Sunday, July 17, 2011

The Dance of Life

Notes from the Ranch
Two Jitterbugs, Five Two Steps, Two Waltzes, and Chutzpah
The Dance of Life
By Stephen L. Wilmeth



     She came down from Boston to be closer to her mother . . . she was her mother’s only daughter . . . and they tried to teach her to walk and talk and fold her napkin right.  Who knew she would be the kind of flower that calloused hands would never hold?
     Was it a lyric or was it a glimpse of life?  I would submit it depended on the time of day when it was heard.  It would change much like a chameleon, and, if it was raining, Mozart could have been the choice.   
     Two Jitterbugs
     What did a saddled mule standing in the flat, a paint horse that could run, Skeeter Byrd, and a Ford 9N tractor have to do with growing up?  In my case, it was escape from the turmoil and realities of life.  They were excursions into worlds that offered privacy, freedom and unfettered observation to an impressionable kid.
     That bay mule wasn’t around long, but while she was there Boppy would saddle her and leave her ground tied.  She stood out in the flat by the kitchen drain.  I climbed all over her.  She wouldn’t move.  She was the perfect platform to fight Indians, shoot bad guys, and smell horse . . . well, mule, flesh.  It leaves a lasting impression.
     Panda came later.  A tall black and white paint horse, Boppy had brought her home and turned her out.  Nobody could catch her, but I did.  I’d get her saddled and take her up on the mesa above the house.  The first time I ran her I was electrified.  She’d run and then she’d shift gears!  Never had I felt that kind of sensation.  She’d make your eyes water.
     Skeeter Byrd was the most unpretentious, good natured kid I was ever around.  When I was with him it was down at the mouth of the Mangus at Uncle Hap and Aunt Mary’s place.  Most kids worked hard at playing.  Skeeter just worked.  He was always looking for home.  Maybe he and I had more in common than we realized.  We lost Skeeter this summer in an accident.  He had become a great, old time cowboy.   He had been from the beginning.
    The 9N story will not be told.  It was my first near death experience.  I always took Nana’s advice after that, though.      
     Five Two Steps
     Most of life is an endurance race.  It is the combination things that take the greater portion of time.  Education, diligence, career, drought, debt, most friends, long days, sleepless night, rope burns, meetings, stock portfolios, short numbers, an occasional cold beer, ambition, the return to New Mexico, and, too seldom, success all become part of the scheme of things. 
     Education was always important until I met Bill Sturgeon.  It was Bill who demonstrated the difference between learning and understanding.  He was ‘Old Blue’ and successful in most things.  Bill could have been a snob, but he was far from it. He was a gentleman.  He opened the door.  Others contributed, but they also expected performance.
     Mike Dallas and I were discussing Perry Paggi one day.  We had a disagreement as to whether he was Portuguese or Italian.  I think my position was that he was Italian.  Mike was contemplative and he deducted he had to be Portuguese.  Perry had a very successful electrical business in Tulare.  He had wired an almond huller we had built at Earlimart, from that point on when we had a problem Hwe called Perry. 
     Mike’s contention was that Perry was more diligent than he was smart so he must be Portuguese!  We laughed when we thought about it and we shared the deduction with Perry.  He was Italian!   The point was that being smart was not the only thing needed to be successful.  Being persistent and working hard was equally if not more important.
     If you’re engaged, life is intense.  That is just the way it is.  It is the chase that older folks talk about. 
    It takes most of your time.  Often it takes your life.  It may not be the easiest to accomplish, but those who master it make it look graceful.  Simple two, four time may appear dreary and mundane, but when the occasional master shows up  . . . what a marvelous thing to observe.
     Two Waltzes
     Passion, hope, inspiration, and love are the things that cannot be created.  They come in their own time and place.  They are the treasures we seek.         
     Kathy and I were at the Gun Club in Kingsburg dancing one night and a waltz was played.  When it was over a fellow came up to us and asked where we were from.  When we told him he said he had deducted it had to be either Texas or New Mexico.
     “I miss . . .  Texas in the fall . . . and the feel a sweet New Mexico rain,” he said quite emotionally as he continued holding each of us with his hands. 
     We agreed.  Waltzes are like that.
     The first glimpse of your first child, the sensation of observing your kids excelling, standing on a grape harvester at night with fruit coming up the elevators in much higher rates than you anticipated, pairing a forlorn calf, and observing and feeling unconditional love in any setting all make that waltz special. 
     It happens infrequently and it cannot be scripted.  It is never planned.  When it occurs, it is a beautiful thing.  It is the nearest thing to heaven on this earth.
     Chutzpah
     I have an Israeli farmer friend.  The view of the world through his eyes is profoundly different from most Americans.  One day he told me of his take on the difference between modern Americans and those of 1947.   The difference was an analogy.  The analogy was the historical difference in ‘vacation’ and ‘chutzpah’ (pronounced hūdz΄pa).
     In 1947 the word, vacation, was not in general use in America.  If a Midwesterner from 1947 or a modern Israeli were asked what the word meant, he or she would have to explain it in words or phrases.
     Ask a modern American what chutzpah means and he could not give a one word definition.  The definition, if it was known, would have to be given in phrases or sentences.  There is no single word in English for chutzpah.
     Chutzpah as defined by an American means . . .oh, let’s see . . . uh, brazen gall, brazen nerve, sheer guts, but that is not all . . . there is also some arrogance with it so it must be . . .  sheer guts with an attitude, but  . . . the attitude is controlled.  That is what it must be . . . sheer guts with an intent attitude!
     There is still no single word in Hebrew for vacation.  The point becomes obvious.  Americans of 1947 created the most magnificent and productive economy the world has ever known.  The Israelis of today have the same absence of emphasis of leisure time as Americans did in 1947.  Who is better off and what trait in our history made us the envy of the world?   
     View from the Ranch
     Life is a dance.  If it can be played out on the basis of two jitterbugs, five two steps, and two waltzes what else could be asked? 
     What about the choice of either vacation or chutzpah?  Would the future of our kids be better served with the series of dances and a big vacation, or the series of dances with chutzpah?
     America is not better off today than she was in 1947.  In the rush to get to where we are going, something grand and important has been lost.  It is no longer a matter of why not . . . it is a matter of why.   It has to often become a matter of ‘it is too hard’, ‘vacation’, and the outright evil of suppression of sovereign individuality. 
       It is also the fear that the Founders had when they anticipated leaders who would become believers in their own infallibility and self importance.  To protect against that, God was asked to be part of the process.  Without him, leadership invariably adopts the assumption this is actually the spotlight dance  . . . but, with him the spotlight dance still looms out there . . . in the greatest of all ballrooms.

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico.  “Few decisions in themselves make or break anything, but, collectively, they do.  Financially independent, part time leaders may have shared the dilemma of human frailty, but they would not have been so compelled to put somebody at risk to create personal legacies.  That is where we find ourselves today.”

THE WESTERNER Sez:

Depending on who you are or where you're from, Steve's column can call up many memories.

There's the horses.  I remember the day it dawned on me my Dad told time by horses.  "Let's see, I was riding Apache then, so that must have been in '28 or '29."  Horses were important to my generation, but just think of the role they played for those who came before.

There's the dancing.   My mom taught me how to dance in the kitchen.  My first "public" dancing was in the Corona High School gym. First was the duty dances and nothing else.  Then I discovered I enjoyed it, was good at it and that the girls liked it.  Many joyful miles of trodding the boards followed.

And then comes a politician and his legacy.   Read Steve's comments under the column.  We all know he's talking about Jeff Bingaman, and that I believe is the point of this piece.  Will Bingaman's quest for an environmental legacy bring this all to an end?  Will those childhood memories, those life lessons and family ties be denied to future generations?  Just thrust aside and trampled on and left dying in federal dirt?

We here at THE WESTERNER are doing our best to not let that happen. And maybe someday, at the right time and place, I'll get that little nod of approval that Julie Carter wrote about today.

6 comments:

ADavis said...

Two really good columns here this morning. I would like to know the setting when each were written. Was it late at night or early morning? In each case, Carter and Wilmeth could not have written these without having been there. This stuff is as good as anything being written today.

Mike N. said...

I reread the piece Wilmeth wrote about values and how FLPMA promised the equal treatment of those values to the Western states. The articel today came closer to explaining the importance of the historical value than anything yet. We must remember that when those outside of our communities meet a Westerner he may come away disappointed. After all, a Westerner is just a human being. But, when that soul is viewed abstractly though a prism that explains that human in the contxt of his surroundings a completely different story emerges. That is what I think Wimeth is preaching in his insistence the history value must receive equal support by our leadership.

Anonymous said...

Thank you for the comments about Skeeter Byrd. My goodness what a nice eulogy. The simplicity of his life and the goodness of his ways made him a hero to those of us who knew him. Thank you, Steve.

cgandme said...

I have read this and dipped into my kleenex box to the point I am going to have to go get another one. Wow! My youth has been captured.

nonymous only sometimes said...

By Gawg, DuBois, you are gettin' this right! Are the capital hill crew seeing this? I agree with Davis. These two New Mexicans are starting even me to thinking! Maybe we aren't just a bunch of nobodies. Maybe we count!

Anonymous said...

Your description of gentle, good-natured and always smiling Skeeter was balm to my aching heart. I met him when I was 14 and he my first sweetheart. He called me on Sundays to chide me about raising kids in the city - how I miss him and all that he is. Dian