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!
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