Wednesday, February 6, 2019

Part lV, pages 273-275


Part lV
THE SMELL OF THE SAGE
Pages 273-275

                March, true to form, came in with a wind, and behind it, came the rain, then the pungent odor of the sage filled the valley with its heavily laden scent, a smell one never forgets, the surrounding hills, with a chilly aftermath, while in the high up hills and canyons, soft flakes of snow sifted down and were shrouded with an invisible fog, while the valley was getting the much needed rain, always welcome to the ranchers in this dry country.  By evening, it was over, and only the low hanging clouds and a damp cool atmosphere remained.  Snug in our warm bed, we could hear the wind come up again around midnight, only to die down at daybreak, and when Jim arose, and opened the door to look out, all was calm, only the chatter of the birds from the canyon to break the stillness as a new day was breaking over the horizon, with the first faint rays of the sun filtering over the valley, giving the dew covered sage a silvery hue.
                Jim fixed the fire, then returned to the bedroom door, saying, “It looks like this is it, we’d best be getting at the railing.”  Then he went out into the cool daybreak air, closing the door behind him.  Hearing the latch click, and later the tea kettle start to boil over, I arose and quickly slipped into my housecoat, the light blue one that Jim always liked, took a quick glance in the mirror, brushed back the stay strands, then dashed into the kitchen.
                As Jim came in from feeding the stock, he grabbed me up in his arms, hugging me tight, swinging me around the floor, calling me his “Blue Fairy,” while the tea kettle merrily boiled over, splattering my dainty blue housecoat and lace ruffled butterfly nightie.
                “Put me down,” I finally said, “or we won’t have any boiling water left to get breakfast with.”
                Who cares?” he said, sitting down and holding me on his lap.  “you are mine, all mine, let the water boil away, we’ll boil some more, spring’s in the air, “ He continued.  “and, all’s well with the world,”  I tried again and again to get free of his clasp, but of no avail, for when he decided to hold me, it was for keeps.  He then said teasingly, “Where’s my breakfast, I am hungry.”
                “Well,” he replied, “hunger is ruling this time.”  As his tight hold relaxed a bit, I slipped out of his grasp and by that time the fire had died to coals.  Jim jumped to replenish it with wood from the box, while I got out the kettle, coffee pot and frying pan.  I did not attempt to cook whole cracked wheat, or make those delicious hot biscuits for time had slipped away, caused by a husband’s dilemma.
                The tea kettle soon boiling again.  I fixed coffee. oatmeal, toast, bacon and eggs and to my consternation, he said, “Now , this is the kind of breakfast I like.”
                I said, “What about hot cakes, whole cracked wheat, biscuits or muffins?”
                “Oh,” he replied, “we can have those some other morning, when I am not around to see my pretty wife in her lovely blue housecoat.
                I said, “You old flatterer, let’s eat breakfast before it gets cold.”  And, it is lucky we did, for we hadn’t more than finished, when our little mule, Jackie, brayed and went on a gallop up to the gate.  There from our window, we could see our neighbor coming to rail.  He had evidently arisen much earlier, seeing the day would be nice and was ready to hook onto the rail when Jim went out to untie and line his horses out.  I hurriedly dressed and went out as they were leaving with Jackie tagging along.
                “Wait,” I said, grabbing Jackie’s halter and tied him to the rack, the other  man had gone on.
                Jim held his team a minute to say, “Don’t you think you should lay off riding Jackie, you could drive the buggy almost anyplace, and I left Beauty tied to the rack for you.”
                “Oh,” I said, “riding him is like sitting in a rocking chair, I think the buggy is worse.”  “Ok,” he said, “you are the doctor,”  calling back as he drove away, “but I don’t want your mother getting after me for not taking good care of you.”
                Soon he was in and out of the canyon and I watched him up the far road by the west fence line.  Returning, I cleaned away the neglected breakfast table, then turned to making the bed, sweeping, and dusting. The man would be there for dinner, so I put a currant pie in the oven to bake, peeled potatoes, and got other things ready in preparation of the meal, also , put a kettle of dried corn on to soak and slowly cook, then , sat down to rest awhile and to glance through a farm journal lying close by.  I had been sitting there some time when I heard Jackie’s plaintive bray, wondering why he should be tied, when he loved to go off to the bench and wander around.  Seeing the morning so near gone, I turned him loose, knowing he would come back at noon with the other horses.  Kicking up his heels, he dashed away without even a thank you, until at the top of the hill he turned and looked back into the valley below and brayed.  I waved, saying “OK” and went into the house, while he went galloping across the bench where they were working.
                Seeing Jackie, Jim became worried, thinking I might have gotten knocked down by Jackie wanting to go with the others, so here he came, riding Jackie back to the house.  By his halter, it looked like an imposition.  Little Jackie carrying so large a man.  I could see them from the north windows long before they got to the house,  Jackie’s short neck and Jim trying to keep from sliding on over, then coming up the hill, hanging on to his mane to keep from sliding off the other way.  I was on the scene laughing as he rode up.
                “Now, it isn’t funny.” He said, “but , laugh if you must, I was concerned about you and this is all I had to ride, and I thought he was a pretty obliging little mule.”
I heartily agree,’ I said, walking over to pat his stubby little neck, while Jim dismounted, relieving him of his burden to which Jackie shook himself, then went out in the soft ground to do his usual stunt of rolling over three times, and as quickly, got to his feet, shook the dirt from his hair, then over to the rack to eat, as though it was all a bad deal.
                “He’ll not go now,” Jim said, going to the house.  Being so near noon, Jim did not go back up either.
                It was only a short while until the neighbor came, with the horses.  Jim assisted him in watering and feeding, while I put the last touches to the dinner.  The neighbor ate heartily, as though he enjoyed all of it, even smacking his lips over the currant pie, and finally saying, “You know, I ate breakfast a bit early, and it hardly stayed with me, but I want to tell you that was a good dinner.”  Then wiping his hands on the napkin, he and Jim arouse to go out and look after the horses.
                After the dishes were cleared away, I lay down for a short nap, forgetting about Jackie, but to my surprise, when I went out, there he was, saddled and left tied to the rack.  Going back in, I slipped on a jacket, and we were off to the bench, across Shirley Creek, and the foothills by the creek road that flowed along faster than Jackie’s walk to the west line fence and up we went.  The saddle did not slip much, for Jim had used extra precaution in cinching the girth, Jackie had a little rounding short, fat stomach that was bigger around, then back of his front legs where the surcingle fit, he made up for it though with his long hairy ears, almost like a guidepost just above the saddle horn.  We kept to the west fence line, finding them on the north slope of the bench.
                As we neared the big outfit, I said, “Jackie, you don’t know how  lucky you are that you are not on one end on that rail,”  for all four horses, two on each end of the sixteen foot railroad rail, were sweating profusely and leaning heavily into the collar, as they passed us, for the sage was extra large and heavy on the north slope, where the snow layed longer, it was giving the horses all and more than they could do, for the bending, breaking and tearing the roots loose from the unbroken sod, with a squeaking or sharp-like penetrating sound, and with almost a groan as they pulled it from the earth, the bruised and tore loose bark, filled the air with its strong offensive smell, even penetrating one’s nostrils until you could smell it hours later.

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