Thinking back on things...

We went and had supper with my parents last night, much to my little boy's delight. Chips, french fries, cheese dip and root beer flow freely when he gets to visit with his Grandad--I can't recall that he's heard the word "NO" when he's ever been in my dad's presence! I suppose every little one should experience that, well, to a certain degree anyway. A little indulgence goes along way however, the fallout of a free-for-all supper with my dad has it's effect for a night or two afterwards! He expects chips and cheese dip, root beer and ice cream for dessert, whether or not he finishes what I cook up and put on his plate, with never so much as a care. That being said, I have to admit that I enjoy watching my dad spend time with my son. I never knew either of my daddy's parents, they passed away years before I came along. My mother's parents had been the same, they passed many years before I was born. The only grandparent that I knew was my great grandmother, and I was so lucky to have her! She was an absolutely amazing lady--I wish I could go back and take a pen and paper and write down every word she ever said to me. The things she lived through and saw with her own eyes were a continued fascination for me--it was a veritable history lesson every time she opened her mouth to speak.

Stories about longhorn cows, specters along the creek beds at night, trifling women, renegade horses and bedbugs were some of the things that have always stood out in my mind.

When she and my Grandad lived on the Chapman Barnard ranch, the ranch was running longhorn cattle. She told me of how peculiar a group of cows can be, "How snooty they acted." She told me that the different colored cows would separate themselves off-the red cows would stay in their own little bunch, while the blacks would be in another, and the whites in their own bunch as well. I never imagined that there would be any truth to her stories, I was maybe 7 or 8 years old at the time she told me this particular one. Years later, as my husband and I drove past one of our counties' most historic ranches, there happened to be a herd of longhorns grazing along the road. The grass was belly deep, shade was scarce. It was the time of day that there wasn't much room beneath the blackjacks for more than a few cows at a time--their massive head gear prevented much lounging about together--talk about a good way to get an eye put out! It was a warm day, but not so hot that those big girls wouldn't venture out in the glorious sunshine to graze a little. As we slowly drove by, we remarked on the horns of those closest to the road, some seemed to be as wide as the front of the pickup we were in! Some curved up, some spread way out and then came up at the tips, doing nothing but if to prove how glorious the good Lord's creations can truly be. We crept along the road, hugging our side of the gravel as to get the best view of the herd that sprawled across the pasture as if they were posing for a post card. The farther we drove passed the herd, it hit me all of a sudden...those cows are in little bunches!! I could hardly believe my eyes--two big white cows with massive horns rested together in the shade just at the edge of the clearing, as four or five black and white cows grazed along with their tiny babies. Another bunch, these being a deep, ruby shade of red stood in a thin sliver of water that made it's way through their little patch of grass. The story my grandmother had told me so many years ago came rushing back in my mind, and it was almost as if I could hear her words again, it was so fresh in my head that it brought tears to my eyes. "Snooty," I said, with a little chuckle to myself. "What was that?" my husband asked as we finally pulled back along the road, leaving the longhorns behind us. "I said, that those ol' cows were all about half way snooty," as I turned back around in my seat, content to leave them behind us now. "Snooty?? How'd ya figure that?" he asked, giving me an amused look from behind his mirrored sunglasses. As we pulled into his parents drive way, I relayed the tale for him, as best as I could, trying to keep the edge off of my voice. As bright of a memory as it might have been, it hurt to think back on now. I realized that I was just a little girl then, but that her stories had been nothing more than just that--stories. I think back on all of those things as often as I can, trying to keep them sharp in my mind so that I can tell them to my kids someday.

So many other memories come to mind when I think of my grandma--tales of the days during the oil boom in Osage county, of hunting dogs and baby coyotes. So many things, but I still wish with all my heart that I could have heard them all. She had seen more than 100 years pass before her, enough even that she wasn't sure anymore exactly how many there had been. Born in 1899, well, maybe 1900-she hadn't been sure. Her birth certificate had been stored at a church when she was a little girl, and most unfortunately, said church had been burnt to a cinder when she was still a very young girl. Her younger days had been filled with cowboys, cattle, babies, horses and hounds--every word from her lips was a tale of another lifetime, all 100% true. Things like that I had no doubt were true...you couldn't have made those stories up unless you'd lived them and seen them yourself. I miss my grandmother more and more, the older I get. I think of her often, when I see my baby girl smile, or when I watch my little boy's grin grow from ear to ear as he rides his 'big horse'. Whenever I see a herd of longhorns, I think of her and smile. It's second nature to me now, a story that is forever ingrained in who I am.