pages 246-247

Pages 246-247

                Jim worked on a gang plow getting it ready to turn this rich mountain soil into a seed bed.  And when evening drew nigh, he did the chores.  But he was tired and willing to come when I called him to supper.

                We stared into the blackness of the night.  For the clouds had drifted and we went to sleep when the wind and then the rain beat against the window panes.  “Let it rain,” Jim said.  “the more the better.”  High up, like we were, rain usually turned to snow that time of year, So when morning arrived everything was white.  The branches of small trees and bushes along Shirley Creek were plastered with chunks of wet soggy snow that one could hear dripping and falling as the sun climbed higher and higher, warming the valley.

                Jim took his single gauge shotgun down, saying some fresh meat would taste good, going down in the canyon along Shirley Creek.  I soon heard a blast and then another.  After some little time he came back with two dressed cottontail rabbits.  I washed them and put them to soak in salt water.  When dinner was about ready some friends of ours came visiting.

                Jim went out to assist them in tying up their team.  Just the man and his wife.  The children were in school.  Lucky for me I had a pie and part of a cake. I usually tried to have things like desserts cooked ahead.  The lady set the table while I dished up.  The fried rabbit looked delicious on the big platter.  The man commented, “Guess I’ll have to come hunting over this way.  We never see cottontails where we live, only the big jacks that aren’t fit for meat.”  Jim replied, “you only find the small cottontails along creeks.”

                They burrow into the banks for a hiding place and to raise their young.  They are pretty smart or clever about this for they have many inlets and outlets to their bank home.  If they didn’t they would be easy prey for the coyotes would make short work of digging them out and greedily devouring them.

                We visited until about time for school to let out.  When they left saying they would pick up their children on the way waving goodbye and thanking us for the dinner.

                The days were still chilly and the nights cold.  So after supper we retired early for Jim said we must get another load of hay

                When morning came it was still quite cool until the sun began to throw its warm rays over the valley.  Again I fixed a lunch and went along.  Jim always liked my company and I didn’t like being alone.  I took a warm blanket to put over our laps and around our legs.  And with our coats we were comfortable.  The horses settled down to a steady slow like trot somewhat like a jog.  As we rode along in this easy manner, my thoughts drifted back several thousand miles.

                My thoughts wer of those moonlit August hayrides the young people of our church would go on.  Some of the older folks went along for chaperones for this fun loving bunch of teenagers and most generally a girl for each boy or the other way around.  How they would congregate at our home.  I could picture mother so small in her pretty dress and cute tea aprons.  She was always as neat as a pin with her lovely blond hair piled high on top of her head in a fluffy bundle with her sparkling agate blue eyes as she served them hot chocolate with marshmallows, cake and fruit before they would take off on those never to be forgotten trips over the countryside, over hilly toads, down shady lanes, by big old oak trees, lovely pines, maples bathing our faces like a soft caress in the moonlight.

                After several hours of this delightful fun with much singing of lovely hymns and pretty songs, each would be delivered to their own doorstep safely with things to be remembered for aye and a day.  But we weren’t out exactly for fun that morning.  It was feed for our stock.  And it wasn’t an August day or a moon light night by any means.  For the closer we got to where we would load the hay, the wind blew harder and colder making it difficult to load the hay.  Were we glad when it was over and we were off for home.  The horses seemed glad also the way they leaned into the collar.

                Facing a north wind I cuddled down in the hay for warmth, eating our sandwiches half heartily.  On the stretch of road leading home, up popped a big snowshoe rabbit making enormous leaps and bounds clearing the smaller sage taking a clear sweep of things in his stride as he dashed ahead and where to, no one but he knew, I said to Jim, “Maybe a coyote was in pursuit.”  “Might be,” he answered, “but I think our load of hay was more responsible.  After awhile he’ll sneak back and eat his fill when we have it in the feed lot, You can bet.”

                Pretty close now for we could hear little Jackie braying.  Somehow he knew we were near.  Perhaps his long, keen ears picked up the rattle of the wagon.  He didn’t only bray once, but several times.  And when we came into sight, he stuck his little head up higher than ever to let out his loudest bray.  Then on the gallop, he came to the top of the hill, nuzzling the wire that held it shut as though trying to let us through.  Jim slid down onto the wagon tongue and ground, patting Jackie’s soft neck as he bit into the green hay.  Opening the gate I threw the lines to Jim.  He didn’t like trusting me to drive down the sloping hill with a load.  The tam was on a trot almost begore we reached the enclosure where he would unload.

                Evening was settling in and the wind colder and more brisk.  When Jim came in I was preparing our supper.  The fires burning brightly had warmed the house nicely by that time.  It was nice to be in ones’ own comfortable home at the close of the day with the shadows from the disappearing sun over the horizon, closing in for the night.