RIDING DRAG / Creak Speak

RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL

CREAK SPEAK

When we walk through our house the floor makes a creaking sound. It is the same sound that was made by the floors in my great-grandmother’s house in Keifer, our cousin’s homesteaded house in Mangum, my husband’s grandmother’s house in Red Bank, Tennessee and a myriad of other old houses that we have lived in across the years. It was that sound that attracted us to this 107 year old house that we live in now. It is a soft creak; a sound that says “Other’s have lived here and called this place home; you call it home too. Be safe and comfortable here.”

When we first moved here we knew we would have to do some extensive remodelling work. We even considered applying for one of those home makeovers when that program was still on television. Then, instead of remodelling, we saw that they simply bull-dozed the houses they were renovating and started from scratch and our hearts sank. Bulldoze the history here? Never! This house is partially built on what was once a trading post. The stories people have shared with us about their great-grandparents trading here are golden. The stories of the people just prior to us, who lived here for fifty-one years, are priceless. She was a nurse of 42 years who talked a retired doctor into coming and running a clinic for the farm families of this area and he a farmer himself. The WPA built our terraces and put in the “Eleanor” outhouse; named so in honour of a program put in place by Eleanor Roosevelt so that all rural homes would have a sanitary facility. The concrete base sits in the yard. It would be a sin to bulldoze that kind of history.

So alone and other times with the help of family and friends, we have remodelled ourselves on and off for fifteen years. Behind the barn wood panelling  in the master bedroom there is an area where we traced our hand prints, the hands of our children, the paw prints of our three dogs of the time, the hand prints of the friends and family who came and helped. It is dated and everyone signed their names. I added a poem and my kids drew pictures. Then we sealed it up with the last of the panelling. Each room we have re-done has a similar hidden message inside a wall, between the flooring and the sub-floor and even written on floor-joists and new stem-walls. Little hand prints of our children grew as we went and our family history is played out in story and rhyme. We know it is there and with luck, a hundred years from now, no one else will know it is there because this house will still be standing.

With all the work we have done, we still have been unable to stop the creaking in the floors. This is not a big deal to us; it is how the house talks to us, reminds us we are part of its history. In the quiet of night, when one of us gets up and walks through the house softly it says “Creak” and stories unfold. “Creak”, it says. “Children played here. Creak. Families were raised here. Creak. People loved and prayed here. Creak. I am a home.”  Why would we ever want to change that? We wouldn’t. And we won’t. “Creak!”

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

This is Our Eleanor, a concrete outhouse base that was built during the Roosevelt administration and named in Honour of his wife Eleanor Roosevelt who promoted a program that would make sanitary facilities available to rural homes. We have had people stop by to take photos because we are on an "Out-house Tour" as explained by one of the van driver's. We are on an out-house registry and have been given a membership in an Out-houses of America listing as well as having one lady send us the plans for rebuilding the exterior historically accurate. Eleanor sits near the drive (To make it easier for the Out-house tourists to get photos.) and my plans this year were to have Husband move her into the side yard where I planned to make her into a decorative 'flower-pot' (pun totally intended). However, Mommie Cat saw fit to have her babies in here so all moving and planting plans are temporarily on hold. And yes, the rusty old tactor seat is on there because someone told me it really needed some sort of a seat.

"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 / 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

WELCOME BACK TO RIDING DRAG with DEBRA COPPINGER HILL!

There is no excuse for having not posted here! So here is my pathetic attempt at an explanation: I was just too lazy to learn how to use the blog site!

By the time I write my column and post it to my notes section on Facebook and to the 1200 other places I post it to (Ok, I post it to 12, but other folks pick it up and post it to the other places) I would find myself without enough time to post it here. Then my friend Duffy said "Why not just post it there and tell everyone the link and forget the rest of it?" Simple solution, I know.

Just this morning my pal Dave King and I discussed how we get tunnel vision and used to doing things one way. We find it very hard to change our ways.

Long ago in the far away I wrote for a magazine in Canada. My editor Mike liked my work which was typed and mailed to him. Things went very well until the mail system failed me and he called and I had to read my copy of the column to him over the phone. Several similar incidents later I received a call from him where he told me how much he loved my work and felt fortunate to have me writing for him, BUT if I didn't get a computer and an email address that I could use to send the column to him that he would have to fire me. He explained that he didn't want to do that because he considered me his friend.

Fact was, we already owned a computer; I had just been too lazy to learn to use it. However, I learned and my writing improved and my timing and delivery improved and my income increased because I could email my work to other places. Moral of the story: Get off your lazy behind Debra and learn to use the blog site!

So here I am on this lovely spring day redoing the blog page and learning how to post from my computer and from my phone when I travel. I promise, dear readers to get better at this blogging thing and get Riding Drag on here on a regular weekly basis. There are several of my friends out there who intend to hold my feet to the fire just like Mike did many years ago.

Please feel free to pass the link along when you receive it and don't forget to add it to your Facebook page. Also add your name to the Fans listing.

Thank you each and every one!

"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 / DEAR SANTA

Dear Santa,

I know you are just trying to do your job, but do you think you could see your way clear to not land on the barn roof this Christmas? Last year the clattering of your reindeer and sleigh caused quite an expensive mess. My chickens must have thought that the barn was going to collapse on them and in their fright fourteen of them died from the over-exertion of trying to escape. (This cost us in loss of eggs and meat for our Sunday dinners.) The commotion caused the horses to blow up and kick holes in the walls of their stalls and the barn door thus injuring them to the tune of a $700 veterinary bill. (By the way, the Vet really hates coming out to do her job on a holiday!) The goat was so upset by all the other confusion that she jumped up on the feed barrels and knocked them over. The old cow, who was the most calm in the midst of all this, proceeded to eat grain to the point of bloat. (Please note this added another $250 to the Vet bill.

Startled by the noise, my husband and I leapt from our bed and ran for the door. We collided in the process and I received a black eye from his elbow. Husband dashed across the yard to the barn and in an effort to yank open the horse-damaged door, herniated himself. (Did I mention that emergency rooms are very crowded and expensive on a holiday? Also, did I tell you none of this is covered by insurance as there is no provision in our policy that covers our property or livestock in the event of damages caused by a mythical being?)

Each year we ask simply for peace on earth, healthy animals and good crop weather. Each year you bring us Chia-pets and fruitcake. We don’t want to sound unfriendly, but this has got to stop. We recommend that you get a one ton diesel truck and a stock trailer. These do not frighten our livestock. We also recommend honking before you get out of the truck as our cow-dog is getting old and has become very aggressive with strangers in furry red suits. (Nothing personal, he’s just doing his job.) As for all previous damages, we are willing to absorb the costs and chock it all up as part of what it takes to live our rural lifestyle. However, you need to be made aware that there are laws against trespassing and we have discussed our options with the District Attorney. (He’s just doing his job too.)
We hope you have a wonderful holiday season.

The 4DH Ranch Family


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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

RIDING DRAG / TEMPORARY CONSTRUCTION

“Dear Santa,

We’re remodeling, it’s a wreck you see,
  I want one thing or maybe two or three.
It doesn’t have to be fancy or real formal,
  just basics to make things feel normal.

This year can I have a kitchen floor,
  so I can let company through the door?
And some new walls would also be nice,
  to keep out little critters, wind and ice.

Would I be considered a Grinch,
  or perhaps a grabby, greedy louse,
If I just went ahead and said it,
  Santa, can I have a whole new house?

It doesn’t seem like Christmas
  with the remodeling mess and all;
I just want to be more organized,
  before the snow starts to fall.”

Then my friend Jimmie stopped by,
  and I apologized for the destruction,
She said “This mess is not a big deal,
  it’s just some temporary construction.”

“I didn’t come to see your house,
  I came here today to see you,
It will be done when it is done.
  Until then, God will see you through.”

So I laid my Santa letter aside,
  before I laid me down to sleep,
I asked the Lord to bless our friends,
  and their precious souls to keep.

Because they love us the way we are,
  despite circumstances and disruption;
Reminding us God’s love never fails,
  through our own temporary construction.

I think I will finish that letter now,
  to dear old Santa Claus,
And ask for something we all need,
  I hope it gives him pause.

“Dear Santa,
I’d like to ask you to please make sure,
  that people know this holiday season,
That this special day is called Christmas,
  and Christ the Son is the reason.”


Debra



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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 / NEW & IMPROVED HAT LASSO

My buddy Heath once did a little deer hunting with a motorcycle. It wasn’t intentional, just one of those accidents that happen late at night on a country road. Unfortunately, it took a couple of years out of his life while he healed and got mobile again. But there is good in every situation. Heath had to sit still while he healed. No horseback riding, no motorcycles, no two-stepping; just lots of time to sit and think.

I am a hat wearing girl. Around home, to town, to events, while sitting at my desk (it’s a signal that I am not really there but have left to go to work) and I wear one when performing. I was even allowed to wear one on the Floor of the Oklahoma House of Representatives when my buddies and I were invited to perform Cowboy Poetry there. A Cowboy hat is a symbol to me; a symbol of my culture, my family history and more important, I consider the Cowboy Hat a symbol of Freedom. (But that’s another story.)

Back-track nearly 5 years when Heath and I became friends and he gave me one of the handiest presents I have ever received. Having had my favorite hat crushed by a guitar case, I was not in a very good mood the day he called. He was looking for some Cowboy Poetry to put on his website. I scanned the site and called him back and told him he could use some of my poems. Then I told him what had happened to my hat and asked him about the Hat Lasso he had for sale on the site. He offered to send me one to try out. As my grand-daddy used to say, “It was better than sliced bread!” I have had one in every vehicle ever since. No drilling, no metal to leave marks on my hat, just the neatest little hat holder ever.

As Heath sat and healed, he worked on improving the Hat Lasso so as to make it easier to get your hat in and out of. I am now the owner of a new and improved Hat Lasso and I have to say it works great. Sometimes we just have to take a very bad situation and make something good out of it. Heath’s injuries made him have to sit still, but he didn’t waste that time. He took a good thing and made it better. He looked towards the future and knew he had to make changes in his life, and he did. He and Hat Lasso are both new and improved. I have decided to take a page from his book and think outside my world; a good idea for any of us in this day and age. Don’t let anything get you down, face forward and fear not!

As for Heath’s hunting abilities, he recently killed a pack-rat with a fishing rod; but that too, is a whole other story.


*Check out Hat Lasso at http://www.hatlasso.com/ 

 http://www.hatlasso.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 / A ROSE AMONG THORNS

PHOTOS: Mammaw Guffey with one of her Great-Great-Grand-babies and in a Five Generation Photo with l-r front- Mammaw Guffey, Ruth Guffey Hill, back l-r -Great-Grest-Grandson Hoss Hill, Grandson David Hill, Son Grady Guffey and Great-Grand-Daughter Dara Hill Steele. (November 2009, Red Bank/Chattanooga, TN)

        
                A ROSE AMONG THORNS

We headed east from Oklahoma as soon as David made it in from Colorado. It was not how we planned on spending Thanksgiving, but life makes changes as it passes by. Our Thanksgiving dinner consisted of a package of sunflower seeds and a Hershey bar that were in the truck when we pulled out. It was enough though, because our minds and our hearts were not on feasting. We were going to Tennessee, not for Thanksgiving but to celebrate the life of my husband’s Mammaw Guffey. She danced through the gates of Heaven on Nov. 22nd at the age of 93.


In the last 30 years I have been allowed to claim her as my Mammaw too. To have been loved by her is my greatest honor. I am not always the easiest person to get along with. I told her someone had described me as prickly, but she put it in perspective. She told me that roses aren’t roses without thorns around them. We laughed that day, and it brings a smile to my face now as I thank God for all she was and all she will remain in our hearts. She loved us each and every one just the way we are. So, I remain a thorn among many and she…she was, and always will be Our Rose.

OUR ROSE

In our Family Garden,
  among the many blooms,
God sometimes stops to pick a flower,
  for one of His many rooms.

Among the colorful blossoms,
  the one perfect bud grows,
Our precious one and only,
  Mammaw Guffey, our treasured rose.

To those who love her,
  she is cheerful, bold and bright.
The heart of our garden,
  loving and full of light.

With a spirit true and perfect,
  she gives love and does try,
To give us each our wings,
  with which to soar and fly.

She stays in the garden,
  holding our place to come home to,
A place of hope and peace,
  for when the day is through.

And in all the beauty,
  of her garden when she’s alone,
She too, longs for her own wings,
  for which to fly her Home.

God heard her silent wish,
  He gave her wings to fly,
And took her soaring Heaven-ward,
with one...soft...sigh.

He looked down and considered,
  then carefully He chose,
And from our family garden,
  He picked our sweetest Rose.



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

RIDING DRAG / HAPPINESS SQUARED

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


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

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

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

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



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