Back at the ranch

I arrived home after three weeks in Utah, and dumped the contents of the large suitcase into a smaller bag.  And we were off.  Off to Julian, a little community in the hills to the east of San Diego, on a planned trip to a farm with the grandkids.

Our first visit to the farm in Julian

We’d been there before with the older two.  This was going to be our first overnighter with the Mouse, who is now nineteen months old. 

And Mom was right.  Nothing is as good the second time as the first time.  We repeated the trip to the Eagle Gold Mine.  We walked up a dirt road.  I don’t remember it being so far when I wasn’t pushing a stroller.  Or as “up.”  Our guides looked a lot like Darryl and his other brother Darryl from the Bob Newhart Show.  I think between the two of them there must have been a total of three good teeth.  But you could hardly tell with the long white beard.  When a bat flew overhead, Darryl #1 said, “Oh, that’s just Mr. Batty.”  Darryl #2 ducked, and said, “No, that’s a really big one.”  Thank heavens the kids were too busy exploring to hear.

I’d wanted to capture some photographs of our adventure at the mine.  Only I left my cell phone and my camera in the car a mile down the road.  But never fear.   I’m not one to be easily discouraged.  (We came back the next day and retraced our steps for a third golden attempt at fun.)  After all, loads of bad photographs are my forte.  I didn’t think my pictures could get any worse, until I dropped the camera and broke a little chip off the latch holding the battery.  What do you know?  Another use for duct tape.

Since there was no television at the farm, we shared bedtime stories earlier than usual.  I soon found out the Mouse likes to sleep diagonally.  In order to make sure Grandpa was comfy, I hugged the edge of my side of the bed, nearly toppling off to the floor.  It was all worth while; the Mouse rolled over in his sleep and wrapped his arms tightly around my neck.

Early the next morning, we revisited the animals at the rescue farm.  The goats were greedy as usual, the pig a little older, fatter, and blinder (that’s what age does to you), and the bunnies cute as ever.  “Remember when you fed the horses?” I asked the Worm.  “You wouldn’t stop offering them carrots.”  One mare had snorted loudly.  The horse’s lips fluttered against each other blowing air out between its teeth.  That meant the mare was full, I’d surmised and told the Worm we needed to leave.  She’d gazed at the horse standing near and then pointed at another one.  “Well, can I feed him because he hasn’t,” she said, giving the raspberries to match the horse’s, “yet?”

The Worm and the Bug stuffed the horses again with carrots and hay.  When I convinced them that the horses had their fill, the Worm was slow to leave.  “Grandma,” she said, the horses are saying they don’t want me to leave.” 

“Come on,” I coaxed.

“Don’t leave,” she whinnied.  She’s pretty good at talking “horse.”

The Mouse wasn’t too keen on the animals up close and personal.  Maybe the return trip wasn’t needed.  Hs favorite pasttime was throwing rocks.  I could have packed him up, headed for the quarry twenty minutes from home, and he’d been perfectly happy.

“Don’t tell my mom,” the Worm instructed on the way home, “but I like you two heartbeats better than her.”

I knew that probably wouldn’t have been true if I hadn’t thrown a farm, a gold mine, jumping on the bed, a Mickey Mouse pancake breakfast, fudge, the movie Dolphin Tale, popcorn, soda, and a stop at pumpkin patch with a bungey jump and a bounce house into the mix.

Related posts:

1. Serenity Park
2. Play it again, grandma
3. A winter’s day in California with grandkids
4. Skipping stones and other stuff
5. Perfecto Mundo