Wilmeth - Ride ‘em, Cowboy!

Lessons in Reality

Ride ‘em, Cowboy!

Attitude Adjustments

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

            Hank and I were buds.

            Our lives were resistant to the proximity of a town. We didn’t live “in” Silver City. We lived up Little Walnut Road and our outward bearing from anything “town” was constant. Hank’s parents bought the old Hanslik place and it provided a buffer against stuff we disliked. The only shortfall to it was glancing southward and seeing humanity.

            Truly, we would have preferred the freedom of the end of 16 miles of dirt road.

            Lessons in Reality

            We even had a bucking arena.

            It was behind the barn. The chute was cobbled together out of lumber. Our pursuit wasn’t classic because we didn’t have a bronc saddle, but we did have a bareback riggin’. It was a dandy, and, speaking of Dandy, it was he, the little Shetland cross stud horse, we used as our bucking horse.  He was a tobiano sorrel paint and he was pure “D” Shetland. He was a cutthroat little beggar that would take two jumps and then wait to plot his chance to chingele you.

            We’d make a couple of rides each before we would start losing interest. Hank would invariable pull the hotshot out to get a little more action, but, by that time, we’d be ready to go on to the next big invention. Dandy would go back to plotting his next attempt to murder one of us.

            We had a big idea one time, though, when a kid’s saddle too small for us, my brother, Paul, and Dandy all lined up in one frame of reference from our lofty, heavy thinking perch in a tree.

            “Let’s see how that saddle works on that horse!”

            So, we caught Dandy, saddled him, decked Paul out, and prepared for the event. The flat between the house and the road was better suited for the ride than the rocky arena behind the barn so that is where we got our little cowboy mounted and turned Dandy loose. He immediately headed for the barn and the trot turned into a lope and from the lope he started bucking going straight away.

            “Ride him, Paul!”

            He did for several jumps but then the little horse ducked out from under him and off he went hanging in the near side stirrup. The wreck was immediately more serious. Paul was hitting the ground every once in a while and taking a beating trying to dodge flying hooves.

            Carrying our ropes, and, to make a longer and scary story short, we forefooted that horse and got him thrown while afoot without getting Paul loose. He was as white as a sheet and not anywhere near coherent when we pulled him from under the horse.

            “You’ll be alright, but don’t you go and tell your mother about this!” Hank was saying as he fanned him with his hat.

            Another lesson in reality was etched into our being. Paul survived. We all survived, but that doesn’t suggest it was always easy sailing. What I find interesting, however, are the tendencies of each and every person I have closest contact in my life who can share and relate similar experiences.

We all vote the same!

Ride ‘em, Cowboy!

Late this week, a group of us gathered to discuss issues. We do it once a month in a formal setting. We start with a prayer and pledge our allegiance to our flag and our country. As I sat there listening, it occurred to me how much I have come to respect this little band of brothers and sisters. Our being is dictated by our surroundings and the unbroken and direct links to our past. We have no problem “finding” ourselves and, without exception, don’t rally to force some contrived new wave logic on somebody else. We have more than enough to do without getting in somebody’s business.

That doesn’t suggest our lives are static, though.

On the contrary, traditional and everyday demands are now layered with other things. CRMPs, EQIP, CSP, HAACP, PILT, 8100 funds, 6011, NAP, 1099s, 1080, DR11 200PSI, dole valves, and NOAA are acronyms or code talk that are too commonplace amidst the other regulatory BS. Every one of us is in the midst of installing or maneuvering to install next generation infrastructure. Pipelines, erosion control devices, fences, brush control projects are all heavily on our minds at 3:00 AM.

“Turn us loose!” was not our plea, but we understand the implication and agree. Those words came from a sheep man from Montana in recent congressional testimony. It could have been any one of us, though, who would have been willing to belly up to the table and microphone and say the same thing in generally the same vernacular.

Turn us loose!

We have seen the world from a different perspective. We have lived through wrecks and storms that not just formed our image but shaped our entire perspective of the world around us, the natural world … the real world.

Attitude Adjustments

One can’t help to ponder, however, how much good would come out of a simple, everyday encounter for our ruling class. Take, for example, the experience Mrs. Pelosi would gain by repairing a prolapse on a high headed horned cow. Or, how about the simple task of sorting bulls in an alley by the New York Chuckster? Foghorn could be required to assist a difficult heifer birth, and Bernie could milk out a tight bagged cow before he went to town to pay his property taxes. We wouldn’t trust any of them to ride the fresh colt, though, and that is not because we care about them.

It would be the horse we worry about … we don’t’ want him ruined!

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico. “Jupe used to say that a man was not worth a damn until he was 43. None of us have figured out what the hurdle is for a politico.”