pages 276-277

Pages 276-277

                Jackie and I stood thus for some time until Jim came over to where we were, assisting me from the saddle.  Here we stood, watching the railing until the sun began going down behind the mountain peaks.  Soon, the man thought the horses had done enough for one day, even though he stopped them from time to time “to blow.”  Jim went over to help the man unhitch, after helping me into the saddle.  Jackie turned facing the sun again, off along the west line fence.

                As evening approached, wild life began to stir, for here and there a jackrabbit flitted away and a saucy little rock chuck or chipmunk or two,  would chatter a bit, then dart back into their holes.  Jackie plodded slowly, but sure-footed, along, digging his hoofs in as we made the descent, with only his ears above the saddle horn.  We had just made it down when the wagon and horses came up behind us.  Pulling Jackie to one side, I let them pass.  We lingered for awhile before going on, thinking I had seen something in the bushes just under the west fence where Shirley Creek runs under, keeping still long enough I was rewarded, for there went the coyote with his bushy tail, up through the sagebrush to the top of the hill, then dashed away, losing himself among the brush.

                Jackie wanted to drink, as we crossed the creek, but with his short neck, he would have to spread his front legs apart, in order to reach the water.  I saw that wouldn’t do with me in the saddle, so urged him on, telling him he could get his drink later. As we came up the hill the man was just going through the gate at the top of the hill and our horses were rolling to get the feel of the harness off their sweaty hair.  Jim was feeding hay, when I rode up he helped me off and unsaddled Jackie, and he, too, went out to roll where the others had, shaking himself vigorously, then back to get his drink, and as usual, came back to crowd in where he thought the best hay was.

                When Jim and I returned to the house, a weird cry came from above the canyon.  No one knew where, but that was him we’d seen.  Soon, another howl, like that of a wolf this time, but it was only our friend the coyote.  Going in, we closed the door to the darkness that would soon settle like a drawn shade over the valley.  I turned to fixing a bit of supper from the dinner left-overs, while Jim settled in his comfortable chair, picking up a story he began to read.  It was one I had been quite interested in, so I listened as I went about my work, calling Jim about a half hour later, saying, “It’s ready.”  And the tea was poured, He came reluctantly, saying he wanted to finish the chapter.  I said, “When you get back, you can finish that and start right on the next without being interrupted, and I can listen, while clearing away the dishes.”

                Soon seated, with Him saying under his breath, “You win, as always.”  I smiled to myself, saying nothing, while he returned thanks, thanking the Lord for our Food, and the many blessings he had bestowed on us as each day passed, and asking for his help and protection in the days to come.

                The evening seemed to pass rapidly and before we knew it, the hands of the clock had slipped around to our bedtime, sometimes earlier and sometimes later, but most generally we retired around nine-thirty, reading a chapter or two from the Bible first.

                The night was calm and too much so for March, but March turned out to be a real month, with little wind or moisture.  As the days and weeks went by, giving good weather for the raking and burning of the sage, clearing the virgin soil for the plow.  This heavy black sod held moisture much longer than lighter soil, for our ranch was in the foothills and what most people called, mountain ash soil, and water was all that was needed to produce good crops.  Our hopes were that the clouds would bring the needed rain through the growing months.

                Jim spent much time burning the raked rows of sage.  There were times I would go along, using a pile of brush for a seat to watch the flames shoot skyward, as the grease in the bark of the sage took a hold and such a hot fire, one didn’t dare get too close.  Now and again I’ve watched a rabbit or chipmunk scurry from the windrows, as the fire swept along, for it moved fast, especially if a breeze happened to be blowing in that direction, making a heavy dense smoke, filled with the smell of the charred sage, There were times I would fix a lunch to  take along and Jim would take a jug of water, providing it was a good day, we’d burn and re-burn some that only partially burned at other times.  Oh, we had high hopes, and we knew when the sage was eradicated, we’d have a good ranch.  And the fire was doing just that.  We would sit off a ways to avoid the smoke and heat, and to enjoy the repast I had brought along in the paper sack, later scattering the crumbs and left-overs, so that birds or some small creature might get the benefit of it.  When evening drew nigh, we’d walk arm in arm across the wide bench.  Here we would pause for a moment at the edge of the hill, before making the descent to survey our home below, to scan its boundaries from this point of view, our neighbors’ homes across the valley on the opposite bench, as we stood thus the wind came up chilly, with Jim putting his arms tightly about me, we would hurry down the slopes, and soon in our cozy home.

                I kindled the fire and waited to hear it merrily go up the chimney for a moment, then pull the damper.  Jim went out to do the chores and I to feed the chickens and pick up the eggs.  Some days I would plan what we would eat, and others just fix what was at hand.  This meal would be one of those, so it would be left-over potatoes, made into cakes, French toast, eggs and hot tea just the thing to drive the chill from us we had incurred while being out most of the day.