Cowboy in the new west

A friend of mine, Don, was a cowboy of sorts; his leathered face chiseled by the elements, with a wide toothy grin, more like Gaby Hayes than John Wayne. He always wore a Stetson, a big belt buckle with a longhorn or a bucking horse on it, great detailed cowboy boots, all his shirts had pearl snaps and a Levi jacket that boasted many days under the sun. He played the guitar as was fitting a wanabe cowboy but his talent lay in his story telling. He could entertain young and old for hours relating adventures that pieced together his life on the prairie.  He spent most of his time on cattle breeding ranches in the Northwest.  Most of his work was done with a pickup truck, (a fact he would have liked to leave out,) but on occasion, they used horses to find cattle lost in winter storms. Snowstorms in the Northwest can be deadly, he told stories of freezing rain, snow and wind you would have to see to believe. It pushed across the prairie, piling snow into enormous drifts, and the temperature could drop below zero in breakneck speed. Part of his job was to keep track of the cattle on ranches with hundreds of acres. The cardinal rule during this kind of weather was, no hand was to travel out in these conditions alone, and he must be partnered up. Searching for cattle on huge expanses of ranch land was a difficult job, especially in bad weather.

The cattle would often turn their backs to this icy blast, slowly drift against a fence, and many would die. Don discovered that Hereford cows reacted differently. They would head into the wind and slowly move forward until they came to a fence at the windward end of the ranch.  They would stand shoulder to shoulder facing the storm, taking turns moving to the inside of the herd for warmth.  When this happened, they would be found hungry but alive and well, days after the storm. Who would have believed that cows had a sense of fare play?

There may be a lesson here; every human being has to decide to meet difficulties head on or to turn from them. If you evade what you are afraid of  and go drifting with the wind, it can destroy you.  It may not kill you physically as it does some cattle, but it may cost you fine opportunities and spiritual enrichment.  Your faith will support you, when the wind blows and tempest swirls around you, standing fast, can bring you through alive and well days after the storm.  It is what we are promised; those who endure will be saved.

1990

 

Me & Malaika  2008

To good neighbors Ellen & John

Being protestant I know little about saints, but a little research gave me some interesting facts. St Valentine is a kind hearted patron saint to a rather diverse group, those with the plague, prone to fainting, lovers, happy marriages, those with epilepsy, engaged couples and bee keepers to name a few. Like all good saints he was beheaded as was the fate of most of the piety folk of his day and it is thought that the 14^th of February marked his destiny.

With the old adage, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing; I decided to embark on an unusual valentine thank you note. And being stuck on this blooming couch too many hours a day prompted this narrative.

Most of the happiest moments in life come to us in teaspoonfuls, not in gallons or bushels. They arrive in the least expected places, fill gaps that are full of shadows, warm love starved hearts and renew faith, hope and courage. Friends can have a profound effect on someone’s life and wellbeing. Moments, that may show up in a shovel or a truck with a plow, a tool bag, hot water heaters installed in jig time, an offer for dinner, an encouraging word, willing to drive and on uncanny ability to see when you are trying to hide the pain. So what can one say to express the kind of gratitude that is adequate compensation? I can simply say that on this day set aside to celebrate love.

Thanks, I love you both.

To the Snow Angels

One snowy morning, I looked out

And what should I see

Snow Angels arrived just to help me

House bound and feeling low

I wasn’t about to shovel snow

But these jolly characters, four in number

Tackled that snow with vigorous plunder

They tossed it, they turned it and set it aside

Shoveled a path, the snow tried to hide

They cleared off the car, swept the steps down

All with a grin, never a frown

Tackled the ice, it couldn’t abide

Got the job done, with lots of pride

So to those Angels who came one cold winter day

And did a job, without any pay

I know snow shoveling is not all fun

But I thank you for a job well done

                                          Thanks to Ellen, John, Zoe, Mike & Lila
                                                              January 2011

On an ancient scroll, where life mysteries

Are hidden, these names were written

Somnath, Sivaraman, Buono, Timpson, Bonesteel, Hoy,

Kamwaki and Lund

They knew not yet their destiny, but their

Worlds were to one day merge

This wonderful mix of cultures, traditions and

Personalities has come about

Many of these narratives,

share just a brief glimpse

Of this great happening, that was written in the stars

HUNTING STORY

              

                                                        
                       I wrote this for the Saugerties Fish & Game Club, of which I am the editor.

A good family friend has a hunting camp up north where each year he hosts a mixed crowd of hunters. The women, always in a minority, were resolute one year to compete with the men, dreaming of the big one that would give them bragging rights. The first morning we got about a foot of snow. Most of the determined feminists rolled over with a groan delaying their possible victory. I figured the deer were all laid up in the area they called the big pines, so I took the 4 wheeler and parked on the edge of a hay field, walking back down the trail I just came in on, and started hunting up the slope into the pines. Just as I rounded the corner a nice buck stepped out on the trail, about 30 yards away. I thought I had a good sight on him and pow! He reared up, tucked his tail and bounded off into the hedgerow down slope from the trail. I haven’t shot many deer, but this one acted like he was hit hard, so I arrogantly figured he was as good as mine. I went back to the 4 wheeler, poured a cup of coffee from my thermos to let him and I both settle down for about 15 minutes, before going to trail him. I checked where I first shot at him, the snow was littered with hair, but no blood. I have shot deer before that did not bleed out right away so I wasn’t at all discouraged. The fresh snow made trailing easy, I found where he had wandered, his pace did not seem to change, where he bed down and munched on mossy grass, but no blood. I finally gave up his trail and headed back to camp to tell the proverbial (the big one that got away) story. The next day, the neighbor who had the property adjoining the camp, stopped by to tell about a nice 8 pointer he got that morning and found a very strange strip of hair gone about 3/8 of an inch wide completely across his chest.
I can only hope I am a better newsletter editor than a hunter.