My granddad loved to take a ride through the countryside. (So do I.) We would load him up in the car or truck and drive down country back roads. He was as happy as a lark. Leather gloves in hand, he ran them through his big hands, cowboy hat on his head, and a big smile on his face. He spoke of the “good grass” he saw and told us how many head of cattle could be raised on such a spread as opposed to how many horses could graze that same land. Whether it was North Georgia hills, or Montana prairies, the child-like wonder in his eyes never faded.
We crossed over a creek and his memories were stirred. His tale took us back to a time when horse and wagon were the mode of transportation. He and his batchin’ partner, John, saw a storm coming up. They unhitched the wagon, grabbed their gear and set up their tent. Just as the storm hit, a man, his wife and new baby came flying up in their wagon. My granddad rolled back the tarp and invited the travelers inside out of the storm. As he told the story, he pointed to a grassy place near the creek and said, “Right there is where we camped.” Of course, it wasn’t “right there” where they camped, but in his mind, he was transported to a different time and place. In his eyes, it was “right there.”
Passing a field, we heard of his days on Sun Prairie Flats and working the harvests all the way into Canada. Grazing horses evoked remembrances of working on the Long X Ranch. Stories flowed of the mountains around Calgary and celebrating the Queen’s birthday. Tale after tale followed.
As he reminisced, he marveled at the land around him. His eyes twinkled with every recollection.
Oh, that we could see the world around us through such eyes.