Not quite two weeks from graduation. Some disillusionment set in fast but it came and went. It is hard now to explain, much less defend how or why things went so much awry and why I tolerated and suffered through them for a long four years--June 1, 1962 to September 8, 1966. This period is probably the main reason I am working now on a detailed memoir and semi-autobiography of my first quarter century. I need to try to understand and also to demonstrate that one can be mired in a pit of psychological quicksand to the point where escape seems impossible and yet in time do so and rise above, move past and make a new path and life. That I did so is one thing I am proud of. I had little normal human help so I have to be deeply thankful to my personal Deity and guardian angel(s) who surely watched over, protected and guided me.
June 13 1962, Wed
Damn, I’m so sick of everything. I got up at 7:00 to help Mom water and feed. Right after breakfast Dad and I took off. We stopped by the pasture to feed and then rode on down to Montezuma. We climbed all over the darn place, looking at fences etc. I was already tired . We had to change our right front tire this morning and get it fixed. While sitting in front of George’s Union Station, I saw the Bastard go by --big as life and twice as ugly. Anyway, that Montezuma ranch will sure need one hell of a lot of work to fix it up. It is awfully pretty down along Beaver Creek but that place is a mess. Dad and I drove all over out there to Rimrock Acres, Montezuma Country Club, Rimrock Ranch and finally around to Sedona on the new road and home. I’ll have to admit that Arizona , the Verde Valley in particular, is awfully pretty. Coming back I saw the Bastard again. He was laughing with one of his buddies and showing a mouthful of teeth. To hell with him. I rode Cinder out and did the usual chores. I couldn’t get the herd in. Hell--let Johnny T worry about them. They are on him, not me. Don Lee called this evening. I don’t know--maybe Dad will go down there tomorrow. All I know is I’ll stick here until September and then I either go to college or go away and get a job unless we are moved. No ifs, ands or buts about it. I’m free, white and nineteen and my own woman. --til I see the Bastard or hear from Jose or Juen (Wayne) again!
I've mentioned the "ranch hunt" before and that will be a frequent theme for the next two years and even parts of the whole period. This effort was ongoing but in fits and starts. This particular summer we made a lot of trips and got high hopes which collapsed over and over again. At this time the Montezuma area was not developed as it is now so there were many vacant tracts of land and places that had been abandoned. The one we looked at was owned by the brother of the Don Lee I mentioned who was a real estate agent. If memory serves, it was hilly and rocky for the most part, full of tumbleweeds in the lower or more level parts and had sagging fences that would not keep much in or out. I could not find it now to save my life, but I was very unimpressed! Although I said we 'rode' I am pretty sure Dad drove down to that area as the rest of the tale indicates.
As I said last time, the Bastard was my ultimate epithet for the guy who had been my crush at one point and then became my nemesis when I finally realized what a piece of trash he was and how stupid I had been to be taken in by his flirting and increasingly blatant propositions. I was not longer 17 and legally protected jail bait so it became hazardous for me fast. I told him to disappear from my life and not to acknowledge me in any way. He did, except for staring at times still. I was not such a femme fatale--the cowboy girl in dirty jeans, manure stained boots and and never any makeup or fancy stuff. What did he see in me except one who got away?
My language had gotten rougher. There were still some words I did not use and actually did not for many years, but I cussed quite a bit though limited it around my parents and most adults--other adults I guess I should say since I was really one myself by now although most of my life style did not reflect that. I mostly kept a sense of humor anyway, often dry, wry or even sarcastic but it was there.
Riding to the pasture was a constant chore. By my usual route down the 'river road'--roughly where the Tuzigoot highway runs now-- and then down into the river bottom at the end of the tailings pond and around the corner to the gate. It was about 2 1/2 miles each way. At a lope or a hard trot I could travel it in about ten minutes.Taking a rough count out of my journal where I did document my work most days as well as the weather, for the 214 days from 1 June-31 December in 1962, I made that trip on horse or mule back 249 times. We drove around by the road thru Tuzigoot, now no longer open, to haul hay or do some work there 118 times.
A few semi-relevant photos: Charlie Mike helping as I saddled up a mule to probably ride out. Not Cinder that I mentioned here but probably Annie--Cinder was not that tall. All three of us sitting on the Ford pickup, looking ragged and ratty as usual--the growing boys in high water pants and all in clod hoppers or ragged tennies. Last me by the pickup, likely going somewhere since I was more dressed up than usual, wearing good jeans and one of the many shirts I made.
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