Memoir Monday, Nov 28, 1964

 I finally got Dusty's first letter on November 24.  It was not at all 'romantic' or mushy but very matter-of-fact, talking of deer hunting and the weather causing bad roads and such. He did say he missed me and began using the nickname he gave me of "Angel." I have probably said he put me on a pedestal in a way and that reveals it. The next letter he took to going by "Dusty" as I always addressed him, but this one was signed simply "yours always, Charles."

Nov 28, 1964

I get lazier each day and slower to drag myself out of bed. For shame. Did my chores, ate, and Mom and I drove out. Got back a 10:00. I saddled Annie and went up for mail. I got only a letter from Baird. His letters are too nice; I like him too well and I’m foolish to do that. Baird and Norm will both be hard to answer this time. I led Chief and Bravo. Bravo was smarting off so we worked and worked on him, then brought up Dingbat and did the same. They sure were ornery but I like Bravo best. Took a couple of pix of each of them. So it goes. We did “noon” chores at 2:45 so we no sooner had lunch than had to get ready to go to  the pasture. Sheesh, The evening chores were done early. I spent the evening trying to write to Cimarron (Baird). I can’t send what I wrote though. Wish I could drop two of these guys. Three is just a crowd. If only Dusty were really available today, he’d be quite enough but for now he is not. He is probably home now--although he told me he sleeps in Johnny’s room when he’s there--and heaven help him if he is thinking of me. And heaven help me for thinking of him. Oh Dusty, what shall, what should I do?

The work went on. We had brought both Bravo,Tina's son, and Dingbat, Peppy's colt, home and I was starting some basic ground work and such with them since they were about eight months old. Bravo was mostly good but he was a colt and a young stud at that so now and then he felt his oats a bit. I do not recall what he was doing but of course Dad determined some serious discipline was required. And I do not recall those details either. It was not quite the full "bad mule" treatment anyway; that would have upset me a lot. Both colts were generally good and not at all mean or stubborn. Gentle handling worked much better in my (unspoken) opinion. I was partial to Bravo, of course, and he did seem to catch on a wee bit quicker but Diingbat was no dumbie.

Baird was one of the two main pen pals I currently corresponded with, as I have said. He was older and lived in Missouri, an epileptic and not able to work etc. He was divorced but had a young son that he was devoted to also and got to see the boy quite a bit. With my nickname penchant, he had become Cimmaron and Norm was Smoky. I was still being torn with a need to keep faith with Dusty but also to have a failsafe escape if it got too bad. I knew Dusty was seperated from his wife but nothing formal yet and he was desperate to stay as close to his son as possible. That meant he went back to Kingman two or three weekends a month as a rule. I got the sense it was often not pleasant, though.

Photos, of course. I found one of Norm; I'll try to scan and save it to add. And the others are Bravo and Dingbat as Charlie Mike and I were working on them. Okay, Norm first. He had recently gotten out of the Air Force. He was not handsome but not bad looking. I never had a photo of Baird. Next two of me with Bravo and then one of Charlie Mike with Dingbat and one of Dingbat by himself. They were closer to the same size than these pictures make them look. Bravo was bay and Dingbat sorrel

Memoir Monday, Nov 21, 1964

Life went on, winter settling in for what was going to be a rather harsh one. I was, as always, mostly occuppied in the cowboy girl tasks and routine. It varied little from day to day except for rather frequent and sudden changes of plans, often seeming inexplicable and mostly instigated by whatever tear or track our boss was on at the moment. Said boss being Dad, of course. There were times I was so angry and upset that I could hardly write a word that acknowledged him as my male parent and he'd be referred to in my journal as The Old Man,The Boss or something similar. Often I did not mention him directly at all. For most of the next two years the relationship was especially rocky. 

Nov 21, 1964, Sat

It still is chilly early but once you get dressed it’s okay. The chores weren’t too rough-- and finally up to the PO--a mailer from Judy, letter from Norm but nothing from Dusty. That hurt; will he write or not? Whatever; I won’t fight to keep him. If he doesn’t write, I’ll never write again except possibly a note when we move. But it hurts, because I do love him. We went down and got hay from Gimlin  and some groceries at Wingfield’s. Got home at 2:30. After a late lunch  Charlie Mike and I cleaned pens and we did all the chores early. When we came in I sat down and wrote to Norm. He is or seems to be practical and ‘useful’ so I can’t afford to let him go for now. We got two six packs of pop bottles and can sell them Monday. I’ll need the dough though. And we get our loan on Monday, too. What we do tomorrow I don’t know yet. We never know ahead of time. These problems of where to go and what to do are so hurtful. And now I have my own problems of which one…I hate to hurt Dusty and I do love him and I think he loves me but…how can we ever work things out? If he does not write, he’ll lose me for sure. Because Norm is available. All I have to do is play my cards right and I can be married to him anytime, almost. Maybe he’ll be a creep though. And I know Dusty. That’s the trouble. If only he were really free right now. I love him so much, too "mutch.”

It had been only ten days since B&B 6 and Dusty had left Clarkdale.  Looking back I cannot sympathize too much with my impatience. He was setting the outfit to order at a new location and getting organized on a new project. I know it was mainly an addition to the depot or related buildings at Williams, a project much better done before the winter set in since it involved building block and cement walls--pouring concrete in freezing temps was a hard task! I can just excuse my earlier self by saying I was truly heels over head in love for the first time and had made him the center of my private world for several weeks. Then that abruptly ended. I also had little confidence that I "deserved" the attachment or affection he had expressed and the promises to stay in touch that he had made.

Once again the ubiquitous 'ranch hunt' was up on the radar and this always caused a major upheaval with endless discussions of what or where the right place was and what everyone had to do to make it work out. To me it got actually scarier every time as I began to visualize being endlessly bound to a property to which I had --at least supposedly--pledged my self and my soul to work and work and work at a pace that made my normal day to day 'chores' seem like a picnic! Indentured servitude!! It would be way out in the boondocks and the possibility of ever going to college, having any social life or moving ahead with my other interests was as remote as flying to the moon by flapping my arms.

With that nagging at me, I was not ready to stop writing to Norm. I had a strong hunch if I phrased it  right, he'd manage to help me get a bus tiocket or other transportation to his place in California and we'd get married. That was a kind of escape hatch I could not permit to close for awhile despite everything else. Yet I still felt a bit of guilt or regret I was not being loyal to Dusty in going on with that. I've mentioned my sense of loyalty--it has been a big value or virtue to me most of my life.

It sounds strange now but that two six packs of pop bottles seemed like a treasure--Charlie Mike and I could turn them in at the Coffman's store and collect the deposit of a few cents each--a way to mail some letters and maybe he'd have a pittance for some school need. As had become customary, Mom and Dad existed on loan after loan, some secured by the 20 acres down below Bridgeport and some managed with promises and bullshit.  It was such a totally bassackwards way to try to get anywhere!! 

That "mutch" was a Dustyism. As I've said, he was a high school dropout and a bit dyslexic. He knew the sounds of most letters and their combinations but didn't always get them quite in line with the offical spelling and grammar. I was not poking fun; I thoughht it rather endearing. That had appeared in one of the notes he had given or sent me during the two months of our acquaintance. I did not know right then but the awaited first letter would arrive in three more days.

Mostly old photos--just so there are some! A different view of leading Chief with Annie. We did take him in the trailer at times but I often led him to the pasture when we were checking which, if any, mares were in season. Next is old Prez, a pic I do not think I have used before. This was out at the pasture at one of the stations used for feeding supplemental grain and such to the loose animals. Finally a painting I loved at first sight.  Not me or a horse of mine and I went to the Post Office to get my mail but the eagerness to read a special letter felt so true. The artist is one of my favorite modern western painters, Jack Swanson.  I'd love to have this to hang on my wall today!

Memoir Monday, Nov 14, 1964

The final--for awhile--goodbye with Dusty had come on November 10.  It was hard but did cement the relationship, at least to my perception. I actually got the first promised letter in two weeks but went through impatient agony before that.  Of course I wanted it at once, which was surely not reasonable! We did not see each other again until nearly the miiddle of January, and then not again until Memorial Day. Work kept him at distant places.

Nov 14, 1964, Sat

I got up at 7:00 and went out wearily into the chilly morning to do my chores. It was clearing. I led Chief out on a rather frisky Annie mule. Johnny went into the corral, cuss him, so we had to work on the bastard. Ugh. That took awhile too. Finally we did the regular chores and I headed  home. I was just after noon getting here. Cuss. I rode up for mail and tore through the box. Another letter from Norm. It was a nice one but made me worry. But he sent me ten stamps, the doll. I watered all, led Buzzie and fed. We came in to lunch at 2:45. I managed to write a letter before we went off for grain and groceries.  So I mailed three. We did the evening chores as hastily as possible because it was cold. This evening we had Charlie Mike’s birthday supper and it was yum. Afterwards I got three letters done including one to Dusty. So tomorrow evening I get my articles going maybe and maybe write to Norm again--I don’t know now. See how I feel. I got a heap of chores planned for tomorrow. So it goes. I’ve just got to live until mail time Monday now.

The weather turned ugly before mid-November that year. We had a cold, wet spell of the sort that always made the "chores" close to agony. Charlie Mike reminded me the other day of the leaky old rubber boots we wore often to feed and clean pens etc. in bad weather and how cold our feet got. The boots themselves were uninsulated and when water seeped in, it was really unpleasant. Complaints were futile so we endured. So much of our life was that way for several years.

Johnny was a new mule. A few weeks prior, Dad had traded Little Red, who was a small and not good looking mule but very gentle and well behaved for a couple of half wild critters. The big red jack or john mule was named John Harvard and the molly we called Peachy. He was sorrel and she was a kind of rusty dun color. He was one bad piece of work and at times pretty scary to handle or work with. He was flat mean. I have no memory of how he finally ended up. She was caught in a bad situation almost two years later along with some other animals. That may be covered later. 

As I mentioned before,  I was becoming torn about Norm and Baird, two pen pals who I had gotten rather attached to before all at once Dusty was on the scene.  Now assured that he did want to keep in touch and truly did care for me, I was in a quandry. Norm had already hinted  maybe he would be proposing before long and I considered Baird a kind of big brother or good uncle, a friend and somewhat a confidant. I think I mentioned he was seriously epileptic and thus disabled but he always seemed really sweet and level headed. I tend to form very deep and fierce loyalties, even to this present day, and the situation at this point was stressing me because of that. The articles were a series of pieces on training colts with different disposition types that I hoped to sell to Western Horseman  magazine. In time I got a "nice" rejection letter; that result became very familiar as I started to write seriously years later. It is a long, hard road to being published, believe me!

Charlie Mike was thirteen that day, and we did celebrate but no photos, which had stopped some years previous. I have no idea what the meal was or even the cake. He always like blueberry flavored things but that is not an easy cake ingredient so it may have been applesauce, a family favorite, or maybe just a yellow or white cake with caramel or vanilla frosting. As for the main course, probably roast beef or perhaps fried chicken. Mom was a good cook and she worked hard to make festive dinners for us even if the larder was not very full. I thank her for that in retrospect. I often did not give her enough credit. I felt she did not stand up for us enough when Dad got mean but she did dozens of things to try to make life better for us. She was not always treated well either.

Photos? A few kind of fit. The first is a snowy day but probably a year or two earlier, Charlie Mike ready to go to school. Next is Charlie Mike with the Ford pickup, probably the summerof 1964.  Next is his school picture from 1963-64 . By this point he had gotten a hard angry attitude for a number of reasons and his eyes show the defiance he felt. He would not smile. Last, the corrals at Clarkdale in a snowy time, likely that fall or winter.

Veterans' Day Thoughts

 Veterans’ Day Thoughts--Nov 11, 2022

 I feel almost broken today. For most of my life, surely all my adult life, I have felt I was patriotic. I love my country whether or not I favor any current government. I am a “nationalist’’ and also a staunch supporter of the military, especially our veterans. I worked for the army and air force for twenty five years, seeing their flaws, but never ceased to respect them. As a VFW Auxiliary life member, my money goes ahead of my mouth there. The old saw “All gave some and some gave all” does not feel like a truism to me; it is a Truth in the deepest sense. However, today I am almost embarrassed to call myself a patriot. Several important labels I want to claim have been preempted by a group of false prophets to throw a concealing ‘flag’ over their nefarious schemes and plans. I do not want to be mistaken for one of them.

 I am deeply saddened to see how many people who I have long considered friends and always held in deep regard and respect have been mislead by these same false prophets. They have tragically become seduced into idolatry of a “golden calf” to a degree that leaves them blind and brainwashed, unable to see truth and good buried by lies and deceptions. I have to feel pity as well as horror over what I perceive.

 The real traitors are not the ones those ‘leaders’ deceitfully label as such. To wit, a current candidate for Senator in Arizona blatantly scorns and denigrates the military and says that our country has never participated in a “just war.”  A candidate for governor wants to secede from the United States and make Arizona an independent nation. A candidate for Arizona Secretary of State, which is the official charged with overseeing and managing elections, is a self- proclaimed member of the Oath Keepers and was admittedly in Washington DC on January 6, 2021 with intent to violently reject tradition, constitutional law and historic practice.  While he apparently did not enter the Capitol, he was there to aid, abet and encourage those who did. Why he has evaded any charges I have no idea. All three have never served in the military they so scorn and the two men probably could have emulated their idol (that golden calf) and managed a 4F status by ingrown toenails, crooked teeth or similar “defects.”

 What have we come to? I am past shock and disgust. I did vote yet had to choose the lesser of evils in many cases. I have been Conservative most of my adult life and still subscribe to most of the ideas and tenets of that group. Unfortunately, the old Republican party of Goldwater, Reagan and others has been prostituted and contorted into something far different. I do not call this new movement Republican. Let them wear other labels that fit closer--“Christian” nationalists, neo-fascists and white supremacists. How can they dare to call themselves “Patriots”?

 I still believe in less government intervention in almost all aspects of our life and national posture; I do not feel throwing vast sums of money at a problem does anything to ‘fix’ it; and I do not think reverse discrimination is the answer to the problems US minorities and ‘people of color’ continue to struggle with. In short, it is mostly reinforcing the idea they are somehow “inferior” and cannot make it on their own! So I am not at heart a Progressive or Liberal and shall not be one. But the New Alt-Right is NOT my home either. The one-time ‘party of the people’ (Democrats) has become as much or more the party of the powerful and affluent as the old business and free enterprise party (Republicans) has ever been. Working people now have no champion. Oh, we are given lip service in the pursuit of votes and control, but it is completely hollow.

 So today I am torn and sad, feeling very disenfranchised and homeless in a political and ideological way. Perhaps as my grandfather said when approaching his 100^th birthday in 1997, I have lived long enough. Maybe even too long. Many days I feel like a dinosaur and totally out of step and out of place in this 2022 world. What is there to live for, look up to, revere and believe in today?  I find no answer. There are still many good people who do their best to be courteous, caring and compassionate--but few to none of them run for office. They would never be allowed to win and would be crucified in the meantime. 

Memoir Monday, Nov 7, 1964

 I got a slight reprieve on B&B 6's departure date. I had sent a note to Dusty by Charlie Mike early Thursday, Nov 5. I was afraid we were going to make a trip on Friday and that would be their last day. He met me in the canyon shortly after lunch where I had one or two animals grazing.  He told me the outfit would be pulled out by the Local (the Prescott Local which usually came Tues and Sat.) when it came Tuesday and that would be their last day here. Anyway, we got a good hour or more of talking and I was reassured we would not say a final goodbye that day or Tuesday.. He wanted me to write, giving me a Santa Fe address, and promised he'd answer. We stayed clear of the L word and anything of committment, but I felt sure this was not the end.

Nov 7, 1964, Sat

I got up at 7:00 and did the home chores. I led Chief out and we bred Susie, put “Dingbat” in the trailer, did our regular chores and cut a little firewood. And finally came home.We worked on that little red colt and he learns darn quick. We put him in with Bravo and Junior and they seem to get along okay. I watered everyone, did the noon chores and ate. Then took Chief and Annie up the canyon. I wrote a bit on the “unfinished story” and rested. Charlie Mike ran up and got my letters--Mary Corley and Ray Ary. At 4:00 we put the stock up and loaded equipment to go doctor Dynamite. She has been sick for several days with an apparent chronic colic. She was actually fairly docile about it all. Hope she pulls through it okay even if we have never done much with her. She’s been here a long time. I spent the evening writing a final letter to Dusty. I don’t know when I’ll give it to him and my little trinket, but I will. Wonder if he’ll come back tomorrow afternoon? Maybe. But I’ll see him on Monday and/or Tuesday for sure. He said he’ll be around on Tuesday afternoon. He wants to say goodbye as much as I do. Dearest Dusty, I’ve all but confessed now. I’ll tell you I love you at least in this letter, and then maybe you can tell me something besides “I think too damn much of you under the circumstances.” My dearest Dusty, I do love you.

This Saturday was a normal busy day with stock work. It was still mild but a hint of winter coming was in the air. Not there yet, though. To refresh my readers' memories, Chief was our Appaloosa stallion and Suzie the paint mare we had acquired with him. She had foaled a paint filly the previous late winter that we named Ginger. Ginger was now weaned and I think at Clarkdale. Dingbat was the six month old  colt of the mare Peppy we had acquired in September from Gallup NM. He was semi-weaned when he came, and it was time to start some basic training, though at that age far from riding-ready. Bravo was Tina's first colt, born early that spring and Junior was a young burro, about the third foal of Jennyfur. The 'boys' got along okay, still far from mature, and shared a pen. Dynamite was a mule we'd had a long time, since early in 1959. She never was fully broke or trained. For some reason she did not fit in well with the larger mule herd normally led by Tina or Queenie and got the poor leavings of the feed. I think she had eaten some moldy bad hay and got an impaction. We almost lost her. but she pulled through it.

Mary Corley was a pen pal I wrote to for some time and Ray Ary was too. I do not recall much about him--he was never significant--and I probably quit writing to her about the time I left home, fall 1966. 

Letters were still my main social outlet, that and seeing Dusty, of course. I often wrote letters or notes to him too when we did not get together. I had been pretty much head over heels for a few weeks by now and became almost grief stricken to think he'd be leaving and we'd lose contact. I thought he had grown to care for me but my old lack of confidence made me afraid to trust that intuitive feeling. I knew he had difficulty with writing and had seen that from the few notes he had written me. He was certainly not slow or intellectually challenged but he was a high school dropout, mildly dyslexic and left handed--which was not treated well in school as he was growing up. He had gotten into some trouble in his mid-late teens and as was often done then, any juvenile punishment was waived if the youth in question went in the service since there was a war going on. His adopted mom signed for him and he was off to the navy in 1940 at not quite 17.

This weekend I was looking ahead to the both dreaded and anticipated final day. As it went, we saw each other rarely for many months but I wrote faithfully and he answered surprisingly often under the circumstances. Those letters became my lifeline.

So a few mostly work pictures...which I have more of than anything else at this point! First is me about that time, probably going to Prescott to be dressed up. I had made the shirt and it was a favorite as I felt it came out nice. It was red-orange color with butterflies in a print.  Next is young Dingbat (really Ding Bob). It is probably Bravo behind him but I cannot tell. And there's Annie saddled in the background. Last I'm leading Chief with Annie--something I did many, many times! It is odd I had the hackamore bit on her; not sure why. Convenience maybe.