Hail Storms & Prairie Dogs

Traveling across the country was just the beginning of the adventures we would have once we reached Uncle Buster’s house. He was full of laughter, practical jokes and fun. Uncle Buster was my grandfather’s brother. He was a rancher, hunter, trapper, homesteader, horse wrangler, bronc rider, marksman, storyteller, water-witcher, cowboy, and sheepherder. 

One day Uncle Buster took us on a grand adventure. I was in the cab of the truck. The big kids piled in the back of the truck with Daddy. Uncle Buster didn’t need lines on the road to drive. He didn’t even need a road. He drove his old beat up green truck like he rode one of the cantankerous bucking broncs. We bucked across the eastern Montana hills dotted with prickly pears and sagebrush and bounced on the road swerving from ditch to ditch, dust flying at our heels. It was an adventure just riding with him even if no other adventures popped up, but that day, adventures popped up. 

We drove along a bumpy road through dry land adorned with rock outcroppings, scrubby bushes and a few gnarled trees. An occasional antelope could be seen grazing on dry grass in the wide-open countryside.  As we rode, the clouds began to join one another. Then they changed colors. They turned dark and green. The darker they got, the faster Uncle Buster drove. He said, “We better find a place quick! Hail’s a comin’.” He was already going as fast as he could, but he made that old beat up truck go even faster. Miles ahead, we saw one little store in the town of Ingomar come into view. It grew larger as we got closer. We kicked up dust as Uncle Buster skidded to a stop. We jumped out of the truck with one command, “Run!” Just as the screen door slammed behind us, the clouds erupted and belched forth ice from the sky clad with green clouds. Balls of ice danced and bounced off the ground. As we waited for the angry sky to stop throwing stones, we were treated to ice cold cokes. That was a rare treat! When it was all done, the ground was white, covered with ice. The top of the truck had more dents than when we had started. I learned a couple of things that day: green clouds mean “hail’s a comin’,” and Uncle Buster was better than a weatherman. He could read the sky.

Our adventure wasn’t quite over. We were off again with Uncle Buster telling stories as he drove. It wasn’t long before he pulled off the side of the road. His eyes were twinkling, and he was chuckling about something. He was always up to some kind of mischief. He loved to tease and play jokes, especially on rowdy boys. We all piled out of the truck. We looked off into the flat land scattered with little mounds of dirt. Occasionally, we could see little fuzzy critters that looked like sentries standing guard. They made funny little chirping noises as they called to one another. It was a prairie dog town. Uncle Buster laughed and told the boys to go catch one of the prairie dogs. Those three boys took off running as fast as they could to see who could catch one first. Uncle Buster laughed that deep robust laugh that gurgled from the bottom of his stomach. That game didn’t last too long. The boys soon came back. They didn’t have a prairie dog, but they sure brought back plenty because they were covered with fleas. 

Uncle Buster had a good laugh that lasted for days. I can still hear his hearty laughter echoing through the years.