BOOTS

BOOTS

(Published in Intermountain Farm and Ranch, December 10, 2010)

            I like to be dressed appropriately, according to the situation I am in.  That is sometimes difficult if not impossible when you are living on the ranch.  I’m always wearing jeans, though, so that is one thing that is to my advantage.  I had a friend who once questioned why I didn’t get me some “nice polyester” pants to wear.  She explained they were cheaper than jeans and always looked nice.  I asked her if she had ever climbed through a barbed wire fence in a pair of “nice polyester” pants.  The conversation ended there.

            I bought myself some boots to wear when I’m out working with the cattle or helping in the field.  These are not cowboy boots, more like a hiking boot.  They will keep the stickers out of my socks and give my ankles some support. 

            Well, one raining morning this past spring we were in the kitchen visiting and the phone rang.  Boyd answered it, only because it was sitting right at his elbow.  Usually he just looks at me as if to say “get that because it’ll be for you anyway.”  He did get that look, but picked up the phone anyway.  His end of the conversation was:  “Hello” pause, “we’ll be right there.”

            “Let’s go,” he said as he hung up the phone.  “We have cows out up on Foothill road.”  I grabbed my sweatshirt, Jon and Boyd grabbed their coats and off we went, Boyd and me in the pickup, Jon on the John Deere Gator.  No time to change shoes. And it was muddy! 

            The cows had crossed through the canal, gone up on the far side and were happily eating green grass in someone else’s pasture.  They didn’t want to go back through the canal into our pasture and did everything they could to thwart our plans of moving them.  In fact, I had a couple of close encounters. 

A Hereford cow and I played tag, moving back and forth.  She had her head down like she was going to butt me out of the way, finally she moved to the left, I followed and she quickly moved to the right and went around me.  Jon was able to get her back. 

The Black Angus cow was a different story.  She looked me right in the eye as she tried to get around me.  Black Angus have evil looking eyes, and they use it to their advantage.  But I’d been around them long enough to know that this was a staring match.  I stared her down and won. She didn’t get around me.

            We got the cows back where they belonged and returned home. My shoes were soaked and muddy, almost beyond recognition.  Too bad I hadn’t had the time to change to my new boots.

            Then a couple of days later, Boyd opened the door to the kitchen and hollered, “I need you right now.” His tone of voice let me  know that it would be waste of time to ask why or how, but to follow him.  So off I went to stand in manure up to my ankles and open the gate when and if they needed it opened.  Of course, they didn’t need it, but I was there just in case.  Another time when there wasn’t a chance to change into my boots. 

            I know I could wear those boots in the house, put them on in the morning just in case.  But they are heavy and mud clings to the soles, thus dropping mud off wherever I walk in the house.  There probably isn’t a solution to this shoe problem, and I know there will be times when I need the boots that I will have them on..  I guess I just need to be grateful that I even had shoes on the other times, whether they were appropriate apparel for the situation or not.

     The day after Christmas, and the plummetting of spirits have progressed rapidly the past twenty-four hours.  There is such a build up of emotions getting to Christmas that it's a wonder there isin't a world wide explosion about Christmas Eve.  Hectic shopping, baking, wrapping of presents, delivering presents, receiving presents, cleaning the house, preparing for company or prparing to go be with family, all tends to add up in the weeks before Christmas.  Because of the media's play in Christmas, this build up starts about the time school starts in the fall. This gives all of us at least four months of pressure and stress.  You know, even a pressure cooker will blow up eventuallly if the pressure isn't controlled.  So is it anywonder that tempers flare, children become too excited and cry. 
     We have always had our big Christmas party of Christmas Eve, getting together the grandchildren and adults that evening.  It is a good evening of eating, listening to the Bible story of Jesus' birth, and opening presents.  When the grandchildren were all young, it was sometimes a hilarious evening for the adults as we watched the children finally able to open some of their presents.  Trying to stay organized is difficult underthese trying circumstances, but we have held fast to the rule of only one person opening a present at a time.  Sometimes hard for a little one who hasn't had a chance to open a present yet.  This year we only had two wee ones, a 7 year old and a 2 year old.  The older of the two was controlled, just barely, but the younger flitted around, helping everyone open their gifts, and tearing paper off from his own.
     Then waking up Christmas morning at our home was like reading a book  and just finished the part of the biggest climax only to find that the book ended abrutly.  I felt like I had been dropped flat without warning, splatted right on the concrete without a parachute.  There hadn't been a warning that the end was near, no gentle let down or tying of ends together.  No, just "it's over."
     This is the first time I've felt this let down so dramatically.  Is it my age? Is it circumstances  around us? Was it the fact that we had a friend bring his mentally challeneged son to be with us on Christmas Eve because they had no place else to go, and I got caught in the emotion of that? Was it because of challenges we've faced throughout the year all of a sudden seem too big of a mountain to climb right now?  Don't know, but I do know it hit me hard. 
     I normally love Christmas and the days after Christmas I have always enjoyed the slowdown in pace, the chance to look around and appreciate those friends and family close by, to keep in touch with those far away.  Not so this time.
     I'm going to have to start shoveling hard and furious to get myself out of this hole. And I know I will, but this morning I just want to pull the blankets up over my head and not look out.

HUNTING TRADITION

     Hunting has been a part of my life forever. i can remember, as a young girl, working in the potato fields and the goal was to get the potato harvest finished in time for the men to go deer or elk hunting, or both. the men talked about it all the time. and it seems like we always accomplished that goal of getting the harvest finished in time. I never went hunting; it was a "man" thing to do back then.
     When Boyd and I were first married, a productive hunting season heped feed our family through many winters. i learened to flavor the meat of even the oldest deer so it was edible. maybe not delicious, maybe not tneder, but edible.
     The day before opening day of hunting, I would load the car with groceries, get the kids off to school, and drive to the ranch. I'd light a fire in the wood cook stove upon arrival and shut the doors to the rooms next to the kitchen so as to centralize the heat in the room I would be occupying. Then - I'd mix bread, start a big stew on the stove, and make pie dough. While the bread was rising and the pies baking, the soup simmered
 and I would sweep and mob the floor - even venturing into the colder rooms to straighten the beds and sweek and mop those floors. while the bread baked, I'd wash and dry the dishes to leave everything neat and clean.
     I know that souns like a lot of work, but I loved being at the ranch as much then as I do now. There was and is a peacefulness there that I love to bask in. Having no electricity, a battery operated radio is used to give us any news that we think we might need. Most of the time that radio isn't even turned on, leaving us with the opportunity to enjoy solitude and peace.
     After a day of cleaning and cooking, I would be able to get back to our valley home by the time the kids got home from school. And the hunters would be going to a warm house with the smell of freshly baked bread and hot stew greeting them as they open the kitchen door.

     There have been many years of hunting, many stories told involving our family and the hunts they have been on. This year, as our youngest son, Jon, and one of our grandsons, Skyler, prepared to go hunting on opening day, I fixed sandwiches to send with them. As they walked out the door, Skyler looked at me with a big grin on his face, grunted like a cave man and said, "Me, Man!" He was going out to provide food for his family.

     Were they able to get their prey. No. In fact they didn't see much game that morning, but did see lots of hunters. But they participated in the tradition of hunting on opening day, a big event in the life of both young men who come from a family of hunters!