RIDING DRAG / RURAL CSI

We never heard a thing; not a scream or a squeal, not a bump or a bang, not a shuffle or a scuffle, no not a single noise of any kind. But the evidence of the murder was there; blood everywhere. Big, half-dollar size puddles of blood, from one end of the deck to the other. Globs of it in the hand rail and on down the steps. It was a gruesome scene indeed.

Our first concern was for the cats and dogs themselves. All of them passed inspection, not a cut or scratch anywhere. This led us to believe that they could possibly be the culprit. Who/what then was murdered? This was a job for CSI…Critter Scene Investigation!

I admit it, I am a closet investigator, and I am pretty good at it. Back home if there are feathers scattered across the yard I know all the evidence points to the murder of a bird. No matter how innocent the cats look laying there on the porch I know they are guilty. How? They didn’t rush to the door for food when I came outside, which means only one thing, they had full tummies. You can figure it out from there.

But there were no feathers. There was no squirrel or bunny hair. There was nothing except large drops of blood; more blood than any squirrel of bunny could have inside their small body.  It makes me nervous because apparently there was a critter on our deck that was pretty large in size to have lost that much blood. More nerve-racking is the thought of the size of the animal that did said critter in.

I have deduced this much, that whatever it was that was murdered it was too large to have been killed by any one of the three cats or either of the two wiener dogs. (Who have the air-tight alibi of being asleep in the house with us at the time of the murder.) The killer was bigger and meaner and sneaky enough to pull off the crime without being heard or seen and without leaving any evidence at all. Despite the large amount of blood there was not a single foot/paw print to be found.

I have become cautious about standing out on the deck at night. I have also confined all my Critter Scene Investigation activities to daylight hours. But it hasn’t stopped me from spending a great deal of time looking out the large back windows and doors wondering about this incident. I prefer to not think of these measures as cowardice on my part but rather stealthy surveillance. Yeah, surveillance…that’s it. CSI continues to work on this case with Agent Mom leading the investigation. Details of the case will be released as they become available. (I think I need a theme song.)

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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 / ZELLA

When I think of her, I see two pictures,

  side by side in Grandma’s book...
A hopeful young nurse, in a starched white dress,
  and a red-head, in a wheat field, with a grinnin’, onery look.
She was a nurse, when it was a job,
  that only a woman would do,
She nursed in town odd hours,
  then planted wheat and bottle-fed calves too.
Because she married a handsome farmer,
  and together they would homestead,
And in the course of fifty-some years,
  kept each other’s spirits warm and fed.

She learned how to drive most any tractor,

  and she knew how to plow,
And she knew about delivering babies,
  be they human, or be they cow.
This dual life she lived,
  sometimes took everything she had,
But if you asked her about it,
  she’d say, “Aw, it’s not so bad...
You see, life is an Adventure,
  if you play the cards you’re dealt,
Good times you let the seams out on your britches,
  bad times, you hold ‘em up with a belt.”

She loved to share ideas,

  and she had an open and inquisitive mind,
She said you should look for miracles,
  because they’re not that hard to find.
Like babies and calves in the spring,
  crocus and crystal in the snow,
And seeing your friends and loved ones,
  everywhere you go.

She would have been pleased to see all the people,

  who came to the service that day,
She never would have believed so many would come,
  just to honor an Old Farm Girl that way.
And every one had a story,
  about how she touched their life,
Like the one told by a man
   and his forever grateful wife.
The man was smashed by a tractor,
  they fetched her to their farm,
She bagged his lungs and breathed for him,
  for two and a half hours, with her work-strong arms.

 The stories would have embarrassed her,

  it was her job, as a nurse, you see,
I must have heard a thousand such tales,
  and in each one, her humbleness was the key.
So, we stood around the funeral home,
  and we laughed, as we told her favorite jokes,
She would have enjoyed the laughter,
  she would have gotten in her pokes.

 Then her Husband asked me what I wanted of hers,

  I said, just her nurses hat...
But, true to form, she’d given it to a younger nurse,
  so, I figured, that was that.
Then he brought me her old straw hat,
  the one she farmed and gardened in,
And a rhinestone brooch she always wore,
  and her little gold nurses pin.

Then came the time we dreaded,

  we had to say Good-bye,
And we’re just not the kind of people,
  who stand around and cry,
You see, Death is a CELEBRATION,
  and if you do it right,
Your whole Life is a Ministry,
  until your soul takes flight.

 And if you’re really lucky,

  people miss you when you’re gone,
And maybe write a line or two,
  that keeps your memory strong.
So, I wrote down these words,
  that would have made her shy,
So, you would know, we loved her,
  and who she was, and why.
For in her UNSELFISH lifetime,
  she had truly done it all...
Everything, from those starched white dresses,
  to the evening cattle call.

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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 / POLITICALLY CORRECT

April 23, 2019
 

I’ve seen a lot of tee-shirts lately,

That say, “Get a Cowboy Attitude”,

But the fellows who were wearing them,

Appeared to be plain rude.

They think that being a Cowboy,

Is a swagger in your walk,

And a dip in your lip,

And a drawl when you talk.

To them it’s a high-dollar horse,

And a trailer with sleeper and tack,

And a sixty thousand dollar pick-up,

With vanity plates on the back.

They think a hundred dollar shirt,

And a Stetson with a fancy band,

Is all it takes to make,

The measure of a man.

But being a Cowboy,

Ain’t necessarily what you ride,

It’s what you believe,

It’s who you are inside.

It’s looking past the problems,

To further down the road,

It’s standing up for others,

And living by The Code.

It’s giving more than your share,

It’ doing what is right,

It’s knowing how to appreciate things,

By taste, or feel or sight.

It’s knowing that it’s Not Necessary,

To be Politically Correct,

That either you do, or you don’t,

Deserve your ounce of respect.

It’s knowing the definition of Freedom,

The Responsibility that is brings,

It’s Heart and Soul and Strength and Grit,

And even more that just those things…

It’s wearing what is practical,

And even if you’re money poor,

It you really are a Cowboy,

You’re rich in something more.

Because being a Cowboy,

Isn’t something that you learn,

It’s putting your shoulder to it,

It’s the one thing that you EARN.

So, when you see a fellow,

Wearing his “cowboy attitude”,

You can know that he’s a ‘wanna-be’,

Or maybe just a dude.

 

As for the Real Cowboy?

Well, you’ll know him by the look in his eyes,

And he’ll be the one wearing plain clothes,

Because he don’t have to advertise.

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*For more information on Debra Coppinger Hill go to the 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

LET'S ALL SING

I am reminded of the old song “Let’s All Sing Like The Birdies Sing”. The Mockingbirds are back and have set up a morning concert on the fence outside my bedroom window. Each day as the sky begins to gray they start warbling and chirping and whistling their little hearts out. (Tweet, Tweet-Tweet, Tweet-Tweet!) It doesn’t disturb me as I have been awake long before the sun began to climb. I do wonder however if the time for their concert will change with the coming of daylight savings time? Do they know what time it is or will they simply react to the sun and nothing more? They seem a little out of sorts and I can only guess that my schedule of chores and movement past their perch throws them off.

Each year I look forward to springing forward an hour and gaining sunlight at the end of my day. I do not mind getting up in the dark and starting my daily chores because the sun appears and lights my way. I do not like doing my evening chores in the increasing darkness. It is a joy to have that extra light, to be able to finish feeding and watering then having a nice sit on the porch to watch the sun disappear. I wish there were some way we could just spring forward and not spring back.

 
Porch time is my favorite time of the day. I sit and listen to the sounds of the ranch and watch the sun as it sets the stray clouds on fire with brilliant color. Life is good and I am happy and appreciative. I don’t know who came up with daylight savings time. Oh, I am sure I could look it up on the internet and know all there is to know about it; but do I really need that information stuffed into my brain? No. All I need is a big glass of tea and some time spent in what was my grandfather’s lawn chair to help me put things into perspective. So, whoever you are that came up with the concept, the Mockingbirds may not thank you, but I certainly do and I don’t mind singing about it one bit.

 

*For more information on Debra Coppinger Hill go to the 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

IT'S ALWAYS SOMETHING!

“Do you have a headache? Are you dizzy? Are you having chest pains?” they asked. “No. No. No.” I answered. I felt fine; as a matter of fact I felt better than I had in months. All I needed was a quick going over and my papers for the adoption signed. My trip to the clinic turned into an affair of the heart and I don’t mean that in the romantic way! “You are currently experiencing a mild cardiac incident; you came in just in time.”

 

I was still sitting there grinning and waiting for the punch line. Surely this was a joke; I felt perfectly healthy. Sure I was a little stressed (who isn’t?), and sure I was stretched a little thin with family and work and horses and…really I was having an ‘incident’? My whole world is made up of nothing but ‘incidents’. ‘Incidents’ are my norm. I am good at handling ‘incidents’.

 

I have been released to get back to normal; someone else’s idea of normal, not mine. Better cooking/eating habits, not catch as catch can when I am busy. Better sleeping habits, not staying up all night when the muse calls my name. Better ways of handling stress, not taking on just one more little project because it’s easier for me than them. I have to admit I am not finding any of these things easy to do. I love to cook and I love old family recipes. Writing has always been a ‘when inspiration hits me’ affair for me. I love my family and friends and I hate to say “No” to anyone. But I have promised to do better and get my blood pressure under control and keep a vigilant eye on other problems we found while the Doctor was reading me the riot act.

 

So, for those of you have noticed I was missing in action, there it is in a nutshell. I am back and ready to write and share. I am also prepared to make critical changes that will benefit me. But first there are errands waiting, a kid to get off the bus, three loads of muddy laundry, a dog to deliver and a bucket of Cowboy goodies to put together for a charity auction. Hey, I said no to volunteering yummy goodies for a bake sale and to hauling a show calf to Kansas. But after all, I swore to behave better, not to quit living my life! Yup, it’s always something, but I promise to be more discerning!

 

*For more information on Debra Coppinger Hill go to the 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 / JUST A QUICK NOTE

RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL

My first cousin once removed Zella always started her letters with “Just a quick note to let you know...”, followed by the news of the week. I had long ago learned from corresponding with her and my Aunt Carol that if I wanted letters to read that I had better write letters to be read. I would read her ‘quick notes’ that would go on for pages and feel a part of my family that was so very far away. I would read it several times over, pick up my pen and write back. Reading made me feel less separated from my relatives and writing made me feel less homesick. Tucked away in several shoeboxes in a steamer trunk in the old dairy barn lie each and every letter they each wrote to me over the years.

They and their letters were my lifeline as we travelled from one job to another. We lived in a thirty-five foot travel trailer and pulled an eighteen footer as an office for Husband. Back and forth across the country we moved while our friends settled into homes here and there. We dreamed of other things, saved money by staying in the trailer and waited patiently for acres, cattle and horses. Zella lived on homesteaded land claimed the last year you could file for a homestead in Oklahoma. She understood about wanting, needing land. Carol understood about moving and taking your house along with her as she and Uncle Bill had been nomads like us at one point as he too worked in the oil fields.

Last week while I was laid up with a messed-up shoulder, I went looking for a book and found instead those boxes of letters. Good news, sad news, jokes, good-natured gossip and stories made for good reading. It is my family’s history compiled for the most part by two women who taught me that love quite often comes in the written word.

Zella is long ago passed through the gates of Heaven, while Aunt Carol lives about thirty-five minutes from me. It seems strange to think about writing a letter to her when she is so close. But as I write this I am prompted to remember that it was she who wrote the last letter to me and therefore, I owe her a letter. I also believe my first line will be “Just a quick note to let you know how very precious your letters have always been to me...”

*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 and 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 / COWBOY FEARS

RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL

Once upon a time my Dad asked my Mom to make sure while she was in town to please stop by the discount store and pick him up a couple of pairs of Big Mama panty-hose. Yes, my Dad wore panty-hose; but he had a good reason. If you have ever spent any time in the tall grass or the woods in Oklahoma will know why. For the rest of you, let this poem explain.

BITTEN

Cowboys don't fear the coyote
he just yips and yowls.
But the wolf is another story
your blood chills when he howls.

And a panther, will stalk you
even in the dark.
And a bear, when he catches you
will tear you clear apart.

The best thing about a snake bite
is it kills you pretty quick.
And those ‘under-a-rock-critters’
their bite will make you deathly sick.

But the most vicious of the critters
the one every Cowboy fears,
Inflicts a type of torture
that leaves grown men in tears.

With a bite so excruciating
it will make you wish you were dead
And there's nothing more terrifying,
than when it raises its ugly head.

It attacks without a warning
it's cold-hearted and just plain mean.
It considers all men prey
and will bite any one that seen.

The suffering, is lingering
and to this very day;
There's no cure or medication,
that can take the pain away.

It's just the size of a pin point
and it don't get much bigger;
But I've seen Cowboys brought to their knees,
by the savage bite, of the Chigger.

*Dedicated to my Dad and my Husband who says,

"There is nothing worse than an enemy you can't see.”

*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 and Events. http://alwayscowboy.net/debra_coppinger_hill_poetry.html

COWBOY POETRY / NEW MEXICO

NEW MEXICO

The first time you see her, she will steal your soul away,
And replace it with a being of her own,
Her white sands will glisten, underneath turquoise skies,
And make your heart always long, for New Mexico.

There is magic in her mountains, secrets in her sage,
A special kind of wisdom, that only comes with age.
The music of her canyons, will echo and roll,
And fill your life with desire, for New Mexico.

She'll captivate your spirit, keep it in possession there,
No matter where you are, you smell cedar in the air.
The song she sings you, comes from long ago,
And haunts you with a passion, for New Mexico.

You understand the stillness, of a desert afternoon,
You're enchanted by the beauty, of yucca in bloom,
As you wonder at the colors, transformed by the sun's glow,
Your thoughts are of being, in New Mexico.

Voices of the past, warriors and pioneers,
Urge you with their stories, of laughter and tears.
An unsettled feeling, is all you have to show,
As you roam familiar trails, back to New Mexico.

Some will call her savage, some will call her wild,
In ever fleeting shadows, she remains but a child.
This boldness of character is restless and untamed,
Gentled only by The Power, that takes on many names.

You'll hear her in the night, when Westward breezes blow,
And to fill that empty feeling, you know you have to go,
For once you hold her in your eyes, nothing else can make you whole,
And you're never really home again, until you're in New Mexico.

 ©1999 Debra Coppinger Hill, All Rights Reserved

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

"ALWAYS COWBOY: For Those Who Live the West and For Those Who Dream of Living It!"

RIDING DRAG / ALL WE NEED

At nineteen degrees our breath freezes in the air as we walk to the barn. Inside the cold clings to us and makes us thankful for heavy coats and fleece liners. As we work we warm some, but still keep on our gloves and coats. How fortunate we are to have clothing to keep us warm, work to do and a place to live that sustains us. We have worked hard all year and earned this quiet time. We feed the horses and cattle; watch the steam rise from their backs as we hold our hands deep in warm pockets and revel in the goodness God has given us.

This time of year seals into our souls those things we treasure. Family, home and friends have more meaning when winter comes and we are snug and warm in our house with those we love around us. We are more thankful when the cold batters things about outside and we are sheltered against it. But while we gather in the barn, the elements so close to us, we know how little we need to truly make us happy.

As we stand in this old barn we are reminded of the first Christmas so long ago. The Christ Child had a manger for his bed, the animals bowed down before him and Kings lay gifts before His feet. It is easy to believe, for in this place we find our greatest peace each day. We need little when we know that Christ who rules our lives was born in surroundings as humble as these. A dirt floor, some hay to sleep on and loved ones close to Him and yet, He had all…and gave all. How could we want for more?

We stand in the icy air, lift up our eyes towards Heaven and thank God for the gift of His Son. We send our prayers skyward, our breath mixing with that of the livestock and we know that we have all we need. “And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.”  Luke 2:10

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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

COWBOY POETRY / A PLACE IN THE HEART

A PLACE IN THE HEART



"Where is this place they call The West?,"
  a stranger asked of me;
"Where does it begin, where does it end,
  where are the boundaries?"

I gave this question lots of thought,
  I considered it quite carefully;
For everything from the Atlantic coast is West,
  all the way to the Pacific sea.

Cowboy is a often a mis-used term,
  open to interpretation,
And so it is, with The West,
  it becomes a generalization.

The answer seemed too simple,
  though it gave me cause to ponder;
The ways and life of the Cowboy
  and how he is bound to wander.

I smiled as I gave my answer,
  and please don't think it odd,
But the words I spoke, I truly believe,
  were given to me by God.

"Everyone has a different definition,
  and no single one is right;
It's like trying to define the Universe,
  or freedom or faith or sunlight.

The West is like the sky above,
  endless and wrapped around us all;
It's anywhere there's the soul of man,
  or the sound of this Earth's call.

It's the place where we're going,
  all the places we have been,
The past, the present and the future;
  where-ever you find a friend.

Where is The West?
  You're standing there;
It's no one location,
  it's everywhere.

It's no place in particular,
  it's anywhere living is an art;
It's any place a Cowboy is,
  it's A Place in the Heart."




©Debra Coppinger Hill
Dedicated in love and laughter to Jen Hilts, a Cowgirl to the bone.




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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

WELCOME!

WELCOME TO RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL!