My Oddments

I believe Rancho Reubidoux is a special place — a place where things happen like nowhere else.

Some examples …

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It’s a completely gust-free, still-as-a-graveyard Sunday morning. And on the back slope, the flamingo face blooms of a San Pedro cactus appear to be blown due south.

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On the D.G. berm, a chubby E.T cracks a goofy smile … perhaps remembering the rough sidling it endured in its former life as a hog oiler.

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What unseen — unheard — cue caused my front planter’s living succulent finials to triple in size seemingly overnight? They’re not talking; too busy sending fleshy feelers skyward.

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It’s late afternoon, and against the wall of the back shed stored wooden posts wait. Previously porch supports, they’ll one day perform a new function at the Rancho. Oh, and there’s an egg head.

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None-too-pleased by its current role as avian evacuation station, my mid-century hanging planter upchucks expressively. A nice exfoliation should turn that frown upside down.

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Weird little moments to be sure, but I hate to think what I’m missing while I’m away at work or running around …