THE PARLOR: Summertime Cowboy by Sandy Korey

THE PARLOR is a series on The Milk House that embraces the lighter side of rural life. You can find a new piece by a different author the first Saturday of every month.

*

He visits once a year like a comet riding a silver bullet streaking across the sky. We rush to greet the spry slight figure as his radiant countenance brightens the waiting room at the Colorado Springs airport so crowded with gloomy travelers.

“He-Haw Hoss. Here we are!”

Our rowdy welcome breaks up the depressing atmosphere.

The slouch in his old John B. (Stetson) is kept free of his line of vision by wiry brows arched upwards resembling an alert porcupine supporting the time-worn brim. Nevertheless, nothing can shade those quick blue eyes twinkling with intelligence and a private joke on the world. Our long standing amigo is the personification of the actor Jack Nicholson endowed with a sheepskin in law in lieu of an Oscar. Seeing us here turns the greeting with a broad unrestrained grin.

Settling down from the embraces of deep friendship we discuss old times and reaffirm the true nature of this visit.

“I’ve come to relive my boyhood and help with the fencing,” insists Hoss. “Since I was knee high to a grasshopper I tagged along behind my Old Man on our family farm observing the fine art of repairs, which may explain why he encouraged me to study law instead.”

“If the weather cooperates,” reminds Larch, our self-appointed resident meteorologist. “March is half and half. It can swing either way, like some folks, I’ve heard tell.”

As designated look-out for early morning wildlife I was aware of the very large herd of elk silently slipping through our front pasture under the protective cover of a fog of heavy snow swirling about. Not wanting to be guilty of oversight, thus causing our company from a major southern city to miss this western safari, I let out with a primordial wake up call that reverberated throughout our home.

Upon raised elbow height in warm comfort, Hoss imagined he could witness this invasion in luxury, courtesy of the guest bedroom window.

A knowledgeable Larch ordered fence inspection on the double. Sharp hooves on four strong legs can do a lot of damage if they glaze too close to taunt wire. Braced with strong steaming coffee, laced with a touch of bourbon, under their belts, two old buddies ventured into the threatening elements.

Now our humble abode sat perched up pasture overlooking the view below.  The lands slight incline sloped to the dirt road which our ranch abutted. “It’s all downhill from here,” alerted his host as our guest gasped, inhaling an unfamiliar blast from a sudden gust of cutting wind.

Hailing from an environment where magnolias blossom, lilacs bloom and bulbs are bursting with new life as March springs forward, Hoss was totally unprepared for a Colorado winter’s last hurrah. We zipped him into a passe’ ski suit of mine hanging over from seasons past and a pair of retired boots. What kind of Eagle Scout comes so unprepared?

Zigzagging in a maze across the field, stubbing their toes on snow bound frozen balls of horse manure and vole tunnels as they plowed their way in search of sagging barbed wire that needed a lift, this team went to work in erst brushing drifts aside, with an occasional pause to playfully pitch and miss snowballs at each while I was charged with the heavy looking on from a warm window. Much churning of snow ensued making it possible to twist broken wires into whole strands again, and suffering the wounds of barbed prongs stabbing into clumsy fitting thick gloves that hampered progress, these wannabe cowboys labored on.  Hammering on cold metal fence posts rang chimes in the cold air while stubbornly resisting their efforts against the solid frozen tundra underfoot.

Smoke rings of hot breath encircled their bobbing heads while an occasional oath of blasphemy escaped to color the bland landscape. Loves labor was not lost. The men returned for breakfast, friendship in tact.

“Thanks for the helping hand, Hoss,” offered Larch. “Appreciate it. By the way, what do you think of our new lifestyle?”

“I think I’m just a Summertime Cowboy.”

Learn more about Sandy on our Contributors’ Page.

Interested in books with rural subjects? Join the Rural Literature Book Club.

(Photo: Cattails/flickr.com/ CC BY 2.0)