“It’s too hot to make a snake,” the ranch owner said, squinting underneath a large-brimmed canvas hat. I sighed. Thank goodness. It was only 9 am, and already the sun burned with an energy-sucking ferocity. On a visit to a Ramona ranch, a handful of friends and I found ourselves walking the newest addition to the property: the labyrinth. A tribute to the owner’s friend, the labyrinth was designed to look like a mother snake and a baby snake. Small plants lined the borders, but the area still resembled more garden patch than snaking labyrinth. Thankfully, the owner had pardoned us from volunteering on the ranch and lining the place in rocks -- we coast-dwellers would probably get heat stroke before we could lift a single pebble.
As we paced the labyrinth-in-progress, the four-leggers began congregating in the shade. We must have looked a little crazy to the horse, mini-horse, and donkey that were watching us. We were walking with no clear direction in the 95 degree heat, turning round and round and doubling back on ourselves in a fenced-in circle.
It was just the start of a little-bit-crazy, every-bit-wonderful tour.
After escaping the labyrinth, we caught our breath at a tree-shaded table. The animals nudged each other for a spot in the shade. My stomach felt a little fluttery because I’d never been so close to a horse before, outside of the fair. I could look into each eye: one brown, one blue. And I could back away when the horse began chomping an apple he’d fished from my friends backpack. Apple juice and horse-saliva dribbled down the table. The ranch-owner hosed it down, and threatened to spray the horses too! Instead they began lapping up the water on the table, like dogs at the water dish.
We left the horses at the watering table and headed to the house the ranch-owner was building. The wooden frame sat skeletal on a cement foundation - which we learned was the basement. A white metal door, bearing strong resemblance to a mini-fridge, was the only entrance into the space. Of course someone said, “Let’s go inside!”.
A minute later I found myself in the 5’5’’-tall crawl space, breathing cool, damp air and scanning for snakes in the corners. Through slits in the walls, bright noon light cut into the darkest recesses of the basement. It wasn’t so scary once I’d stood inside it; the dirt floor held not body bags but extra building materials. Still, I keep this basement in the back of my mind -- if ever I needed a post-apocalyptic bunker, this was it.
All of us reluctantly left the basement, back into blinding noon light. The highlight of my day was becoming acquainted with the ranch’s inhabitants. This includes not only the horses, and the donkey, but the two dogs, the delicate deer, the prickly hens, the dog-like goats which rubbed against everyone’s legs, the trio of tow-headed alpacas, and the very spunky peacock.
I thought it wasn’t a good idea to approach the peacock. The ranch owner said the peacock had followed people around before; he got a little aggressive. Fortunately, he was too concerned with strutting his azure and absurd plumage to pose a real threat. Against my better judgement, I inched a little closer and heard a strange sound: the sound of every one of his feathers, rustling and rattling against each other as he moved. I’m not sure if it was an intimidation tactic or simply an involuntary behavior, but it was one of the most unusual noises. And all I had to do was get a little bit crazy to hear it.
