by Julie Carter
Like the roads across the West, sometimes winter will
seem to go on forever. Now I realize we are just getting started on this year’s
version, but not too far in and it will seem the same.
For those of us living here in the usually balmy
Southwest, we are like spoiled children who quickly whine over any extended
length of time that involves chopping ice on livestock drinkers and digging out
the tire chains.
The roads become rutted in the mud created during the
few warmer days between storms. Everything that could conceivably break seems
to do so, be it a pipeline, a vehicle, a storm door or the drain on the washing
machine. Cold inevitably brings on streaks of “breaking” luck.
In spite of the discomfort and inconvenience, ancient
code for the rancher is that he won’t ever turn down moisture or a live baby
calf. The horses get haired up like
bears and the cattle are eyeballing the portable hand warmers that a few
well-outfitted cowboys got for Christmas last year and thought they’d never
use.
Utility bills and feed bills… the meters spin and the
check book balance plunges. The wood pile dwindles. The little woman looks for
every opportunity to not have to gear up for ice breaking and outdoor chores.
Cabin fever, while only a temporary inconvenience, is sometimes preferable to
freezing one’s back pockets off.
In her solitude she is bombarded with thoughts that
she jots on paper in some hope of making sense of her fleeting flashes of
philosophy. Deep thoughts along the lines of: Is there a resemblance between
our lives and the creation of tater tots?
Most everyone generally loves tater tots. They are
dependable, easy to cook and a familiar source of sustenance. Like our friends,
they are crusty on the outside, tender on the inside and seasoned to
preference.
And while I’m always happy to find them in cafes,
stored in my freezer and in dishes cooked up for the cattle working crews, I’ve
never devoted much deep thought to wondering how they became the perfect that
little cylindrical shape that makes them uniquely identifiable.
Hang with me here.
Potatoes are pulled from their earthen womb looking
dirty and misshapen. They are handled down an assembly line where they are
pressure washed, sorted for size and then peeled, sliced and diced according to
the plans for their end use.
The scraps from this process – the bits and shreds
that are left from the slices and cuts – are made into tater tots. They are
cleaned, seasoned and pressure-shaped along yet another assembly line. We
accept them in that form without question. They are what they are.
The tater tots depend on me to bring them from the
freezer to the table in a cooking plan of some sort. However, I appreciate them
more now that I know how they came to be. The same philosophy is surely
applicable with people.
As with tater tots, I have accepted the people in my
life at face value. I have found those that endured to be dependable,
encouraging, nurturing and great a comfort to me because their substance never
changes.
In taking the time to look beneath the shredded crust
– perhaps a bit freezer burned and toasted by life’s heat – I believe that
inside, their substance will be as presented and their imperfections will
mirror mine. After all, we all started in the same place.
Maybe they too will have buried deep the bruises of
being cast off from the prime of the crop only to be pressured washed by
society and recreated into a unique version of the same thing.
And maybe, just maybe, if they should happen to
recognize that in me, our friendships will be enriched with a new level of
appreciation. After all, a lot happened along life’s assembly line to bring us
to where we are today.
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