Christmas and Grandpop

Howdy Folks,

This is the Seventh 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 this Christmas with Grandpop.

Christmas and Grandpop

He leaned in his rocker to jab at a log in the fireplace, sending sparks and crackles up the flue. His gnarled fingers held his poker with a deftness of years of hard work. His wry grin, born of years of teasing his wife. "She'd always scold me whenever I did that.'You'll set the chimney on fire, she'd say' She's right ya know. I shouldn't do it. But ain't it pretty?" He rocked back, I watched him watch the sparks, then close his eyes. The flames yellow glow danced on his weathered face. His grin faded to a peaceful smile. He was remembering her.

They'd shared a lifetime together, even though hers ended long before he was ready.

"I reckon everybody'll be rollin' in just after daybreak, tomorrow." He didn't open his eyes or allow the smile to fade. "Son, I ever tell ya about your mom and my first Christmas together?" Of course he had, and lately he'd tell me every Christmas Eve. I'd been spending more time here at the ranch the past few years, and always made sure to get here by noon Christmas Eve. My brother and his wife, and their two boys had taken over the reins of running the outfit years earlier, and had built a new house where we gather now for holidays. But I liked sitting with Granpop, everyone started calling him that when my brother's first son was born, here in the old house on Christmas Eve.

He tapped his fingers on the rocker arm. "I suppose it's more than 70 years ago now. Just got home from the war, I was cowboyin' for the Hartwell spread." He sat upright, focused deep in my eyes. "Boy howdy, it had been a hot dry summer. We'd lost half the herd in a range fire. Just awful." He shook his head and poked the fire.

"Winter had come at us just as hard. By Thanksgiving we had twenty inches of snow. Poor cows were walkin' with the wind looking for frozen grass where the wind blew the snow clear. Most places it was too deep for 'em to scratch through. We were scattering hay cubes every day just to keep them poor critters alive. We had to tie rails on the wheels so the teams could drag the wagon through the snow.

"We were headin' back in on Christmas Eve, ol' Slim and me. We were plumb wore out. So were the horses. Dang cows had found a hollow to hole up in some ten miles from the ranch and it was mighty tough goin'." Granpop broke into a laugh. "Ol' Slim had himself all wrapped up in the tarp bellyaching he didn't have enough meat on his bones to take this cold weather. I was drivin', mostly lettin' the horses pick their way home, when all of a sudden they just stopped and stared off into the blowing snow.

"First I figured it was a bunch of cows or horses seekin' shelter, and I tried to hurry the team on. Then, squintin' into the stinging snow I saw this tiny black spec, movin' towards us. After a bit I could make out what was a rider. A rider and a pack horse. Out in this? I was sure it was a crazy person, or a desperate one.

"I steered the team to intercept." Grandpop paused, pointed a finger my way. "This was no weather to be out in, and it was only an hour 'til dark.

"It seemed the rider wanted to meet up with us too, for it changed its headin' and angled right for us. I rousted Slim from his nest; the wind grabbed his tarp and tried its best to blow him airborne!

"The rider stopped beside us. The pack horse had a good jag of firewood strapped to it. All bundled and covered I couldn't make out if it was even a human settin' that horse, imagine my surprise when a woman's voice floated out from under all that snow and blanket! – 'Hey, are you clean outa your mind?' was the first words I ever said to her … " He poked the fire again, sucked in a breath.

"She wasn't outa her mind, no sir. Never once, not a single time in all the years …" He dragged the back of his hand over his eyes. "Always thinking of others, that was her way …

"She moved her horse close, asked who we were, then told us her story. Seemed a farmer's wife had just had a younin' and he'd come to her Daddy's place for fuel and supplies. I knew then she was that sweet little brunette at the mercantile in town who was all hidden under those blankets. What in tarnation are you doin' out in this? I remember scoldin' her. She explained the firewood, ham and flour had to get to the fella's farm. He had cut his leg bad while splitting extra wood for her Daddy to offset the bill, and nobody else was around to make the journey.

"Ol' Slim and I weren't about to let this young gal out there alone, so we turned our tired team around and shepherded her all the way to the farm. As I recall it was a dandy spread." Grandpop paused and pretended to pick his teeth. "Slim went out to the barn and milked the cows, I stacked the firewood inside and made sure that fireplace and woodstove were ready for cookin' up a humdinger of a Christmas Eve feast, which that cute brunette cooked up. And by golly did we feast! Way into the night, we ate and talked and ate some more. And boy howdy could that little gal make swell coffee, too!

"The next mornin', Christmas Day, the storm broke, and I sent ol' Slim back with the team. I just had to stay behind and see all was well with the new baby, his momma and help that mercantile fella's daughter with all the work there." Grandpop settled back in the rocker, his eyes resting on momma's picture above the mantle. "Christmas was sure enough her time," he whispered.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

If you'd like to read the Sixth story "Veterans Day Ride With Grandpop"CLICK HERE

Feature Friday – The Naturally Healthy Horse – Casie Bazay

Howdy Folks,
 

Casie Bazay started her love affair with horses as a very young girl, growing up with horses and barrel racing by her fifteenth birthday. She was also born with a love of writing. Little did she know those two loves would combine and set a path for her to follow; helping horses everywhere using the written word.

Life and horses seemed to guide her to creating a successful blog and website, "The Naturally Healthy Horse," where she shares her and others' knowledge of helping horses live healthy and naturally.

Her journey up that path began as a young girl, but received a big push by her barrel horse, Hershey. While Casie was taking time off after the birth of her son in 2007, Hershey became mysteriously lame. So severe was his condition that returning to the barrel course arena was out of the question.

Hershey was only 14 at the time, and no amount of Veterinarian visits, consultations, or money could define the cause, much less cure it. Desperate, and driven to find help for her long time partner, Casie began to explore alternative treatments with Hershey, including chiropractic, massage, and acupuncture. She purchased books on these modalities to learn more about them herself. Particularly fascinated by one book on equine acupressure (which is based on the same TCM principles as acupuncture, only without needles), she decided to attend courses offered by the authors of the book (Nancy Zidonis and Amy Snow of Tallgrass Animal Acupressure Institute) and become certified in equine acupressure. A grant from her Indian tribe, The Chickasaw Nation made it possible for Casie to attend the courses.

"Attending Tallgrass was the beginning of my journey into learning about holistic horse health.  As part of my course requirements, I also took two of Dr. Kellon’s equine nutrition courses, and this sparked an intense interest in nutrition (my horses and also my own.)  I also met a barefoot trimmer while attending Tallgrass (Lu Garnas from Montana), and the things she told me about led me to study natural trimming.  This became another fascination of mine and I eventually learned to trim my own horses." Casie explained.

 She used her newfound knowledge and skills to help Hershey and her other horses. She put them on a forage-based diet balanced in minerals, started giving them regular acupressure sessions, and began trimming their hooves every four weeks.

 

Despite all her efforts, Hershey’s condition remained the same.  She came to a real turning point when she gave up trying to ‘fix’ Hershey in order to ride or barrel race him again, and instead decided to let him enjoy his well-earned retirement and take the best care of him she possibly could.  She began to see Hershey as her teacher.  "After all, he had inspired me to learn so much and led me to take a path that I never dreamed I’d follow." Casie said. "I learned that my love of horses exceeded my love of barrel racing and competing, and I was okay with just taking care of my horses and enjoying them whether I was riding or not."

Soon she began freelance writing for equine publications to share a little of what she’d learned, and continues to learn with others. Her articles in "The Horse," and other magazines were so well received she started her blog about a year ago. The Naturally Healthy Horse, has proven to be a valuable resource for horse owners all over the world about equine nutrition, barefoot hoof care, and acupressure.

"I also write about specific equine conditions such as insulin resistance, Cushing’s, heaves, etc. so people can be more aware of these common conditions.  I never intended to portray myself as the ‘expert’ on the blog, but my goal was to inspire people to get educated about horse health and natural care.  I do plenty of research for each of my posts." Casie explained.

Casie and Hershey

"My four horses, Hershey, Bob, Lee Lee, and Kady often guide my posts. Whatever is going on with them often becomes the topic of my next blog post. I must say that even though the blog is a lot of work, I love doing it!  If it can help even one horse, I would say that it has been worth it."

People and Horses Helping Horses and People is what our Coffee Clutch Feature Friday is all about, and Casie and her horses and blog are doing just that ... Kessy and I hope you'll join, The Naturally Healthy Horse (CLICK HERE). And feel free to send in your questions.

You can join them on Facebook HERE

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry.

"Rusty Bucket"

Howdy Folks,

 

Our friend Jodi Lea Stewart wondered if I could, "bring a rusty bucket to life." So accepting her challenge I wrote the first part and posted it on Facebook Friday. Then the story kept talking to me and I had to finish it –So I wrote the second part this morning – Here they are together – Let me know if you think I gave life to "a rust bucket" – And please enjoy!

The Old Rusty Bucket 

The peg, the rusty bucket hung on, was weather-beaten and worn as the rotting pine siding the old man had driven it into decades ago. Not much remained of the old man's shack. Most of the back half had long ago collapsed and fallen away. The small, leaning porch still sheltered the battered bucket, and occasionally a raccoon, fox or bird would visit. But never the old man. Time had taken him away.

True to its calling, the ancient bucket, now dented and brown with scarcely a hint of the once shiny galvanized metal, hung patiently on the crooked peg, waiting quietly to do its duty, should the old man return. For many a year the proud bucket had held spring water. Its friend the dipper hung on the bucket's side. The dipper fell away and down through the broken boards, out of sight, many seasons ago.

The porch had been a gathering place for neighbors, and for hours on end the old man would entertain with stories of his youth. Some true, some fantastic. The porch, the chairs, the old man's stories and the cool water in the bucket had folks dropping in almost every day. But that was a long time ago. The chairs, like the dipper are long gone. Like the old man.

Still the rusty bucket waits, perched on its friend the peg. No one has passed by since the oak, now towering above the porch, was just a seedling. For several seasons now a family of 

Chickadees had found the bucket the perfect place to raise their brood. Their old nests still line the rusty bottom of the bucket. Perhaps they'll return in the spring.

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This was the end of the first part I wrote last week when I accepted Jodi's challenge – Then I had to write the second part this morning – Please enjoy the rest of "Rusty Bucket"

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The trail leading up the mountain was barely visible. It was obvious to the young woman and her horse the only thing keeping the trail alive at all was the deer and other wildlife who found its route the easiest to navigate. From the open fields at the mountain's feet to the beautiful high shelf among ancient, towering oaks and pines the trail meandered this way and that, avoiding steep areas, rock outcroppings, and dense thickets.

 She'd heard of the trail, and the cabin in stories since her youth. Stories about her great-granddaddy and his family told to her by her granddaddy. Funny, she thought, how she seemed to be the only one who cared about those old stories, or this old abandon, overgrown farm. Or the old man, an almost forgotten horseman from a different era. All the times she listened to her granddaddy she never imagined she'd ride the trail to the top … in search of that old relic of a homestead.

As they climbed higher and higher she imagined he was riding with her. Riding his mare, Bluebell. Many of the old stories focused on that wonderful horse. They say she's buried behind the old cabin next to a towering rock. Her granddaddy had chiseled her name in the rock. She patted her mare's neck, "We'll see if we can't find that big rock today, Bluebell."

Riding alone, climbing the mountainside, she wrestled with the sadness and the happiness this ride brought her, as she admired the beauty that surrounded them. Sadness for the loss of her granddaddy, and the happiness of thinking this long forgotten farm was still here, even if the fields had long since returned to dense forest.

The trail now level, she pulled the paper from her coat pocket, studied the sketch, then swung down to investigate the lay of the land. "I think we've made it Bluebell!" She hugged Bluebell's neck, then led the way toward what looked like a clearing. A clearing overgrown with briers and thickets, but it could be the spot. It just could be.

Then she saw it, ahead of them, posed in a brilliant sun spot was the leaning roof of the old cabin's porch. Following the faint trail blazed by raccoons, foxes and other critters she and Bluebell pushed through the brush to the porch.

Bluebell picked at the grass and weeds as she studied the porch and shack. From the stories she'd heard the shack seemed small, now that she stood on the porch. Her porch. Never once did her granddaddy ever tell her he still owned the old farm. Never once did he tell her he would will it to her. But he did, and now it was hers. She sat down on the edge of a broken beam, chewed on a blade of grass, and shed a tear for the sweet old man. "I found it Granddaddy, just where you said it would be." Her watery eyes fell on the old bucket hanging on the wall.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

Feature Friday – The National Day Of The Horse

Howdy Folks,

In November of 2004 Congress recognized the "First Official Day Of The Horse," and decreed December 13 would be so recognized from then on. The first paragraph of the decree is – "Encouraging citizens to be mindful of the contribution of horses to the economy, history, and character of the United States and expressing the sense of Congress that a National Day of the Horse should be established … Whereas the horse is a living link to the history of the United States … without horses, the economy, history, and character of the United States would be profoundly different … "

I'd like to share the opening paragraph from my story, "Horses Among Us Thank God," - "It is often said that throughout history, everywhere man has gone he has been carried upon the back of a noble horse. They've plowed our fields, carried us into and died with us in our wars, pulled our wagons and travois laden with treasured possessions to new lands and pulled our wedding carriages, too. They've run our races, herded our cattle, given explosive demonstrations of their power and agility in rodeos. They've strutted their magnificence in arenas before cheering crowds to win ribbons unimportant to them. When I think of the horse's spirit and how it has selflessly carried the spirit of man through the ages I'm awed at the nobility of them. How they have answered every call with strength, beauty and unquestioning devotion.  No matter the sacrifice." … You can read the rest of my tribute to horses HERE

Kessy, Saturday and me

Kessy and I hope you'll spend a few extra moments hugging your horse, doing a little something for horses you don't know. Or reflecting on how horses have touched, or changed your life. Or a loved one's or friend's life. 

Kessy and me

Please leave your comment on how horses' touched your life.

Horses offer their spirit, their love and their guidance to us each and every day. Today is their day, help spread the word and celebrate them!

Gitty Up ~ Kessy and Dutch Henry

The Lights Went Out - a short story-

Howdy Folks,

This is a short story about the innocence of love - I wrote it for a contest a while back. The first words had to be, "The lights went out." I shared it about a year ago, but we've had so many folks join our Coffee Clutch since then, and lots of folks told me it touched them, so I thought I'd post it again ...  I hope you enjoy ...

Kessy, Saturday & me writing (I wrote this story in the barn with Kessy)

 The Lights Went Out 

 

The lights went out as just as she raised the wine glass in a salute to her reflection in the wine bottle. That's okay, it would be easier to remember him in the dark. She thought of his brown shining eyes and how they'd always warmed her when she lost herself in them. The way they glistened when he smiled. No matter the situation those eyes had never failed to reassure her. To comfort her. She took a sip and ran a quivering finger around the rim of the glass.

They say the first anniversary is the worst. She laughed. Who are they, and did they ever go through it or are they just the appointed ones who tell everyone how and what to feel without having a clue of the richness of love that had been theirs. He'd been gone three months now and tomorrow would have been their fifth anniversary…And his twenty-ninth birthday. Peter loved to celebrate his birthday. She felt the corners of her mouth curve. He'd always wanted to open his present before going to work. Peter made a big deal about everybody's birthday that's why it had been so natural, and fun, to be married on his.

A loud blast of rain pelted the kitchen window and a brief flash of lightning lit the room to shine on his present waiting on the table. The room seemed darker after the flash. She touched the bow on the box, then pulled it to her. He sure would have gotten a kick out of this year's present. She'd bought it six months ago, a little bottle of beach sand with a tiny mermaid inside perched on driftwood. A Kansas boy, Peter had never seen the beach. She had planned to fix that this year. In the bottom of the box lay all the paperwork and a brochure from the Anchor Kitchen bed and breakfast.

     

Some people are given a lifetime to share together. Some never find their soul mate. She and Peter were perfect together and they new it the instant they met. All their friends said so. She grinned when she thought of girlfriends' frequent threats to steal him away. Jealousy gripped her as she thought evil thoughts about how unfair it was to give them such a short time together. Her throat tightened, her eyes let go a stream of tears as she cursed God for creating the perfect match…and then tearing it apart. How could he? Why would he? She gulped a swallow of wine and ground the heels of her hands in her eyes, "What am I supposed to do now?" 

     

She looked around the kitchen, in the flashes she saw his boots sitting on the mat by the door. She hadn't been able to put them away. Hadn't been able to deal with much that she should have by now. Take it day by day, they say.

     

Day by day. That made her smile. Peter had said that too. On their wedding night when she was so scared she started to cry and she'd asked, "What are we going to do now?" She remembered his confident smile when he told her, "I guess we'll take it day by day."

     

"That was Peter," she told the darkness. "Count on him to make everything alright." She poured some wine and through blurry eyes asked his boots, "How do we make this alright? What do I do now Peter?" She dropped her head onto her arms and sobbed. "I don't know what to do." Her voice broke as she begged. "Tell me what to do…Where do I start?"

     

A thunderclap so loud it rattled the house preceded a burst of light brighter than any before it. After her eyes adjusted to the darkness she noticed a hint of morning's glow in the kitchen window.

     

Shuffling tiny feet turned her toward the living room doorway. "That was a loud one Mommy!" Their daughter announced as she scrambled toward her. "Today is Daddy's birthday! Can we open his present for him? If we hold it up really high will he be able to see it from Heaven?"

        *********************

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry

Horses Have A Pause Button

Howdy Folks,

Horses do have a pause button, and they'll push it themselves. Sure sometimes we push it for them, but however it gets pushed, it works. And they pause. Sometimes they pause a little, sometimes they pause a lot. Pausing is an important part of being a horse. Perhaps some people should get their own pause buttons, but that's a story for another day … Why are pause buttons good for horses? And how can we understand them?

So much is said about the "flight mode" of horses, frankly I think that's overstated, overworked, but that's just me. You bet that fight mode is imperative to the safety of horses' survival, but don't we all kind of get that? When confused, scared, or just unsure, in kicks the fight mode and off they go, or at least they try to, if we don't stop them. Pretty self explanatory.

But the pause button. Now there's an interesting, and far too often, misunderstood intricate part of the horse's make up. Often mistaken for stubbornness, refusal, laziness, uncooperativeness, attitude and a whole pile of equally negative and unkind thoughts and projections, the pause button is exactly the opposite. It is total cooperation, willingness and eagerness. How could I say that? You ask. – They are totally eager and willing to cooperate in helping us to understand communication.

A horse will push the pause button when they don't understand, need to make sense of a cue, a request or situation. That pause is their request for more time to process the situation. It is not a request for more and stronger cues. In fact, more and stronger cues at this time will most often turn the polite pause into something negative such as refusal, or misunderstanding. It is important to allow the pause button all the time it needs to do its job.

"But you must keep the pressure on," Some say. In my mind those who say that are very wrong. Remember the flight mode? Too much pressure invites the fight mode, even if they can't flee. That's a hair's breadth from "shut out" mode. I believe it is wrong to pressure a horse beyond its comfort zone. Rather we should keep the horse well within its comfort zone, a safe distance back from their limits, and grow from there. When your horse pushes her pause button, back off, give her time to process – then when she's ready, gently cue again.

Kessy's smiling eye

The remarkable thing about the pause button is, the more keenly tuned into it we become, the shorter the pauses become. And the fewer times your horse will push it. Go ahead, give it a try, allow you horse to teach you to honor the pause, you'll be amazed at the softness you'll both enjoy.

Gitty Up ~ Dutch Henry