Ice on Ruby this morning, wipers frozen to the windshield, but Bar made it alright to work. Only a few icy patches in the highway before she got there.
Forecast snow didn’t materialize in our portion of Neely’s Canyon. Consumes about eighteen acres and all densely treed so hard to tell about elsewhere. Twenty-nine degrees at Camp Mabry at 8 a.m., probably cooler in the canyon.
At least we haven’t planned on it. Haven’t bought any candy at all. Though I’m sure some young children live in the Neely’s Canyon condos, we don’t expect them to show up tonight.
Trick or treaters were diminishing each year at Rancho Roly Poly, from little ones in store-bought costumes in the early years to teenagers often with no costume, just a hand out.
We could discourage them by cutting off the porch light. Here we can’t control the front door light, which cuts on and off only in response to motion or the lack of it.
Sennacherib, that is, a rare reader and commenter, looking remarkably chipper for being several thousand years old. He had visited the old Rancho earlier and he wanted to see the new mini-rancho. Liked it, or seemed to, mini as it is.
As usual he told us a lot of tales of when Austin was young, not so long ago actually, about seventy years. Turned out his Austin father owned a masonry company and Barbara Ellen’s father was a mason. But they soon figured out that bit of synchronicity went nowhere as BE’s dad worked for other companies but not that one.
Alas, his highness was unable to answer the high dollar question: Who is/was the Neely of Neely’s Canyon? As in Neely’s Canyon Condominiums. Google has nothing. It’s still a mystery. Surely it was not some developer’s name as the condos were built thirty-nine years ago by Larry Peel. Might have been any landowning Neely of the late 1800s, his excellancy surmised, a time when just about every piece of terrain in this part of Texas acquired a name.