make a difference in taste.

My own family loves eggs, but to tell the truth, it's my husband who makes the delicious egg dishes in this household. He can make a Quiche that's out of this world. But, guess who helped him make his first Quiche? Yes, it was my mother. My husband and my mother loved to cook together. Those two were such a delightful, happy pair in the kitchen! My husband was a natural good cook, but he learned a lot from my mother's old-fashioned cooking methods.

Today, I have chickens in my backyard. Finally! We bought them several weeks ago from a local Tractor Supply store, but they couldn't tell us the sex of the chickens nor the breed. The pen that held the chickens for sale simply said, "Pullets - Six Minimum." So, we bought seven and my husband hoped we'd get lucky with at least five winners.


A DREAM COME TRUE FOR ME!
A box of seven chicks!!

Me finally getting to hold a baby chick! If I can't be in the country
full-time yet, I will bring some of it to me in the suburbs.

A nice young teenager at Tractor Supply tried to help us pick out our chickens; he would gently dangle a chicken by the lower skull and he vowed that the sex could be determined by whether the chicken would "fight" with its legs slashing through the air to show it was a male or by a slow submissive, relaxed position to prove it is a female. At the time, we were very impressed with this young man's scientific method of "sexing" a chicken. Well, we have some chickens that are getting pretty big and even though I am definitely NOT an expert on chickens, it sure seems as if two look just like roosters!

X-rated warning alert for the following few paragraphs, but this IS a part of my Farm Life Lessons experience:

I still cannot get over the terminology of "sexing" a chicken. Somehow, every time the subject comes up, I feel as if I am listening to dirty words. I am learning.

City talk can definitely include a terrible mess of awful cuss words, but farmers and ranchers sure can talk about intensely personal details about very private matters. It's two different worlds. People in the city pay big bucks to have all of their domesticated animals "fixed." Country people openly discuss mating season.

I don't understand mating seasons just yet. A mating season would imply a "time-off" season for mating. Right? I can't even believe my own ignorance in this area, but sadly I am discovering that most of my fellow city residents are just as clueless. In fact, if I question them about their knowledge on the issue, they turn red and want to immediately change the subject. What? I was just asking about your thoughts on sexing?

I guess I will figure out down the road how many other farm animals must be "sexed." I don't want to even think about all of the other surprising farm moments that my disbelieving eyes will be exposed to. On that subject, I dread the day when I stumble upon my cute little farm animals...being animals. Augh.

Howdy the chicken herding dog.

Lyla, the surrogate chicken mama.

Since our first purchase of chicks, I've learned a valuable tip from an old ranch-hand about determining a chick's sex...it goes..."Bring the chicks home and patiently wait to see what you get."

I am also discovering that my family is farm-sexually-illiterate.



My baby holding one of the chicks.
I think she's a country girl at heart too, but she
will vehemently argue this point as she considers
herself a "city girl" through and through.

Early May 2011 - There's a rooster. At least one that we know of and
we don't really know of the breed names. A blog reader, Rae, has helped me in blog entry #6 to partly figure it out.

Garden Tub Coop for seven chicks.

We must be doing something right because we came home with seven chicks, so little and sweet. I was one dedicated woman - I gave up my huge, luxurious master bathroom garden tub for them to use as a temporary home for their first three weeks at the house. Of course, we had pine bark shavings to line the bottom of the tub with a heat lamp overhead attached to our camera tripod. Then, we moved them to a brand-spanking-new chicken tractor that my husband built from scratch.

Chicken Tractor designed and built by my handsome man!

They are living it up in
The Chicken Ranch!

Today, several weeks later, we have six chickens and one rooster, no, make that five chickens and two roosters, and they are still adorable! Since they are alive and well, we must be doing something right with our first go around with raising chicks. God must have been shining down on us because we only followed the directions on the outside of the Tractor Supply chick box and they still look pretty good!! Since I don't follow instructions very well, I appreciate the Tractor Supply store for their clear guidelines printed on the chick take-home box, and I thank God for sparing me farm horrors too early in my chicken experience!

Well, my Farm Life Lessons are just getting warmed up. I am trying to figure out what to do with my TWO adorable roosters so that they won't end up as part of a chicken Alfredo platter.

#7 - Our Land is a Sedative

Our acreage and future farm happens to be about 1 and 1/2 hours drive from our home on the bay side of Greater Houston. It's at a perfect distance. Kind of like a "Goldilocks" distance...not too far away, but close enough to make the trip easy, yet still feel as if you are a million miles away from it all.

David walking along the frontage of our property.

As we make the drive out of the Houston area to our land, we must drive through the heart of Houston. We take I-45 and merge onto the Pierce Elevated, which is a section of Interstate that is actually elevated above the regular roads and buildings below. Pierce Elevated cuts through part of downtown, so as you drive down Pierce Elevated, you are surrounded by towering sky-rises of downtown Houston and a couple of well established hospitals. High above downtown's ground level traffic chaos, you speed along without worrying about pedestrians or street lights and you get a great view of Houston.

On this part of I-45, we get to drive past by the hospital where I was born. St. Joseph's Hospital is still going strong. We see metropolitan high-rise living quarters, and I won't lie, I always feel the sting of jealousy. There's always been a part of me that would've loved to live in the downtown area, near the theater district. Here, I could leisurely stroll to a nearby cafe or go see a Broadway production...such awesome diversity. I would suddenly be propelled into the world of "you are so cool." Living in suburbia means you are a practical person, not necessarily cool. If you live downtown, age doesn't matter, you are ultra-cool. That's how it works.

David walking with his daughters in the heart of downtown. He's
taking us three ladies to lunch for Tai food. Yum.

My mental picture of living downtown is so dreamy...well, until the homeless guy is laying on the sidewalk outside the entrance to my home and I have to step over him to get to my door. And, until frequent downtown events create roadblocks that make it a hassle to get to and from my place, and then there's the 24-hour noise...Does it ever stop? This happens every time I mentally sort through all the big bonuses of living downtown, I am suddenly assaulted with harsh realities that show me that downtown living isn't for me. In theory, it sure sounds like fun, but not on a regular basis.

Mono-Rail speeds past my girls.

Still walking a few blocks. Too many choices!  But, David knows where
he's taking us for lunch!

Since our lifestyle does require frequent trips downtown, you don't want to know how many homeless people I've actually had to step over as they slumbered on the sidewalk. It happens. Or you might be walking toward your building and pass a street person in a heated battle, face to stapled poster face, with a telephone pole. It is never boring. Business women race from one place to the next with their pricey business suit and designer purses and walking tennis shoes temporarily in place so they can seriously tackle their lunch break. Every now and then, a man sitting on the corner will be playing his saxophone and I drop money into his instrument case. This is what I love when I am in Houston. Diversity.

My husband and daughters - we all know the city life so well.
It's a part of our culture; it's in our blood, but I've found the COUNTRY!

Whenever I get too much of a craving for downtown kind of life, I make a trip to Houston's Galleria, maybe check into the hotel that's inside the Galleria and get my dose of downtown. Just a little bit is satisfying, then I am ready to go. It's not something I want to experience long term. I get enough of it already. Every week, I live in a whirlwind splash of city life. It can be fun, but it can also create a lot of strain. I quickly get sick of commercialism and high-priced living. This is when I'm reminded that my land in the country is EVERYTHING the city is not. It is quiet; it is raw; it is without overwhelming man-made intrusion; it exudes a sort of regal kind of existence that cannot be duplicated by man.

If I don't get to be on my land frequently, I actually get depressed and have "nature" withdrawals that people around me can't really understand. Our land feels sacred to me, as if it helps to nourish my soul.

I know that people downtown don't want the ball and chain of yards to manicure, they might have their little patio and that's good enough for them. They treasure their limited, private outdoor space, if they have it at all. As for me, give me dirt! Lots of dirt! And, I must have trees. Large trees, small trees, and trees of all kinds. I have got to have my garden area where I can go pull off a fresh bell pepper to cook with dinner, and where we have ample room for the dogs to be dogs so I can laugh and play like a kid while throwing the ball as far as I can and watch Howdy sprint with his bunny hops to catch the ball. I get to sit back and enjoy the greenery. Sometimes, I throw out a bird seed mix, then I relax and watch all the different, beautiful breeds of birds fly down for a snack. Other times, I sit in my lawn chair outdoors and write in my journal. I've been doing this for as long as I can remember.

My soul craves wide open space, it allows me to take in a deep breath of air and be grateful that the air is not "cluttered."

David and the dogs headed into a part of
our land that is more dense with forest.

What is cluttered air you ask? Well, according to Lana, the less artificial matter around you, and the less cramped your living conditions, the less cluttered the air will be as well. It's an emotional, spiritual, mental kind of relief to be free from city clutter. In the country, it seems that the air is free-flowing and clean; you are not crowded, so you get non-cluttered air. In the country, it's easy to take in a deep breath of air and to take your time exhaling.

Area of land where Howdy loves to play ball.

My husband must drive into downtown every day. He works in the Harris County Criminal Courts building and is daily surrounded with the baddest of the bad in our county. This past week, he was in the front page of Chron.com, which is the on-line version of our newspaper. Here, in the on-line version and full print hardcopy of the Houston Chronicle this past week, a picture captures a bittersweet moment of my husband and his partner taking the convicted cop killer away after he received a 40-year sentence. The young cop who was killed in the line of duty, had a wife and two young daughters. One moment in time changed their world. Our family has grieved the loss of the young fallen police officer taken by this criminal.

My husband and his partner leading the convicted Cop Killer
out of a Harris County Courtroom. Bittersweet moment of great emotion.

Days like these make me REALLY want to move out to the country. Sometimes, I just feel as if I could run there and never come back to the city. But, I know that bad stuff happens everywhere. Still, it touches our home so often that I will be more than ready to focus on goats, chickens, a vegetable garden and a few head of cattle. My husband won't know what to do when he's no longer having to be on constant guard for himself and for everyone else around him. Yes, after living like this for decades, we're ready to live on a farm.

More than life at work, my husband's daily driving routine requires him to drive past refinery-land where explosions and dangerous chemical releases are a "normal" part of our world, then he drives over the intimidating 610 ship channel bridge that is under constant high surveillance to avoid a terrorist attack and all this is in combination with Houston's daily bumper to bumper traffic that can get snarly. My husband has made these drives more times than he can count. He knows Greater Houston so well that his "GPS" is the back of his hand!

The great part is...David is less than two years from retirement, so we are barely able to contain our excitement about leaving the Greater Houston area to live full-time on our near ten acres of land that we've been partially living on for about ten years.

On the weekends that we drive to our land, the towering buildings in Houston become tiny and tinier in our rear view mirror. As Houston shrinks from view, it seems as if invisible weights are peeling off of us. The further away from Houston we get, the less oppressed we feel. Maybe it's because the real world of bills, crowds, jam-packed neighborhood streets, and a world where people think success is reflected in what you wear, drive and where you lay your head at night is not our concern, at least for the weekend. Still we hold so much of Houston dear to our hearts, but I think we've seen everything, done everything and now it's time for us to move on. At least we are trying to do just that.

The sense of relaxation continues as we get closer to the Piney Woods. The highways are tree-lined with heavy forests of pines and it feels as if we are insulated from the rest of the world. Getting closer to our land, the roads narrow to two lanes with densely packed forest on either side; we are becoming more and more relaxed, feeling as if we could take a nap. Our muscles have jelled. Our breathing is slower. The world is at peace and our surroundings seem to be enfolding us into its resting arms.

For years, we'd travel every weekend to our property and my high-energy daughters would fall asleep once we arrived and they would sleep very hard, like babies. Both of them would tell me, "Mom, I don't know what happens, but when we come out here, I sleep better than ever."

Yep, there is a sedative quality to our land. I think it's just a typical sign that our life in Greater Houston is often too fast-paced and too stressful. Our culture has created a lifestyle that barely gives us time to sit back and we feel guilty about about taking a quick break. Convenience comes with added pressure for you to get out there and take advantage of everything at your fingertips. If we sit at home too much, we feel like a loser. The truth is, in the country, you might have less around you at your convenience, but there is still a lot to do. When you own a lot of land, it demands your attention, especially if a nice farm routine develops. You might have a large garden to tend and animals to care for; you probably will not find a day without chores needing attention, inside and out. On the other hand, when it's time to rest, you go sit on the porch and enjoy the view and take a break without the outside world screaming at you for more attention.

We are looking at a few considerations for the house we'll have built on our land. From various cabin-styles, to a rustic looking cedar cabin, we are still keeping our eyes open. But, we will have a metal roof. That is a non-negotiable, sure-fire requirement. I want to hear the pitter patter sounds of rain. I no longer want to insulate myself so much from the outside world that I can't even hear a rain drop. So my friends, I continue to look forward to the day when I can again hear the rain drops and not worry about a nearby chemical plant explosion or the trauma my husband must face after working with gruesome criminal cases. Our crowded city life is proving that I am needing to GET OUT OF HERE!

Until the day we can settle on our land full-time, I will enjoy my life in the Greater Houston area and be grateful. There's too much appreciation within me for Houston that can never be erased. But, I am a woman who has experienced great change over the past ten years. Since falling very ill in 2001, my perspective about life has changed and my idea of "home" has slowly evolved. I crave a more simple and natural lifestyle. And, I am learning that our land has the power to beckon me. It does, and I will one day sit back and enjoy it's embracing nature, every day of the week.





I love the rustic, inviting look of this cabin.

 

This is the kind of style that is appealing to me. Far from my
sticks and bricks huge home that I currently enjoy.

Gotta love that front porch. I will have lots of outdoor areas to enjoy.

I like the rustic feel all the way through.

The floorplan and ceiling is a start.