Patience.

My Cowboy is not easily frustrated. He is an 'even keel' kinda guy. Which is a good thing. As my mom would say, he 'takes everything in stride'. And he does. Example: Last Tuesday, he had to do some machinery transferring, from one ranch to another. I forget the details, but I know that him and another cowboy had to drive a tractor, and a truck/trailer over to the Monolith, which is maybe 15 miles away. Well, I know the truck/trailer got back, cause I seen it sitting in the ranch yard. But that evening, when I asked the usual: "how was your day?", My Cowboy said: "Well, it was a rather unproductive day. We have machinery scattered between here and town." "What happened?" I asked, wonderingly, in my mind's eye, I was imagining a tractor every quarter mile, for 20 miles.

"Had some flats." He answered, calmly.

I thought: 'OK, so they had a few flats, no big deal.' and went back to making my supper. Later that evening, when I went to Bible Study with my friend, who happens to be the other cowboy's wife, we passed the machinery along the road. First the tractor, then the bale buster. We both chuckled, but after talking about the incident with her, I realized again that My Cowboy really does take things very calmly. Even though he was in charge of the day, and had two (if not more) breakdowns, he wasn't even upset about it. It was just a part of life. It wasn't his fault, he couldn't have prevented it, so why get stressed? Sure, It made more work for the next day, and sure, its a pain when you have two pieces of machinery sitting by the road with flats, when you need them the next morning to feed yearlings, but hey, that's life. Roll with the punches. He is not gonna let it ruin his evening at home, he will just think about it later. When he needs to.

Which reminds me of one of the first times I actually noticed him... My family was driving to Central America. We were going to a tiny country called 'Belize'. To get there, we had to drive through Mexico. (That was before all the crazy drug violence you have now.)

Anyways, so after driving four days and three nights through, everyone was very ready to get there, and wash some dust off, and quit bumping along pot-holey roads. Well, not more than an hour or so from our destination, we have a flat on the van. I clearly remember Cliff getting down and changing that tire. I have a picture to prove it. But the remarkable thing to me, and the reason I noticed him, was that he just did it. He didn't say one word of complaint, or utter one groan of despair, or anything negative. He just rolled up his sleeves and went to work. (well, maybe his sleeves were already rolled up. We had no AC in our van, and we were in the tropics) Anyways, I just remember the irony of the situation; Here it was our van, our trip, our family, he was just along for the ride, and yet he was the one doing the hot, dirty work, while we all moaned and complained. Well, some of us complained. I forget who did and who didn't. And I think my brother or my dad helped with the tire, some. But it was Cliff's coolness under pressure and a difficult situation that won my heart. And his cute grin. But don't tell him that I said that - He doesn't think men are supposed to be cute! :)

Cowboy Lingo

Sometimes, in ranch world, we use strange terms. I know this, because I have had to ask many times what My Cowboy was meaning, and I am fairly well-read. Or at least, I thought I was. I have read westerns and pioneer books, but that didn't do me much good when it came to being a cowboy's wife. One thing to remember, is that most western movies are styled after the famous Texas style, and that is not the only kind of cowboy. Believe me. Its all about where you live. Or in some cases, where you wished you lived! There are strange mixes and crossovers - cowboys taking what they think is the best of 2 or 3 styles and mixing them up. There are cowboys who wish they could live in Texas, but are stuck in Wyoming or Utah. But I will give you a short non-conclusive list of some of the most common terms and styles of cowboys that I know of.

Note: I am not an authority, simply a ranch wife who has picked up a few things over the last 4 years, and certainly I have a few cowboy friends who read this who will probably chuckle when they read the mistakes I have made. Don't worry - I shall ask someone before I put this chapter in a book! :)

Humor first~ I read this online, and it made my day! Some people obviously think they know more than what they really do! :) "Hats: Although a necessity at one time, is now considered more of an accessory to complete the western look." OK, this guy (or gal) has never been a cowboy. Trust me. And 'used to be a necessity'? Since when has the sun gotten less hot? or the wind less cold? Global warming, you say? that should make the sun hotter, right? he-he.

OK, back to the matter at hand... In Texas you see the typical movie gear - hats that are referred to by My Cowboy as 'taco hats'. They use 30-40ft ropes and they tie hard and fast, meaning they tie one end of their rope onto the saddle horn. They often have tapaderos on their stirrups, ya know, those things that protect from the cactus?

Our good friend, Curt, from Texas. He's a true cowboy. And has a lovely family. Note the hat.

In southern California, you have Vaqueros, (I think) and they more closely resemble the Spanish influence. Don't ask me about their style. I forget.

My Brother-in-law, Marcel. he is kind of a mix! But the hat is similar to what My Cowboy wears.

Then you have the buckaroo, which is the most like My Cowboy. Flat hats, they dally their rope, and they (usually) don't have tapaderos. They use long 60 ft ropes, and they work Black Angus cattle, not the longhorns that run in Texas and on the movies. They also wear felt hats more than straw, because they deal with alot more blizzards than what Texans do. (DO Texans deal with blizzards?) Anyways, you get the idea. I wish I had a photo of each style. When you see them side by side, it is kinda interesting. But cowboys are a bit like Mennonites - when they aren't side by side, they all look the same! :)

Now for some common misunderstandings...

Push cattle

What it means: To herd, or to in some manner cause the cow to walk in front of you to a desired location.

What it doesn't mean: To actually lay hands on the beast, and push, like you do to a car that doesn't start.

Have a wreck

What it means: That is when your horse decides to buck, spook, or just act generally dumb, causing it and/or the cowboy to go flying, or be drug, or any number of unpleasant things. Ask Cliff about wrecks.

What it doesn't mean: To have a wreck with your truck. Although that has been known to happen, as well.

Gather

What it means: In Texas language, "round-up". To circle the cattle with your hoses, and herd them to a holding pen.

Trap

What it means: A small pasture that is used to keep cattle close together, so they can be found the next day.

On the Prod

What it means: Mad. Aggressive. Ready to do battle with whoever is in the way. Irritated. (This term is also used for humans.)

Bronc-ey. This one should be self explanatory. All I have to say, is: "don't ride em."

Woofy. When a member of the bovine species is kinda ticked off, kinda crazy, and/or ready to charge. Keep your distance.

Disclaimer: these meanings can be different depending on the circumstance. This is a general understanding. And there are many more, but I have had a sudden brain fog, and totally forgot the others, so that's it for today. If any of you cowboys/girls want to throw one in I forgot, please do!

Have a cheery day, and Ride The Brand. (Do whatever it takes to be loyal and true to the outfit you are working for.)

Shipping, Part 2

Now that the cattle are gathered together, the cowboys get them into the smaller loading pens. They chase them down the alley, up the ramp, and onto the trailer. The truck driver, outfitted with rubber boots and a cattle prod, stands just at the back of the truck, giving out generous jabs and yells to help with the whole process. Or at least they think they are helping. I don't think the cattle act much differently, whether they are there or not, from what I have observed. No offense to all you truckers. :)

When the trailer is full, the driver yanks the rope, letting the door clatter shut, then the truck pulls away. The next truck in line backs into position. (I always like to see the line of cattle-trailers sitting on the ranch on shipping day - it means that alot of young stock are leaving, and that means less work for My Cowboy!) Anyways, some chutes are easy to get to, unfortunately, the one here on the X-Bar is kinda squirrelly. Someone had the bright idea of building a bunkhouse right smack in the middle of the ranch yard.SO every truck that comes in, has to drive in around the bunkhouse, and then back up at an angle to the chute. They can't do it in one try, so they pull forward, and back up. Pull forward, back up, and so on, sometimes one foot at a time, till they are straight. Some are better than others, and some take forever.. But I am always glad its not me that is behind the wheel. I hate maneuvering vehicles. Finally, they get into position, and start loading again.

Sometimes the loading goes smoothly, and sometimes the ornery critters decide that they don't want to go up that chute today. So the cowboys yell. Make weird noises. Send in the dog, who usually makes things worse. They yell some more. They poke and prod and jump up and down. You wouldn't believe the crazy things cowboys do to make cattle move. I am embarrassed for them. Or at least I used to be. Now its just funny. 'Cause any other time they are so dignified. :)

They will eventually get a steer to run up the chute, and the rest usually follow. Once, a heifer was so worked up that she went running down the alley, and jumped right over the gate. That particular gate was being run by the boss's wife that day, and she was rather startled to have a cow go flying past her face, unexpectedly.

When the last yearling goes on the truck, and the the truck rolls away, the cowboys stand around and exchange bits and pieces of interest from the morning. The Boss gives some instructions, and sometimes they tell a few stories. That is the best part of the day. At least for The Cowboy's Wife.

Shipping, Part 1

To a cowboy, shipping means long days horseback. It means early mornings and late nights. It means riding through all kinds of country, gathering young cattle together, and pushing them back to the shipping pens. (by 'pushing', I don't mean with your hands. Some would call it 'herding') Shipping means hard riding and beautiful vistas. Sometimes it means riding through freezing winds. And occasionally, it means getting a chance to rope a bear. Not that they do. Or should. But the chance. Something about being horseback with a rope, make every cowboy wanna rope anything that they come across. I don't understand it, myself. Who in their right mind would try to rope a bear? But some do. Some, like My Cowboy, refrain from trying only because they know they are the sole provider for a family, and are too responsible to risk getting hurt. Bless him. But he still thought about it. Which I would never do. But I digress.
For the ranch wife, on the other hand, shipping means something a bit different. It means stumbling out of a warm bed in the predawn darkness. Trying to stop yawning while putting on the coffee, and frying the sausage. Mumbling a sleepy: "Be safe", before crawling back between the sheets. It also means waiting for My Cowboy till late in the evening. Waiting. Feeding the kids at 7 pm, and still waiting. I don't want to be the paranoid wife that is always calling, but I finally give in, and call his cell phone. No answer. Maybe he is doesn't have service, I reason. After all, he s riding back on some in-the-booney-ranch, who knows? So I wait. Then I call again. and again. After the 10th try, I give in and call the other cowboy, the boss, and the boss's wife. The boss's wife answers, but hasn't heard from them either. That's about the moment true worry sets in. You could probably call it 'suppressed panic', too, but that would be a bit embarrassing to admit. I start thinking of the time the boss was drug along, with his head banging the ground, unable to free his foot from the stirrup. Or the time my cousin got dumped and banged his head so hard he had temporary amnesia. Or the time the boss's partner lay, wounded, in the pasture...or the time my own Dear Cowboy had a horse wreck, and forgot where he was or what happened. I begin to pace, and watch the lane. About when I am planning his funeral, and what I am gonna have to do to support myself and three kids, I see truck lights. Relief. Such relief. And then as I realize he's safe, just late, with no call, I don't know whether to yell at him or hug him. When he walks slowly in the door, bone-weary and dog-tired, with a quiet: "Hi, honey, sorry I couldn't call ya, my phone was dead."
I hug him. He is so innocent. So tired. So hungry. So worn. I haven't the heart to tell him that i was so scared that he would never walk in the door again. So scared that my stomach hurt. So I feed him warmed over food, and fresh coffee. I ask him where he was riding that day, and where he will be riding tomorrow. I don't tell him that the reason I want to know is so I know where to go search for him. He doesn't need a crazy wife. He just needs a bed. 'Cause it starts all over at 4 am tomorrow. And before I go to sleep, I thank God that I have a husband to care for, for another day.

Note: Shipping happens in early fall. I write in random order. As you may have noticed. Enjoy. :) Photo credits go to Axel Selter.

Winter Days and Cowboy Fun

2011 is blowing in with gusto. The sun is peeking through the gray clouds in orange and yellow streaks, and the wind is blowing snow in powdery clouds across the ground. The cold is seeping into the house, undeterred by the caulking I so carefully put around the windows this fall. The temperature huddles around -2 or so, not accounting for the 20 mph Windchill, which is rumored to be about -20. I don't like to think of the Windchill. It is, in fact, a very normal day for us, slightly cooler perhaps, but certainly not uncommon.

Today I plan to stay indoors and put a puzzle together with my kids, maybe sew a little, maybe watch some Andy Griffith. Meanwhile, My Cowboy is battling the elements for the health, indeed, the very lives of the young stock in his care. They have lost a few head in the last week, and that is not a good thing. Sometimes the weather wins. Sometimes the cowboys win. It is a constant battle. But its what a man is made for, I think. To struggle against the odds, and win. To succeed at a difficult task, to throw all their energy and will into conquering, and to conquer. Its what makes me feel safe with My Cowboy when we go camping, its what makes me unafraid in any situation with him, and its what makes me want to pull my hair out at times! But for all you that work or study indoors most of your time...this is why My Cowboy is not as eager to spend his one precious day off, to go work like crazy on a basketball court! No offense to those of you who like sports, of course. :)

We do have some fun here on the X-Bar, though. A few days ago, we all piled into the suburban, including another cowboy, and went sledding. We drove through the ranch to find a hill suitably steep for our sleds. We went sliding, spinning, and plowing through snowdrifts so deep that snow went spraying up on each side of the suburban. Since the land was more or less flat, I didn't mind, but when we started spinning when we were close to a fence, I 'almost' screamed. I didn't want my new rig to get scratched. Well, its not really new, but it is new for us. My Cowboy just laughed, and said that it already had some dings. He delights in making me nervous on snow. He says I have an unreasonable fear of snowy roads. He's right. I admit it. While I rarely/never scream about mice, snakes, or even my deadly fear - spiders, I will, on occasion, scream about a snowy road. Or at least, I used to. Till I married My Cowboy. It makes him grin. And I don't like to feel like I am being childish. (which of course I am.) So I have willed myself to stop screaming, and just accept the fact that I will likely die on an icy road, someday.

Back to sledding. We found a spot that looked good. A hill right beside Lake Sodergreen. ( yeah, we do have a lake on our ranch.) So we haul the sleds out, and take turns going down the hill on the big toboggan that My Cowboy made over Christmas. It has tin on the bottom, 2x2's for a frame, and a plastic 'curl' at the front. Oh, and a old extension cord for the handle. When I asked My Cowboy why he used that, he said that "it was handy". Smart. Not necessarily rustic or cute, but very smart. I thought the sled looked rather heavy and unwieldy, but I didn't say anything. It was a good thing I kept my mouth shut, too, cause that homemade sled is the best sled I have rode on in a long time. Maybe ever. It goes fast and smooth.

Then My Cowboy tired of sledding down a straight hill, with the only challenge being to stop before you go over the bank and drop into the canal. So he formed a new sled-trail. Down the hill at an angle, over the snow-covered road, (2-track dirt road) and down the bank onto the lake. It was certainly a longer, faster ride. And more interesting. At least to the cowboys, who thought it funny that I would scream over a fast sled ride. I explained that I was afraid that the combined weight of My Cowboy and I on one sled would result in breaking through the ice. Which wouldn't be a good thing in 8* weather. But My cowboy just grinned, and said that it would hold us. He is so annoyingly right, all the time. It did hold us. In fact, while the guys alone would end on the lake, with my added weight, My Cowboy and I went clear over that corner of the lake, and partway up the other bank.

Then the other cowboy decided to use the toboggan as a snowboard. I have to admit, it crossed my mind that it would be funny if he fell headlong, but nope. He was good. He stayed upright the whole way. Crazy guy. Unfortunately, it was just too cold to stay real long, and we ended up going home soon, because of the bitter cold. Hot Chocolate and marshmallows, anyone?

The Last of 2010....

Year 2010 is drifting away in snow and below zero temps. It is quietly fading out, while year 2011 is standing tall by the door - waiting its turn to come in and stay awhile. The new year is full of promise, full of newness, full of hopes and dreams. Who doesn't love a new year? Another chance? Another beginning? The chance to try, yet again, to do That Thing you always procrastinate on? Or maybe, That Thing you think is too hard, and somehow it will get easier with a magical New year? I know, everyone is blogging, posting, talking, writing, and preaching about the New Year. I wasn't gonna be one of them. Ha. I write what is on my mind. And even though I like to think it - I am NOT an exception. Most of us aren't. That means you. Yep. sorry.

I have always had this thing with New Year's resolutions. Never made them much. Thought it was dumb to resolve to do something that you KNOW you aren't gonna do in 3 months from now. Or whenever. So I have refrained from them. Except once. When I was 13. (that's another story.) And this year is no different... I have not made resolutions. Well, OK, I have made some goals. Several things would like to accomplish the next few months, and so I wrote them out so I can keep on track. Quilts to finish, things to teach my daughter, who is quickly growing into a young lady, and some decorating. But if I WERE to make a New Year's resolution, (I can't break my record, you see) it would be just one thing...
Blog Every Week. Or every day. Anything would be better than this randomness. So, my friends, we shall see. I make no promises.

The Shack

It was a tiny house. If it could be called a house. It was, more accurately; a shack. Thin walls that didn't keep out the wind, cheap linoleum that was ugly and worn, no indoor plumbing - well, if I remember right, there was an old-fashioned hand-pump for water instead of a faucet in the kitchen. There was dirt everywhere, funky old drapes that the previous tenant had neglected to take down, and a few old chairs. There was electricity in the house, thankfully. But we had only the bare essentials.

My mom was an old pro at this, though, and enlisted the help of us kids to clean it up and get it livable. Actually, it was more like being Shanghaied. We had no choice in the matter, we just did what she said. ("Good character-building," I can almost hear you say it...) Anyways, my brothers took turns with the push-mower on the yard. It was so overgrown that the weeds were almost as tall as my brothers in some places. Meanwhile, Mom had my sister and I busy with the cleaning of the inside. We swept and scrubbed, and then carried in our belongings. Somewhere we found an old orange-brown couch, and sat it in the main room. Mom hung some white sheer curtains, trying to make it look homey. It helped. There were two small bedrooms, one was for our parents, and one was for us girls. My two brothers that were home at the time, slept in a small camper that we had. I think. I am having a hard time remembering where exactly they slept...

It was fun to explore the place after we got settled. There was a spring behind the house, bubbling up cold and fresh. There was a dandy 'dump' on the place, as well. It was great for finding all sorts of treasures. My favorite part was a gnarled old tree in the yard, with a low branch that grew out horizontal to the ground. It was a great tree for sitting in, and thinking. I spent alot of time in that old tree.

We needed a mailbox, and being too broke to buy one, my brothers made one out of wood. It was crude, but it held mail. That is, till the mail carrier informed us that it was not an appropriate receptacle. She said it was not weather proof. I always wondered about that... I mean, if we didn't care if our letters got rained on, why should she? Probably some regulations, I suppose.

There was no bathroom inside the house. There was a outhouse in the backyard, and a beaten dirt path leading to it. I don't remember where we took our baths, but I suppose we probably went to my uncle's place, which was just over the hill and around the bend. It was summer, and I don't remember doing much of anything there... mainly I explored the woods behind the house, and sometimes helped my sister tend the baby. I remember my mom taking me on an early-morning walk to the top of a hill and watching the sunrise. It was lovely, all peachy-pink and glowing. The dewy fields were misty and quiet. The horses in the pasture were standing calmly, and the birds singing their early morning songs.

The days we spent at the shack were long and boring. We didn't have much to do. Sometimes Mom would give us kids a few quarters, and we would walk a half mile to a small store. It was a country store, sorta like a convenience store - minus the gasoline. We would buy Little Debbie cakes and Swiss Rolls. We would agonize over the decision, because we didn't get treats very often. Then we would walk home through the warm meadow grasses, with the bugs chirring, and the sun beating down on our backs.

I don't really remember what my dad did during that time. I think he may have worked at a sawmill. My brothers may have worked there, too. I was just too young to notice. I was about 8 or 9, I guess. I know Mom and us girls went to visit our cousins quite a bit, having nothing else to do. We would take our laundry and then stay a half a day, helping my aunt.

I don't know why I felt like writing about the shack, but I know this: it was one experience in my life that made me love my conveniences. Its one of the reasons I like to dream of pioneer life, but never want to live it. I have many more similar stories, and sometime I will tell you another... People always think it was so romantic and fun to be always moving and having so many different experiences. It wasn't. But it was educational. And while my family who reads this will remember all the stuff that I left out of the story - may you remember to be thankful.
Especially if you never had to live in a shack that had 4 small rooms, along with your 5 other siblings and your parents. By the way, this was only one house and one state out of the 12 states and 30-40 houses I have lived in, growing up. No, its not a joke, and no, I am not stretching it. It's just hard to remember all the houses unless I have the help of my siblings.

By the way, in case you just can't imagine that it was so bad, let me tell you a secret; there was awful turmoil in our family while we were living there, so don't always assume that families are as fun or perfect as they look on the surface.