Monday Memoir--for June 17, 1966

June 17, 1966

On June 17, I did not write. The best I can do is include.the previous day, the next to last real post I made for some time. Why?  Saturday, June 19, I discovered my parents had been reading my journal when I was out .I was furious, distressed almost beyond rationality.Their excuse for this very rank  betrayal was they were “trying to help me." What they needed to do for me was certainly vastly different from underhanded snooping! They found no proof I was about to elope which I believe they expected. Their excuse rang about as hollow as any lie I'd ever heard. If that was “help”, why not  just give me poison? 

 I vowed to write no more except a factual recital of what work was done each  day for a needed record but not one personal word. I first tried to write a day or two in Spanish, knowing they did not read it. Mom knew French and Dad some German but no Spanish for either. That proved too slow and complex although I had a fairly good vocabulary so I just flat stopped.  By  late July I'd bought a steno notebook which I kept in the ‘private stash' shed behind the second house.  Charlie Mike and I used it for our things, and actually purchased and installed a padlock, each keeping a key. (Partly done after the trashed icebox fiasco in March with the loss of my sun glass and his label collection.) I wrote a bit sporadically thru July but will see what I can reconstruct since by August it got a bit more regular and things began to happen worth sharing! FWIW, here is the last full entry.

June 16, 1966, Thursday

Now that it’s over, it has been a nice day. Got up quite early and went out (it really wasn’t necessary). We talked for over an hour when we got home. but I guess that allowed the Boss to get off to Prescott in a fairly good humor. We saddled the red mares and got the mail and then  went to hunt Charley Bryant’ mule who had got away. We trailed him to where he jumped the fence and made for the Bridgeport pasture . We got rained on coming home as we unsaddled about 11:30. I went to work on my cleaning and sorting . It’s a hellacious job, makes me near frantic but I pursued it with a fury and boundless energy. I got most of my ordinary junk sorted with taking a break for lunch and noon chores. At 4:00 I saddled Leo to lead Chief and left a note in the can. We got all our home chores done before The Boss got back. He got all his papers filed anyway. We talked until 7:30 (DST at this time so still “early”) and then hurried off to do the pasture chores. As we crossed the bridge over the ditch  a blue Volkswagen passed us. I knew the driver with absolute certainty, knew before he turned around and passed us the other way and finally stopped when we got to the corrals. I was shocked and shook. Later it turned out he had not gotten my recent upset letter as they returned to Drake from Prescott. When Mom gave him a ‘talking to’, he was a bit disturbed but stayed cool. He said I was “the finest girl he’d ever met” and he would not see me again until…the event not specified. We talked privately for a few minutes before parting. He kept looking at me, long, hard and searching. He said he was worried because I had not written for quite awhile so he had to come check. I held his hand fiercely a minute and gave him a swift, anguished kiss in parting. So that was goodbye for now, for awhile but not forever. I am still sure; he is not that good a liar. He was just a little bit angry at Mom but kept pretty cool. Of course The Boss would fry him--or try to-- but I won’t let that happen.  I’ll be gone far away. I cried a minute and that shook him. If he didn’t love me, he would not have come and wouldn’t care. But now I am anxious to be gone.

In this general period a new and unexpected idea arose in one of the 'talks'. I had even been considering  I enlist in a branch the women's  military. For a day or two I was actually ordered to go talk to the recruiters. I began to pack my most important possessions to ship to Judy Crouch, my pen pal, when I went off to boot camp. Like many 'solutions' to my"problem", this one faded and died before long.  A sequence of events I perceived as betrayals and abuses extended from May--most not really previously covered--into July.  I'll let that recital fill part of the otherwise not written period. starting next week. 

This surprise visit was truly the single bright spot in what devolved into an increasingly ugly and horrible month or more.. Once again I was assured Dusty truly cared for me. As he explained, he had gotten worried when he did not hear from me for an extended period. He had to come and check on me. An interim letter had never reached him as I later found. This comforting and supportive knowledge carried me through the passage of some weeks  when we were  hardly in contact at all as I will later explain.

In some ways it is not easy to either remember or share much of this time. The summer of 1966 was the last part of my 'sentence' during which I still did not know or even dare to hope life could and would change very suddenly.  I might call it the last installment I paid for my pardon or at least parole. There were other hard times and all was not happily-ever-after because life is real, not a fairy tale, but I never had to suffer these exact types of vicissitudes again.

 The eye candy: Not my picture, but the little blue"Bug" looked a lot like this. As I had named two of Dusty's earlier cars, this one I called "Little Bluebird." The other view is the corrals at the pasture.  I have shown them before but this was where we were.  Dusty parked in the road as I recall and walked over. I think he had seen Mom was with Charlie Mike and me but he wanted to see me, regardless. Would he have done so had it been Dad? I cannot guess but suspect he would have. He was not afraid of the Old Man and said so several times.  In a fair fight I think The Boss would have gotten his ass kicked! Dad was then 54 and Dusty was 43 and worked hard daily.  It never happened of course and I am thankful.

Monday Memoir, June 10 1966

This day was at the leading edge of some very  unpleasant times. It was actually the last Friday entry I wrote in any journal for about six weeks. I will explain next time when I put in the Thursday before and some lead-in detail and explanation. 

June 10, 1966, Fri

We didn’t even attempt to ride today. More talks--this time mostly directed at Mom but riles me all the same. Charlie Mike and I started to write “hate sheets" but Mom wouldn’t let us. We staggered through the various chores, went up to the store for some groceries etc. The Boss played an ace card when he wrote Charlie Mike and me ‘farewell letters’ and gave us each a $100 check, worthless, of course. That just pulled the pin with me. I ran down to the canyon and then up the river to the dam scrambling through the brush and waded into the swimming hole up to my midriff.  I stood there a long  time. I backed a bit farther and felt the sand slipping away beneath my feet. Suddenly I did not want to drown. I fought my way back to the shore and wandered up the road weeping. Mom and Charlie Mike came looking for me in the pickup and found  me up by the depot. I doubtlessly gave them both a turn. Even myself, thinking back on it all. I still think of such drama as a bear trap. This suicide threat bit is a damn nasty and sneaky trick and I’m not proud to use it but one must fight fire with fire it seems. 

The damn drama and histrionics were getting very difficult. I am sure Dad was having some kind of mental breakdown at this point. He did improve some over the rest of the summer but essentially got gradually worse over the next year and a half or so. He was institutionalized for a few months; that is another story for later!To this day I cannot pin down the whys or really make anything logical out of this particular event.  True, he had been on my case constantly for weeks about Dusty but now Dusty was nowhere around and it had to be obvious I was not being with or seeing him. I had also said many times, though mainly to Mom, that I was not going to run off and "shack up" with him. I told her we both did not feel that was right. He never urged or asked me to do so. He really was a decent person though they would never believe that. 

"Hate sheets" was the Old Man's term for a written lists of complains and issues we felt needed to be fixed or addressed. He frequently asked us to do them. I guess to explain why we were often surly, grim and cold. However, if we did,  they would only trigger more tantrums and outrage. It was always a lose-lose situation. This day he seemed to be most outraged at Mom for what reason I do not remember if I even knew.  So we kids got "farewell letters". I do not remember what, how or where he intended to do or go. At times we almost wished he was a druggie or drunk as that would at least be understandable to a degree. As for the checks, an alleged inheritance or ??? Maybe we were to leave? It was all too scrambled. About that point I just lost it, in frustration, confusion and helplessness so  I went off with no thought or plan. Just had to get out!

After I climbed out of the river, I sobered up and realized what a cheap trick and nasty emotional blackmail such threats are. I basically vowed to myself I would not do such again and other than one time, a few years later when I was drunk myself and pretty scrambled in a very different situation,  I never  made such a threat or action again. I was in shorts and sandals so my legs were dusty and scratched up. I probably looked a fright.  Certainly I felt one! I guess my overworked Guardian Angel was still trying to take care of me. They always did--and I use that pronoun since they are two or actually both genders in one entity.  

Photos: Marginally relevant? Just two views of the dam on the Verde River at the northern edge of Clarkdale. Once it diverted water to Peck's Lake and I think has recently been removed. These two shots were in 2017 and 2006  I believe. I do not think it was muddy the day I waded in as described above--it would have been a few yards upstream where it was not quite so deep. Having a pathological fear of water, it also fascinated me in some ways. When in that sort of mood, drowning was almost alluring. Mentally unwell? Yes!

Monday Memoir, June 3, 1966

This was a fairly ordinary day for the year and the season. Hardly a sleepy, dusty Delta kind, though. It was not real hot yet but getting there. The work went on as routine but having Dad (The Boss) participate was not really typical. He was absent on 'other business' more often than not. This time it did not turn out well for him...   His judgment was not always right on. (IMO!) 

Jun 3, 1966, Fri

Got up at 7:00 and fed. We visited over the breakfast table a bit so got off to a rather late start on the chores. For Pete’s sake, I’m damned if I am going tp let this become a habit like last summer. That was awful. When we got back from the pasture we saddled the red mares and rode uptown. I got a letter from Shirl which I don’t even think I’ll answer. Charlie Mike had to help The Boss with the mouth spreader so  I led Rico and Twink with Lyno. She was a bit high. We put a flank rope on Rico. He is an ornery little bird. The Boss got on Lyno to haze him for me and she threw a fit with the sharp spurs (Not sure who I was riding now) . She fell in the street and then tossed him again in the alley. He rode it out of her though and about killed her and Rico both in the process I can’t complain that my old man is a coward but he doesn’t seem too have good sense sometimes. He got banged up pretty bad. We had a late lunch and rested briefly. I went up to the library to get Wendell Wilkie’s “One World” and a couple  of paperbacks. Then quickly led Chief with Leo and brought Cindy up with Leo too. He did okay. Drove out to feed and I spent the evening reading til 11:30. The moon was full and lovely and I wanted Dusty so bad I could have cried. So I dreamed about him. He was most likely alone tonight too. Sometimes it is so hard.

Here I called it visiting rather than 'talking"; I think I explained the difference between "talks" and any other verbal exchange  recently. But even if it was not ugly, I refused to delay work when we had so much to do and often weather to work around for just chit-chat. What a waste. I guess Mom and I drove out, maybe Charlie Mike too. 

The mouth spreader is a tool that kind do looks like a medieval torture device but is not too painful to a horse or mule. Has to be used to work on teeth--grinding a broken one or leveling any that are getting uneven and maybe doctoring a sore or problem in the mouth. I am not sure what was done here or even to what animal but that gives an idea. 

That job got done and I was trying to lead Rico, who could get a little ornery. He was not as sweet-natured as Bravo, his one-year-older brother.  We did put a flank rope on him which helped some and then Dad got the bright idea to come behind and "encourage" him--one way or another. So I probably got Buzzie and he got on Lyno. He had recently sharpened his spurs, I think to use on a mule, and forgot that when he gave Lyno a goose. Oooops, big mistake. She leaped, slipped on the pavement and fell. He got her up, got back on and got mad so he was going to "buck her out." She was mad by then too and she put on a good rodeo up and down the alley. He got tossed at least once but finally rode her to a standstill.  I did not laugh, I did not protest, I didn't really do shit. He hobbled into the house to clean up the road rash and likely went to bed. I put the animals away. So much for that effort. Oh Cindy was the new filly called Syn Mas--we gave her that nickname. I was also getting Leo to do leading and he took to it okay. 

The rest of the day was rather dull and ordinary. I do not know why I was going to read "One World." I do not remember anything about it now. Charlie Mike and I were still half-expecting and more than half hoping B&B 6 would be coming back soon. Of course Dusty was much and often on my mind. That hope dimmed slowly over several weeks. 

Photos? Gee, I do not have any good bucking shots. Actually our animals seldom did. The red mares and Leo were three years old now, basically full grown and most of the time very well behaved. So heck, I will steal a nice painting I love--credit to the artist--since I can identify with the scene very well. The artist is well known western painter, Jack Sorenson. I follow that with a shot of Rico--he was a yearling and going to be a big horse. And then Lyno and Buzzie, sharing some hay about a year later. They were together a lot and good friends. 

Monday Memoir, May 27, 1966

May had been mostly mild, only a few issues which occurred on dates I did not cover. They may pop up in June which will otherwise be skimpy for reasons to be explained later. Sometimes lack of clairvoyance or foreknowledge is a blessing...

May 27, 1966, Friday

Maybe next Friday I can see somebody off.  Got up and fed etc. Really had the glooms hanging over me and couldn’t shake them. If I aren’t a pie-headed mess. When we got back from the pasture I got the mail on Leo and we shod him in front. It was a lengthy task. He was a good boy about it all but it was still a job. Finally got that done. Alex is out of school now and promoted to 2nd grade. Gee thrill. I rested awhile until Charlie Mike came. We then went on a short hike and found some ’45 and ‘51 date nails which were new to his collection. I saddled Buzzie and led the new fillies briefly. Chief was apparently sick so I  had to pony him out with Leo. Mom and Charlie Mike did the pasture chores and made a mess of it. Well, hell if I care. Finally put Chief away just before a late supper. As I rode over by the outfit track, it still kind of shakes me up to see where 'Spinner parked, 193680 sat etc. It seems rather unreal at times now, like I just invented it all for a good day dream. I could lose myself in a private world all too easily. That would never do, though.  Charlie Mike has about got him a girlfriend, I think Helen Jenson really likes him. He still can’t forget Twyla though. She’s a cat, I’m sure, but a Santa Fe girl cat. I’m an SF girl too; I’m C...W...'s girl… Wonder if they’ll come in next week? I might get a letter tomorrow but won’t expect one. I’ll not write for awhile now ‘til I see if they come. I’m scared to hope too hard. I’ve lost too much, too often... 

I was destined to be disappointed yet again for at least awhile more, actually for the rest of this long hard summer. As I share it,  I will try not to be maudlin, self-pitying and pathetic, or too obviously angry though all such emotions were part of it. These weeks were the final payments on my ransom, I think. Nothing worthwhile comes easy or even cheap. If it does, we do not value it enough.

Date nails? Although they have not been used for a long time, railroad ties once had a special short nail set in them with a number on the head which showed when it left the factory. They became a common collectible for rail fans. Charlie's old board still hangs in the great room. I may snap a photo.  I still have a 23 and a 43 saved away with souvenirs somewhere. 

We should have been fully over the colic and other illnesses but apparently Chief had a slight relapse. In typical manner, I kept him up and going until the distress passed.  It didn't matter where we went as I led him so a circle of lower town was one route. That went by the tracks and the depot. B&B 6 had been gone over two months now; no wonder it began to feel imaginary or like a dream. The present was so uninspiring I did tend to day dream, probably too much. 

I dimly recall Helen Jenson as a neighborhood girl about 8th grade age who seemed to get a crush on Charlie. He really was not very interested. And he did still remember and occasionally communicate with Twyla Andreski, his red-headed eighth grade girlfriend. He was  a freshman the 65-66 school year. 

We had heard a rumor B&B 6 would be coming back to Clarkdale by summer and I wanted so much to believe, to hope. Expectations proved fruitless as that never happened. I did not give up for awhile.  I had to have something, unreal or not, too look forward to. Soon there was little enough. June, July and August 1966 could be described as trying times...

A few photos: First: Probably not the one but similar to the bunk car Twyla's family occupied. Second a piece of equipment similar to the crane Twyla's father operated. Third the spur track where B&B 6 parked, empty after they were gone.  And last, Charlie's date nail board currently hung in our house. 

 

Monday Memoir, May 20 , 1966

A day with no serious issues, trauma or disruptions. Thankful for that reprieve! It was on the edge of more major issues but I'd take what hours of relative peace I could get. Why the parents went to Flagstaff and Camp Verde I do not remember. Left alone, I did my normal stuff, breaking at midday to fix lunch for Alex. I think he was in 2rd grade by this time. He had just turned seven. 

May 20, 1966 Friday

Got up a bit early and got the chores done. Mom and the Boss were off for Flag and Camp Verde soon after the boys left for school. I watered and saddled and was off soon myself. No mail for me so I picked up Chief and headed down the River Road.  My can was upside down in the stump…and there was a note. Just when it was left I don’t know. On the 8^th or later as that was the last time I checked. I was delighted but puzzled. “Was here. Where were you? I’ll be looking for you.”  No legible date. “I was here” is one of my favorite sentences. I also led and ponied and  got done just in time to fix Alex’s lunch. I made two different kinds of cookies, cut out my PJs and did the dishes. It rained fairly hard from 1:30 to 2:30. I loafed awhile listening to the radio and then the folks were home. We talked awhile and then had to do up the PM chores. After supper I read a bit and found a Western Horseman the Boss wanted. Then leaned on my window ledge in the dark watching the lightning flare and wished someone was close, very close. But in  two weeks perhaps he will be. I hope this isn’t like last summer in the waiting bit. That is trying on the nerves. But I can endure for two weeks--almost anything. If only he’d write but I have proof he was looking anyway. That helps a lot.

My narrative here is a bit disjointed and light on details. Did we drive out to the pasture or was I taking Chief to check some mares? I hardly think I would have done that alone. So I am guessing that was the first task on my list after morning feeding etc.  The horse needed exercise and I did want to check the message can...  Don't even say who I was riding that day. 

The old cottonwood stump was at the end of the River Road, on the edge of the drop off into the riverbed, at least at that time. It had been a big tree with a number of branches that had been sawed off with 12-18 inches left.. It was now about waist high and had a big hollow area, partly hidden under one or more of those abbreviated branches. We used a hidden  Prince Albert can and at times a smaller coffee can for a message box from summer 1965 on.  I have no photos of it but some of the nearby location. It is hard now to realize how difficult communication could be then. No internet or cell phones, no search sites or even smoke signals. It was often by guess and by gosh to try to connect. Finding that note, I had no idea when Dusty had been there and could have cried that we missed each other but it also gave me hope. 

It was nearly a vacation for me to be "unsupervised"all day (not that I did not work independently on most of my tasks) and go about my business with no interruptions for a 'talk' or a change of plans that often made no sense to me at all.  Then some time indoors to do small tasks and .even relax. I did take a siesta many days but a nap in the hot house was not always very restful. You awoke sweaty and sticky, possibly rested but still tired. 

Watching lightning, inside or out was something I always enjoyed, Of course best when it was distant, even too far to hear the thunder. Imagining sitting together in a car or some sheltered spot and watching with Dusty--what a pleasant day dream. I guess it is good I did not yet know rumors of B&B 6 coming back that summer to Clarkdale were not true or how my wait would extend for many more weeks. That would have been hard to bear even before it happened. Day by day, I lived through it. 

Here are stage setting photos, more or less. First the view down across to the east side of the river from hills on the west side, then vacant and untouched,. Next Moonspinner at the end of the River Road, and then Dusty on Prez the same place. That stump would be just off stage to the right side of both.  In the first shot, bits of  the river road are barely visible and the end was close to where the ridge down from the Tuzigoot Ruin ends.There was a clear area where cars were turned around and also parked. It is kind of hidden by the brush.  The next two pics were in that area. Trails ran down a short, steep slope to the actual river banks

Monday Memoir, May 13, 1966

Okay, Mother's Day and my dad's birthday were now over. Life went on with 'business as usual' such as the chores and normal routine while there were no huge issues or uproars.  I never was superstitious about Friday the 13th. In fact 3 and then 3+1=4 are two of my favorite numerals. 

Friday May 13, 1966 

Well, for a Friday the 13^th, this one wasn’t fatal. Got up early and went out to feed. The Boss was grouchy so I made myself scarce 'til he was gone about 9:30. Got two pens cleaned. Kitty came, nearly in tears, because her old man had said no to any horse deal.  It kinda shook me too but so it goes. I worked the two new little ponies and did the midday chores. No mail to speak of. I just felt like a pile of shit but that’s life. In the PM, I started to work on my print dress and top outfit some and when Charlie Mike got home, we ponied. I started Lyno to ponying. She did not care for it but she did okay. We got the home chores done and waited. Charlie Mike had to get ready for the FFA banquet so Mom and I drove to the pasture when the Boss finally got home. Didn’t see a sign of CDW (Dusty) today but someday… There are times when I nearly get discouraged but then I get over it. I just love him too much to forget, I suppose. We talked (damn it all) til about 10:30 and then fell wearily into bed.

At this time, dad aka The Boss, was gone a lot. He made many trips to Prescott to talk with attorneys, some to Phoenix trying to work deals with the "ranch" (the twenty acres we owned south of Bridgeport and were always trying to sell or trade for better facilities) and more. . If Mom went along it was usually to try to get loans or so she could be a witness to whatever he was trying to inveigle, con, force, weasel or whatever. Yes, those are pejorative words but mostly pretty accurate! At any rate, his absence was mostly a blessing to me as I could do my work without unwelcome criticism, advise or abrupt changes to the-plan-of-the-day or even the hour. I was sad and upset along with Kitty but she had no choice. Her DH was not into horses as she was and tired of the costs and drama I think. I am not sure what he did for his job.

 I had begun to train Lyno so she also could be used to exercise the colts and yearlings. Buzzie was now reliable enough even Charlie Mike could do leading with her and I mainly used Leo only to lead Chief  so an extra pony horse was very useful. She picked it up fairly quickly and mostly behaved well. She was more "spirited" and at times a bit unreliable compared to Buzzie and Leo but I never had any huge issues with her.  By now having really trained Buzzie and then Ginger and Patrick myself, I'd moved on with Leo and Lyno and soon had them performing well and capable of any ordinary task I asked of them. Not bragging, but I was a pretty good trainer!

I was still very anxious about Dusty and kept expecting to hear from him or have him appear suddenly like on a Friday afternoon.  It was some time before I did hear from or see him and then later in the summer I got disturbing news as to why he had been out of touch.  It was not "nearly" discouraged but very much really discouraged!  Keeping my faith that season was a challenge.

Ah, 'talk' and 'talks'--such innocuous words, like chores and a few others. They did not convey more than a slight bit of their impact, the trouble and grief they represented. Really talk implies an interchange involving more than one participant. For me and  Charlie Mike and even often for Mom it was just listening.  If any of us said anything it all, it was unusual. Of course we were expected to agree and even show enthusiasm about matters we seldom wanted to, even in an effort to mollify since it would come to back to bite us in the rear if we did and then failed to follow through. Mom was more likely to mollify and perhaps even intended to accept and obey, but Charlie Mike and I by now had our backs way up and were sick and tired of being harangued, put into corners where there was no good answer and having to bow our heads to harsh criticism and even insults. So a 'talk' was not anything I looked forward to or hoped for. How many meals were ruined for me to the point I was often too nauseous to do more than pick at my food. It sounds like I am whining, no? Maybe I am or was, but it was hard when I lived it.

Photos--you who read often have seen most of these over and over. But as I think it was Alice said in one of Lewis's tales, a book without pictures is hardly appealing! So I put in the eye candy, repeats or not. First Charlie Mike; did he ever smile in those years? Not much. Then Alex on Leo. He was a little anxious but I knew the horse was trustworthy. (Disregard date; wrong!)   Me with the two new fillies as I featured last time. That path behind me is the one we used to go up and down. The house is visible between the two large mesquites and it gives an idea of the distance we carried feed, water etc. Guessing about 200 yards.   Then Lyno under saddle--not very spiky-eared! And last Buzzie, Ginger and Lyno, up the canyon the previous summer before Ginger was sold.

 

Monday Memoir, May 6, 1966

 The previous week I had gotten a short letter or note from Dusty. He wished me happy birthday and said he planned to be in the area the coming weekend. I was relieved to hear from him, and began to hope, perhaps too hard. Still pushed by the Boss on 'selling' and finding horse-related jobs for myself and Charlie Mike, I had been trying to work some deal with Kitty. The details escape me now. Was I going to sell a horse to her or buy one--seems she had a yearling, maybe a colt of Chief's? --that I could train and resell?  So long ago... and so dim today

May 6. 1966, Friday

So Friday has come and gone--and to what end? I worked hard and fast all day long and went unrewarded. I counted too much on it, I know. We drove out fairly early and went on to Cottonwood for feed and medicine. I got the tetanus shot for the little ‘fawn’ filly from Dale Coon. He gave me a free syringe. We worked on the two little fillies and then I saddled Leo to pony the colts and Chief. Did my midday chores, had a quick lunch, and saddled Buzzie. I was on the road by 1:20. but something went awry. No sign of Moonspinner. I rode by Gene’s and several people were there. One guy in Levis, tee shirt and a light (yellow or white?)hard hat could have been Dusty but I wasn’t sure. Dared not call to him under the circumstances.  Had a nice visit with Kitty. She is coming over Monday or Tuesday, presently unable to decide what she wants. She was properly shocked about Tina’s death and Little Dusty’s. So was Jolynn who came by also. I returned past Gene’s. Even a larger crowd was there and the same guy still but I was more doubtful about him and no familiar car was there. Came on home and rode Lyno. She was feisty. No one had been to the message can. We drove out and then did the home chores. I would have sworn that ‘Spinner passed going west about 7:30 but it disappeared. Charlie Mike looked and we stayed outdoors after supper to no avail.  I’m worried now. Don’t know what to think, really. Maybe I’ll have some sort of message tomorrow. If not, I’ll write him at Prescott again, I guess, and try to get him to come on Monday or Tuesday evening or next Friday. A busy day again tomorrow so…

The disappointment was painful. I had not seen Dusty since he left in March and had heard very little. The Gene I mention was on B&B6 as a senior carpenter. His name was Gene Phillips  and Charlie Mike and I really liked him. Later I learned there was a party at his place since he was quitting Santa Fe and going to work.for Yavapai County. That was the reason for the crowd. I was looking across a field a quarter mile or more and it well may have been Dusty. I guess I should have called out or even ridden over. I was just timid of intruding. And not seeing Moonspinner, I was not sure. If it was Dusty, he would not have expected to see me there or been looking as it was on the far south edge of Cottonwood, out of my normal traveling range.

I have mentioned Kitty before. She was very much into horses, her hubby not so much. And Jolynn (Joleen?) (it seems she went by both) was Maureen Jewell's younger sister. She was near the end of high school at this time and Maureen was at NAU.

In the past week or so we had acquired two new equines. These were registered yearling QH fillies Dad had bought from a Hualapai Indian man he had met at the VA Hospital. Of course we really needed some more animals to work with and care for! Their names on the certificates were were Puani and Cyn Mas. (Sin Mas in Spanish, meaning no more?) Have no idea but it was spelled that way. I have at least one photo, I think. I can barely visualize them now

At this point I was keeping on keeping on as best I could. It was not often easy and very seldom fun but I did not expect much of either anymore, if I ever had. I was 23 and had essentially become a full fledged 'grown up', leaving most  kid stiff and idle dreams far behind. In time I believed I would find a way to move into a new life; but when, how and what was still lost in the mists of an unseen future, Believing such was actually possible though, I pulled out of my depression a bit. I had no 'really mine' four legged babies to obsess over now; mostly that was good. I still cared for and felt responsible for all the animals but the specialness was no longer there.

So pictures: Two photos of me with Cyn Mas and Puani. I think Cyn Mas had the blaze. These would be very contemporary with this narrative.  Next is Charlie Mike with Buzzie. We both ride her a lot at this time. Finally lower Clarkdale in 1965-66, not long before the last smokestack came down, in the fall 1966. This 'home area' had sure gone down hill by this point. So very different now!

Desolate Clarkdale 1966