Makin' Biscuits

We would put the flour in

and then she'd stir around

baking powder, salt and what not

before I'd cut the butter down

With child hands I squooshed it flat

then ma'd take out that plain old mug.

'Don't need much to makin' biscuits,

Just all the ingredients and love!'

Searching for Someone Else's Treasure

Searching for Someone Else’s Treasure - A Claim Staker Story by Jessica Rowe

It was towards the end of a summer day in Colorado at 11,000 feet. We had been there all summer staking mining claims in the La Plata Mountain range west of Durango. The sky was clear and I breathed in that sweet mountain air as I sat at base camp waiting for my dad to finish his line. I remember, the blue birds were chirping in the tall pines and the purple bell shaped columbine flowers were swaying in the cool breeze. It was a good day to be a claim staker.

The man that hired us was probably sitting in some suit somewhere in a building behind a computer. Here we were roughing it, out putting stakes in the ground so they could claim mineral rights and gamble their money. They would find some geological prospect on a map, tap their bony fingers and shout ‘aHA! I know there is gold there, I just know it!’ Then they would give my dad a call and off we would go- searching for someone else’s treasure.

They always called us crazy, too. My dad would take jobs that most people would never dream of. It was always in the worst time of year- the middle of a snow storm in January, or in 120 degree heat in the middle of July. Rain, storm, shine…it never seemed to matter to these suits. When they had the money and the inclination to get a job done, it was our responsibility to see it through. Well, not really me, just my dad.

This time though, on this particular day at 11,000 feet, it didn’t seem so bad. They had at least tapped their finger on a corner of the world with trees and flowers. Colorado was a beauty; a hard, rocky, unrelenting beauty, but a beauty nonetheless. The day before we had done a line up on the ridge above the timber line. I can still remember the view looking out over the vast expanse of land that stretched into Utah. We were on top of the sleeping Ute- what the Ute Indians called the silhouette of the La Plata range looking east from Cortez. And boy was it a view. Up there on those rocks I couldn’t help but feel like the tallest person in the world. We would spend all day huffing and puffing, jumping over boulders and tip toeing across shad scale rocks. The rocks would slip under my feet and I had to strategically hop on wayward grass patches to keep from sliding down the hill. I never knew how my dad did it- he was always like a bighorn sheep walking at those heights. He never slipped and he always knew the way.

Somehow amidst all the slipping and sliding and carrying all our gear and 2X2 posts we would finally reached the top. I would drop everything, sit down and have a drink of water. It’s these moments I remember best. Being stuck between a rock and a hard place was never as bad as it seemed up there, because at least we could feel that cold breeze on our sweaty skin and the air would be fresher than any suit could ever imagine. Well, I don’t envy them anyways. My dad would look over at me and just smile and I knew his soul was happy. There were no words for that beautiful sight.

Finally amidst my daydreaming, I saw my dad stumble out through the trees. I could tell he was successful with his line because there were no more posts on his back. He would wander over to me, sit down and open his canteen.

‘Rough line, Pops?’

‘You betcha.’ And the water would dribble into his beard and he would just smile.

I think those suits are probably crazier than we realize.

Young Danny's Gun

_________________________
For Christmas this year I received a gun.
No fancy wrapping or bows to unspun
This one belonged to my uncle long gone.
Been sitting in the vault for 40 years some.
No one would take it, and to me it had come.

My uncle, he loved that gun-I could tell oh so much
By the clean steel barrel and carved wood struts.
What a beauty-It shined in the light.
I could see my reflection if I held it just right.

'Can take a cow elk at 400 yards!'
Is what my father said at Christmas
Through the other gifts and the cards
This one didn't compare in the least.

as I held it up and peered through the scope
'It'll group in a dime if you take the time!'
I put it down and ran my hand on it in wonder
How in the world did I inherit this plunder?

No one wanted this gun that belonged to my mother's brother.
He died on that mountain without saying goodbye the others.
It was an accident- the little boy had cried
He couldn't hold on and in seconds he died.
Slipped like a rain drop on the rocks way up high.
No one would question; who then could try?

Danny was 18 when he left his family
Had just graduated high school; he lived wild and free.
He took his gun everywhere, even way up on the rocks
He could see the world up there and take a steady shot.

But after that day someone hid it away
and no one had the guts to pull it out.
Everything they loved about that wild young boy
was in the gun that he loved.

It's 40 years since and it has now come to me.
It was a sad sad day the last that it had been used-
and Young Danny's gun will always carry proof
of how he loved and lived
In how he cleaned his gun
For in the reflection of that barrel
Is the bittersweet song he had sung.

A Divine Map (take 2)

a divine map (edit 1)

Maps show so many things
treasures and tales
of lost golden rings.
Some maps are dirty
and yellowed with age
Some are crisp
some printed on noble page.
Some are folded
Hidden in some corner
And some are rewarded
With County Recorders

Maps are like you-
maps are like me
born a blank page
empty and free.
but as time rattles on
all of us draw our own maps
with pencils of experience
we draw our own path.

Who else but God
could show us the way
When we have no idea where we are going
No idea what to say.
We are not born
with a draftsman's keen eye
How can we tell
the mountain from the sky
But if you look around on your map
there are a few hidden clues
To where you were born
and What you will chose.
One knows not
The roads she will take
Or the mountains she will climb
Or the fences of fate.

The map you are drawing
Is unique and intense
There are only a few rules to remember
To have it make sense.
Make sure there’s a scale bar
So it has some perspective.
An inch could be a mile
or maybe a lifetime retrospective.

But in the drawing of maps
the most important rule is such
that the North Arrow
Always faces up.
Like hands towards the sky
it acts as your guide
no matter the weather
or if your map leads you awry.

Maps show so many things
treasures and tales
of lost golden things.
don’t forget what you’re drawing
or what you’re looking for
Pick up that pencil
And keep drawing for more.

I never get lost with my GPS

I Never Get Lost With My GPS

Now, you see life is easy
When you have a GPS.
And the lady tells you directions;
Though you have no address.
You don’t even need a map!
Because the little box knows best
Heard it from a calculation
10 satellites don’t rest!
Never mind you getting lost
Or taking two slight rights
She’s programmed to give directions
Don’t question her programmed script
If you can’t find your ending location
Perhaps it doesn’t even exist!

-Inspired by the dumb **s truckers who were convinced Kings River Ranch was .8 miles from the Sawtooth Station.

Snake in the Grass

A slippery snake slithering through the grass
Slides silently under your eyes; it's past.
What evil lurks disguised in the color
of a green lovely grass; the ending of summer.
Winter will come and snake will retreat to his hole
And what he leaves behind; you may not know.
But later some day when the next spring has sprung
You go outside- to have a bit of fun.
and while frolicking in your expected paradise
the grass and the ground cave in to your demise-
And there you will sit with a broken leg
In the den of a family of dual hiss fangs.

So let these words of warning ring to you
Not every snake is honest or true.
Most hide themselves and speak with forked tongues;
then set their traps so you are undone.
The more power the snake has, the bigger its den
You had better watch out for that poison and sin.

Liberty Sound

Freedom carries a banner of the Red White and Blue-
riding a bay horse galloping through and through;
her golden hair streaming out and teeth shining towards the sun.
Hear the hooves thundering down; lightning is that liberty run.
And her, my how she sits! Tall and proud.
Three hundred years her words still sound
As the wind blows against the ground.
And her horse keeps a' going; the sweat flying in beads
Through the storm he carries her; his heart beats against her knees.
Have you seen her passing? Waving through your town?
There is nothing quite so powerful as hearing
That liberty sound.