We pulled into the driveway and parked the dusty four-wheelers. I pried my fingers loose from the handlebars and sat for a few minutes before throwing one leg over the seat and slowly sliding off. It had been a 10 ½ hour day trailing cattle to summer pastures. Two more days of trailing and that part of the herd was settled for a while. When we reached the end of the last drive, though I had offered little, I wore a look of satisfaction while completely and contentedly exhausted. I think I even walked a bit bowlegged just like the time I helped drive cattle over the mountains on horseback with my cousin, her crew, and my sister.
Somewhere along the ride back home the last day on the trail, a thought came to mind, and with the thought was a sense of renewed wonder and respect for my ancestors. Many years ago, they went on a long goat drive. The end of May 1895, the Brannin family left Sapillo Creek, New Mexico and began the long trek by wagons and horseback to Marysville, Montana. Just going that distance of about 1400 miles (by today’s road) was quite a task for the Brannin family and others who traveled with them, but they also trailed a herd of 900 angora goats, 360 horses, and 90 burros. They treasured joys of the journey as they tucked away memories of their time together and made lifelong friends. They also faced many challenges and disappointments along the way, but what others considered obstacles merely spurred them on.
Can you imagine seeing that exodus come your way and passing by? Four covered wagons drawn by horse teams and a mule drawn spring wagon driven by one of the girls followed behind the Brannin “boys” driving the goats, horses, and burros that scattered across the landscape. Any of those alone would have been fascinating to see, but all together must have made quite a picture. I can almost hear the sounds of hooves and the bleats, neighs, and brays of the animals. I can almost see dust rolling behind the company as they pass through deserts and prairies and hear echoes from canyon walls as they descend into valleys and climb steep mountain passes.
Over one year after their departure, the Brannin clan arrived at their Montana destination, but even that wasn’t the end. Years later, wide-eyed children sat in silent awe as family gathered around the table or sat in front of the stone fireplace in the Brannin Ranch lodge and listened to firsthand stories of the historic drive north. The legacy continues to be passed on to later generations as family history is repeated in oral tales and written memories of those long gone.
As I walked away from the four-wheeled steed, a light breeze tugged at my memories, and the stories I’ve heard so many times seemed a bit more real. My step became a bit lighter. I shook the dust from my hat. It had been a good day!
