Retirement Redefined

Machine Against The Rage Part Deaux

I had a really welcome epiphany recently. I was dealing with the Ranch Crisis Du Jour—I can’t even remember which one, as March has been particularly fraught and Money Pit-ish—when I had a grim thought: I’m never going to get ahead.

That thought was not the epiphany. The epiphany came when I stopped myself and very deliberately asked, “Get ahead of what?”

The surface answer is, of course, rooted in finances. I can say with deep confidence that, unless and until I sell this place, there will be no cushion in my bank account, nothing to “fall back on” in case of emergency, and thus no getting ahead financially. The sort of getting ahead that would, say, allow me to take a proper vacation, cover ongoing expenses with ease, spring for surprise expenses without too much pain, and, you know, exhale.

But then the reframe hit me. And here I’d like to take a moment to offer thanks to the stranger on TikTok who made one of the best reels I ever saw. He was sitting in his vehicle one minute, laughing and breaking down the fourth wall, conspiratorially telling us home viewers he was about to teach his kids a lesson because he was tired of them bitching that he “never bought them anything.” Cut to: he’s in the house applying gift wrap and bows to the TV set, the refrigerator, the washer and dryer, etc. As in, “Hey kids? All this shit you take for granted? It’s a gift to live in a nice house with all these helpful machines that are also gifts.”

Thinking of him reminded me that I actually am ahead. Way ahead. If not financially, then in so many other ways. Just being here, getting to live in nature, surrounded by animals—this puts me so far ahead of so many others. I don’t mean that competitively. I mean like this opportunity I have is the sort of thing other people dream about when they imagine their own version of “getting ahead.”

Because it really is paradise here. Sloppy, messy, crisis-ridden, cash-suck paradise. But paradise nonetheless. My paradise. Paradise made better when I share it with others, which I do often.

I realized I’d had some subconscious unrealistic script running in the background suggesting that one of these days I’d come to a good tipping point, a time when I was bringing in enough to cover expenses with a little leftover for frivolous fun. The epiphany changed that up. I needed to start seeing living at the ranch as the fun gift it is. Whistle while you work and all that.

To be clear, I’ve always managed to have fun out here. But often enough, overwhelmed by yet another broken fence, busted pipe, or missing cow (back when I kept cows), I couldn’t always get present enough to appreciate what was right in front of my face, just like TikTok man’s kids failed to see their washing machine for the stunning gift it is.

So, yeah, it finally dawned on me that the vague and unrealistic money aspirations I had been harboring? Time to let that shit go. I already am living in abundance. Now, everything I look at here, I see as if it were wrapped in the fanciest paper and tied with real silk and satin bows.

Okay, maybe not everything feels like a gift. Just this month the water main, Old Unfaithful, snapped in half up at the road, another costly gusher; my roommate’s ancient plumbing finally gave up the ghost and I will have to tear out his tub and replace it entirely; there were substantial goat-related vet bills; and a mini-split unit in the tiny cabin shit the bed (twice).

There is also all the physical labor, which comes at a different cost—the tossing of hay bales and fifty pound sacks of feed on the regular. My capacity to accomplish such tasks is diminishing with every passing year. The last time I went to buy feed, a young clerk asked if he could load it into my truck and, to my surprise, I heard myself say, “I won’t say no to that.” I can still do it, but it is getting noticeably harder.

Last summer, I wrote a piece called Machine Against The Rage, about how I had taken to aggressively mowing my front ten acres with a finicky electric push mower fond of crapping out every five minutes. Despite this challenge, I really, really got into mowing. Sloppy mowing. Big swaths zigzagging across the lawn. I was far less concerned with aesthetic results and more intent on freeing my mind of a particular torment eating away at it. The mowing really helped.

But the task was Sisyphean and eventually, as happens every year, I had to call a friend with a tractor to come do a big mow, go to the far reaches, lop away at the high grass and make it more manageable, less inviting to rattlers. This typically runs me $800-1000 a pop, which might make you gasp, but—trust me—is the bargain friend rate for a full day of work in the blazing Texas sun.

In the big picture, a good solution to this annual breathtaking expense would have been to buy a rider mower to replace the last rider mower that died not long after Bob did (possibly died from missing Bob, who rode that thing daily and kept the place looking like Arlington cemetery). In the small picture, I didn’t have $3,000 lying around to make such a purchase. Also, in the past two years I have worked very hard to gain some financial skills I should have learned decades ago. Consequently, I’ve been steadily chipping away at my debt and my improved habits left me totally opposed to putting a new mower on a high interest card as I did with the first one. I accepted that I would just have to keep push mowing.

Then, amazingly, Tractor Supply ran a special sale on rider mowers. Zero percent financing, spread out over many small payments. So I got one. I now have the ability to do all of the mowing, the money I save (not) paying my friends with tractors will cover the cost of the mower, and I won’t wind up paying three times the original cost by the time it is paid off.

Tada!

Though I’m in my sixties, I rarely feel as grown up as I felt making that smart choice. When the mower was delivered I vowed to treat it more gently than the last one. Day one I rode the thing like a slow boat to China, watching for rocks and logs, stumps and holes. I did, I thought, a decent job of it. I briefly approached a Zen state. I was very pleased and vowed to adopt Bob’s habit of constant mowing.

Only the next day did I notice that, in my efforts to avoid the aforementioned pitfalls, I completely failed to pay attention to my most thriving crop: mesquite. I spotted a large thorn protruding from a half-deflated back tire. Without thinking, I did the old Excalibur routine and extracted it. If air were blood, that thing would have been gushing like the Black Knight in the “it’s just a flesh wound” scene in The Holy Grail. Lesson learned. Leave the puncturing culprit in place so you can find the hole later.

Fortunately, right after this foolishness, I had breakfast with a friend who loves tools. She showed me a photo of the exact kit I needed to plug the tire and offered a little verbal coaching. I felt reluctant at the prospect and, all my rampant feminism aside, honestly I just wanted to call a man to fix it. Instead, I watched a few videos, made a couple of false starts, noted that it seemed very counterintuitive to repair a tire by plunging a sharp object into it (to clear out, widen, and prep the hole for plugging it turns out). Eventually though? I got it.

I was showing off my newfound tire-plugging genius to another friend when we noticed that by now the two front tires were flat. Of course they were. Honestly, I’m shocked that the one unflat tire survived unscathed. Noting the number of thorns in the front tires, and going against the advice of yet another friend, I decided to go the Slime route, Slime being this miracle acid apple green liquid that magically patches holes from the inside. After watching still more videos, learning how to pull a stem valve (a what?), and Sliming the crap out of those tires, I was pleased to note both were (are!) holding air just fine.

I feel like I just advanced a level in my video game. Not just in my newly acquired tire-fixing skills. But also in my newly adjusted attitude. I’m slowly getting the hang of moving from observing a problem to solving it without giving in to my lifelong tendency of filling the space in between with panic and defeat. I’m reminding myself that once I do solve a problem, it feels really good, which means, among other things, since the ranch presents endless problems, I have endless opportunities to (eventually) feel good. There have been so many days here that have been so hard. But so far I’ve managed to keep this leaky ship afloat for going on ten years.

That in itself is a wonder, a version of staying ahead. Something to remember the next time a hose bib blows and offers up a redneck Bellagio display, or an AirBnB guest has a psychotic break and calls the cops on himself, or a goat presents symptoms I’m convinced means a rabies outbreak. I’m going to give thanks and remind myself that while I might never get to retire the way some people do, as long as there is mesquite to be run over, I will always get to enjoy re-tiring.

JOY & BEAUTY DEPARTMENT

This week I baked Pascal whoopie pies. I enjoyed seeing Spring springing everywhere—those goslings at Barton Springs were just tiny fluff balls a couple of months ago. And I performed a couple of wonderful weddings. At the wedding held at the ranch, I got to chatting with the brother of the groom—he spends his Saturday nights on 6th street dressed as a Jedi. He breaks up fights and escorts solo women to their cars. It was a truly unexpected and delightful conversation.

I just read this deeply thoughtful and touching piece by Peter Rothpletz. Hopefully this gift link will get you past the paywall.

NOTES:

Thanks for reading y’all. If you can swing a paid subscription, I hope you’ll consider that. For the next week or two I am offering an annual subscription rate of $30 —that’s a whopping $20 off the regular annual rate. Such a bargain! And your support helps so much—seriously, if you subscribe it’s like YOU ARE A RANCH HAND.

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