"My Dad knows how to do everything"

“My Dad knows how to do everything,” I declared to my sixth grade class. My Dad would help out anyone that came over to the house with something that was broken and he could figure out how to fix it. At the Saratoga House Dad had a metal shop, carpentry shop and a hot rod shop all squeezed tightly into the large garage. He would saw, screw and weld to manufacture just the right widget to fix the problem. When I was little I had a little game, I would ask Dad questions to see if he really knew how to do everything. “Dad, do you know how to fix a toilet?” “Yep” “Do you know how to ride a horse?” “Yep.” “Do you know how drive a Tractor Trailer.” “Yep”
Finally I asked the question about something he didn't know. “Dad, Do you know how to fly a helicopter? Not really, I did sit in the co-pilot seat and I got to work the controls, but I have never flown one by myself.
Dad has always been very good at involving us boys at learning how to do things, whether it was doing carpentry, rebuilding an engine, raising chickens or growing a garden. He wanted to make sure we knew how to do lots of things. An early photo shows me as a toddler helping my Dad sand the Jeep and prepare it for a new paint job.
Thanks Dad, For All You Do and Happy Father's Day

A Homestead in Saratoga Too

I am going to expand the meaning of Hale Ranch to not only mean the San Martin ranch but also our homestead in Saratoga, California. On our suburban residence we raised quite a few animals. Morris was a Cocker Spaniel mix who wasn't just a pretty little dog, he was a noisy watchdog too. We raised rabbits for years and had so many litters of bunnies. I think Ed and I learned about the birds and the bees from Dad's lessons in animal husbandry with those rabbits. We put our heads together and realized we had raised over 400 rabbits over the years. Every season we started with 24 chicks and we quickly learned how cruel chickens can be. The chickens would attack the weakest chick, pecking its head, neck and body for two or three weeks until it finally died. The chickens would then pick the second weakest one and peck at it until it too died. The cycle would continue until there was only about 15 or 16 left at the end of the season to turn into frozen chicken dinners. To this day I still have a hard time eating a whole chicken and picking the meat off the bones.