The Hole

 

The Hole

Hermeneutics

The Times

By Stephen L. Wilmeth

 

 

            In a few hours, the intention is to be horseback.

            Invariably, it will be another reminder that life is always a bit more reasonable and worthy of effort when that happens. The task is to find what is wrong with a pipeline that feeds a storage and trough in a place we call The Hole. For several days, we have pumped water up there and only a trickle of water is being delivered.

            The problem is not the pump. Valved the other direction it can fill a 20,000-gallon storage in 18 hours.

            So, it must be a leak. That is certainly a most likely scenario due to the age of that line. It has been a problem for years, but the priority of replacing it has never been at the top of the wish list.

            So, shod horsepower is the best alternative to trace the meanderings of the line across the country from its source to the point of discharge. The bets are the problem will be remedied in some manner.

            That stands in stark contrast to other issues that too many of us worry and fret over. That is especially true when both the reason of logic and the comprehension of human tendencies fail.

            Indeed, the allure of being horseback is preferred this day.

            The Hole

            The Hole is appropriately named.

            It sits out in the middle of a 13-section pasture in a depression that actually drains to the southwest. When viewed from its center, the upslope approaches from three directions are clearly higher, but the fourth and off-slope departure appears to be higher as well. That is because of the brush and the grasses growing in the broad alluvium that carries runoff away.

            Having no name on the original allotment maps The Hole didn’t take much imagination to come up with.

            We branded calves down there only one time in the old corral that is now largely gone from our scavenging. It was a sweltering hot day. It was the beginning of another miserable, killing summer on a ranch that was (then) woefully short of water.

            When Leonard finally joined us, he suggested early on we never think about working cattle there.

            We didn’t need spoken communication to agree. He knew exactly what he was talking about and I had learned from experience. It was nonverbal agreement without elaboration.

            It was avoided for cow work from that point forward. As much trouble as it continues to be, maybe the whole thing, water trough and storage, ought to be abandoned and moved.

            That is a decision we have control over.

            Hermeneutics

            This is a hard subject, but it is indicative of the entire week.

            We aren’t the only men and women who have agonized over certain deep subjects. It is a dilemma that has plagued mankind forever and grew worse when written language was perfected. It was then that thoughts were strung together and left to be interpreted by readers long after the ink was dry on the scrolls.

            The Bible is clearly a most pertinent example.

            In fact, hermeneutics, the methodology of interpretation of philosophical texts, became somewhat of an artform attempting to make such deductions. The aim was to show what kind of general interpretive problems arise and to identify some important procedures leading to their solutions.

            It is the art of understanding.

            Further, it is the attempt to discover truths not by subjective means, but by identifying what was intended. Without context, or, with an agenda in mind, though, the human element brings a whole different outcome to subsequent debates.

            We need to only look at the interpretation of laws to see what can happen.

            Ours is a society that is polarized in every aspect of existence. Array the subjects and consider the status. There are two separate and distinct sides on every single issue. Immigration and border safety, abortion and the sanctity of life, the pandemic and the castration of small businesses, fracking and the drive to supposed renewable energy, and even land management with private versus agency dominion of the outcome garners major contention with distinctly delineated and opposing sides.

            Clearly, our written, verbal, and nonverbal communication … is in chaos.

            The Times

            The clock says it is 4:30 AM.

            I am not going to argue about that other than, oops, it now says 4:31 AM. Such progression surely allows for some attachment of philosophical context to this whole thing. The Times sounds formal enough to elevate into that consideration so that will be the continuing theme.

            The Times reminds me it is time to go feed the horses. They will be glad to see me. That will last only until they are done, and I carry a halter out into the corral to commence the next step of this planned morning. Samuel (pronounced in the Spanish derivation, Sam-well) will move off with intent while Carter will succumb to the possibility of a horse cookie that just might be tucked into my vest pocket.

            By the way, it is now 4:45AM. The Times are flying.

            When Carter is caught, we will go out through the pen where Bailey holds court and she will be in the way as we exit the corral. Another Ramon Villanueva horse, she is retired as one of the greatest all-time cow horses and now suffers irreversible and debilitating ring bone. I just don’t yet want to face the inevitable, so she stays with us as long as her appetite remains robust.

            Carter won’t need to be tied hard. He will squirm and dodge as he is groomed, though, like a kid trying to avoid his hair being combed. His coat is growing into its rich blood bay winter version.

            I’ll breath deeply his horse smell.

            When the saddle is thrown, it will be reminiscent of all the times past when the Viejos did the same thing. The trailer gate will then be offered, and, with a soft cluck, Carter will load as if it is his honor.

            He, nor I, need anybody’s opinion or interpretation, written or unwritten, on how our day should proceed from there. We can figure this all out on our own.

God gave us that power.

           

Stephen L. Wilmeth is a rancher from southern New Mexico.