"Food for thought today for all of you that have sons & grandsons.....let us walk our talk!"
h/t R.A. Brown Ranch
Sunday, March 2, 2014
We have had a fair amount of rain recently. Much needed rain mind you. The cow feed is coming, and the aquifers are replenishing.
Took my JR Willie for a mid day run, over hill and down dale, on the red clay trail. When I saw a little white pickup on the rough bladed, fire break road. As he came over a knoll and headed towards a gully, I stopped to watch knowing that this was probably not going to end well. I could have told him that a bit of gravel on top of wet red clay can be deceptive, is slicker than snot on top, like glue after that, and has kept stouter pickups than his til the beginning of summer. I could have told him that he would not make it up out of the gully. Of course he tried, but didn't have enough of anything to make it up the far bank. With tires spinning he slid back into the gully. Now would have been the time to go get the friends with Warn wenches and long line cables. But hope dies hard for some, so there he sat, spinning his wheels, throwing red clay everywhere, as he buried it to the axles. Since he now was effectively damming the gully, water started running through the pickup. He was only about a mile from the edge of our subdivision, and had a cell phone, so I left him to it. Heard them from my house, at about midnight, trying to pull him out. This morning the remains of his misadventure are a torn up field (no cow feed there for a long while) and a hefty trail of red clay globs on the street.
I miss the ol red clay hills of the home ranch. There are so many memories there.
If you haven't been there, you don't know that "whoa" moment of being on a steep sidehill, spring disking with the Knudson
and hitting an un-see-able slide area. Even with the awesome crab steering, the only thing that's going to save your hide is to bury the disk, crab walk the K out, and pray that the gods are with you, cause if you roll that thing it isn't going to be pretty.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Sometimes there is such a place and such music that the world is a bit gentler, a bit kinder, a bit sweeter.
When my spirit needs solace there is a place, there is ever a place...
I need only to close my eyes
to reach the meadow,
to lay on an old quilt warmed by the sun,
where pines and quakies whisper gently in the breeze,
where fluffy clouds drift in a blue blue sky,
and a small stream flows,
where the fragrance of mother earth is love.
When my spirit needs solace there is music, there is ever music...
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
What a shooty morning, I absolutely loved it.
Late last night Dad said, "You want to go shoot some clays tomorrow? Oh, I forgot your shoulder is a little sore from the driving range!"
"Dad, I golf left handed, but I shoot right. I'll get the gear ready."
A friend of ours went too, in fact we took his rig so his Lab could get a workout as well. He trained his dog, Lassen, and I have never seen a better trained gun dog.
Dad brought along his old model 37 Ithaca 12 ga. for me to use. He bought that shotgun new in 1950 for $76.00. I really like that gun: it's light, it's solid, and it's easy to operate.
Not having been in a position to do much shooting in recent years, it was interesting to see how much knowledge was retained... or not.
Weather in the short grass hills was clear with a brisk North wind. So, we had a tough cross wind to contend with on the trap range. Won't say who busted the most clays, because well... the guys were having an off day.
Would've loved to have stayed out there longer, but we could see that Dad was getting cold, and I needed to be back before mom's caregiver left.
I honestly don't give a darn that I will never get a diamond from my mother, but I'm sure as shoot'n putting my name in for that sweet ol 12 gauge.
Monday, February 17, 2014
The first ring the Cowman gave me was a cigar band, I still have it. We had been dating for a while and were at the RB Roundup, where he was helping bring up calves for the roping events. I had been setting on the hood of the ranch's old Scout for hours in the rain to watch him and the rodeo, when he rode up to check on me. "How are you doing babe?" "Great, Thanks," I said from under my ratty ol slicker.
"I have something for you," he said, then leaned over, kissed me, and slipped the cigar band on my finger...
The second ring the Cowman gave me, when we married, was a simple band of gold. I was happy with that simple ring, having never been much of a jewelry wearer. Many months into married life I mentioned to him how terribly impressed I was that he had my ring inscribed on the inside. With a bit of a puzzled look and a raised eyebrow he said, "What?" And that's how I found out there was a brand of wedding rings marketed by the name True Love. I couldn't help laughing, the look on his face said "I'm going to hear about this til the end of time." Nope, I never mentioned it again. He had been straight up honest about it.
The third ring the Cowman gave me came via his maternal grandmother It was a large diamond inset into a platinum band. The Cowman took it to a local jewelry designer and was informed that it was an old fashioned cut, and needed to be set up on prongs so that it could catch the light. The diamond was beautiful, and ever aware that this was a family heirloom, I hesitated to wear it much. The Cowman said not to worry, wear it, that gran would be disappointed if I didn't! Even so, I tried never to wear it when we were doing something rough & tumble.
As my fate would have it, I forgot to take it off one day while we were working a rough bunch of cows thru the chute. We were knee deep in mud and cow shit and it was spitting rain. There were two of us on each side of the chute: vaccinating, tagging, mouthing, and worming. A cow hit the front of the chute hard, and one of the bars slammed my ring finger. What followed was like when your in an accident, everything seems to be happening in slow motion... I watched as The diamond popped out of the ring and sailed over the chute to land in the muck on the other side. "STOP" I yelled. I know you aren't going to believe this, but I'm always pretty quiet working cattle. I was brought up that way, whether working cattle or hunting: no yelling, no sudden movement. So when I yelled "Stop!" Everyone froze, including the rough ol hide in the chute. "Please don't anyone move, I just lost my diamond."
There was no doubt in my mind, that I did not want to have to tell the Cowman's pistol pack'n grandmother that I had lost The diamond. So I kept my eyes on the place I thought it had sunk into the muck, walked around the chute, stuck my hand in and with a bit of feeling around, found it!
After the Cowman died I gave The diamond to Marymine, it's where it should be.