Memoir Monday, Nov 27, 1965

The coming week was catastrophic or very nearly so.  In retrospect, it could actually have ended much worse, like a very final and unequivocal end but it did not. How close things actually came to that  I will never know. Again I have to say thank you to my guardian angel who was surely guiding me every second of this treacherous passage.   
I'm not sure how much to cover all that happened from November 30 until the next Saturday which was December 4. It could fill several pages...so I will just mention the first catalyst here to complete the unfinished phrase at the end of the journal entry. Then I will skim the interim as I cover the next weekend. 

Nov 27, 1965 Sat (Includes Nov 28 also)

Got up about the usual hour both mornings and rode to the pasture with Charlie Mike. Sat we worked on the big feed box and some on the colts’. Saturday we finished the home corrals mostly mucking out the little ponies’ pen. It was awful. Sat evening I wrote letters: Kathy, Linda and Dusty. and took a bath. The folks went to the Mental Health Clinic. Sunday we talked from noon to 2:30 and then I led Chief and the colts and delivered Dusty’s letter pinned to his screen door with a bobby pin. It is perfumed; wonder if he will notice? Both evenings I rode out alone and did the pasture chores. Sunday evening I sewed, patched Levi's and repaired other things, washed my hair and fixed my nails and then read the paper. Now it’s a late bedtime. If Dusty isn’t back,  he should be in a matter of a few hours. Charlie Mike is getting ready to blow the scene with me. I am fed up to the ears. I’ve got to collect my stuff better in a few days and then really lay down the law. The Boss says we kids are doing fine (tee hee!) but what he doesn’t know…

As I have alluded in the last few weeks stuff was almost in an avalanche of "shit happens" and I was barely keeping my nose above the smothering point. Charlie Mike and I were hanging in there as best we could. The idea of I or even we two actually going to California was starting to gain momentum. 

It had been raining quite a lot and the corrals were a mess, both at home and at the pasture. We knew it was bad for the animals at home to be standing in mucky mud but cleaning was almost an impossible job. Five gallons buckets filled and dragged out to dump, refilled with semi-dry dirt and carried in. And meanwhile trying to keep most of the hay out of the mire since there was not much to spare. Often try was the operative word since success was  two inches short of impossible. And there was nothing close to "good enough." 

By this time Mom had gone to the family counselling  at least two or three times and I think I had once. This time Dad went and he was shall we say not impressed?  The harangue and 'talk' afterwards was best forgotten. Otherwise I went on with 'business as usual' to the extent it was possible which of course included writing to Dusty since I was not sure at all that I would see him soon. There were few opportunities to get out, day or night. And no phone, regular or cell, no internet...

Now for the proximate cause of the coming bad week. I will say right off that I felt very bad about it, deep guilt and sorrow,  and I accepted most of the blame because I had not noticed a worsening injury. "No excuse" but lots of extenuating or mitigating matters, at least in my feeling. We had already endured too many losses and much sadness over donkeys being chained. This time if was Jackifur, the first colt of the jenny Sam Steiger had given Dad who in turn gave her to Charlie Mike several years previous. She was pregnant with this one when she came maybe 1958 or so, so by now he was mature and several years old. 

At times he was in a corral but with moving animals around a lot, the space was not always adequate so he wound up chained to a mesquite near the corrals. Sometimes I know he had a halter but at this point there just as a chain around his neck. It was smooth linked and should not have been too dangerous but for some reason it cut into the back of his neck. Charlie Mike and I discover it that day. It was a deep and ugly wound. I put a one foot hobble on him and attached the chain to it but the damage was done. At first we though maybe it had hurt his spine but we soon realized he had tetanus. I suppose we all got shots if we were not up to date but I do not remember. 

The next day we had to tell Dad about it and the excrement hit the oscillator big time. This bad situation rapidly grew into a huge 'snowball' rolling out of control. Maybe it was just a final straw.  I would have chosen to put the poor burro down right away but Dad insisted we had to suffer the object lesson of watching him die, me especially, because my carelessness was totally responsible. And that was just the start of my punishment.

Photos--none ugly; safe to view.  The first is Jackifur. He was a husky, stout jack burro but marked exactly like his mother. Next is Charlie Mike about 8 or 9 when we first got Jennyfur.  He was not all that thrilled to be told she was his! And last shot, a year or so later for the view down Bitter Creek which more properly belongs with the next installment. It was rough and rocky and the bridge about 100 yards up from the river.

Memoir Monday Nov 20, 1965

I guess even then I was afflicted with some seasonal depression (SAD) but given the sorry state of the family and overall situation at that time, I had more than enough to be despondent over. At times I felt I was confined in a Cloister--poverty, chastity and obedience were the order or rule I must live under! Not meaning to be irreverent but actual-factual!

Nov 20, 1965 Sat

Got up rather late. I was just tired and overslept. Fed my pets and did some small repair jobs. We ate late and then had to talk awhile so it was after 10:00 before we left for the pasture. Did the chores and came home.  I patched a saddle pad and made two feedbags while munching on the last of Dusty's chocolate. Did the noon chores quite late. Mom went to keep the appointment with the Mental Health Clinic. That stuff is ridic, really. I rode out on Annie after leading Rico. Powwow had a colic so I hastened thru my chores and came home. We went back out and gave her an enema. Doubt that it did much good. Afterwards I read the December Western Horseman and glanced through the Reader's Digest. I had meant to write some letters but didn't get to. I am just too tired. I'm so discouraged that it seems impossible to do everything and do it right. I wish I'd just sleep for infinity.

 I think I was perpetually tired at this point. Some days I just did not respond to my internal clock and get up at the right time. But a half hour or so made little difference. And an 'early' start on the day's major chores was almost an idle dream. Talks--God,  but I hated that word and that idea! It shadowed most of my days. 

Does anyone remember those chunks of solid chocolate wrapped in saran wrap that were sometimes in bins at the grocery store? They were real Hershey's and it was stamped in them. They were really good! Dusty was a chocoholic too and occasionally pulled one out of the ice box in his camp car  (we both used that term though it was a refrigerator) and gave it to me. I squirreled it away in a safe place and made it last, sometimes breaking off a bit to share with Charlie Mike. 

I guess I was not riding a lot that day so put in some time on the rough sewing which was one of my regular tasks. Scraps of worn out jeans patched fabric saddle pads and empty grain bags of burlap were cut and stitched into feed bags. They wore out fast as they were not all that sturdy. 

Mom had apparently decided that we all could profit from some "family counselling" when a so-called Mental Health Clinic opened under  county or state auspices. The one who needed 'help' the most went only once and then pitched a hell of a hissy fit (guess who) but she went off and on anyway and I did a few times. I have never been a fan of counselling although I know  it can help and does for many. Our overall situation was just so bloody weird I never felt I could make it understandable and realistic to where anyone could truly give me valid and applicable advice. But later I did get some benefit. 

Powwow and Rico were both weaned now. She was a yearling having been born in fall of the prior year and he in April of this year.  Little Dusty,  Twinkles and "Sass Box" were also 1965 foals. I exercised them as we rotated them between the  pasture and corrals in the canyon. Colics were still common even between the several big bouts of sickness. I always felt it was the poor quality hay I often had to feed, sorting out the worst as best I could. But it was often termed my fault for somehow not caring or paying attention as needed. Whatever!! Yes,  there were times when death looked pretty inviting--peace and quiet,  blessed silence... Once or twice I came close to seeking it. One of those was about two weeks away. 

Kinda dull  photos: . (In reverse order) Powwow at about a year old. Mares with some of my homemade feedbags (first Bunny with Little Dusty and then Peppy with 'Sass Box') and a patchy saddle pad, under a saddle on Leo. Aboard was Alex, then about 6 years old. 

Memoir Monday, Nov 13, 1965

Another day in the life, so to speak. I had seen worse but also better.  If memory serves, The Boss had suddenly decided we needed a feed box in the lower pen at the pasture to conserve hay. He had "other things to do" so Charlie Mike and I were assigned that task. We did not have any spare lumber for some reason --not even old stuff to dismantle--so we had to scrounge what materials we could on site.  It took all day and we did not quite finish so had to continue the next day. 

Nov 13, 1965 Sat

Woke up and did the home chore as usual.Ate and loaded hay and waited. Finally Mom drove us and our tools out about 10:00 and w did the chores and started on our feedbox project. It was hard and we cut posts, dug holes and hauled dirt. My wrist and elbow got so sore I could hardly work but I did. I had to and I did. We heard the local come in but could not see it, of course. Finally the Boss brought us lunch . We ate and cut rails. I thought it was too many but we used more than I had guessed. Worked until sundown and finally quit and did the chores. Tina seemed a little off feed. Did the home chores just before darkness set in. Hauled hay down etc. I was a fink and spent the evening writing letters. Wrote to Mr Stenhouse about Tina's "Arabian" sire, wrote to Judy and began a letter to Dusty. It was 11:00 when I finally went to bed. So I dropped off to sleep fairly quickly but aching in every muscle and bone.  

One fact did lighten my spirits despite the toilsome chore. Friday I had made the quick run out to swap animals around as usual. I expected I'd be late but hoped to get back to town before Dusty left for the weekend. I had not seen him since the last Friday. As I approached the steep incline up to the end of  the river road, I found him there, waiting. The first thing he did was hold up his left hand. It took me a  minute but when he wiggled the ring finger,  I saw it was bare, a white band of skin where the ring had always been. "I cut it off yesterday," he explained."The agreement has been signed and my lawyer friend filed it today. I've got to go over and get my official copy but I wanted to tell you first." We did not talk long but he repeated I should let him know if things got too bad and he'd find some way to help me. He knew the situation was disintegrating and he was worried for me. I'm not sure why I had my camera along but I snapped a couple of new pictures of him.

We started on our job as soon as the feeding was done.  We cut mesquite posts for corners and  supports, dug holes to set them and hauled dirt to raise the bottom some. I guess it was at least 2:00 when Dad brought our lunch. After eating we cut rails-- probably cottonwood or willow saplings. The details are unclear. He may have used the chain saw for some of that. I was concerned about Tina as she had been doing well since she finally recovered from her sickness after Rico's birth. So well that we had bred her again--which I always regretted later. She might have died the next spring anyway but...

I had long been curious about her ancestry. The Arabian just did not feel right. Mr Ortmann, who sold her to us, had given me an alleged pedigree and I finally connected her supposed sire to a man named Malcolm .Stenhouse. He was an old area rancher and horseman, I think then based down at Camp Verde.  So I got an address and wrote him to inquire.  I used the rest of the evening on other  correspondence. My arm and hand hurt like heck but I wanted to get that done. Finally went to bed before they got after me for being up too late  By this time, late fall, it was getting chilly at night and I do not think we had built a fire in the stove..Several quilts and wool blankets felt heavy but made me cozy once I warmed my spot.. 

So photos now. First an old one of the pasture corral. We built the box in the farther pen, the one on the ditch edge, upper left corer. Next one is Tina, some time that fall,  and finally the two I took of Dusty Nov 12, 1965. 

Memoir Monday Nov 6, 1965

Did a week make a difference? Yes and no. I was not ready to go to California yet. That would come before long. For now, there had been a Mingus football game Friday night which gave me an opportunity to spend some time with Dusty. We took Charlie Mike up to the field and then drove off to a quiet place until near the end of the game. We had a powerful and deep conversation which healed any potential rift or chance for a break-up. Thus, I thought things could be okay for awhile. With us, they were, but otherwise not so much...  

Nov 6, 1965 Sat

Got up rather late and did my home chores.We got off to a rather late start. I rode Annie out and did the pasture stuff and went on over to Elaine's to see if I could buy her gelding. No deal. I was a little hurt not to hear from Dusty. Something must have come up suddenly. He was "with" me all day though. I have my little sun-face on again--to stay. I got home at 1:30 and felt like hell but after lunch the Boss decided to go to Prescott, taking Charlie Mike and me to get groceries. I rode in the middle wearing my black tweed suit and was hot. I hate it in the middle if I can't hold to or lean on someone. We got groceries at Safeway and Fry's, got home about 7:00 and did the chores by moonlight. Dusty is sure on my mind; am I on his? Little fragments of our talk keep coming back to me. I wish I had it recorded someway. I still have a weird feeling of impending change. A year ago he was about to leave and I thought our paths would never cross again. I think somehow that I was meant for him. It's silly yet we really are 'just right.' Another time I'd not be able to stop him. What a mad year it has been. But for all the anguish I would not undo it. The ecstasy and joy has balanced the misery. I have to write him again now. Will I always? Yes, I think so. 

I did not say why I felt bad but suspect the monthly miseries which still usually gave me a lot of discomfort. If I had a quarter for every time I rode long hours, often hunched over in pain, I could afford a big treat. Why Dad insisted both of us kids go with him I have no idea. I would have expected Mom to go which would have made better sense.  Then we could have done the evening chores at a reasonable hour. So typical of how things were going at this point. Beyond rhyme, reason or even sense.

As I said above, Dusty and I had a good and important conversation the evening before which we really needed. We settled several things and  he finally said, "I love you. I just want to take care of you and make you happy," I had no room left for doubt what his intentions toward me were. Then a little later he put a hand on my knee at the hem of my straight skirt and started to slide it up. I caught his wrist and shook my head. We were kissing and I feel sure he was really not thinking. He apologized at once and asked me to forgive him. That was the first and only time I ever needed to stop him. I just felt I had to for both our sakes at that point. We went back to pick up Charlie Mike and Dusty let us out up the alley from home. I had an impression he was going to be there most of the weekend, but that was not the case. 

From this evening on, November mostly went downhill. The Morgan enterprise was not going well at all as finances, the routine and even health were constantly disrupted by a extended bad spell in Dad's ongoing mental health issues. I have to blame much of his actions and attitude on that (he was often irrational to the max) in order to find some forgiveness and to let a lot of bitterness go. Actually there were few respites in that awful situation for the next ten months until the sudden end of what I've called "my self-imposed life sentence" in early September 1966. 

At times I still wonder how I survived but I know I had help in much higher places than any regular human authority. I had not really recognized my guardian angel at that point, but s/he was there, all the time. I am not sure even now if this Guardian Angel is two entities, if angels are actually above gender identity, or what. There were both male and female aspects.  The 'use name' I was given for mine is Dara, which is also the oak or any style of the Celtic knot pattern  The word is in old Gaelic. So the pronouns truly are we/they for this divine entity.

Photos. The first I took of Dusty, just a few days later, at a time I will discuss next week. Then a shot of Annie, not at this time but showing her under tack. She was a big rangy mule and quite strong. I think that was Mom with her and not me. And finally a Dara Knot pattern, drawn as a symbol of the Oak Tree, sacred to the Druids and revered by the Celts. I would say this design stands for my Guardian Angel Dara too. They were my Oak and protection then as always.