Saturday, August 9, 2014

Blood stains & lipstick...

Call me old fashioned but what is it with men dressing like vagrants?  I've starched and pressed more shirts and wranglers than I can remember, but never minded because I liked the look. George Strait is a good example...sigh   




Now, most older men seem to think casual means shirts with the sleeves cut off, wife beaters, ratty T shirts, loud Hawaiian prints and weird pants that look like they came from an obama factory.


My point of view could be skewed by the fact that my dad was always neatly dressed.  Didn't matter whether he was deep in the belly of a harvester or hunting elk in the back of beyond.  The Cowman's dad and the Cowman were the same way, as were the majority of their friends.  Maybe it is unique to the cattle business.

I used to special order the Cowman's shirts (with a small, discreet monogram) from a shirt company.  Not that we had money to burn, but their shirts were in the long run well worth the money.  Plus, I laundered them instead of sending them out, so they lasted.  
I wrote the shirt company a note once...

Dear Sir:
I have waited way too long to write this note.  Thank You, for making a great shirt.  My husband is a cowman, and as such his shirts take a real stomping (usually with him in them).  They've been singed by branding irons, stained with blood, mud, recycled grass, grease, and lipstick(mine only).  Your great shirts just keep coming back for more, and have been around longer than his best dog. So, I'm here to order more and thank you again for making a truly affordable and durable shirt.
Sincerely, the Cowman's wife

Back came a nice note, and a voucher for two shirts!
 


Thursday, August 7, 2014

TBT: Granny...

Way back... My Granny H at 12 in Dakota territory.



She was the best granny! A wonderful school teacher, she started out teaching in a small one room school house, and lived with the families of her students.  An awesome seamstress, she made beautiful tailored wool coats for all of us grandkids, and flannel jammies. A good cook, the Cowman loved her cow tongue sandwiches, I loved her pickles, my kids loved stopping by her little house for her homemade ice cream.  As a Scrabble player, she was tough to beat. An avid SF Giants fan. A voracious reader, she instilled a love of books. She got Shakespeare, and made girls night at the SF opera happen. Though never much for riding, she dang sure had try... 

Granny on Grampa's Elk hunting pack mule
   
She would have a fit and then laugh, if she was still around to know I put that last pic up.
Miss my rock solid gran...

Sunday, August 3, 2014

I got a plan...

I found the quote I was looking for and it fits this ol cowgirl just fine...

"There are friends who
will offer advice
and wisdom.
Then there are
cowgirls,
who come
blasting through
your door with
whiskey, weapons,
a shovel, and a plan!"
 

Saturday, August 2, 2014

That'll do...

I can't quite believe you let me whine about an ol piece of dirt!  That you didn't tell me to "suck it up Bucko, pull on your boots, and get on with it..."  that "I" didn't tell myself that!
I have a roof over my head, food put by, people that sorta like me, and some great kids and grandkids.  A dog that eats out of my hand, a matchmaking Dad, and this time, this time that I could be putting to good use. 
 Since the Corpsman and my 30 sons by other mothers are back on American soil I've been floating. Not nearly pulling my weight in a lot of ways. 
I need to suck it up, pull on my boots, and be burn'n daylight.  My dreams aren't going to be just dreams!
In order to buckaroo up, I have been perusing  motivational posters.



  For Sam maybe...





That might help...
but I need one that is more, well, on target







That'll do.


Friday, August 1, 2014

Just dirt...


Just an old map of a piece of dirt, I haven't been back to for a long time. There are too many memories there.  I can't even fly over it without tears. The legal papers say it belongs to others, but they didn't raise their babies there. They have never ridden or walked every square inch of it.
Those that knew how the fields came by their names are long gone. Some are easy to figure:



 windmill has a big windmill, school house had a small one room school house, Harrimans owned the little piece next door til the Captain bought it.  Lower Elder was always known as Red Door, as there was an ol line shack with a red door.  Mattea dates from the original land grant, I believe. 
In a lot of ways I was raised on that piece of dirt. I have never believed you could truly own a piece of ground.  No one told me it could own me.