No matter where I go it carries me...

Came across a short video that brings so many memories with it. 





(We ran cattle in the summertime a few ranges SW of the ZX in Paisley)

There is much to see:
Sterling, the little buckaroo that reminds me of other little buckaroos...
How Scott, so gently, pushes up the horse halter...
The look in Scott's eyes when he's talking to Sterling in the barn...
The way Scott talks with the sure knowledge that he is where he's supposed to be...
Sterling at 2:55 to 3:03  so many times that speech has been given to moms & grannies...
There are many more tells, your heart will find them if it's been there.   

The imprint of a way of life
no matter where I go it carries me...
 

Standing Tall

Jingleworms the ol cowboys called them. We had plenty of them on one of the ranches. I killed 27 in my yard, the last summer we lived there. They were big & nasty, would stand up in the grass and hunt your dog, who promptly jumped in the back of the pickup, only to have the jingleworm strike the truck tires.

One day moving cows with the Cowman up ahead, my horse stopped and he didn't seem willing to go forward. I was paying attention to the Cowman & the cows in front of me and not my horse. I gigged him and still no response. We were in a shallow wash, and when I looked down I saw we were surrounded by rattlesnakes. Being very calm, I gently told my horse to just quietly step between them and carry on with the job at hand. He did so and got us out of harms way. And I learned that you can wear a cowboy hat, plaid shirt, wranglers, chinks, boots, and spurs and still stand tall on top of a saddle horn.

 

A Horse called Elvis

We had a cranky ol gelding on the home ranch named Elvis.  How he came by his name I have no idea.  He certainly didn't remind me of The Elvis, as he was not the handsomest piece of horseflesh around. His claim to fame on the ranch was that he could open any gate, and I do mean any.  It was not entirely uncommon to get that feeling that something is watching you and look out the window, to see him standing in the flower bed staring back at you.  He had a well honed method to his gate antics, he must have spent hours figuring out how different gates closures worked.  Being sneaky about his talent was also part of his way.  He never did it while you were in his sight.  The way we confirmed it was observation from a distant knoll, and the fact that he had kind of overthought the process by closing the gate behind himself.
His favorite  was to wait until we had gathered the horses into the barn corral, closed the gate, fed in the big horsebarn, and  then driven off to other chores.   Before the dust had settled he would saunter over open the gate, go back in the barn and tell the rest of the horse herd about the open gate. After they had made a mad dash out the gate, he would saunter over, shut the gate, mosey back into the barn and proceeded to eat all the feed. 
I thought for sure he would be sent down the road, after he did the same with the gate into the grandmother's beautifully tended yard.  That time he let the other horses IN, closed the gate, and galloped off to a good vantage point to watch the fireworks.  Grandfather stuckup for him in the battle that followed, and he stayed with us until an ol' fellow that needed a gentle horse bought him.  He was going to a good home and it really never came up about his special ways.  We did hear from the ol fellow that Elvis was doing well, was well loved, and the most talented horse he'd ever had.

The Other Mothers...

  Many years ago while in the process of cleaning out closets in the big house at my mother-in-law's, we happened on the fur coats.  She hadn't worn hers in years, and she was putting them in the thrift store box.  Oh, I fell in love with one, it was a beautiful three quarter length mink, and fit me perfectly.  "Take that if you want it," says she.  Trying to act like it was no big deal, I quickly put it back in it's special bag and hustled it out to my pickup.

Now I lived on the family cattle ranch in the middle of nowhere.  Most of my time was spent with kids, cowboys, cows, horses, dogs, and barbwire.  What would I be doing with a fur coat.

  I so wanted a reason to wear that coat.  A call to a friend was the hatching of the Plan. You see the friend also had an ol fur coat she loved, lived in the middle of nowhere, & had small children. Her kids and mine went to the same private Catholic school in town. 

Getting kids to school entailed a lot of mad dashes to town in what ever vehicle was available at o-dark-thirty in the morning. Me wearing ratty jammies, old leather slippers and trying to keep from spilling my mug of coffee. I often pulled into the parking lot with screeching tires, dogs barking, baling wire, curlers, and hay flying.  My friend arrived a bit nicer but not by much.  There we were met by the Other Mothers.  The Other Mothers lived in town, drove polished cars, had their makeup on, and were dressed fit for a brunch at the Cliff House.  They weren't very friendly to us, even though we never turned the kids or dogs loose on them. 

After another morning of the Treatment by the Other Mothers, I decided that the school parking lot was to be the place I would implement the Plan.  My friend was game.  We would wear our fur coats to take our kids to school.   We still screeched into the parking lot, with cowdogs barking, hay flying, messy hair, and ratty jammies, but also wearing our glorious fur coats. We kept it up til the weather got too warm to wear our furs.  The Other Mothers never did take a liking to us, but dang we had a great time.

Sunshine Wash & Dry

Early on we lived in the old bunkhouse at the home ranch. I had small children, a very old washing machine, and a defunct hot walker for a clothes line.  The Cowman announced that he was going to sell some of his dry cows at the local livestock auction yard, and would be getting us a new washer & dryer. (The aftereffects of his washing a load of horse blankets in my washer instead of taking them to the laundromat in town might have influenced his decision.) 

Upon his return, I hear his pickup flying over the last cattle guard, goose neck trailer swaying, & dogs barking. Yes, my hero has returned home with a new washer & dryer. He steps out of the pickup, walks to the back of the stock trailer, and, Wait a darn Minute, that is not a washer & dryer in the back. It is one of the ugliest, tallest, nastiest looking horses I've ever seen. 
"Now honey, I was going to buy the washer & dryer, but, I can really cover some ground on this guy."

There are rules we live by: One, never under any circumstances buy a horse from a sale barn. Two, if you do suddenly become the owner of such a horse, do not bring it to the headquarters, tuck it away at the other end of the ranch. Three, if your really thinking, return it to the sale barn asap. The Cowman, having forgotten the rules, did none of them.

All he did was say, "the auctioneer said a 10 year old girl has been riding him, so he must be gentle, look how tall & long he is, he will be able to cover the ground, and he even has a little cow sense." 
After the dust settled on the discussion that followed, "Sunshine Wash & Dry" was given a bath, a grooming and installed in the horse barn. Where he was promptly nipped to the bottom of the pecking order in the horse herd. They weren't any fonder of him than I was.

A week later the Cowman decides it's time to move some yearlings to another pasture on Sunshine Wash & Dry. Around lunchtime I'm starting to get a bit worried as he should have been back sometime ago. Just then the Cowman walks in the back door, a little worse for wear: scratches, cuts, bruises, mashed hat, torn chinks, & shirt. He proceeds to walk thru to the gun case, unlocks it, pulls out the 348, and starts hunting shells. "That damn horse just bucked me off into the barbwire & railroad tie cross braces at the second cattle guard, and I'm going to put him out of his misery." 
"Wow, he must be really crippled up for you to have to put him down?" 
"No, he's fine, down at the horse barn, he ran off and left me to walk the two miles home." Ol Sunshine Wash & Dry was forgiven for his lack of cowboy etiquette and allowed to stay on, but the end was in the making. 
A while later the Cowman was down at the horse barn putting that horse thru his paces for the viewing pleasure of a friend. Here comes the friend trotting up to the bunkhouse, "You better come quick, when the Cowman comes to, if nothing of his is broken, he's going to be damn lucky." As we are hot footing it down to the horse barn the Cowman's friend relays the turn of events. All was going good: nice figure eight patterns, nice straight runs, fair sliding stops, fair quarter turns, then the Cowman had ol Sunshine Wash & Dry do another pattern and for some reason all hell broke loose. 

"I've never seen a horse buck so high," said the friend, "and I've never ever seen a cowboy go so high, straight up, and come straight back down, head first with his arms tucked neatly at his sides. It was something to see."

A few days later "Sunshine Wash & Dry" was gone, and not spoken of again. That spring we saw him at the BIG RODEO in the saddle bronc string, he'd changed his name, but we will always think of him as "Sunshine Wash & Dry".

water is music recipe

add rain, until the ponds & lakes are full

a pinch of lightning to see the way

a dash of thunder booming off the mountains

a bit more rain

a big dollop of sunshine

several fat worms a wriggling for the wild hen farm chiks

a small frog a croaking

blue jays a plenty

pine cones a thunking

garden sprouts

essence of green grass

soft sound of mamma cow calling her baby home