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 / 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 / DOING THE RIGHT THING

May 28, 2013

From the laundry room I heard my daughter say “Mom…Mom…I need to talk to you.” I hollered that I was doing the wash. She peaked her head in the door and I immediately knew I was about to be conned. “I had to bring a dog home Mom and I swear to you if you don’t like her I will take her back to the shelter and put her down myself. But I want you to hear her story and I want you to give her one week…just one week.”

Her job with the Vet had already garnered us a 7 toed tom cat and two Manx female cats. They went to the shelter once a month to do the put-downs. It is not a fun job, but a sometimes necessary one. Dara handled it well though you could always tell by her sad face what day they had gone. “Tell me the story first and it had better be a good one” I said.

 “Feona belonged to an 86 year old lady who had a heart attack. When the paramedics got there they locked her in the kitchen and took her owner away. No one found her for five days. Her owner passed away and her family came and that is when they found her. They all live out of state and no one wanted her so they surrendered her to the shelter. They have had her for four months and kept putting off having her put-down because she is so sweet. Mom, I had to take her. She looked at me like she knew me and she wouldn’t leave my side. So please, please, please let me keep her. I will take care of all of her expenses. Please.” The look on my daughter’s face told me that she had found that animal we all find sooner or later in our life; that one creature that belongs to us heart and soul.

“Ok…” deep breath “let’s see her.” I said. She opened the door and into the laundry room walked the biggest dog I had ever seen in my life! Feona, all 135 pounds of her, came directly at me, sat down and put her head beneath my hand and looked at me with her large, expressive eyes. “She’s a Mastiff Mom.” I shook my head and sighed. I was beaten and I knew it; but I reserved my right to say when and if she had to go. That was five years ago.

Feona lived with us, let my grandson #1, Derrick, grow up hugging her and napping on her and spent hours laying at my feet while I wrote. She moved with Dara when she got married and became the guardian of grandson #2, Nathanial, when he was born. She gave nothing but love and was loved in return. She only had one problem and that was they no one truly knew how old she was. Tell-tale signs started show and it was decided by our Vet that she had major bone degeneration.

 For the last year Dara did what she could to care for Feona. Medications worked for awhile but it became evident that they were no longer holding pain at bay. She could no longer raise her large frame from her bed without great effort and pain. And we, those who loved her could no longer make her suffer just because we were selfish and wanted her to stay in our lives.

My daughter is the strongest person I know. She waited until we were gone and took Feona to the Vet for one last visit to make sure there was nothing to be done to stop her pain. When she was told that Feona would only get worse she did the thing we all knew would have to be done and let go. She stayed by her kindred spirit’s side. She petted her and hugged her and whispered to her as her beloved friend slipped away. She did this alone. She did it though a part of her was slipping away too. She did it because it was the right thing to do.

I like to think I have raised good, strong, responsible kids who have become compassionate, loving, responsible adults. It is at moments like this that I know I have only been their keeper. That God blessed us with these incredible beings who love so deeply that they would rather tear out their own hearts than to see a creature or a family member, suffer.  We will miss you Feona; but we will miss that young girl who talked us into keeping you more.   

 

 

Feona Marie

How could I say no to that face?

She loved to ride in the truck.

 

 

Keeping a watchful eye on the kids while they played.

 

Ever tolerant of our silliness she allowed us to dress her up as a fairy princess for a pet costume contest. She won in her division and at her prize of a basket of treats before we made it home.

 

 

Grandson #1 Hoss loved hugging Feona. She was wonderful with all children.

 

 

Feona did get a little jealous when the snauzer puppy got a new bed.

 

But after a nap in it she let Chy have her new bed.

 

This is her chair but she was good about sharing.

 

 

She thought she was a lap-dog but shared her chair with PawPaw.

 

Sharing with Dara, Chy and Rufus.

At 135 pounds she was still intimidated by Rufus who weighs in at 9 pounds.

 

This is her happy face!

 

 

Here's Feona barely able to contain herself, celebrating her delight

at Dara and Ryan's engagement.

 









'Just one fry...pleeeeease...'

 



Wearing fluffy hair-clips and a big smile.

 

 

Telling Dara about her day.

 

Trick-or-treating with Hoss, Ryan and Dara. Since she was a bull-mastiff that is a tiny bull-rider on her back. Dara is dressed as a sonogram machine...that's a three-d sonogram image of grandson #2 ND, also known as Beeker. Feona was his gaurdian.

 



 





Two Cowgirls just hanging out after chores.

 

Kindred Spirits, Feona and Dara.

Friends like these come once in a lifetime.

 

 

Thank you Dara for bringing Feona into our lives.

 

And Thank you Feona, for allowing us to share your life.

 

We'll see you in the other side!

 

 

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

RIDING DRAG / FIRST ROBIN OF SPRING

 May 14, 2013

 My grandmother always said seeing the first Robin of spring was good luck as their song summons spring. I shared this with my friend Ruth Anne who had never heard this little piece of superstitious lore. Being an open-minded individual, she took this to heart and throughout the dreary gray months of January and February, March and April she looked forward to the first robin and his song. I too looked for the first robin and so was taken a little aback when Ruth Anne called the second week of May with a question.

 “If the first robin of spring that you see is lying on your front porch and the cat is ripping his throat out, is that a bad sign?” she asked.

“Well,” I said, “it doesn’t look good.”  

I had intended to write a parody of the old song “When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob Bobbin’ Along”; but I’ve reconsidered; mostly because I couldn’t come up with one that wasn’t totally gruesome.

However, I will share this with you. Winter has been harsh across the nation. We have survived it rather well out here on the plains. I attribute it to our self-reliant culture as Ranchers and Farmers. It has been a long winter and everyone is looking for signs that spring is truly headed our way. Ruth Anne told me that she was very tired of winter weather and asked if one robin means spring is coming, would over a hundred of them at once mean that it is coming very soon?

My answer (with apologies to F.P. Church)…Yes Ruth Anne there is a spring. It exists as surely as Ranchers and Farmers. It exists through our belief that the coming spring will make for better crops and livestock. It exists because we will it to. It springs eternal in every cabin-fever infected soul.  And it lives in the heart of every robin, as long as we control our cats.

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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 / TOP HAND

May 07, 2013

He was the best friend and boss my husband ever had. A true mentor and a faithful Christian who never asked his men to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. When I had cancer he made sure my husband had jobs he could do here at home. He also made sure my husband was home for events for our kids and other family members. Jerry Lewis, you leave a big hole in our lives that will be hard to fill; but we know we will see you down the trail.

TOP HAND

In his heart he is a Cowboy,

riding for the brand,

Doing what comes naturally,

being a Top Hand.

In his mind’s eye lies the prairie,

racing with the wind,

Where a great big world lays waiting,

just around the band.

With waters pure as crystal,

 and air just as clear,

He often stops to wonder,

just what he’s doing here.

Green pastures is what he longs for,

and a good horse by his side,

Saddled up and ready,

for the long, hard ride.

So, he gives up everything to go,

where no one’s gone before;

He smiles as if to say good-bye,

and silently slips out the door.

There will be no fancy speeches,

as he rides into the sun;

It’s just some things are never quite finished,

and his work has just begun.

He’s headed for the High Lonesome,

where he’ll once more take a stand…

This Cowboy’s heart is headed Home,

to ride for Heaven’s brand.

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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

RIDING DRAG / GOING WITH THE FLOW

 April 30, 2019

“The best laid plans of mice and Ranch Wives are soon deep in mud” is my new motto. I had plans for today; early to rise, hot tea and some oatmeal, pay some bills online, go pick up the baskets I bought, stop at the bank and post office, come home, dash off my column about my day, feed and then spend the evening with my best friend Jimi. I should have known better than to make plans.

The rain and wind woke me up at 3:00 a.m. I let in the dogs, checked the new kittens and watched as the wind blew my new garden plants all over the yard. Back in bed I lay thinking about what I was going to have to add to my plans to get this back on track. Once up I ate, got dressed and got the bills taken care of and went to get in the truck to head out for the baskets. From the driveway I could see that two of the cows and their calves had lifted a panel and were presently occupied making the hay storage lot their new home. One had her head pushed though the fence to the mini’s corral making a hole big enough for the small horses to get out through. It’s another rubber boot day.

Sigh…I know I am going to have to wade out there and move the panels, clear the cows out, fix the fence and then do the feeding. Will I still get to sit and gossip and drink tea with my friend like we planned? No, there will be no sitting. Once she shows up she will get her rubber boots and throw in with me and get things done. Long ago we learned to go with the flow. There is no reason to get upset because things do not go as planned. We will laugh about our muddy clothes and wet hair.

I stand and watch the rain as it keeps coming down. It is presently flowing across the yard like a river.  Looks like it is time for a new motto; “When plans go astray and you’re feeling low, pull up your boots and go with the flow.”

 

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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

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

RIDING DRAG / KEEPING IT SHARP

April 16, 2013

We sat out on the porch after supper and while he sharpened his pocket knife we watched and listened. Over the years we saw him sharpen so many knives that he wore the whet-stone in two. Still he sharpened, using each half down to a sliver. When he turned 80 I bought him a new stone. He used it for four years and when he left on his journey to Heaven, I picked it up from beside his chair and brought it home. I use it often, making sure I follow his advice to keep my knife sharp and at the ready.

Every woman in my family carries a pocket knife. We were brought up to keep it where we could use it. I have used mine for chores around then farm, for opening CD packages, picking stickers from fingers and getting a colt out of a tangle of honeysuckle vine. Each time I pull it out and open the blade I think of my Grandfather and the day he gave me my first knife. Each time I sharpen the one I own now I think of my Father; it was his and Mother gave it to me.

I look around my house and see many things my family has passed down to me I feel a connection to each piece and am happy they cared enough to place it in my care. The connection is family history for the most part. Everything comes with a story. Years ago I was given an old notebook with little stories in it that my grandmother had written telling where certain family heirlooms came from and what they meant to her. She encouraged me to keep it up and to pass it along when the time came to share my own history with the next generation. I agreed and think I have done a pretty good job. It long ago out-grew the notebook and I added one of my own.

While flipping through the pages it became obvious that I have kept up the history of old books, antique furniture and photographs, but the history of the knives was lacking. Perhaps we never kept track because it is such a personal object. You either understand or you don’t. Pocket knives connect us to those who give them to us. They remind us of places we have been, jobs we have done and people who have taught us. Tonight I will get out the notebook and paste in a picture of my knife and tell the story about how it belonged to my Dad and how I learned to keep it sharp and ready to use from my Grandpa. There is more, but I will have to go get another notebook for all those stories.

*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 / 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

RIDING DRAG - LET IT RAIN

The first foal of the year hit the ground yesterday evening with the dramatic background sound of thunder. Chief’s first night in this world was accompanied by lightning, heavy rain and a little hail. Though we hate to see a new baby out in this kind of weather his mother is not fond of being in the barn, much preferring to tough it out in the open.  So he was welcomed to the 4DH in the midst of an Oklahoma thunderstorm.

I suppose we should have been praying for clear weather but instead we were cheering for as much rain as would come down. The last few years of dry weather have left our pastures suffering. Hay comes at a premium and we find ourselves hauling it from Colorado to supplement the ever increasing lack of locally grown hay. We are thankful for a little rain and even more thankful for the kind of rain we got last night. 

We are a long way from being at normal moisture levels here in Oklahoma. Every drop that we can get we need all the way across the state. Today, while working on the tack building roof my son said “Dad, the pasture sure looks green this year.” Everyone paused to look and appreciate.

I know rain can become a problem when it comes down in torrents and floods the land. What we have needed for a very long time is a good soaking rain and we have been receiving exactly that. The thunder and lightning are just a show added to the rain for our enjoyment. We do not control the weather; not the drought or the rain. Having suffered the first, we are glad for the second as it spills down from the sky and fills our terraces, ponds and creek. Things are looking up here in North East Oklahoma.

And what about the new-baby Chief?  He spent this day splashing circles around his mother in a joyous dance that cried out “Let it rain!”

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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

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

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

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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