New Mexico Homesick
Kim
Our Grandpa
By Stephen L. Wilmeth
Two
weeks ago at Redrock, I was sitting in a circle of Gila River children and our
discussion had reverted to our surroundings. Behind us was the Gila with a
rather meager albeit constant flow of water. It ran against an undercut bank nearest
us, and there was a good hole in the bend 45 yards upriver. We would have
drifted a worm by either of them if we had been fishing. We learned to do that more
than two generations ago.
If I had
been blindfolded, couldn’t see where I was, but offered a sniff of it, I would still
have known where I was. That distinct odor comes from a myriad of things no
doubt, but the water motés and the cottonwood must contribute much of it.
In the
discussion at hand, Hunt had remembered an incident when he was just a kid up
the river at their place. He and his dad were horseback when two fellows came
along in a pickup and stopped to talk. There were some cattle in the river
bottom nearby and a slick pair was with them. The unbranded calf was a heifer. One
of the men asked Hunt’s father if he thought he could rope that big calf out of
that brush.
“Well,
maybe we can,” was the response as he took his rope down and shook out a loop.
As soon
as the horsemen charged, the old cow headed for parts tight and gone with the
calf right behind her. Brush was popping and limbs were breaking. Hunt declared
in an aside that he was no help at all as soon as they hit the brush. All he was
doing was trying to stay up and in the saddle. His dad, though, got them headed,
the big heifer roped, and snaked out of that brushy bottom.
“Well,
that was as good as if it was all seven Wilmeth brothers!” was the comparative
assessment of the requester.
I was
floored at that reference. Who, even among this group, would have known two
much less all seven of those brothers? They have been gone for years and all
but the two have been gone from the river more than 90 years.
Walt,
though, had the last word, and, as it was, the last laugh.
“Those
guys had been watching that slick pair and had bet each they were going to be
the first to put an iron on that heifer,” he explained. “Well, the one that
branded HIT on the left hip got it done.”
Knowing
there had to be a punchline, he was finally pushed to finish. “Well?”
“Yea,
the next time he saw that heifer his buddy had added an S to it.”
Kim
The
first time I saw Kim was the day she was brought home from the hospital. She
was lying in a bassinette and it was all I could do to see her over the edge of
it. What struck me that lingers to this day was all that long wavy raven hair she
had growing in every direction. Babies weren’t supposed to have hair like that!
She grew
up to be a beautiful woman.
She lives
in Texas now and I see her only at funerals on rare occasion. So, it was a
surprise when a message was received via electronic express from Iraan that Kimhad posted on Facebook a picture of Albert Wilmeth, her great grandfather.
“I am
New Mexico homesick tonight,” she lamented.
Ah,
Kimmie, we are all homesick for the New Mexico to which you refer! In so many
ways, though, it no longer exists. We had no idea how complete and simplistic
our world was when Albert and Sabre Wilmeth were such a dominant feature in our
lives. They moved into town in 1961, but the days of awe were always on the
Mangus in that little board and batten house.
Your
memories stirred much emotion.
It isn’t
the intent to add to your words, except for the sounds in that old house that
will never leave my soul. It was the tick tock of that clock in the living
room, the lowing of cattle drifting through the open windows before dawn, and
the sound of horses munching oats in the stanchion in the corral a short time
later.
Certainly,
one of the strongest images of any man I ever witnessed was one afternoon in a blistering
lightning storm at the barn when Grandpa stood exposed in the open door. We had
just unsaddled and were caught inside waiting out the downpour. In a
simultaneous lighting strike and explosion of thunder, his profile was lit up.
His face was lifted to the heavens and his eyes were closed while seeking the
full impact of its smell and its power.
That was
one of those precious, formative moments I knew exactly what I wanted to do in
this life.
There
were so many other things packed into those years. I have often thought of my
grandfathers and this one was the role model in seriousness. There was seldom
departure from it, but there was always something learned, and always something
completed.
“Little jobs everyday become big
accomplishments.”
He tolerated no fool or
foolishness. He chose who could go with him by who would pay attention and stay
up. He’d wait on you one time before he would tell you to stay up. The second
time there was a consequence.
Yes, I loved him, too. In some
ways, though, I think the respect is stronger today than then. I didn’t
understand the full consequence of it then. There are so many times I catch
myself wondering what he would do in certain predicaments.
Maybe, I have a case of that New Mexico homesick, too.
1 comment:
I wish I would have known him like you did Dad.
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