Memorial Day and Grandpop

Howdy Friends,  

This is the Thirteenth in my series of Grandpop stories based loosely on my Uncle Ed, a WWII Vet, and real life cowboy. I began writing about Grandpop, June 27, 2013, with what at the time I imagined what would be a standalone short story, "Perhaps I've Just Lived Too Long." You can read that story (and find links to go on) (HERE)   Folks said they enjoy visiting with Grandpop, so I wrote more. Frankly, I enjoy him too.

Memorial Day and Grandpop

My cousin’s younger sister and her children had swung by to spend the weekend. Memorial Day being the big kick-off to summer and all. I heard the girls giggling in the barn as soon as I pulled in. I knew they’d be romping, as kids are want to do in early afternoon warmth in a barn full of hay, horses, tack and love. Grandpop was like a magnet to young folks, where he was they would be.

Giving my eyes a chance to adjust to the inside light I saw Grandpop had his new mare standing ground tied while the girls worked happily brushing her. Grandpop supervised from a comfortable looking hay bale perch.

“Howdy Son!” He greeted. “You’ll need to fetch a horse if you’re joinin’ us. I figured on a short warm up, get the kinks out, ride this afternoon so we’re all set for tomorrow’s big deal.”

I can’t recall how many Memorial Day parades Grandpop had ridden in, as far as I knew he’d only missed a few over the years, ever since he and Mom set stakes here right after WWII. I can remember he’d been the driving force in keeping the parade alive a few times when interest faded from time to time. “Can’t allow certain things to disappear from life.” He’d told town council more than once.

Grandpop never was one to bother much with town business, but everyone knew him and most folks valued his opinion. There was that one year; I think I was senior in high school when the parade was pretty much Grandpop, a few veteran friends, mom, my sister and me, one fire truck and half the school band. He told me once if it’s only him and a horse, as long as he’s on this side of the grass he’d do his best to have a Memorial Day parade in town. “For the youngin’s. Need to make sure they keep rememberin’ Memorial Day is more than hot dogs and a long weekend.”

We started out four abreast, just as we’d ride in the morning in town. The girls looked great, smiles as wide as the meadow. The horses marched magnificently, as if they understood the importance of the day. Grandpop always did, and still can sit a horse as finely as ever anyone who has ever ridden. The years have taken a toll; his shoulders not quite a square, but the aura of the man gleamed when he sat a horse, or talked about the respect for our country, and honor of those who’d paid the ultimate price to keep her free, and safe. Of course he shined when he spoke of mom, us kids, grandkids, great grandkids, horses, love and God ... but when respect and honor for our country was the topic, he radiated.

We rode for an hour, Grandpop told the girls, although he’d told them before, Memorial Day was first known as Decoration Day when it started, right after the Civil War, as widows decorated the graves of those fallen in that great conflict. “It’s grown now to honor all those who’ve died while serving.” He explained. “Veteran’s day in the fall honors all who’ve served.”

We rounded the turn heading back to the corrals and the girls excitement grew for the next day’s ride. They would each be carrying flags. Watching their happy faces and listening to their questions I knew these two would never allow the meaning of Memorial Day to disappear from their lives.

Gitty Up, Dutch Henry

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Grandpop, “There’s a difference between gettin’ and earnin’”

Howdy Friends, 

Grandpop is a series of stories I started in June of 2013, based loosely on my Uncle Ed, a WWII Vet, and real life cowboy. He grew up cowboyin’ on the famous XIT ranch in Texas until he left to join the war with a few of his range riding buddies. His daddy ran one of the general stores on the ranch. I never knew my Uncle until I graduated High School, the folks who had me on the farm allowed no outside contact, but when I met him I was immediately hooked on his quiet ways, wisdom and kindness toward all, animal and human. Uncle Ed is the personification of the Cowboy Code. I never had a father figure until I met Uncle Ed, and our visits over the years have served as guideposts to me. Our visits with Grandpop here in the Coffee Clutch are based sometimes on the chats he and I had on his farm in PA, and other times on chats as I imagined we would have them if we’d had the chance. Uncle Ed moved back to Texas, about 10 years ago, onto a little spread only a few miles from the Canadian River Breaks he cowboyed in his youth. His wisdom, it seems, is even more important now. You can have a read of our first ever visit with Grandpop HERE (with links to go on) – I hope you’ll enjoy our visits with Grandpop.

Kessy, Saturday and me writin' a story

“There’s a difference between gettin’ and earnin’”

His friendly smiles always took charge of the moment, times and situations I knew I’d handle differently, most certainly with less effect and understanding. Grandpop always knew how to make things understandable, on a higher level. Sometimes with just that smile of his. And a twinkle in his eyes. I could see the lad was still frustrated, perhaps even angry, but Grandpop’s smile, and purposeful hesitation, had the young fella thinking.

“You can get all the tangles out without cutting,” Grandpop encouraged from his seat on a straw bale. He sent me a silly grin. He’d been coaching the boy on the fine art of horse grooming but the tangled wind-braids in the mane looked to be more than the youngster wanted to deal with. “Take a few strands and pull ‘em up through one at a time, and little by little you’ll get ‘er. Then you’ll have a clean beautiful thick mane all wavy and plush, much better than just choppin’ it off to get done. You’ll feel better about it too.”

The glare the boy shot Grandpop telegraphed his disbelief and perhaps disinterest. “I wanna get done, you said if I clean him up we’d get to go riding. I’m at this ten minutes already and I want to get to ride before I go home.”

Grandpop’s soft chuckle always disarmed and didn’t fail this time.

“What? I just want to get to ride!” The boy tugged harder than necessary on a tangle. The patient horse leaned into the tug.

“Yup, I hear that.” Grandpop braced on his cane, stood and eased to the horse. With weathered fingers grown unsteady with age, he gently pulled a few strands free from tangle. He gave the boy a knowing smile. “See it’s really that easy. I’ll just sit on my straw throne and watch you finish up."

Some fifteen minutes later the boy beamed as he ran a brush through the tangle free, glossy white mane of Grandpop’s second favorite horse. The pride of a job well done painted on the young man’s face. “Looks pretty good doesn’t it?” He ran his fingers through the blonde hair. I’m ready to ride, I earned it!”

“You sure 'nough did!”

As they saddled Grandpop asked the boy about riding, and a bit about his life at home. I was busy tacking up my own mare, and missed some of it, but heard enough to know the lad a rough road at home. “I wish I could stay here.” I heard his voice trail away.

“I know young fella, and I wish I could keep all the young ‘ins like you who visit.” They stopped at the mounting block. “Take this with you when you head for home, it’ll help ya. There’s a difference between gettin’ something and earnin’ it. Ya see, when you just get something ‘cause you just reach out and get it, or can borrow enough money to buy it, the satisfaction is fleeting, unfulfilling and you need to run out to get the next thing you want, always not quite satisfied, because it means nothing. But if you work to earn it, put the time into truly possess it; it’ll have a lasting value. It’ll mean something. It’ll always give you a true sense of lasting satisfaction.”

Grandpop boosted the boy into the saddle. “That’s a problem with a lot of folks today. They just want to get, don’t even ever have the chance to feel the joy, the power of earning what they want. Don’t let that be you.”

We rode toward the mountain, I trailed a bit behind, but could see the boy sitting tall, happy and proud.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

"Grandpop, Lisa and Fall Colors"

Howdy Friends,

We had drifted to the back yard, Grandpop, Lisa and me. Grandpop wasn't up to riding, or walking very far, so the chairs under the big trees just off the porch seemed a good place to rest. The view of the mountains, not so far away, but far enough to paint a glorious scene stretching across the horizon offered a spectacular backdrop for morning coffee. Grandpop and I settled into our chairs, Lisa stomped about kicking leaves, not quite ready to sit and relax. It had been a big breakfast and perhaps her fourth helping of Grandpop's buckwheat flapjacks, smothered in butter and maple syrup, had her running on a full tank.

She bent and picked up a long yellow leaf, held it skyward to peer through. "It makes the sky all yellow," she giggled. Grandpop and I smiled, it was a good thing to watch that short, blonde haired little girl giggle. Something she needed more of. Her stay with Grandpop was coming to an end when evening rolled in, and too soon this little princess would return to a world too many children live in.

We sipped our coffee and allowed Lisa to entertain us with buckets of smiles, grins and out-loud laughs as she dashed here and there from oak to maple, capturing first one leaf and declaring it to be the most marvelous red she'd ever seen, then holding another high while praising its bold pink or yellow. "Even the speckled ones are beautiful!" She sang thrusting a ragged faded yellow and brown leaf on Grandpop's lap. "See how all the colors mix?" She pointed to the torn leaf and peered into his eyes as if insisting he agree. He leaned down, hugged her. I saw the wet in his eyes, felt mine burn.

Lisa wrestled free, as she is wont to do when hugged, fell back to the ground rolling in the leaves and giggling, grabbing great handfuls of color and tossing them high. "They even smell beautiful!"

Suddenly she stopped, sprang to her feet and pointed to the mountain. "See all the colors there? I wish they could always be those colors. Isn't it just beautiful? Why must they ever change?" She ran and dove into Grandpop's lap and hugged him. "I wish this day would never need to change too."

Grandpop brushed her hair from her eyes, kissed her forehead, and methodically studied the torn, battered, faded leaf he still held in his weathered hand. "Well little lady, I reckon the leaves change once a year just to put on this grand show for us. If they were this spectacular every day we might not remember to take notice. We might forget their beautiful show. This way you see we never fail to recognize all the effort they go to just for us. I suppose in life it takes a bunch of what some folks call ordinary to make the very special, extraordinary."

"Well, I like shiny green leaves too." Lisa carefully pressed out a few multicolored leaves on Grandpop's thigh. "I'm keeping these so I can always remember our very special day and when I get sad, they can remind me to be happy."

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry 

 This is the Twelfth in my series of Grandpop stories. I began writing about Grandpop, June 27, 2013, with what at the time I imagined what would be a standalone short story, "Perhaps I've Just Lived Too Long." You can read that story (and find links to go on) (HERE)   Folks said they enjoy visiting with Grandpop, so I wrote more. Frankly, I enjoy him too.

Grandpop – "Of Course I love My Country, I'm Just Not Sure I Recognize It Anymore."

Howdy Friends,

They told me at the house Grandpop had saddled ol' Blue and set out on a moon light trek to the campsite. That's all I needed to know something was bothering him. It was a two hour ride to the knob Grandpop called the campsite, and neither he nor Blue should make that trip alone, and certainly not by the light of a sliver of a moon. I hustled to the pastures behind the barn, caught the first horse I could, saddled in a hurry and rode out. Clouds covered the moon and I couldn't see the ground my horse trod over. But miles away I saw the tiny flicker of a campfire on the knob.

Most every horse Grandpop kept in his remuda knew the way to the knob. The knob was Grandpop's second favorite place on the ranch; he and Mom had picnicked there countless times and, until her final year, always celebrated their anniversary with a campfire taking in the view. His favorite place was anywhere he sat a horse. In recent years his trips to the knob had lessened, but every horse had been there dozens of times over the years. The last time I'd been to the knob was a year or so ago when Grandpop took a young reporter who had come to write a story about Grandpop and the ranch. I gave my horse a friendly pat on his neck, "You know the way, take your time old fellow. Watch your step but get us up there, gotta check in on Grandpop."

The final assent wound its way ever steeper between boulders, trees and drop offs. I offered no direction to my horse, he knew every step to take without interference from me. I chuckled when I remembered that reporter, all jealous of Grandpop's ranch, so certain someone had stacked the deck to give Grandpop an easy route to success, because that's how he "knew" things happened. I chuckled again when I remembered what Grandpop had told him as he guided the city fellow in the art of campfire building, and self reliance – "These days there's too much talk about some folks havin' more than others and being angry and jealous about it. There's an old cowboy sayin' … God put the firewood in the woods for everybody, it's up to each of us to gather it and build our campfire. That's the story you should write, young fella."

Grandpop's silhouette by the fire greeted us as we broke into the clearing. Without words, he tipped his hat and motioned for me to join him. I tied my horse next to ol' Blue, and settled onto the carved log bench across the fire from him. He tossed a split chunk of wood onto the fire sending sparks and crackles high. From the pile of freshly split wood I figured he'd worked out at least some of his frustrations. But by his silent stare out over the black valley below, I knew not all sat square with him.

"Sometimes I have a hard time figurin' out the new way of thinkin', Son." He pulled his hat and shoved gnarled fingers through his thin gray hair. His eyes sparkled with light from the dancing flames. His stooped shoulders told of decades of hard work. I knew he wasn't looking for a comment from me. I knew he was hurting.

"I lost a lot of friends over there fighting for what we thought was right. Fighting to protect freedom. Your mom and I tried our best to be good parents, good stewards of the land, and good citizens. Honor, respect, love for our country, Son, they used to mean things."

I watched his eyes as he spoke. I couldn't tell if the shine in them was firelight, or tears.

"I can't wrap my brain around this idea of our country being the cause of problems all over the world. Can't almost tolerate watchin' the news anymore, ruckus in the streets, folks hating each other. College professors and school teachers teachin' the youngins ours is an evil country that steals from every other country. Young'ins bein' taught what to think, not how to think. This group hatin' that group, and far too many folks who don't even know the meaning of respect, and love of country. Strangest thing of all to me is all these folks from all over the world breakin' their backs to get here, and folks born here can only see how bad a place it is."

He cradled his face in his hands, sighed then leveled the hardest stare my way I'd seen in years.

"Of course I love my country, I'm just not sure I recognize it anymore … Could be I'm just an old man whose ideas ain't worth much, but I reckon folks better soon figure out a way to love this good ol' United States of America, find some old fashioned patriotic spirit, or it's gonna fade into darkness and wither away like a passing day. Then what are they gonna have … ?"

I had no answer.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

This is the Eleventh in my series of Grandpop stories. I began writing about Grandpop, June 27, 2013, with what at the time I imagined what would be a standalone short story, "Perhaps I've Just Lived Too Long." You can read that story (and find links to go on) (HERE)   Folks said they enjoy visiting with Grandpop, so I wrote more. Frankly, I enjoy him too.

"Grandpop, 4th of July and Independence"

Howdy Folks,

A few friends and family had made the trip to Grandpop’s ranch for Independence Day, not as many as years past, but enough to make a fun gathering. As usual, I’d lost my share of horseshoe matches, even though Grandpop had done his best to coach me for decades, but I never mastered the flip and slide. Most folks had set out for home after the steer roast, a few of us hung around for the campfire. 

My future daughter-in-law, Sissy, had been engrossed with Grandpop pretty much of the day, listening to his stories, making sure he had all the drinks and food he could handle, and pretty much just making a fuss over him. Of course, his taking her on her first ever trail ride only set the hook he had in her deeper.

Sissy and Grandpop sat across the dwindling fire from me; she still hung on his every word. I was unable to hear when the conversation shifted to serious mode, but I could sense a change in the air.

“Mostly I worry for the young ones. My grandchildren, the little great-grandchildren, and your, yet to come, young ‘ins. I’ve had a full great life, did pretty much all I’ve ever wanted to, except for a few things Grandma frowned on, but it’s the youngest of us that I weep for.”

“Don’t you think the world is a much better place today than when you were young?” Sissy’s expression telegraphed her confusion.

“Can’t speak to the world, but as we sit here celebrating our own Independence Day, I can’t help but wonder and worry about some of the changes our country and folks are going through. You bet, Sissy, I’ve been witness to some marvelous changes, but recently there have been too many changes that worry me. For the sake of the young ‘ins and even our country.”

“I don’t understand why, Grandpop, I think our country is changing so much for the better. The government’s doing great things to help everyone, like health care, job security … so many wonderful things are finally being done by the government to help people. A lot of people need help today.”

Grandpop poked the fire sending sparks high and smiled at Sissy. “Are you sure you want the government doing all that? There’s always been help for folks who need it from family, charity outfits, churches and independent organizations. We’re the most charitable nation to have ever existed. I've been around a long time and I disagree with folks who say the government can do it better.”

“I think the government can do it better and give people more security.” Sissy insisted.

“That’s the root of my worry. The more and more folks turn to government for what they think is security, the more and more of their independence they give up, without even knowing it. What I worry about for the young ‘ins is how easy it is to learn to turn to the government for everything. I fear it’s become too easy to trade security for independence for too many, and that’ll chip away at their dreams, hopes and eagerness to pursue those dreams ... Everyone should fight hard to keep the right to struggle to make their dreams come true. Not trade it for simple security. What is security without dreams? Without independence? Not much I reckon.”

I could see Grandpop had Sissy thinking, she didn’t ask a follow up question, just asked if they could ride again tomorrow. I hoped she’d have more questions tomorrow.

********

Kessy, Saturday & me writing

This is the Tenth in my series of Grandpop stories. I began writing about Grandpop, June 27, 2013, with what at the time I imagined what would be a standalone short story, "Perhaps I've Just Lived Too Long." You can read that story (and find links to go on) (HERE)   Folks said they enjoy visiting with Grandpop, so I wrote more. Frankly, I enjoy him too.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

Grandpop – A Nation Of Millionaires

Howdy Folks,

This is the Ninth in my series of Grandpop stories. I began writing about Grandpop, June 27, 2013, with what at the time I imagined what would be a standalone short story, "Perhaps I've Just Lived Too Long." You can read that story (and find links to go on) (HERE)   Folks said they enjoy visiting with Grandpop, so I wrote more. Frankly, I enjoy him too. I hope you enjoy A Nation Of Millionaires with Grandpop. 

A Nation Of Millionaires  

As we like to do on rainy days, Grandpop and I drove to town for breakfast at the Tumble Weed Diner. Hard to tell if the driving rain had kept folks at home, but except for a few regulars at the counter, and two very citified fellows in business suits in the booth by the big window, we had the diner pretty much to ourselves.

After we made our rounds exchanging, "Mornin's," comments on the weather, and advice on how to survive it, we slid into the booth next to the well dressed gentlemen. I noticed they watched us, but didn't interrupt their conversation, or return Grandpop's hat tip greeting.

Sally brought us our usual, black coffee, three egg omelets, homefries with onions, and Grandpop's raisin toast. She lingered a second, as if she wanted to chat. "How ya doin' today?" Grandpop gave her his captivating smile.

"I'm okay. Guess it's the weather." Her eyes said more than her words.

"Come on, Sally, we've known each other since you were a little girl." Gandpop said. "What's eatin' at ya?" He patted the seat next to him, "Have a sit, and tell ol' Grandpop what's up."

Setting her coffee pot on the edge of our table, she slid into the booth, tossed her arm around Grandpop and kissed his cheek, "I've missed you … Well it's all good news, really. I've starting spring classes at the community college, and Cookie just told me I can have more evening hours here at the diner. I just get tired working so long and studying too. But it'll be worth it when I get my degree."

"Dang, Sally, sure does sound like good news!" Grandpop toasted her with his half empty cup and another grin.  "As I recall you started this venture last fall … business management, right?"

"Look out, Cookie," I chimed in, directing my comment toward the kitchen. "She'll be runnin' this outfit before to long." I tossed a wink to the fellows in suits. They gave me a half hearted glance then resumed their important looking conversation.

"It’ll be a long hard climb, and my dad says I'll be making sacrifices along the way, but I really want to get there, ya know." Sally tilted her head. "I'm just gonna make it happen!"

She topped off our coffees then moved to the fellows in the suits and refreshed theirs too. The fellow behind me spoke up. "Good luck to you, but you know the deck is stacked against you. Either you're in or you're out. The rich have theirs and the rest of us grovel."

I knew that would fire up Grandpop, and it did. "What line of work are you young gents in?" His big grin leveled on the tallest fellow.

"We work in DC, aids to a Senator." The cockiness in his voice was as rich as our coffee. "We're working to level the playing field so people don't have to struggle to get, nowhere. People like Sally here don't have a chance. We're working so everybody can have all they want, not just a few."

Grandpop's eyes twinkled. "Good for you! You mean everyone should just be set, have all they need and have it fair, or even as you say, without having to sacrifice, struggle and, as we used to say, pay their dues."

"You bet." The other fellow added. "There's too much unfairness in this country. That's why we went to DC as soon as we graduated college. To help fix that wrong. Everyone should have a fair share. Even!" He punctuated his bold statement with a finger tap on the table.

"Fix that wrong. Interesting." Grandpop sipped his coffee, winked at me. "So you're into this 'take from the greedy rich' and as some say, 'spread it around, satisfy everybody's needs.'"

"You don't see what we see, or you'd understand." The tall fellow explained. "There's plenty to go around if we just did things differently."

"Differently?" Grandpop pondered out loud.

"Yes, those that can should give more to help those who need it. That's all we're saying. If somebody wants to grind it out every step of the way, well, good for them. But what about all those who can't? Don't get the breaks? We just think we need to find a way to take care of them so they don't struggle. Make everyone even." He shot Grandpop a look of confidence and certainty in his convictions, and mission.

Grandpop struck a pose of deep thought. "What if you could find a way to give everyone a million bucks? ... Would that work? You said there's plenty to go around. How about we make us a nation of millionaires overnight?"

After the surprised laughter subsided, the tall fellow toasted Grandpop, "That could work!"

"Are you a millionaire?" Grandpop asked.

More laughter, "No, not by a long shot. Working week to week like most people." The tall fellow said.

"If everybody got a million tomorrow, including you, what would you do first?" Grandpop's eyes shined.

"That's easy." The tall fellow pointed out the window. "First I'd get rid of that old car and buy a brand new Mercedes, then my girlfriend and I would take some time and go sightseeing."

Grandpop sat up straight with a concerned look. "I see. Where do you reckon you'd buy that fine shiny new Mercedes?"

"Oh I know just where." He winked at his friend. "Mercedes-Benz of Tysons Corner. I've been window shopping for two years now!"

Grandpop nodded, then raised an eyebrow. "There might be a problem there."

"What?" The tall fellow looked surprised.

"Well ya see, young fella, the dealership won't be open anymore. The salespeople, mechanics and office staff are all millionaires too. Everybody's got all the money they need. Why would they bother to come and work? There's no reason. No incentive. Nothing to work for."

Grandpop stood, settled his hat on his head, picked up our check, and theirs. "You see, young fella, when you rob someone of their incentive, you rob them of much more than that. You steal their dreams too. Everyone has their own dreams and reasons for doing what they do." He paused and leveled a sincere look at the two well dressed men. "Is life fair? Or as you question, even? Of course not. But you can't make it fair by replacing dreams with easy. Have a think on that, on your way back to DC."

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

To read,  "Grandpop, 4th of July and Independence"my tenth visit with Grandpop  --  CLICK HERE