Death In The Long Tomatoes…
The raucous life of a bachelor

Near mid October, I believe my hopes for peppers and tomatoes for the kitchen table have come to an end. I can’t bring myself to pick the last immature green bell pepper, or remaining green cherry tomatoes. Maybe tomorrow.

The homestead is overrun with squirrels this year. Not sure why. The usual population control suspects abound: fox, coyote, hawk, raccoons, and bobcat wander across the yard every night. A parade of small to medium size birds and mammals that usually keeps the squirrel and chipmunk population in check. So I’ve been taking up the slack with a 22 LR Winchester Ranger, Browning sent along for evaluation.

If I recall correctly, FN is the parent company of Browning and Browning is the importer of of record for firearms manufactured at various off shore facilities in various countries. The right to produce Winchester designs came with FN’s purchase of the Repeating Arms company. The use of the Winchester trademark is by license from the Olin Corporation, a U.S. company. The current Winchester Ranger is manufactured by Istanbul Silah – Turkey, as barrel stamped. A whirling dervish of multinational incorporation.

My early experience with Turkish firearms was not great, so expectations prior to use were low. Happily, not at all the experience with the Ranger. Adult size, with a 13″ LOP,  the receiver is hard anodized aluminum, the rest of the metal is steel, all metal is matte black. A button rifled 20″ barrel, a tick over 5 lbs in carry weight, the stock is a very nice tight grained dark walnut. The rifle holds 15 rounds in its tubular magazine or, for me, approximately 12 squirrels worth of ammo. The Ranger features one screw takedown for cleaning.  I think the $449.99 MSRP is about right for the gun delivered. No, I don’t do reviews anymore and, no, I don’t get a free rifle, but I don’t mind commenting on a quality firearm.

The morality of shooting squirrels. I guess it depends why they are shooting

I have no problem shooting squirrels where legal and where they have it coming. To me they are bushy tailed rats and the source of lots and lots of expensive to repair damage to structures. Before winter, or at least first snow, I need to get up on a twenty five foot high, twelve pitch roof and repair a roof ridge cap a squirrel decided to pull open. In this case, I will have to trap the pernicious little…. before closing up the cap. I don’t shoot rifles up into the air and yell “Incoming” to my distant neighbors. So it will have to face incarceration, but it will surely be fox food before it can go back to its marauding ways.

At this point in this post, some folks are already screaming and pulling their hair out. before skewering me on social media, reporting me to twenty seven quasi government animal protection organizations, or directing ANTIFA to my door. To them, the squirrels are entitled to my home and big screen as the aboriginal inhabitants of my land. Not sure if that reaction is generational, geographical or cultural.  I don’t care. I think nothing of violating the sanctity of life to pop a squirrel. Would I do the same to an elephant, Cape Buffalo, or Lion? I would not, but I have not had any of those species chew through my home’s roof ridge cap. If they did, all bets would be off.

Long days. Work is good for the soul. The mind wanders.

Life, living and home upkeep have a natural rhythm that does not subside as we grow older. I’ve come to accept there will not routinely be a housekeeper, gardener or handyman in my employ. Consequently, mornings begin early, evenings end late, and there is more to do than I can get done, in the time between.

This morning began with loading twenty five, forty pound bags of lime and half a dozen bags of garden soil into the tractor bucket, riding back to an out of sight storage area, and offloading the bags to pallets. I needed to clear the original stowage area to make room for stretch wrapped tractor attachments, the ones that won’t fit into the garage over the winter, and to set up a staging area for firewood cut and split earlier this year.

Next up was getting insecticide on the exterior of the shop, four feet up from the ground and overhead soffits. Forty five or fifty pounds of liquid in a manual pump backpack sprayer, which I am sure would be a light lift for you young men and women. But when you’re at circling the drain age and climbing over uneven ground and through dense sapling growth… I kept thinking I was going to misstep and turtle, then remain there for the winter. Grunting and groaning, I finally finished and took a break to detick.

The final task, one I had put off for some time, was excavating about fifteen linear feet of French drain. It had been pushed up to the surface of a graveled drip line by seasonal ground form changes. Up against the house and behind a tree and rose bushes, on hands and knees, garden spade in hand… Done. I set of inexpensive Bluetooth headsets, and a good selection of music on my iPhone, got me through the monotony of the task.

That was it. I hosed the tractor down and put it and other gear away and headed for the shower. You get older and life changes; activities, responsibilities and purpose. It just seems important to retain all of those things, regardless the forms they take. For some of my old friends, who are also widowed, that apparently means finding a woman who will have them, lots of beer and barbecue, and more than a little casino gambling. Whatever works.

Evening relaxation

Did not touch a phone all day. Did not watch the news. In fact, no TV at all, and forgot to stop for lunch.  Comfortable, scrubbed and exhausted, a slow cooker filled with “Whatever ingredients are around” chili seemed a good idea. So a bowl full at 10 PM will work, and onto a good night’s sleep. Morning won’t be far behind.