CrazY cowBoy DrEAm

Crazy Cowboy Dream

“The miles that I have traveled, the places I have seen

Just won’t let me put a saddle on this Crazy Cowboy Dream”¹

          

A few days ago I took my niece up on the invitation to join her at school for “hot lunch”. When your nephew and nieces range in age from 13 down to 7, it is easy to see the GIANT handwriting on the wall. Those pending teenage years have the possibility to make those invitations a thing of the past ! A scheduling conflict resulted in the need to move our original lunch date from the coveted “salad bar” day to a standard “hot lunch” day. Have no fear, this school brought it’s noon hour A-Game. My nephew and nieces attend a private Catholic School in Yakima. Most of the teachers recognize me by now as I have been picking up at least 1 child a year for going on a decade! Despite what most folks would consider a less-than-friendly locale, the school proves friendly & welcoming to the weary lunch maven or afternoon courier. On this recent voyage I found myself likening their school to a small, rural town. The kind of town where the lunch is hot, the smiles are warm, & crazy cowboy dreams are still dreamed.

Back at the cafeteria my small town euphoria was kindly interrupted by a sweet voice, “Aunt Jenna, would you like milk?” Don’t tell the health officials, but typically the only time I reach for milk is when it comes served as a double in a tall glass with ice, a few choice ingredients, and a name that sounds suspiciously like a famous handgun!  On this day, nostalgia won as chocolate milk beckoned its way to my tray. As I found my way back to a table surrounded by 11 year old girls and not a boy in sight, I found myself wondering when that fateful day arrived so many years ago that took away the choice of chocolate milk and took our crazy cowboy dreams right along with it.

One of the great blessings life throws our way are the times when a philosophical theme of one kind or another takes residence in our mind. This philosophical battle invokes pondering that may last for days, weeks, even months. As we drive to and from the kids’ school, ride through that group of pairs, or fix the familiar fence line we may not even realize what our brain fervently ponders day after day. If we are lucky we will reach the pinnacle of all great pondering…the much lofted after revelation. Cattle ranchers are blessed to be an intricate part of nature that includes few others. They are able to take in the wide open spaces, fresh air, understand the delicate balance of all life that surrounds them. All that oneness with nature is great but let’s face it; 'em ranchers are slightly scant on human interaction! It has been a long time since they saddled up to a lunchroom table with their chocolate milk, unless you count those bi-yearly trips to the sale barn cafe!  However, this lifestyle makes them far from short on philosophical ponderings or even a profound revelation now and again. Rather than send our ranchers to “Mingling 101” down at the local Eagles, let’s keep them out on the range & tap into that pondering mind. How intriguing it is to sit down at the lunch table and hear a group of folks whose crazy cowboy dreams may very well be alive and kickin’.

My penchant is strong for anything that takes me back to a time when the worry was less and the “living and doing” was more. Typically that means a great deal of enthusiasm at every 2/$1.00 candy rack where the packaging hasn’t changed since Reagan was in office. However, if you look beyond the Cinnamon Bears, Bubbletape, & Slurpees you just might catch a glimpse of the “good ole days”. The Good Ole Days are not limited to the 1880s or the writings of Laura Ingalls Wilder. We all have our very own version of good ole days. That school lunchroom with its choice of “white milk or chocolate” is just one small peek into our glorious yesteryears. Those days when our minds were full enough to be present yet empty enough to dream.

Someone reminded me this week of the saying about doers and dreamers. My personal rendition goes something like “There are three types of people in this world: Dreamers, Doers, and those that let others do the dreaming and the doing.” I believe we cannot successfully do until we have successfully dreamed. When is the last time you let yourself dream or even turned those dreams into something you did? We all know that no one has successfully ever kept us down without our consent but sometimes it takes a good hot lunch, carton of milk, and a kickball game to remind us to start living our crazy cowboy dreams.

“....The miles that I have traveled, the places I have seen

Just won’t let me put a saddle on this Crazy Cowboy Dream”¹

(¹ Robert Earl Keen. “Crazy Cowboy Dream.” Bigger Piece of Sky. MP3. Koch Records, 2004.)

Originally published in WCA Ketch Pen November 2010. 

Just an old chunk of CoaL, but I'm gonna be a DiaMonD some DaY

The greatest part of modern technology is the ability to have the possibility of interruption to one's own thoughts now and again! If you are like me those thought interrupters tend to just encourage more head-scratchin thinkin'. While I was pushing the ol mower around the lawn turned pasture this evening I found company in the shuffle mode of my MP3 player. Some days the shuffle feature alone is enough to get my mind to wandering crazy, insanity filled bits just on the overwhelming gratitude I possess towards the talented soul who invented SHUffLE! Tonight my mind was more entrapped by the musician himself. Shuffle landed on a tune by Billy Joe Shaver from his Storyteller album recorded live. "Just an old Chunk of Coal" would be played four more times before it was settled this bittersweet tune efficiently would sing September to a close.

My blogging habit has proven my attention span well....short-lived! ;) My last hiatus from posting comes from the sudden surprise of another Ketch Pen article already due, an interesting situation I found myself in...ok not interesting but about the only polite thing I can call it, as well as an impromptu trip to Texas..YES another one:), and a very poignant one year anniversary that has been annoyingly never far from my mind throughout the year. This tune's timing in my ears may be far from fate but it is not far from being exactly what my heart needed to dance to.

I'm just an old chunk of coal now Lord

But I'm gonna be a diamond one day

I'm gonna grow and glow until I'm so blue pure perfect

I'm gonna put a smile on everybody's face

September 18th was the day my father made his debut at heaven's gates & the Lord's feet last year. September 26th was the day I led my family up the aisle of a church with one hand gripping my mom's and the other gripping my niece never so aware of the need to present myself with the tallest posture I was capable of. "Successfully" not allowing one tear to slip by until after the words I needed to speak in front of 400+ had been said and my well-heeled feet had taken me back to my pew. I do not believe I have ever been so aware of being alone until I stood watching my one emotional link to "family" lowered in the ground. Less than a half mile from our home & standing in the cemetery our ranch surrounds, the day I was most fearful of had arrived. Everyone surrounding me had a hand to hold, a shoulder to lean on, and I just stood...once again as tall as my 5'9" posture could stretch. Last week, I had a second interview for a job I never wanted more in my 26 years. I was asked what I still think to be a peculiar question, "What is your biggest fear?" Honestly I wanted to wrinkle up my face and say with every bit of attitude I easily possess;) , "Umm Seriously? Believe me...you do not want me to really answer this question!" Right, wrong, or indifferent I proceeded to tell the nice man interviewing me the only way I knew how to PROPERLY answer: honest but still withholding what I so very much wanted to unload..."Well, if I may be incredibly honest, the very things that feared me most, it seems life has brought me face to face with over the last decade. I guess the only thing that remains to be afraid of is something I've been chiseling away at this last year: waking up one day or even ending my life without achieving true peace or contentedness within my soul." ........YEP...that was my answer. Trust me, I will not be giving Interviewing 101 lessons...EVER! Fortunately I believe we have a truly & astoundingly merciful God....and I will now be employed by that interviewer;) Back to subject at hand: Coal. 

When you think of coal you might think of Santa Claus? I think of something that people don't really see a whole lot of worth in...its dirty, its mined dirty, it burns dirty, its just blghh. When you might think of diamonds, you might think of something you yearn for or even something you think is neccessary for happiness. Diamonds don't really appeal to me I won't lie...but diamonds do sparkle. Whats so significant about sparkle? I hear that word and think of a person...not any person...that person. I don't think of the status and love that women tend to joke or perhaps seriously think comes from Diamonds. I think of the analogy this song so beautifully paints. To me, sparkle might just be one of the most awe inspiring words used to ever describe someone. You can't buy sparkle, you can't curve it up or skinny it down, you can't paint a face on it...you just can't spruce sparkle. To sparkle so bright that others can see it, sense it, feel it, and be encouraged by it...can you imagine? So when Billy Joe Shaver sings about being an old chunk of coal and he's gonna be a diamond one day, that's a whole heck of a lot of sparkle he gives a gal hope in;)

I'm just an old chunk of coal now Lord

But I'm gonna be a diamond some day

Oh I'm gonna be the cotton pickin rage of the age

I'm gonna be a diamond some day

 

Heart Like a MuLe

An early evening perched on my family’s deck left my gaze to rest upon what I have long thought to be the most striking animal in the corral. As the sun set slowly behind Mt. Clements, the coloring of this animal was brought to life before my eyes. The sky’s gold and orange hues set off the rich chocolate dorsal stripe, surrounded by an almost brindle colored coat. The animal gazed up at me and I swore our eyes locked for a few fleeting seconds. Those soft eyes left me wondering what past such a beautiful creature was holding onto. Over the last year I have been intrigued over how something so rare and beautiful on the outside could be so fragile and complex on the inside. You see, this animal was not just another normal four-legged creature that had found its way onto my family’s abode. This was a mule. In fact, it was the first mule to ever have found a home here. “Mule” seemed to be its name, and in the nearly two years since he’s moved in he had come as far as almost allowing me to pet him! Dear family friends were kind enough to loan him to us in hopes we could lure him out of shell with TLC and more than a dose of trust. As I have not been the one footing the feed bill, “Mule” is of no bother to me. His “beautiful” bray always supplies me with one of those from-the-belly laughs and typically when I needed a laugh the most. His rare coloring gives a girl all the eye candy she could ask for, so as far as I am concerned he can put his feet up and stay awhile longer.

One day while out painting by the shop, “Mule” decided to rest his head over the nearby gate and keep me company, from a distance he felt was safe of course. Looking over at this creature that wanted so badly to trust but couldn’t unbury his past, I got to pondering about what path folks leave behind and the path that remains in the distance. As the mule loudly beckoned for my attention I looked up once more and begin to wonder just where one crosses over from the heart of a horse into the heart of a mule.

As I have journeyed through this writing experience with the Washington Cattlemen’s Association, some very drastic changes have occurred in my life, but more importantly in my soul. My recent WCA Ketch Pen sabbatical was not unintentional. For those of you that may tune into my blog now and again, you will have possibly noted the change. Anticipating a move to Texas, I quietly changed my blog from the Young Washington Cattlemen’s Association to The Sagebrush Chronicles. This name change was about more than just a potential location change, it granted me the freedom to dive deeper into philosophical ramblings without fear of remaining politically and socially neutral. My writing is something that seems to come from whatever journey my mind and soul is adventuring down. Great for a blog, not great for newspaper deadlines or an audience featuring a load of cattlemen and women that may be used to a slightly stauncher read. After many months of being left high and dry come Ketch Pen time, I came to a bold decision. As just a volunteer writer for a non-profit organization, I decided I was going deep. After all, aren’t all of us trudging up the same trail in life? That inevitable trail that seems to be left off of any map.

That very trail would be the one God and I have been climbing up the past few months, ice pick and all. I honestly acknowledge my recent articles have come up short on bovine related content. The cattle industry has not left my mind entirely; however, due to other circumstances it has only received the occasional nod in its direction from me. Less than two months ago I said goodbye to my job at Farm Credit and pointed my rig west on I-90 for what I hoped would be the last of my weekly Spokane-Selah commute. After a pit-stop in Lind, WA for the annual Combine Derby, I arrived in the Wenas with less than 5 weeks until I was bound for Fort Worth, TX! Last February I boldly applied for a one year Ranch Management Program at Texas Christian University. After inundating the professors of the Ranch Management Program with a lengthy auto-biography I was summoned for an interview. So, mid-April I was once again hitched up on the Southwest wagon, destination Fort Worth. Less than two weeks after my interview I had an official acceptance letter in my hands and the world as my oyster. Once I figured out a well-timed departure from my corporate career, I had just enough days left in Washington State to sell and pay off my car, sell most of my belongings, and find room in a rental rig for my *extensive* wardrobe, minus any winter item containing wool or insulation of course!

Then, that fateful morning dawned with a financial aid wake-up call. This well-oiled, smooth running plan thus far had seemingly been crafted by someone far wiser than me and months back I gave that wise leader the reins to this stubborn mule. God had the ability to change the plan at any time and this time I vowed to be willing to bend and so it seemed our “come to Jesus” talk had arrived. Would I “have the faith” and bend or would I stubbornly stand my ground and continue forward on this southbound trail I desperately wanted to travel? This time, I relinquished control, ignored what the world might say and have been hanging on ever since.

How many of you have sat around the kitchen table late at night wringing your hands through your hair facing a similar situation? God changed the plan mid-game and now what were you to do? The haystacks all caught fire, cows were stolen, Federal grazing stripped from your hands, a family member passed, your “income earner” lost their job...the scenarios seem endless. Well there are really only two options in times of unknown; we can view a change in the trail we were on as an opportunity or a dead-end. With those as my options, it seems I once again find myself picking up my crazy heart and giving it one more try.¹ Over the last decade I have found myself in more situations than I would have ever dreamed possible where I asked God, “So I guess we’re adding THIS to the mix?” Would the world see those bumps in the road as blessings? Well...probably not, they would probably just see a trail-block. But the world has the heart of a horse. Sometimes life is complicated, it is deep, it is not to be understood in the present, if understood ever. Sometimes, life requires the heart of a mule.

 (¹ Bingham, Ryan. “The Weary Kind.” Crazy Heart. MP3. New West Records, 2010.)

Originally published: Washington Cattlemen's Association Sept 2010 Ketch Pen