#and i think gale likes tyler childers

[bcolfanfic]

also this is random but young vets!au bucky loves zach bryan. i said so.

[garykrepak]

(In Garrison Keillor’s Voice)

“It’s been an exciting week at KW Ranch.

It started out with Gary, meeting his Dad and accepting an Act of Donation from him. The old family pirogue changed hands in his wife’s law office that morning.

This little boat, hosted many memories of his childhood and teenage years. Hunting and fishing in their local lakes and bayous. It is now Gary’s to do the same for his sons. Having been inspired to go fishing. He left the office, fishing gear already in his truck, to seek out a place to fish.

He happened upon a large watery river park that had been closed for several years and found its rusted, long shuttered gates, wide open and welcoming.

He drove into the park, noting an absence of signage prohibiting entrance, he assumed that since he was a tax paying resident of the town, he figured he owned a 1/196,000th stake in the park anyways so, he drove in cautiously, carefully.

Slowly, he descended the concrete path into the park, by the overgrown picnic grounds and through yet another, wide open span of steel bars seeming to gesture a welcoming entrance into the Alluvial flood plain the city had long ago abandoned its attempts to maintain as a public park. The concrete path before him was covered in the debris of departed floods of the adjacent river. He drove into the park, the formerly clear views of the oxbow lakes, now obstructed by dense thickets of tall grasses. Slowly, he made his way around the park, his truck being swiped at each side by the encroaching bamboo and overgrown trees and avoiding the felled trees partially blocking the paths.

He got an odd feeling that he wasn’t REALLY, supposed to be there. That, whomever had opened the normally locked gates, may have locked him inside. He opted to drive out and park outside of the open gates.

He fetched his rods and tackle box and made his way to the heavily weathered fishing pier and made an hours long attempt to catch something. A middle aged couple arrived on scene. Also, curious as to why the gates to this seemingly abandoned park was left open.

They exchanged greetings and left.

Gary, having exhausted his arsenal of shallow water summertime lures with no success, packed up his gear and walked up the hill to find the gate locked.

Tuesday, news of Tropical Storms Laura and Marco, were all over the news. Their forecasted paths, having them threatening his state. Concerned for his homes and his business. He opted to immediately set into action with preparations. He loaded up Johnny and June, his three and a half month old Bassett Hounds, into his truck and made way to KW Ranch. They listened to the sounds of The Cactus Blossoms, Tyler Childers, and Hank Williams as they went.

Upon their arrival, June, popped up and began eagerly barking and wagging her tail in excitement. For this is their happiest place.

Gary opened up the basement and allowed the puppies to run and explore their big playground. He had work to do.

Two quickly developing storms were coming and he was certain that one, of not both, would result in a deluge for which their home was not yet prepared to handle in its current state of restoration. The basement is an odd feature, unusual for homes in the area. It’s builders, were from the north. This basement was currently prone to allowing seeping a Ayers to enter it from the surrounding soils.

Gary had a plan for that.

If the soils couldn’t be saturated in the first place, then there wouldn’t be water seeking a path to drain from them to begin with.

He had a number of very large tarps folded up in the style of a ship’s sails stowed away and had an idea.

He gathered up the tarpoleons and took them outside and up the hill. Where, he would spread them out the length of the house and a twelve foot depth. He carefully spread them out and placed heavy pavers and cinderblock to weigh the drops down. For, a dual threat of gales was approaching.

As he was placing the very last pacer weight, he felt a pain on his leg. Followed in rapid succession by a long series of pains.

Upon placing his last bit of tarp, he had unwittingly disturbed the largest yellow jacket colony he had ever seen. The striped mass of miniature minions of Hell had stung him no fewer than sixteen times before he could move. In an ever louder, growing cloud of yellow and black denizens has swarmed him and were now, stinging his puppies, who had been faithfully at his heels the entire time he worked. A couple of yelps and he was enraged. He was ready to burn the house to tne ground if that’s what it took to bring about the region extinction of these flying agents of Beelzebub from the planet at large.

We can build more houses.

These bastards MUST DIE.

For stinging his babies.

He gathered his senses and remembered a large purchase of wasp spray the previous year. He ran to basement and instead of returning with diesel fuel and a rag, he began assaulting the airborne agents of Lucifer with massive discharges of the neurotoxin. They fell instantly upon exposure: almost audibly anguished in their deserved suffering. They fell, one by one, writing and quivering like miniature heroine junkies that are six hours late for a fix. Shaking, doubled over on themselves and vomiting whatever their tiny Ontario’s contained. All the while, instinctively discharging attempts to sting anything touching them as their nervous systems slowly, mercilessly robbed them of their lives.

At that moment; another squadron of these avian pestilence arrived on scene. Seemingly aware of both the suffering of their comrades and of their assailant. They stung him several more times as he rearmed himself with another can poison.

Two more yelps from the puppies. They were low to the ground: seemingly attempting to gain entrance to an entrance to a lair now concealed by a sheet of woven plastic sheeting covered in toxins and concrete pavers. Some two hundred of these bi-chromatic Arthropoda were dispatched before Gary noticed his legs were swelling and his back and chest were burning from the combination of vespatian poisons injected it o his skin and the salt of the sweat pouring off of him.

His enemies vanquished. He continues working. He had a whole shop to prepare for a potential natural disaster: and a load of tools to load into his truck to prepare for cleaning it up afterwards:

And, to keep them safe from ant floods or tempests that may blow the way of their ranch.

He mentally recorded the satisfyingly crunchy sounds of his fallen foes, as he treaded across their corpses over the tarps.

The truck was loaded with tools. Every tool his livelihood depended upon, and every tool he needed to repair any potential storm damages, were loaded up.

The rest, elevated off the floor onto tables and shelves and sawhorses he had made himself. He gazed upon the pirogue. It was at the center of the basement floor. He pondered hoisting you’re upon his already loaded truck. For flooding is a very real concern. He opted against it.

He picked the last of his summer okra from his garden, sure that the ravages of the weather would spell certain doom to the garden.

He left, both victorious, accomplished and reassured that he was ready for whatever the storms may bring. The puppies, slept on the seat of his truck. Tired from their play and their own trials. They travelled back into town, to weather the storms.

That’s The News from KW Ranch

Where all of the women think I share too much, the Men are allegedly crazy at times, and the kids, are at LSU.