I just finished watching the democratic candidates debate the issues of the day.  I am going to confine my remarks to only one part of the debate.  The candidates were asked how they would solve the problem of the epidemic use of heroin by the youth in the states of Vermont and New Hampshire.

The time is November, 1961.  A new, wanna-be cattleman and his wife who would like to raise cattle and a family on a piece of land located on  the Little Cholame Creek in southern Monterey County, California are in the local title company office dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s that will make them the new owners of what will become The V6 Ranch in 1965.

I hope the exposé to follow will be helpful to those out there who have struggled with unreasonable fear that diminishes joy and quality of life.  I hope you will find comfort and strength from some of my struggles so that you might better deal with your demons.

I guess this is just one more part of my old body that these days thumbs it’s nose at me and makes me have to “go” at some of the most inopportune times.  I guess this is payback for all the times that I made you wait, dear bladder.

By the way, the name of our nation that I would like to preside over is Cholame (a Yokuts Indian word meaning “The Beautiful  One”). Add in a motto to live by– never yell whoa in a bad place– then throw in a song to brighten your day (Oh What a Beautiful Morning from the stage play Oklahoma) and you have my platform.

Today I came in touch with the latest that our tech  world has to offer to make my live easier or more complicated; I’m not yet sure which. I’ve heard of “drones,” but this is the first time I got to watch one in action.  John and Barbara Varian were hosting a week-long Photographic Work Shop at the V6.

I want to be either dead or alive.  The middle ground of life would be pretty boring.  That’s why I planted pistachio trees 10 years to full production and started a cow herd this past Tuesday.

Webster’s New World Dictionary defines magnificence as a state of richness and splendor.  Now I don’t know what I would find if I did a Google search for the definition, which I don’t know how to do anyway, so I’ll just stick with what Mr. Webster has to say on the subject.

I love words that draw pictures in my mind. As I lie here on my comfy mattress with memory foam that never forgets how a mattress should treat a fella, two words come bubbling to the surface of my consciousness: chaos and tranquility. Part of Mother Nature’s grand plan for governing our little speck in the cosmos is chaos and tranquility.

Of late there certainly has been a lot of print delegated to how much water farmers and ranchers use to provide town folks with three meals a day.  I think my urban friends who are suffering along with those of us in agriculture in this interminable drought are beginning to be inconvenienced enough to start lashing out at the hand that feeds them.

Reading from Bloomberg Businessweek: Last year, the federal government spent $3 billion putting out fires.  This is five times as much as 20 years ago.  California expenditures have doubled since 1998 to $1.6 billion.

Have you ever wanted to tell somebody something that you thought was important but your choice of words might fall short? Well that’s where I find myself right now. Trying to create a picture in the mind of others on how Mother Nature would like us humans to care for her planet Earth.

My dad upon seeing me and seeing I was non the worse for wear started to laugh and said “welcome to starting at the bottom.” The other parents also agreed that this was a right of passage. So ended one of many fond memories at Palo Alto High School.

In my view right now and all my days to follow, the safety freaks are at work right now snuffing the very life out of common sense. Whoever said that common sense was becoming uncommon more all the time has my vote.

I believe that the spirit of this agreement should address the goals to be accomplished and the methods used to accomplish these objectives. Upon the signing of the Conservation Easement, a vacuum was created by the fact that the Varian Family L.L.C. could no longer use the sale of a portion of the ranch in order to cure economic or family difficulties.

It’s time to head back to the ranch having washed myself in the  blood of the status quo, tasted candy at almost every booth to satisfy my sweet tooth and lubricated my conscious so that I won’t squeal to the world that there may be trouble in paradise.

Elise, the Borden’s cow, was the love able cartoon mascot representing Borden’s Milk Company of a bygone era. Elise has been around longer than we humans have, but her form was very much different. I believe her counter part was Dino the Dinosaur that four-legged, affable, slow-thinking, grass-eating machine.

My mother, Winifred Varian, was a prolific letter writer. She also spent the better part of a year taking a life time of family photos, letters, and memorabilia regarding my fathers early life, his years of being a pilot for Pan American Airlines and time with his brother founding Varian Associates, in its formative years and cataloging it all into 7 albums.

We lounged around for a while while my thoughts took me to how tasty a hard boiled Easter egg would taste, and if I was home it would be the last thing I would eat. Somebody yelled, “Its time to go!”