|
Warren, I remember you still even though next year will be fifty years since
you left us. Your jaw you set simply to tell the strength of your
personality. A quick smile brightened your face and the slow, easy going,
ways of generations of chieftain's blood all meant so much to someone who
was a child. Our days were filled with play while the quiet shadow of your
being hovered about somewhere like a silent, blocking out of the harsh hot
realities to come upon us as a family. I watched you grow into a man, saw
you bulldog a steer, sheer the sheep, dehorn the steers. Quietly I stood
with my hands on the rungs of the bull ring while you worked with Dad.
Laughter around the kitchen table after an unusual rough event was told
while we listened. Devotion and admiration remained inside our heart as
strong as our same blood pulsed through it. Truly, I knew nothing about the
way your own mother died when you were only eight. No wonder you felt you
had to protect us.
The rain
pours upon me now while it blows through the patio door and I remember how
no words of gratitude had to be spoken to you when school was out and you
were there with a slicker big enough for all three of us. The pleasure and
pride were all mine because the interested eyes of those beautiful girls
followed our every move. If you were knowledgeable about their worship
nothing in your countenance told of it. The only thing you seemed to care
about was the care intrusted to you for our well being.
Ranching
was the contribution to be made by so many of our generations. It was a way
to feed the nation. No theme of preaching about what should or shouldn't be
done, was told aloud. The job was solidly there. The men each in their own
way held to whatever their talent dictated to further that goal. Haying
crews and workers came through and they were your tutors. Tossing a rope
with the best of them the difference being you had was that easy way you did
everything all the while you held a friendly grin and pleasant ways.
You were
too young and too full of life to know about evil, puny, little men who
would lay traps to end your life. If I had not been so young and so naive
maybe there would have been a way to hold onto you. It is true though, no
one can go back. Certainly we cannot go back into time. If I could, I
would have made myself the shadow beside you, demanding you continue to
protect and guide me just so my sword would have cut through the enemies who
surrounded you. First the confusion and division of staid established goals
were attacked making you believe a soldier's life was more important that
the job at hand. When you returned the achievements for the land had already
begun to crumble and although you tried, single handedly, to continue to
work it was too late and a lonely life. There were ponds to 'doze out and
you did it. Fences had to be mended and no one was at the corner post to
hold and help pull the wire. You couldn't sleep in the lonely house on the
hill so you moved to The Strike Axe and this is where we found the remains
of your life and living.
Those
that took your life must have known of what you possessed materially and
well onto being a millionaire but they didn't know what they had really
lost. The beauty of your spirit, the strength of ancient ways, the kindness
of your character. This they lost and their poverty was great. Warren, your
Dad sacrificed what was materially left in his love for even your memory and
I? I was only the witness to history. So to my grandsons, who I love as
dearly, please dear God let them know the history of Warren and let Your
Spirit be with them please? Let them go to the greatest, even though it is
the most difficult, in caring for people, still ranchers and keepers of the
land.
http://www.electricscotland.com/history/america/donna/picturebook/6061.htm |
