Storytellers

A girl could stay busy just picking up nails and steeples in the road.  And I do.

With any short walk I usually come home with a handful of what my daughter has named monsters.  They are actually called steeples and are used to hold barbed wire to the post.

Over the last one hundred years or more, fences have been fixed, moved and adjusted; the steeples get lost one way or another.  I’m finding them.

When the wind blows you can be sure another will appear after many years of hiding. Some are broken, others are splintered, they are often rusty, weathered and worn.  Still, others appear young and vibrant.

Like us, they each seem to have a story to tell.

Gift Horse or Horse Gift

Patience is not one of my strong points. While I like the buzz of city traffic, I don’t want to wait in stand-still traffic or wait for a parking space, for that matter.

Small town living caters to my impatience.  I drive up to the gas pump and the people inside immediately flip the pump on because they know me.  I always get a front-row-Joe parking spot at the grocery store.  It’s 30 miles from my house to town; it takes 25 minutes because there is never a traffic jam.

Cattle and young horses need time to warm up to a person no matter how well they know you.  They sense your impatience, agitation, worry and any other emotion you may have.

I fed the little herd that hangs out near the in-laws’ house yesterday.

They were on the opposite side of the fence so I could dump their cake over the fence and not be run over by them as they hurried to get their share.

Since it was a beautiful day–no wind, warm air and quiet calm–I sat on my side of the fence and just watched and listened to the little buggers for a while.

It took a while but eventually each one of them came over to me, sniffed my shoe and let me give them a little scratch on the ear.  This herd is generally used to people but they don’t stay close long enough for conversation.

I had the same experience with two young horses. Neither has yet been handled much.

It was fun to slowly reach out and give them a little nuzzle on their noses without spooking them.  My daughter joined me and it was even more fun to watch her.

Patience is a virtue.  Patience is a gift.

Apple Dumplin’

“If you don’t like it you should move to the city.”

Straight from the mouth of my 6-year-old to her 83-year-old great grandmother.

Granny has a beautiful garden.  She spends a lot of time getting it just right and doing her darndest to keep the horses, deer and other wildlife out of her yard.

On this particular day, the deer ate the new blooms she had been cultivating all spring.

As granny does, she shared her honest opinion about the “damn deer,” especially when she was to host the garden club’s annual summer picnic shortly.

Granny has lived at the ranch for most of her 83 years and she’s been telling it like it is for just as long.  Perhaps  the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree after all.