Medicine

 The trip originates in the suburbs, and I take pains to use the back roads out of town. 

After thirty minutes, the master planned neighborhoods thin out, replaced by 1-10 acre "home sites". I fight he urge to speed. 

At about the 50 minute mark, I begin to pass actual ranches....the Rocking S, the Diamond D, Twin Mountain and the Drop Tine. My pulse slows, and the pressure on the accelerator eases just a bit. The tension in my shoulders begin to ease, my breathing downshifts. 

 

I begin watching passing license plates of those in a bigger hurry than I am, wondering where their journey is taking them and why. I wonder if people look at my plate when I pass them...for some reason looking at one another's plates reminds me of dogs sniffing each other's butts, and that makes me laugh.  

After an hour I roll through small town. I stop to buy 400 pounds of corn for the feeders, and top off the truck's gas tank. 

Westward, the vista begins to open. Rolling hills and valleys, some covered in juniper, others manicured, with some live oaks and grass. The hilltops here are not clustered with McMansions, just an occasional house or outbuilding with more four legged inhabitants than two.  

Apaches and Comanches used to fight each other for this land, then they fought the Europeans. This  arrowhead found me while I was bow hunting a few years ago. Who made it and how they lose it?

 

 The land in this county is often rocky, and usually dry in August (like this year). It is also prone to flash floods when a sudden storm makes an appearance. It's a tough place to make a living from the land. I admire those that do. 

At about the 90 minute mark wind turbines begin to appear; recent arrivals to the area in the last 3 years. I like the idea of mining the wind,  and I am glad the landowners have another revenue stream. But they sure don't improve the view. I can't pass one without thinking they are sentinels from  "War of the Worlds". 

Thirty minutes more and I am at the big gate to the ranch we lease. It tops a ridge with a panoramic view. Sunsets here are gorgeous.

The sheep dog barks at me - he isn't friendly, nor is he aggressive. Aloof is more fitting. He seems out of place to me, more at home with sheep than with other dogs or people. Satisfied he has protected the her from me, he moves on.

I get to my section of the ranch, fill feeders and adjust the timer. I pull camera cards and replace them, and add fresh batteries. It is uncharacteristically calm today, so there is no noise from the turbines to the north and south of my stand.  I am the only person on at least 1850 acres. I allow myself the illusion of owning the place - feeling like I have a stake here. 

My pace is slower on the ranch, more purposeful. Many years of westerns fused into my DNA cause me to adjust my stride when boots and a Stetson go on. Care is taken when I place my feet. Rocks are ever-ready to roll an ankle, and we have the occasional rattler or copperhead to keep us alert. 

The ranch is a tonic for me, whisking me from the virtual world of flat screens, social media, and smart phones to a physical one. Where putting in a day's work results in having something tangible to show for it, not a tick mark on a spreadsheet. 

Some days, like today,  that is the only medicine I need.