RIGING DRAG / One Potato, Two Potato

With the way grocery prices are climbing I am becoming increasing glad that I plant a garden. I have talked about how much I enjoy getting seed catalogues. They come when spring is far away and set us to dreaming of fresh vegetables and beautiful flowers. It is my favorite time of year when the first catalogue arrives in the mail.

The last couple of years have been a disappointment in gardening. Spring started out well with the garden going in and for the first month things grew. Then the heat would set in and no amount of watering would keep the plants growing. It was very disheartening. But this year is worth every minute of hard work! Spring was filled with rain and not only the garden but the hay fields have flourished. Green is everywhere for the first summer in several years.

We are so hopeful that we are already planning a bigger garden for next year.  Why do we allow a little success to inspire us to expand? It’s just the rural way! Farmers and Ranchers like to see things grow. We love every minute of what we do and knowing that crops and livestock grow in direct relation to how much hard work we put into it is satisfying beyond words.

Long ago when I was a kid my grandfather grew potatoes in a tower of used tires. As they grew he would add a tire and more dirt. Before he was done the potato bed would be five or six tires high. To harvest he would take off a tire and brush away the soil revealing the potatoes. This is my plan for next year, gathering up used tires and planting the way my grandfather planted. That and praying for more rain between now and then. For the present I plan on having some tomatoes and squash for dinner. How does your garden grow?

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For more information on Debra Coppinger Hill go to AlwaysCowboy.com.

 

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RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL is featured each week at ALWAYS COWBOY where Debra is a Resident Western Poet. Join her and her Cowboy Friends for Cowboy Poetry, News & Events. http://alwayscowboy.net/debra_coppinger_hill_poetry.html

RIDING DRAG / HEN'S EGG HAIL

RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL

Hail as big as hen’s eggs sounds like pistol shots on the roof. We bail out of bed, look out the front door and know that we can do nothing for the horses or cattle in the big pastures. We fear that they will come to harm. Just as quickly as it started, the hail stops and the rain starts. Husband throws on clothes and boots and heads out with a light. I stay inside, we have both small grandsons here and I cannot leave them to go check with him. I stare out the door and wait. It seems like forever before he returns. I am not quite over this unpleasant surprise.

All is well as far as he can see in the darkness with only a flashlight. It lasted only minutes but hail that size can destroy a great deal in that amount of time. The boys slept through the whole thing; the banging of the hail on the metal roof, the two us throwing open doors and dashing about, turning on the TV for the weather alerts and tromping out and in. They do not fear the storms or the sounds associated, they are blessed with child-sleep filled only with dreams.

In the light of day we venture out and see that the worst damage has taken its toll on the garden. Holes in the two foot around squash leaves, the dipper gourd vines hang shredded along the fence and tomatoes lay on the ground. I pick them up and put them in the kitchen window to ripen. At least they will be salvaged. And at least that is the worst of it. No horses or cows permanently harmed, just frightened and maybe bruised here and there.

Oklahoma’s weather is unpredictable this time of year. For all of my life I have watched the sky for storms. They do not frighten me, but they do make me cautious. Even with all of the electronic equipment used by the weather service there are some things that cannot be predicted. No station warned us of hail yesterday; just predictions of rain and wind and yet hail fell causing us to bolt out of a sound sleep. Oh to be like the grandsons and sleep through it all.

It occurs to me that I am not afraid of bad weather because I have faith that God will protect us through all of life’s storms. He protects us though dangerous things fall all around us. It is our belief in His protection that keeps us safe. I know in my heart that the garden will recover. I know that the livestock will too. And I know that no matter what nature throws at us, be it rain or wind or hail, that we may be surprised but not fearful. That’s how it works, that faith thing, we just believe and all is well.

*For more about Debra go to the Cowboy Poetry section at AlwaysCowboy.com.



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RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL is featured each week at ALWAYS COWBOY where Debra is a Resident Western Poet. Join her and her Cowboy Friends for Cowboy Poetry, News & Events. http://alwayscowboy.net/debra_coppinger_hill_poetry.html

RIDING DRAG / Snakes in My Decolletage

* The following is a reprint of one of my past Riding Drag columns. Today I am dedicating it to my wonderful Cowgirl Poet Pals Linda Kirkpartick and Virginia Bennett.

Snakes in My Décolletage

 When it’s cold I dress in the height of rural western fashion Carhartt® insulated overalls and coat. Though my insulated underwear beneath might not match, I am totally coordinated in tan canvas as I make my way to the barn through mud and ice. As I go about the morning feeding of horses, cattle, goat, cats and dogs I consider myself fortunate to be living my life as a ranch woman.

I try to do my chores efficiently, using as few steps as possible and wasting little time. To save trips back to the barn I leave the shoulder straps of my overalls loose, forming a chest pocket into which I stick supplements, tools, etc. as I go about feeding the mares nearest the barn.

This morning I walked into the feed room, reached up and pulled down a square bale of hay. Stretching higher up for a second bale I pulled it towards me, tilting it against my chest for balance. It was early morning and it was dark...but not so dark that I couldn’t see the snake on the other end of the bale. I started to step back to allow the bale to just fall when my legs encountered the previously dumped bale. I sat down with the second bale square against my chest. As the snake slid forward, I swear to you, not since Eve in the Garden had a snake smiled in such a mischievous way.

I am not afraid of snakes. I have a healthy respect for them; especially when I have a hoe or shovel in my hands. As I pushed the bale away the snake slid tail first into the "pocket" of my overalls. At this point I would like to tell you that I was calm and used lady-like language; however, that would be a bold-faced lie. Falling off the first bale onto my back I had a sudden flash of what it must be like to be a turtle. Thick, insulated clothes make it very hard for short, round women to get back up once they are in a prone position. Grabbing the wire of the bale, I managed to turn myself over and get to my feet. Once standing I began "the zipper dance". You know the steps...pull, tug, pull, stomp, pull, pull, pull!

I made my way out of the feed room and into the corral. Gathering my wits, I grasped the top of the zipper and the tongue and moved the zipper on the front of my overalls about halfway down. Unfortunately, this also loosened them at the waist and instead of falling out as I had hoped; Mr. Snake proceeded down into the left leg of the overalls, which fit me just snug enough that I could feel his every movement. Hope springs eternal when you are in a desperate situation; I figured he would go on down and would simply fall out the bottom of the leg of his insulated prison. That, was entirely too optimistic on my part. It was wet and muddy and I had pulled on my big rubber boots, with the bottoms of my overalls securely tucked inside.

As I danced about, my daughter came around the corner of the barn. Throwing myself onto my back in the muck of the corral I shouted, "Quick, peel me out of these overalls! Snake! Snake! Snake!" Kicking and struggling with the side zipper on the leg, I awaited her help; but she was nowhere to be seen! The mental image of a turtle on its back once again invaded my mind. As I screamed her name I saw her coming from the barn with a hoe and looking at the ground. "Where, Mom? Where?!" she kept asking.

"IN MY OVERALLS! GET ME OUT OF THESE!"

Grasping my boots she tossed them aside and began to tug at my overalls, which were still secured by their straps over my shoulders…inside my coat. I was grappling with the coat while my daughter dragged me around the muddy corral. I had the sudden realization that I was a turtle on its back and had the irrational thought "What would a turtle do?" (However, pulling my head in and ignoring the situation was not an option at this point.)

"COAT!" I screamed, "OFF!" Fortunately my daughter speaks fluent screech and was able to translate my cries into directions. Sitting me up, she jerked my coat off and returned to tugging at the legs of my overalls. With one industrious yank they came off and as they flew into the air, so did the snake.

I love old Roadrunner and Coyote cartoons, especially when impending disaster is played out in slow motion. This is the first time in my life that real time took on all the qualities of that poor Coyote having a boulder fall off a cliff onto him. The snake flew up, went into a stall, hung momentarily (still smiling, I assure you), curled into position, straightened out like an Olympic diver and propelled himself straight onto my stomach! My daughter, also in slow motion, watched the snake go up and down and made one comment, "Duh-ang!"

Rolling to one side I dumped the snake into the mud, grasped a panel, scrambled to my feet and grabbed the hoe. I would like to tell you again that I was very lady-like and magnanimous and that I allowed Mr. Snake to make his escape unscathed. This also, would be a lie. I do believe however, that when Mr. Snake got to reptile heaven he told the gatekeeper that he was dispatched from earth by a United States Marine Corp drill instructor wearing muddy long johns and socks wielding a sharp hoe like a machete. I will admit I may have over-reacted a teeny bit, as Mr. Snake vaguely resembled stir-fry when I was done.

My husband made it in from his latest job in the Gulf and went out to do the evening feeding. I had not related the day’s events to him as I was in the shower for the second time that day. (More mud, a skittish bottle calf, you get the picture.) Fortunately for me, my daughter was with a friend and had not regaled her father with her version. (Which differs slightly from mine…I did not pummel the snake with my fists nor did I shout, "This is for women everywhere!" Not that I recall anyway.)

As my husband came back into the house I heard him ask, "Who killed my snake?"

"What do you mean by my snake, Cowboy?" I asked in that unnerving controlled "mommy" voice that children and husbands fear.

Silence from the hall.

"You knew, it was there?" I asked. "And you didn’t kill it?"

"Well, it eats mice and it never causes any trouble."

Wrong answer.

"It slid off a bale and into my overalls."

More silence.

"I think I’ll go back out and spend a little time in the barn before supper" he said as he retreated outdoors. Smart man.

There were lessons learned from this incident. I learned that children do listen to what we say. My daughter made me put seven dollars in the swear word fine jar for what she heard and told the whole county that her mother can kill a snake with lightning speed once it is outside her clothes. I learned that it doesn’t matter if your long-john tops and bottoms match as mud co-ordinates everything into barnyard brown. I learned that my husband is pretty savvy when it comes to knowing when to make a quiet exit. I also learned not to repeat this story to friends or Jon will write a song about it.

The snake learned a valuable lesson too…Turtles, are tougher than they look.

*The snake mentioned in this true story is a non-poisonous barn snake that survives on rodents and small mammals and birds.

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"Ride Hard, Laugh Often, Live Free!"

Debra Coppinger Hill

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RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL is featured each week at ALWAYS COWBOY where Debra is a Resident Western Poet. Join her and her Cowboy Friends for Cowboy Poetry, News & Events. http://alwayscowboy.net/debra_coppinger_hill_poetry.html

RIDING DRAG / HAPPINESS SQUARED

The kitchen remodel continues slow but sure and my and Angela’s job this week was to make the supply run. Our mission was to search for and secure 10 lbs of three and a half inch deck screws. We ended up at the local farm and ranch store where luckily they had a ten percent off sale going on. Screws secured, discount taken and out the door we go! (Bonus…they were giving away free bags of freshly popped corn. Yum!)


Outside a group is selling chances on a restored Corvette and various other prizes. The group selling the chances turned out to be a square-dancing club. The ladies selling the chances were personable and charming with natural, infectious smiles. They played off of one another and laughed the kind of laughter that draws you in and causes you to laugh along. Angela and I bought 5 one dollar chances. The possibility of us winning the Corvette is next to none, but the tickets were worth every penny for the entertainment.

I mentioned that my Pappaw Gass used to call square dances. I remember listening to him when I was little, sometimes falling asleep laying on the edge of the stage. The sound of his voice mixed with the tunes of fiddle and guitar made for a cheerful, up-beat lull-a-bye. One lady took hold of my arm, looked me in the eyes and said, “Honey, you have to write that down; stories like that are gold. You have to tell that and write it down for your kids and grand-kids.”

So, I wrote it down and now you know that my grandfather called square dances. I will also share with you that I have a collection of his square-dance music records, some LPs and some 78s and an old book that belonged to him called “Cowboy Dances”. I will also tell you that he picked a little flat-top guitar and played a mean jaw-harp and had an incredible laugh that came from deep-down and made you laugh too. Just like those two delightful ladies.

On and off all weekend we talked about our grandfathers and the things we remembered about them. We shared and laughed and the work seemed to go faster. Tonight I thank God again for my good friends Angela, Mike, Peyton and April and all their help. I will thank Him also for two lovely ladies who caused me to remember my Pappaw and the music of my childhood. And as I lay me down to sleep I will think of my friend Tom who recently asked me, “While you’ve been working on that old house of yours, have you found any treasure?” Yes Tom, as a matter of fact we have; just yesterday we found gold.



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RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL is featured each week at ALWAYS COWBOY where Debra is a Resident Western Poet. Join her and her Cowboy Friends for Cowboy Poetry, News & Events. http://alwayscowboy.net/debra_coppinger_hill_poetry.html

RIDING DRAG / RANCH SCENTS

Last night I raked up the loose hay in the east feed room. Then I stood there and breathed in that indescribable smell of good Oklahoma Bermuda/Bluestem and Colorado Alfalfa. It’s a smell that fills your senses and follows you for days. Men’s cologne should smell like this; rich, full, useful and nutritious. I would pay good money for that smell in a bottle.


It led me to consider other smells that might attract Ranch/Farm Women. Warm, cuddly puppy smell is nice. But how many men would agree to smell like a puppy? (Although I have met several who have worn cologne that reminded me of wet dog.) Freshly dry new foal is high on my list of favorite smells. Almost any horse smells as a matter of fact. Even horse sweat has its merits. Then there is saddle leather, real saddle leather, cleaned and rubbed down with oil; not that swamp water smelling stuff they sell at Christmas by showing a guy on a horse. My favorite, however, is the smell that clings to a coat on those sharply cold days where your breath hangs in the air; a blend of barn, feed and livestock mixed with tiny crystals of ice. It waifs into my senses, makes me close my eyes and quickens the pace of my heart as I breathe deep. It is the smell of honest, hard work. Real men already smell like this. We do not have to go in search of it. It is here, where we live. It is land, livestock, love and home in one sniff.

My Grandmother used to joke that all men should smell like Lincoln Continental cars and one hundred dollar bills. That too might be nice, that is, if we can change the vehicle to a Chevy 4-wheel drive, Duramax crew cab one ton. But I still think I would prefer those afore mentioned smells.

Husband detests all women’s perfume. He believes in addition to no smoking ordinances that there should also be no perfume zones. When I asked him what women’s perfume should smell like he instantly answered, “That’s easy! Perfume should smell like fried chicken and German Chocolate cake. Or cocoanut pie…yeah, pie, that would be good too.” Then he wandered out of the room muttering something about bacon sandwiches, chili, fried catfish and butterscotch pudding, but by then I wasn’t really listening. I was hatching a business plan.

If only I had known it was just that simple to smell attractive to a man! I think I will make my own signature scent. I’m going to call my new line ‘Yummy’. I’ll get a really pretty bottle, go into the kitchen and mix up my patent pending secret recipe. A few teaspoons of vanilla, a hint of cocoanut, three pinches of chocolate and a dash of chicken drippings! Since I am sure it will be immensely popular, with husbands everywhere who will be buying it up as gifts for their wives, I will need to have more than one scent. At this point I am considering replacing chicken drippings with bacon grease, chili powder and the oil you fry fish in. And actually, that butterscotch kind wouldn’t be bad on a guy either.

This is totally not where I was going with this when I started writing; but just like with the rest of ranch life, you learn to go with the flow…or in this case, with the smell!


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RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL is featured each week at ALWAYS COWBOY where Debra is a Resident Western Poet. Join her and her Cowboy Friends for Cowboy Poetry, News & Events. http://alwayscowboy.net/debra_coppinger_hill_poetry.html

RIDING DRAG / ABSOLUTELY NOTHING

Once in awhile I run away. I grab a bag, I get in the truck and I come to Colorado with my husband where he is currently working. I like hiding up here. The scenery is distinctly different from the flat-lands of Oklahoma. Even the hills of the Osage or the tree-filled areas around Tahlequah cannot compare to real mountains. I hold nothing against my home state it is simply at times I crave tall peaks to which snow still clings even in June; the temperature of 78 much preferred over the muggy 97 I hear they are having back home today.


There are things I do not see often when I am home. Here I will venture out to the farmer’s market, to the Navajo square and the Pow-Wow going on at the fairgrounds. I don’t do that at home. A myriad of chores call to me, errands demand my attention and I cannot make myself simply sit back and waste time.

Wasting time is rejuvenating. We all need it, but so few of us take the time to give ourselves those moments involve nothing. Long ago I recall my Dad coming home from his week’s work on Friday enening. He would rush through the chores that absolutely had to be done over the weekend, mowing, household chores, etc., and then he would say ‘Ah, time for nothing!” He laughed, we laughed and we spent the weekend days doing exactly that, nothing.

Sometimes he would throw fishing poles, sleeping bags and food in the car and we would take off on a ‘they went that-a-way’ adventure. He would let my brother and me taking turns deciding which way to go at certain intersections. We ended up in a lot of interesting places and we always had fun. We did nothing and we loved it.

So in that very spirit I did this very same thing this last week. I make no excuses. I needed that time. I needed to do nothing and did. We took off and drove, made a lot of turns for no reason other than we wondered where the road went. My spirit is renewed and I am ready to face the days ahead!

Oh, one more thing I did not do…I did not write a column. Not until this minute anyway. The only thought I put into it has been the thought I used in remembering the fun of doing nothing with my Dad and Mom when we were kids and the fun of the last few days; the fun of doing nothing.

As responsible adults we often feel that to have fun is to not get our work done. If we are doing nothing we could not possibly be accomplishing what the world and the powers-that-be think we should. For the most part we feel that we must be given permission to go do nothing and further permission to not feel bad about it. Let me help you with this.

(Fill in the blank)__________ has my permission to spend the next few days doing nothing. That means absolutely, positively nothing what so ever. And in addition to doing nothing, they are totally absolved of any feelings of guilt for doing such. Signed, Debra Coppinger Hill.

There, isn’t that better? Now, go! Nothing is waiting.


Contact Debra Coppinger Hill at ridingdrag@gmail.com

WELCOME!

WELCOME TO RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL!