RIDING DRAG / HAYING TIME (BUFFALO GRASS)

The rains this spring and summer have made for good grass this year. We find ourselves gathering bales and putting them in storage instead of scrambling for hay as we have the last few years. The pastures are full of round bales scattered across the land like buffalo grazing in the evening light.

 Buffalo Grass

The round bales stand, heavy and grand,

  it’s been a good year for hay.
Up the hill I walk, to sit on my rock,
  as master of all I survey.

It occurs to me, this used to be,

  part of the open plain;
Before you and me, before cattle was king,
  the royal Buffalo reigned.

Clouds edged with light, day eases to night,

  dusk plays tricks with my eyes;
Into visions I drift, shapes start to shift,
  Night-hawks sing a lullaby.

The moon rises low, shadows come and go,

  I see shaggy beasts in the haze.
They come as I sleep, give me knowledge to keep,
  I watch them content as they graze.

They ramble on in, I call them kin,

  I awake to find them not there;
But it’s not been a dream; I still feel the steam,
  of their sacred breath in the air.

The water still flows. The wind still blows.

  The bluestem waves tall and green.
And I see them each night, when the moon is just right,
  the Buffalo of my dreams.

I breathe a prayer, while I’m standing there

  and hope it’s not too late;
To save the earth, for what it’s worth,
  or we’ll suffer the very same fate.

I’ll heed their call…Pray for us all,

  ask God “Where do we go?”
When the moon is pale, I’ll stand near the bales,
and pretend...they’re Buffalo.

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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 / ESCAPE!

I knew it wouldn’t take long; I went to the laundry room on the back porch and when I came back to the living room he was gone. Home only three days from the hospital where he had his kidney removed and he had escaped! I went to the open front door where I saw him, followed by our six year old grandson. He was headed to the west corral.

When I asked him where he thought he was going he simply said “I need to see CiCi. I need my horse.” My grandson (very wise for his age) said “I’m here MawMaw. I got this.”

I cannot argue with either one. I have been there. I know the healing power of horses. I watch them, consider and let them go. God speed.

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*For more by 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 / WHAT'S GREAT ABOUT AMERICA

We had intended to have the barn painted by this time. The plan was to have a big American flag painted on the north side facing the county road as a tribute to our country. My great-nephew Brandon came to spend the summer with his Mamo Angel and work part-time on the 4DH. He was going to paint the barn and help me paint the flag. But you know what they say about best laid plans.

God made it possible for Husband to take a spill and in the ensuing doctor's appointment they found the tumor in his kidney. Surgery has gone well and though he has a long road of healing ahead things are looking up.

In a time when the news is filled with so many stories about criminal youth, I would like to share about those kind of kids who never recieve the attention they deserve. Brandon is one of those kids. He came to spend the summer doing a few chores around the ranch, do a few projects for his great-grandpa and the rest of his time would be spent having fun. We planned lots of afternoons in the pool and many sightseeing excursions.

Then Husband had surgery and great-grandpa needed more help and Brandon's part-time work turned full-time. He has helped Chief and our kids around the ranch with feeding and watering, hauling, caring for horses, cattle and pets, as well as mowing and hauling hay. He has also been working full days all week in the warehouse at Tucker Janitorial Supply. Has he complained that this was not the summer he bargained for? No.

Instead he has pitched in and done more than expected. What a truly remarkable sixteen year old! He will never get the credit he deserves. He will never be on the nightly news or make front page headlines; but he should. And so should all those other good kids out who make America Great.

This Independence Day please take the time to tell a Great Young America how proud you are of them. They are the future and salvation of this country. Thanks Brandon, for being a good example of what every kid should aspire to be!

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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 / MY SOAP BOX

Now, more than any time before, we must celebrate Independence Day. We must celebrate before it is gone, before the next generation forgets.

Have you passed on any traditions today? I am not talking about hot dogs and fireworks. I am talking about taking your family out around the flag pole and raising the flag and pledging allegiance. Have you stood and told them about family members who have given up their time or even their lives to defend freedom? It doesn’t matter how many generations back, they deserve to be remembered. It is our duty to tell their stories and make the next generation understand that it is their sacrifice that enables them to live in a country that is still free.

Tell them about the Constitution. Tell them about voting and encourage them to register if they are old enough. Tell them what they no longer tell them in school; that honesty and hard work will pay off and that it is better to stand for the values this country was based on no matter the cost, than to live in chains.

I know that I am a little preachy standing up on this soap box, but I love America with my whole being and I am angry that career politicians are selling us out. I am disappointed that people care so little about voting. I am horrified that our children are not educated about the Constitution and they start their school day without the Pledge of Allegiance or Prayer. I also realize it is my responsibility to not keep my mouth shut! I must stand upon my box and share my love for the United States of America. I must tell my Representatives what is not acceptable and not with one phone call a year, but as a part of my regular routine.

I am an American and I will not be silenced. I will shout out my love for my country every day; before it is too late, before there is nothing left to celebrate. Join me, please.

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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 / GETTING EVEN

Back in 2000-2004 I had cancer. Fortunately for me I was blessed with a team of Doctors and Nurses, many of whom I had known most of my life and who I called friend. My best friend gave up his time, his hobbies and sleep to care for me. He is my husband and I cannot tell you all what all he did for me during that time. It was his love and care that saved me. It was he who carried me out to a lawn-chair among my horses. This one thing helped me with my healing more than any other thing done on my behalf.

This week we were hit with the news that he did not have back pain from a spill he took several months ago but pain that was brought on by a cancerous tumor in his right kidney. We are presently putting together a plan of action with his doctors for his surgery next week. Do we know where this is going? No. We simply pray for healing and prepare to accept it. We beg the patience of our friends and co-workers as we go down this path.

I write this column each week and I talk about what goes on with the critters, the members of the 4DH Crew and our friends and neighbors. I have tried over the years to always stay true to the goings-on of ranch/farm life. At this moment I am at a loss for words. I can only tell you this; God in His wisdom allowed me to go through cancer so I would know who loved me as much as He does. Now He is affording my husband the same chance.

I am finally going to get the opportunity to get even with my husband for all he did for me. I already know where I am going to place that lawn chair for his ‘equine therapy’. 

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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 / 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 / SPRING CLEANING

Rainy days force us inside after chores and give us a dose of cabin fever. Being trapped inside also forces us to take a good look at our surroundings and take stock of our collected clutter. Accumulated across the winter months when we voluntarily spend more time inside this collection suddenly begins to surround us. We feel penned in and stare longingly outside; but the rain is falling steadily and there is still a chill on the air. We turn back to the mess and make the monumental decision to clean house. I am not talking about the usual cleaning that goes on where we dust a little, run the vacuum and wipe down the bathroom. I am talking about the kind of house cleaning that includes clearing shelves, washing them down and getting rid of half of what we pulled out in the first place.

I love junk. I am, without shame, a junkaholic. I love trinkets and knick-knacks, photos and glassware, Cowboy and Native American bits and pieces. If the article has family history attached, all the better. I won’t even go into books and other printed word pieces and how they fill up space around here. (I vaguely remember a table beneath the pile of books beside my chair.)

My good intentions are side-tracked by the sheer volume of it all. I find myself in the spare room sitting on the floor slowly going through a box of articles, school papers, photos and programs from my kids’ formative years. I know why I saved them; because my mother and grandmother saved things like this for me. They kept scrapbooks for each of us and though I thought them silly at the time they are treasure now. At times in my life when I thought myself an utter failure I could go through them and see what I had accomplished. Notes written here and there among the articles, etc. served to remind me that I was loved, that they were proud of me and that I was special.

No, I did not get the house truly clean. The stack of books still towers next to my chair, there are still vet supplies in my kitchen cabinets and half consumed boxes of crackers in the pantry. But I do have four scrapbooks fairly underway and more than half of the things in the box now pasted to pages. Hopefully they will find these books about them as valuable as I found mine. Memories versus a clutter-free environment…priorities people, priorities.

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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

GIFTS

Ranching and farming present the participants with great gifts.  We receive knowledge because every day is a learning experience. Treating our animals prepares us in many ways for dealing with childhood illness and accident by teaching us to remain calm so the patient (two or four legged) will remain calm. We receive the gift of a sense of humor and the ability to deal with any situation in an upbeat manner. We have been given the ability to survive regardless of the circumstances and the gift of forgiveness, both by us and towards us. Livestock babies are our gift each spring, assuring us that life goes on no matter what. The list is endless.

The greatest gifts I ever received were my family and several life-long friends. God put them in my life and blessed me with ranching and writing. I thank Him every day for all he has given me. But none of it is as important as His one gift that He gave to all mankind…the life of His Son for our sins. The list for why this is important is endless too. We will celebrate this week the glory of Christ rising from the dead.  He is there for each person who will simply believe and follow.

I came back and edited this column after sending it to one publication that sent it back and asked that I write something a little less “controversial”.  I guess I could do that, but I don’t want to. Instead I will ask them to rerun a column of their choice at no charge and when their contract is up at the end of April, I will not renew it. I will not compromise my personal belief in Jesus Christ as the Son of God and the Savior of man for a check and the sake of political correctness. I would rather be wrong in the eyes of an editor than in the eyes of my Savior.

I would like to mention one more thing. I have never met a Rancher or Farmer who did not have a deep abiding Faith in God. And I believe with my whole heart that stewards of land and livestock are also one of those gifts God gives the world. Spring will come and someone somewhere will shout that the wheat is up or that there is a new baby on the ground and I know who they will thank. I know who I will be thanking. He is Risen!

 

*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

FALSE SPRING

I have lived long enough to understand that a warm day in March doesn’t necessarily mean that spring is here. Sometimes it pretends to be the perfect weather for gardening to lure you outside and get you started cleaning up your garden with visions of fresh veggies dancing in your head. You will work the warm day away and go to bed thinking of all the things you will accomplish tomorrow. Tomorrow arrives with temperatures 45 degrees lower, a misty cold rain and a view through the window of your garden tools leaning against the fence mocking you for leaving them out because you were sure you would be using them early the next day.

I used to fall for the temptations of the first warm days. I would work myself silly getting my first of spring chores started only to be stalled by the following cold. I would have to start over several times throughout the end of winter months of February and March. Several years ago I recalled something my Grandfather told me when I helped plant his garden; ‘Never plant anything before April Fool’s Day.’ I now take his words to heart and follow them to the letter.

Yesterday it was 79 degrees and I spent the day outside. But instead of working in the yard I spent it sitting at the picnic table while my grandsons ran circles around me. We ate a snack, drew on the porch steps with chalk and watched the horses run and carry on in the south pasture. We filled the water tanks, laughed at the cat chasing a leaf blowing by and discussed why we don’t put grass in our mouths that comes from the part of the yard where the dogs go to do their business.

Today it’s 36 degrees and yes, there is misty cold rain falling. We are trapped inside, but instead of staring out the window at yard tools demanding we come out and put them away before they rust, we are drinking hot chocolate and talking about what fun we had yesterday. You see, the secret to a good garden is to not get into a hurry. My Grandfather told me that too.  I am sure he also knew this was the secret to growing a good relationship with our kids and grand-kids. Mother Nature likes to play games with us by teasing us into believing spring is here. The key to enjoying spring when it really gets here is to enjoy the final days of winter. Now, if you will excuse me, my grandsons and I have some corn to pop and a rousing game of Hungry, Hungry Hippo to play; it’s the perfect weather for it.

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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

RIDING DRAG / Transformation

RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL

TRANSFORMATION

They say when you live with someone for a long enough period of time that you will eventually become very much alike. I have a hard time believing this as Husband and I have been married almost thirty-one years and we are really nothing alike. For example, he loves fish and I would rather go hungry than to eat fish in any form or fashion. He can watch bull-riding for hours and after three or four rides I pretty much have the idea and go on to something else. I read anything and everything in print and he considers reading (unless it is about bull-riding or horses) a huge waste of his time.

But yesterday we found common ground while out working in the yard. It seems as if flies blossomed over-night. One day we were sitting on the porch enjoying the evenings and the next flies of every type and size were tormenting us the moment we walked outdoors. Our hatred of flies is one way that we are very much alike. We detest them so much that we have actually given one another decorative fly swatters as gifts.

I have been trying to finish planting the rest of my garden and was hard at work last evening when a large, good-old-fashioned horse-fly began to torture me. It landed on the back of my knee, so I stomped my leg. It flew up and landed on my cheek so I shook my head to get it off and shimmied it off of my shoulders. Repeatedly it landed on me; first one place and then another. I shook and blew and moved around trying my best to avoid the little devil.

You know that spot on your back that you just can’t reach when it itches? In the very middle just below your shoulders and higher than the small of your back that is inaccessible no matter how you twist or turn, no matter how you contort your torso or your arms. That is where it landed next and to add to the aggravation, it began to bite me! To have a horse-fly biting with all its might just out of reach adds injury to insult! I twisted, I turned, I hopped about and I shook some more, all to no avail.

Some of you know that I have hair that goes down below my pockets. As a rule, when I am working outside I keep it in a long braid. This braid was hanging over the front of my right shoulder, and without thinking I grabbed it and slapped it over my shoulder hitting that unreachable spot on my back. I knocked the fly to the ground where I was able to give it a good stomp. “Way to go there Sheza,” quipped Husband. (Note: Sheza is my paint mare and has the longest tail of any horse on the ranch and is seldom tormented very long by any fly.)

I was about to snipe something back when it occurred to me that he was right. I have spent thirty-one years with him, but I have spent my entire fifty-five years with horses. I have become very much like them. I am a creature of habit when it comes to feeding time with two of my favourite foods being oatmeal in the mornings and corn pudding at night. I am more comfortable in a herd of like beings and I respect pecking order and age. I can carry a heavy load and I do not mind pulling my fair share. And last night I proved I can swat a fly with my ‘tail’. Looks like that old saying is true; over time we have become very much alike. I guess it could be worse and I could be more like Husband after all these years. He has a long, thick moustache and instead of a ‘tail’, I could be growing one of those instead. Thank God for small favours!

*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

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RIDING DRAG / SUNDAY CREEK

Riding Drag with Debra Coppinger Hill

Sixteen years ago I was asked if my column could run in a paper called the Cowboy Gazette. The Gazette was put out monthly by the Great Falls Rodeo Club and their faculty advisor and editor for the paper was Jeff Streeby. Over the years we have become great pals. Jeff and his wife raise good horses and good kids and such as we did the same we had a great deal in common. Even more, Jeff is an incredible writer. I have been fortunate to have been allowed to do a great many first reads of Jeff’s poetry and character sketches for his book Sunday Creek.

I have waited a long time to see this book in print and my patience has been rewarded. Sunday Creek is now available at Amazon.com. If you search Jeff Streeby, Sunday Creek you too will be rewarded. I recommend this book; no, I insist that you get it. It is a masterful piece of Western literature. Based in the mythical Montana town of Sunday Creek the residents are all based on actual characters of the old West. Their posthumous dialogues weave together a story of pioneers, miners, cowboys, western businessmen, lady entrepreneurs, wagon trains, soldiers and Native Americans. Below is one of my favourite pieces, young cowboy Wiley Rawlins.

Wiley Rawlins
(1867-1889)

I pulled my weight like all the rest--
rode the outside circle on the roundup in the broken country east of Sunday Creek--
did rough service for my outfit in the breaking pen
twisting the wild out of snuffy broncs--
stood my turn at guard under Montana stars thick as snowflakes--
and no complaint--
rode a freight train to Chicago once when Nedringhaus shipped steers--
At 22, I'd had my share of fun--
And then topping a rise one bright August afternoon
wondering at the length of shadow that we, man and horse, cast down the hillside,
the world went white and hot at once
and I, my last flash of wit caught in the like instant when flint strikes steel,
tried to say

"By God. Lightning."

Who'd have thought?

*Jeff Streeby

*For more about Debra go to the Cowboy Poetry section at AlwaysCowboy.com. You can also see more by Jeff in the Cowboy Poetry section there or at JeffStreeby.com  

Go to Amazon and order your copy of Sunday Creek!
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Jeff+Streeby%2C+Sunday+Creek

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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 / My Mother's Tatted Lace

To this day my Mother’s hands are never idle. She tatted the lace for my daughter’s wedding handkerchief and crosses that she gives to others. She never has to look at her hands, but I have watched them and listened to the song of the shuttle for hours on end.

Tatted Lace

     Her hands were never idle,

she could quilt, and she could sew.

She made the clothes, that we wore,

and the curtains for the window.

She could make something out of nothing,

it appeared as if from thin air,

And each thing, that she made us,

was filled with love and care.

 The materials came from feed sacks,

opened and washed, then neatly pressed,

And from odd bolt ends of yard goods,

into which she made our Sunday best.

To make it all so special,

make a feed sack dress stylish and grand,

She edged it with the finest lace,

that she tatted herself, by hand.

We’d watch the balls of ecru thread unwind,

as her magic, she did weave,

The shuttle moving at a pace so quick,

our eyes it would deceive.

We watched her tat for hours,

and a certain peacefulness it did bring,

Drifting to sleep at her knee,

the clicking shuttle, a lull-a-bye would sing.

I’m grown and can afford store-bought clothes,

the very best money can buy.

But I never find anything that I like,

and I’ve begun to understand why.

The workmanship cannot compare,

to that crafted by her hands.

For I still have pieces of that lace,

and the test of time, it does withstand.

And like the love she put in it,

when she crafted it for me,

I know where-ever I am in the world,

there also, She will be.

And in the twilight, through the window,

I still see her hands and face,

The shuttle clicking to and fro...

making tatted lace.

*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, 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 / 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 / THE STRANGER

The Stranger stood above the clearing,
  on that dark, clear silent night,
and listened to the voices clear and strong,
  singing of a star so bright.
He rode on in and haled the cabin,
  and much to his surprise,
was met at the door, by a man with a beard,
  and in the window, saw five pairs of eyes.

“Come in, Friend”, said the man of the house,
  “and join us, for we celebrate.”
He found himself seated by a fire,
  he was given food and he ate.
In the course of conversation,
  it became abundantly clear,
that this family had very little
  yet, they all welcomed him here.
                     
With “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem”,
  the woman sang the children to sleep.
Four times she placed a kiss in their hands,
  and said “Hold this tight while you sleep.”
Then around a pot of thin coffee,
  a story began to unfold,
of sacrifice and hardship;
  The Stranger felt honored being told.

It seems each time they had been nearly out,
  of all of their supplies,
they had prayed for abundance,
  and enough would appear before their eyes.
Their prayers, they said, had been answered,
  it had been a long time since The Stranger had seen,
people so anchored in their Faith,
  no matter that times were lean.

He saw, as they prepared for morning,
  that the larder was nearly bare;
yet they did not give a second thought,
  to sharing their meager fare.
The woman said there was enough flour,
  that in the morning they’d have a flap-jack feast;
then they gave him their bed, said “Merry Christmas”,
  and the Stranger felt happy and at peace.

When the woman awoke the next morning,
  The Stranger had been gone for an hour,
and in preparing for their Christmas breakfast,
  she went to get the flour.
She went into the pantry,
  and gave the barrel lid a pull,
and could not hold back a gasp,
  when she saw it, and the others, were full.

Now, there are scriptures I could quote you,
  of loaves and fishes and that God provides,
or the one about abundance,
  and through Him, being strengthened inside.
But the search that lies within us,
  teaches us, with Faith, we can persevere,
and that though Christ the Son, is often unseen,
 He is always standing right here.

No proof can I give you,
  just a book of promises that He made;
that the Father will never forsake us,
  and that His love never fades.
And there are those among us,
  who give their best with unselfish care;
and through their most innocent actions,
  have entertained Angels, unaware.





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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 / 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