I'm not sure we fit into Oklahoma sometimes. The ranch
group is someone we should be able to relate to; we've done our share of riding
horses, working cattle and being "farmhands" in our growing up years.
The thing is, we must have become city folks through the years somehow. We
don't seem to quite fit in with the ranch crowd anymore.
We usually sit quietly at the table with those who are
eating after the events we've recently attended, and listen a lot to their
stories of buying ranches, buying a particular pigeon toed roping horse that
can "heel" with the best of them, as in the "heading and
heeling" events of roping at rodeos.
Last evening we sat with the trick rider who had ridden
for years at Branson, Missouri with the Dolly Parton Show there. She rode in
yesterday's Oklahoma Centennial Parade for one and one-half miles standing up
on the saddle over the horse, holding an American Flag. She's a successful
realtor from Tulsa now, and trick rides at rodeo events throughout the nation.
They are an interesting group of folks, the ranch people.
They are leather skinned from being constantly in the sun. They eat heartily,
offer their kindnesses after the meal, are honest (most of the time) in their dealings,
and move quietly out of the restaurant, to head back to the ranch with their
often $250,000 to $1,000,000 rigs, by the time value is included for the truck,
the trailer and most importantly, the horses in those trailers.
The trick rider’s dad, from as far west in Oklahoma as
one can get to be able to spit into Texas, but stand in Oklahoma, was sitting
next to my citified teenage daughter. It was quite a sight. Leah is wearing her
Channel necklace, has her hair perfectly coifed, her makeup carefully applied,
her manicure and pedicure and dressed as if to appear on the runway. The
rancher from Carter, OK, sits beside her with a hint of dirt lining his steamed
and formed cowboy hat. He has already applied for and used for many years his
AARP card, as well as is receiving Medicare Benefits by now. He has obviously
spent years with horses out in the elements of western Oklahoma that have lined
his face with creases as deep as his hat’s.
So, the young city girl eats her salad and listens as the
rancher stabs his fork into his well-done t-bone, talks of racing his
Greyhounds in Kansas, and of warning his young daughter about the auspices of
riding the spirited horse out in the field. He speaks through a barely
detectable side of his mouth, while still chewing on the steak, that this
particular horse will surely buck his young daughter. This is the same “young
daughter” who has done trick riding for years, and continues to trick ride at
the age of 40, but whom the old rancher still warns to “be careful” when
attempting those horses who might shuck her.
Later, my young city teenage girl says, “I couldn’t
understand much of what that cowboy was saying!” And, I must laugh, as I
couldn’t understand much either.
And so, there we are: the ranchers and the city folks
relating as best as we can. We drive past some of them as we leave the parking
lot. They focus on the road as best as possible in the rain, knowing they will
drive another two hours home, then spend another two hours washing down their
very valuable horses, brushing them down, getting the investment animal feed
and maybe catching the 10:00 pm news to hear how the weather will affect them
tomorrow at 5:00 am when they rise to work their ranches all over again.
We city folks look at them in awe as we understand the
hours and dollars they invest in their lifestyles. We then drive through our
favorite Starbucks fifteen minutes down the road. We sip on a Cappuccino before
we rush home to catch “Desperate Housewives” and “Brothers and Sisters” on our
cable television/high speed media center, before we retire for the evening. We
don’t even own a dog, or any other pet, as we aren’t home enough to
sufficiently take care of an animal!
Hicks Killingsworth -> -> ->
14 October 2007
© 2016 Hicks Killingsworth
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