Roll On

Spring, the wild flowers blooming, thunder boomers coming by to visit. A breeze off the water flows over you and if you close your eyes feels like water skiing at Tahoe.  Fresh cut clover and timothy hay smells drift across the meadow. Saddle leather creaks and groans, or maybe that's me.  Horses and dogs are sweaty from working cattle.  Warm days, cool nights. One spring I tied notes to tumbleweeds rolling by, never heard back.

The Best Part

The annual Roundup rodeo has come and gone for another year.  Thanks to one of my brother in laws, my Dad and I had great seats in the family box.
As I hadn't been in many years it was great fun, and a bit of a trip getting to see friends from long ago.  
The younger generation is continuing this annual family tradition, which is a good thing.  What a great bunch of kids and grandkids.
I have some terrific memories of the old Roundups.  It has changed a lot over the years, Dad and I both liked the old version better, possibly because we were more involved.  Spending time with family and friends was and is the best part.   

Not Go'n Anywhere

This wet spring brings to mind the year we decide Himself would go back to college to finish his degree.  We saved for a year, sold some cows, bought a good pickup, packed up our meager belongings, one horse, and the baby and headed out to the university.  
Surely we looked like a slightly modern version of folks from the Grapes of Wrath.  What with the borrowed wood slates on the back of the pickup, everything we owned piled in, a mattress tied on top, and a ratty old horse trailer behind.  Geez, Himself loved that horse of his, there was no way he was leaving him behind. 
A good pickup was a necessary purchase, as we did need dependable transportation for the long journey south.  Besides we got a heck of a deal on it as it was two shades brighter than school bus yellow and the dealer realized that no one else in three counties was going to be interested. 
We lived in an apartment in town for a short time, but it was too pricey, so we moved over the hill from campus to a small ranch.  The ranch was owned by an elderly couple who needed someone to care-take the place.  In exchange we got pasture for Himself's horse and a small house.  Actually a very small house, only three rooms, the main room with kitchen on one end and living area, with the only source of heat a tiny Franklin stove, on the other. Oh how I hated that tiny Franklin stove, it smoked, and was a bear to cook on when the electricity went out, which seemed to happen frequently. Have you ever tried to heat a baby bottle in the middle of the night by putting it in your armpit.
The little house sat with the front door facing a small river and the back door smackdab against a steep hillside.  You had to travel about a mile on an old road beside the river to get to the "main" road. 
Things were going along ok until it started to rain, and rain, and rain.  It was one of the wettest winters on record there that year.  The river was running high and fast, just like the little creek running in the back door and across the not so great room and out the front door of the house.  There was no stopping it, so I just put sand bags on either side of it.  It's funny now to remember stepping over the little creek running thru the middle of the house, to put wood in the stove, not so much at the time.
Himself decided it was getting a little too dangerous to stay, so he loaded up his horse and moved him to a horse ranch on higher ground. After more rain he thought it might even be too dicey for us to stay, but by this time the old road was under water.  A friend got concerned, and walked in to check on us.  We packed up what we could carry, put the baby in a sling on my back, and started the long walk out to the main road.  We hadn't gotten far when Himself called a halt, he had to go back for something.  After he got back to us we finished that long walk on the steep hillsides, in the rain, to the main road.
It was wonderful to be taken in by another college couple. It was heaven, especially since they had central heat and electricity.
After hot showers, a hot meal, and a few glasses of wine.  I asked Himself what he had gone back for at the house.
 "After all our hard work to buy that pickup, I'll be damned if I'll let the river take it.  So I got the biggest chain I could find, wrapped it around the biggest oak tree, then around the axle on the pickup and padlocked them all together. That pickup's not go'n anywhere." 

I'm supposed to be...

I'm supposed to be weed eating the back 40, too wet.  I'm supposed to be painting the inside of the kitchen cupboards, too damp.  I'm supposed to be changing the oil in the ol SUV, too nasty.  I'm supposed to be putting up the drapery rods, too boring.  I'm supposed to be studying, too busy.  I'm supposed to be finding an electrician, too costly.  I'm supposed to be mowing the lawn, too rainy.  I'm supposed to be doing taxes, too confusing.  I'm supposed to be looking for work, too old.  I'm supposed to be gathering eggs,  too many.  I'm supposed to be cleaning out the garage, too tired.  I'm supposed to be planting in the garden, too cold.  I'm supposed to be planning dinner, too unorganized. I'm supposed to be sewing, too uninspired. I'm supposed to be ironing, too hot.  I'm supposed to be a lot of things.  I want to be hugging and loving my kids and grandkids, that I DO.   

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.