Among
my cherished memories as a 12-year-old boy is a trip taken with my father, his
cattle partner and his grandson, another boy my age, to New Mexico to receive
cattle purchased. Just "going with the men" was a special treat, and being treated
like a man made the trip special.
I think the New Mexico rancher's name
was Billy Brunson and the town where we stayed was Magdelena. But, as that was
more than 60 years ago, I can't be sure. Anyway, I was excused from school, making
it a long weekend.
We
stayed at the town in a wooden two-story hotel right out of "Gunsmoke," with the
bathrooms down at the end of the hall. We ate at the local cafe and my first bar,
as that was the only food in town. I just knew some outlaw was waiting around
every corner.
Out at the ranch the next morning, before daylight, we awaited
the roundup of the cull cows destined for wheat pasture near Perryton.
The
"gather" was made at a set of railroad pens located in the middle of nowhere.
Once loaded on the train, the cows would travel to Canadian
to be unloaded and driven up the Canadian River bottom to the Parsell Ranch, where
they would be branded and rested before driven to the wheat fields south of Perryton.
The
country around the cattle pens was covered in heavy brush and cactus. We waited
a bit, then began to hear the cattle and cowboys coming through. It was quite
a sight to see the horned Hereford cows burst from the brush and into the pens
with the cowboys right behind.
The herd was counted and all business settled
before dinnertime. With the cattle cars arriving at 2 p.m., Mr. Brunson took us
several miles through the hills to his chuck wagon for lunch. In sight was a water-well-drilling
crew working and a cattle-branding crew working at a set of pens. I saw my first
herd of sheep there, grazing among the brush and rocks. This was also my first
time to see a chuck wagon and a well-drilling crew at work.
Our dinner
partners were cowmen, cowboys, sheep-herders and members of the drilling crew.
We
served ourselves in tin plates and tin cups filled from Dutch ovens sitting over
hot coals on the ground. We had hot coffee, red beans, chicken-fried steak, biscuits
and gravy. Dessert was Black-Strap molasses poured over biscuits.
Now,
this was about 1945, two 12-year-old flatlander, mostly farm-raised boys dropped
into the Old West with all its sights and scenes. It's a wonder we didn't sunburn
our eyes and tonsils as we stood with eyes big as silver dollars and mouths wide
open. I can still remember it like it was yesterday.
© Delbert
Trew
"It's All Trew" October
6, 2009 Column
E-mail: trewblue@centramedia.net. |
