Two odd ranch stories in one day, one a local tradition new to us, the other a strange sort of scam and also new to us.
We don’t get out much, but when we do what fun it is to have a little impromptu adventure. We’re just about to start the bathroom demolition and have been scatter-brained with the necessary prep. We have only one bathroom, which means we go back once again to our early years here, needing an outhouse and outdoor shower.
We headed to town yesterday to select the tile, but the shop was closed. We stopped by the Farmer’s Market, having heard it has recently grown, in step with the small city’s population.
Unfortunately, it hasn’t improved, only grown in vendors. It’s dissapointing to live rural and still not have a decent farmer’s market in any nearby town or city. I’ll refrain from complaining further, but one question first.
Should they be able to call it a farmer’s market when there are no farmers there? No fruits, no vegetables, no herbs, no dairy. One tiny ranch, not exactly local, offering beef shares, some jam and honey sellers, one stand selling really expensive breads, that was it besides the very many stalls of crafters.
Anyway, from those two disappointments we soon headed back home and along the way comes our fun ranch story.
We took the back route for a nicer country drive, one we’ve taken very often over the years. There are mostly woods and rolling hills dotted with small farms and ranches, cows mostly, very few people.
So when we caught sight of a parking lot full of trucks we got curious. Hubby pulls into Los Pinos Ranch, which we’ve never seen full of cars before, had hardly even noticed before among all the other ranches. We followed the line to a couple of security guards.
“Hi!” Hubby says to a well-built and well-kitted black man, “We’re just driving by and being nosy neighbors.”
Being we were still about a 10 minute drive from home, neighbors might sound like a stretch, but around here that’s still considered neighboring territory.
The man was cordial, not exactly friendly, but not at all off-putting, so Hubby continued his inquiry, and I also began to chime in, now with curiousity well-piqued since seeing how large this event actually was.
“What’s all the crowd here for, some sort of festival?” Besides the security duo we appeared to be the only gringos in sight, which later upon entering we learned to be true. There were no signs at all, in Spanish or otherwise.
Looking around while Hubby was speaking, I spotted a track, and horses, but still, it was all so foreign, while practically in our backyard. I interupted them.
“Oh, is it a horse show or training or something?” My confusion was probably obvious, but the guard’s reply only engendered more of the same. Neither Hubby or I had yet to clue in to the nature of the event.
The guard was attempting to tell us, but without speaking the precise words, I understood only later.
Well, he said, they like to compare.
Huh? OK. Still clueless.
Then he pointed to a couple of ladies down the path aways and said they were the organizers and we should talk to them.
So we did and they were very nice, just the one spoke English, but she was as friendly as could be and said we should go on in, they want more locals to participate, in fact. Participate in what, we did not know. And, there were food stands on the other side of the tracks, so we were sold.
Then, crossing the track, it suddenly dawned on me. Horse racing, duh! And the odd words of the guard came back with a flash of clarity. They ‘like to compare’ was his gringo euphemism for ‘they bet on the races.’
We don’t gamble and we’ve never been to a horse race, so perhaps our severe ignorance can be excused?!
Although in hindsight it’s so obvious. Now, I’m not judging, but I do believe that sort of gambling is illegal in these parts. Not that we really care a hoot about that, especially once we got a whiff of the taco stand.
The simplest of setups you could imagine, why can’t they manage that at the farmer’s market? Charring beef, frying onions, our senses led us in a beeline. Fresh diced tomatoes, two kinds of salsa, cilantro, boiled potato side served with a chunk of grilled onion. Delish!
Better tacos than we’ve had at any establishment in town, cooked and served out of the back of a trailer.
A bit of reasearch once home and the tradition is alive on social media (like we would know!) and we can look forward to more excellent tacos and racing festivities next month.
Think what you like about horse racing in general, or gambling in particular, but it’s a huge deal better than what was the thing among dudes where I grew up, which was car racing and monster truck pulls. Loud, noxious, destructive and, well, just REALLY loud.
This was fun! You could hear the music and it was catchy mariachi, not depressing country ballads like they play in the local farm and ranch stores.
Of course we did stick out like the gringo sore thumbs we are. Ball caps, not cowboy hats. Crocks, not cowboy boots. Cringy, I know. But we’re committed to taking it down a notch next time we go, for the tacos, of course, not the gambling.
For Hubby that will mean absolutely no shorts. Mexican men are not short-pant people. There seems to be a certain amount of pride attached to that fact, but it’s lost on me.
For my part, a bit of more feminine appeal would be in order, if I can muster that anymore. Case still open.
Which leads me to the next ranch story. And the mystery of the sexy bras I’d never have worn, or even purchased on a huge whim, even in my sexiest days full of youthful vigor.
I was not nearly as dumb-struck by this oddity as I was by the impromtu ranch races. Clearly it was some very strange mistake, not a surprise hinting gift from Hubby, who would know me far better, and never dare make such a vulgar assumption.
Green and bedazzled, come on! Meant for a harem girl, no doubt!
Come to find out after some perplexing Google searches that there is currently a large scam going on, and I’ve just been ‘brushed’. WTH?!
From the return sender’s address, it comes from a fancy ranch in California. Far too fancy for me! But according to the news, this scam, which is becoming more common, probably uses both fake addresses and fake names. Yasfara does sound kind of fake.
But what could they be after sending me free stuff? I now realize this happened already twice before, I just never chalked it up to a con.
Several years ago I received seeds I never ordered. So did a lot of folks. I often order seeds, folks sometimes me seeds, I just brushed it off. Brushed?
Then a couple months ago I got two pairs of shorts. Because I’d recently ordered shorts from Amazon, I figured it was them, just not exactly what I’d ordered. They weren’t too bad, so I kept them, only receiving the correct order weeks later.
After Hubby’s sleuthing he discovered the “Brushing scam” with the objective of inflating the products’ ratings by collecting ‘verified purchases’ and giving fake reviews with them, apparently.
Here is our ‘Yasfara’ of the ‘Rancho Cucamongo’ reported on at the Better Business Bureau, along with a news clip about the fraud.
What to know if a mysterious empty white mailing envelope shows up at your house
Scams Details Better Business Bureau
Strange times, indeed. Just for the record, we don’t mind feeling like foreigners five miles from home, it’s rather a pleasant nostalgic feeling for us both, recalling our own pasts of living as illegal immigrants in other lands.
But, if you’re going to send me bras, please send the comfortable variety, padless, without jewels or sequince, cotton, white, for those rare occassions I still wear one.
Or, if that’s all you’ve got on hand, may I suggest sending them to a more appropriate recipient, like a still-young sexy lady at the Rancho Los Pinos right down the road?
