When it's wet it's very wet and when it's dry it's home.  This is the inconsistency of this land.  It takes water to make anything grow but in this country it only comes occasionally.  A good year will bring an average of one inch per month(1in./mo.).  Most of it is in the form of snow in the winter, snow can fall any month of the year, at home.  It is a land where the simple things carry a beauty all of their own.  A cactus patch that you barely notice in the summer, fall or winter will surprise the occasional visitor with flower blooms that can only be compared to the rarest orchid.  Next to this cactus may be growing a patch of Buffalo Grass.  This is a small clump-like grass that is high in protein and nutrients that grazing animals can use to maintain health and stamina for the cold weather in the winter. 

 

The beauty is endless and each season has its own set of rules and beauty parameters that are followed to the letter.  Mother Nature does not vary in her portrayal of beauty when it comes to her creations or creatures.  The humble sagebrush carries with it the extremes of color from blue hues to a striking purple aura that is almost impossible to capture on film.  One's own mind has to see, capture, and remember the radiance of some of these colors.

 

 Whether the snow needs to be shoveled, a flash flood is iminent, or you simply have to mow the yard if your heart is in this country and you can see beyond the optics, this is Home.

One Friday evening as the light began to fade for the day, I looked out a window of the house .  Across the street is an empty field where, from time to time, I will see deer, antelope, wild turkeys, prairie dogs and an occasional fox or various species of birds. This night was a little different in that there was nothing to be seen grazing or playing in the field. 

 

As I turned to go do something else, a movement along the far fenceline caught my attention.  I wasn't sure exactly what it was or which direction it was going, or even if I saw anything at all.  I stood at the window and watched for any thing at all for another five minutes or so and then decided that with dusk so close at hand my eyes were playing with my mind.  As I turned to go I did see something moving.  Slowly at first and then gathering speed as if to jump the fence along the far street.  By this time I was sure of what I saw as it soared over the fence and dissapeared into the neighborhood and the waning light.  I told my wife I had just seen a mountain lion jump the fence and head for places unknown.  She said I was seeing things so I said no more about it, but I know what I saw.

 

The following Tuesday night, on the local news, there was a story about a woman, about eight blocks away from us, going out on her back porch to use the barbeque and she found it was being guarded by a mountain lion.  She called the police and the Game and Fish department and they took take of her problem.

 

At least my wife believes me now when I tell her what I see is not all smoke.

With all that goes on in our daily lives, it sometimes seems that I was born one hundred years to late.  For one to try and lead a simple, productive life is almost an impossibility today with  with all the attention focused on information exchange and how important it is that everyone be in the middle of everything.  Although I live in what is considered a rural state,  just a little over 500,000 in total state population,  the rush to be a part of everything is still present every day in every way.  I have travelled and lived all over the world, for short periods of time, and always looked forward to coming home to an easier and hassle free way of life.  Needless to say that didn't happen and I have been stuck in a society that is not of my liking. 

 

One hundred years ago I could have been a Pat Garret or a Billy the Kid by either choice or circumstance, but I would have been dealing with, and living in, a time that I knew what to expect from my choices.  I have lived and worked on a 250,000 acre ranch with 3500 brood cows, shipping and branding about 2400 head of calves every fall and working 18 hours a day, seven days a week, and loving every minute of that precious time.  The biggest drawback was trying to to provide a reasonable life for a wife and raise three kids on very little pay,(275 dollars a month).  A single cowboy could do it, but not a family man.  So with heavy heart and money as the drawing card, we moved to town.

 

Forty years later I still say I was born one hundred years too soon! 

 

Time sometimes stands still towards the end of a day.  As y ou look over what you have accomplished over the past twelve hours it appears to be quite significant until you consider what is left to do.  Just because the sun has set it is still possible to see through the twilight the acres and acres of hay left to cut and winrow.  Well, we'll take care of that tomorrow when the sun gets up and the dew is burned off the hay.  Tomorrow just happens to be the Fourth of July so we'll probably quit a little early and go to town  to take in the rodeo and carnival for the kids.  That just reminds me, Jake never called to ask if we were going to team rope this year.  Riding a swather all day and just now think of something like that.  Time sometime stands still.

 

Watched  a little television tonight after the horses got fed and supper was finished.  The weather forecaster  was on the news program explaining how a cold front was moving in from the north and there was a real possibility of snow tomorrow above 8000ft.  Not putting much stock in what this guy was saying I went to bed and rested up for another exciting day of cutting hay. 

 

Next morning I went out to do chores and noticed it was just a little on the chilly side of things.  By the time I got down to the meadow and had the swather and stacker engines started it was getting down right cold.  Ten minutes later the first snowflake fell and that was the end of the work day.  You can't cut hay in a snow storm.  By the end of the day it had snowed 6" and everything was white. 

 

Now I have seen snow every month of the year in this country but, I would't trade it for anything.

 

   

Every year there is a certain excitement that goes with the coming of spring.  It is called "Fishing Season".  It is not necessarily anything that we can't do year round it is just the anticipation that when we buy our new license for this year we might catch one big enough to enter the record book. 

Several years ago one of my boys bought a new boat so naturally we had to initiate it by going fishing as soon as the ice was off the lake.  Needless to say, the ice was off the water but the temperature of the air was still a little on the chilly side (20 degrees F.).  At an elevation of about 7500 feet above sea level that is pretty chilly to be on a big lake.  Be that as it may, the two boys decided to fish the canyon.  This is an area of steep rock walls, very little vegetation, and a feeling of complete solitude.  In a boat we fish by the trolling method.  This is allowing the boat to go at a certain speed while the erstwhile fisherman trails his fishing line and bait behind the boat.

 

We had been fishing for about an hour and the fish were not biting real good, so the youngest boy suggested we make one more run up the canyon and then go get some coffee.  We slowly made our way up the canyon and I happened to hook about a twelve inch trout.  We turned around to make another pass over the same area and nothing happened so we headed for shore.  About the time we reached the mouth of the canyon my yongest sons fishing pole jerked twice and flew out of his hands like it was on a spring.

 

There went the pole and the record book.  Was it a  fish or a snag?  Well, there's more to this story and maybe one of these days I'll write it down.  But right now, I'm going fishing.

• About Me
• Autobiography