Tying your horse up to a rail or post (c/o TBN Ranch & Amy Elizabeth) Well, I have a lasting fascination with tying knots probably from boy scouts, camping, the military and some boat handling. But, the ranch life holds that same fascination and I, with a broad based farming heritage, know little if anything about that life. Many years ago, I was over out of Dayville, Oregon ‘helping’ (in the way) as cattle were branded in a chute. That week also involved ‘helping’ again as calves were pulled on a ranch out of Prairie City. That week reinforced that this ‘flat lander’ (a term reserved for rubes from the Willamette Valley urban areas) knew zero about the ranch life. The folks over there were very patient and considerate…thank you!
SwittersB & Exploring 
the summers we spent “on the farm” were some of the best and most psychologically formative times of my life.
for instance i learned that “flatlander” is not a perjorative term, it is a state of grace.
imagine the claustrophobic views of mountain life or the curve of the earth freedom of the plains.
for many years our relatives were “ranchers”…cows, horses and stetsons.
in the early seventies they became “farmers”,,,cows, hondas and baseball caps (indoor plumbing, as well).
quite a transition.
country mice and city mice don’t always mix well. serious concerns about suitability i guess.
so i learned about rattlesnakes, electric fences and horses the hard way.
always to a great deal of obvious mirth from the peanut gallery.
being city kids there was no attendant whining or snitching. just the hope for payback.
in the late sixties we were a city full of violence and disharmony. all with good reason.
as a kid you acquired the necessary skills to navigate the streets.
for some unknown reason the relatives showed up for thanksgiving.
after dinner my brother and i took three of our country mice cousins to THE PROJECTS
(they were just a couple blocks from our house)
and told them that home was “that way” (it was, we didn’t lie) and took off, in a hurry.
three terrified young men showed up about a half an hour later, unharmed.
a conversation debating a trip to the ghetto versus abandonment in a prairie dog village full of rattlers having some sort of equivalency ensued.
we decided it did and wouldn’t happen again.
as a result we became friends instead of just relatives.
LikeLike
Thank you Craig! You always make me smile and marvel.
LikeLike
Sounds like an amazing time!!! My dad was a cowboy in Montana in the 1940’s! He would tell us all the stories of horses and ranch life! Thank you for reminding me of the stories…
LikeLike
Thank you Rebecca. Let me know if you share any of those recollections.
LikeLike