This family won "Guess the Weight" contest on Doris's pumpkin, Pretty in Pink, weighting 524 lbs. Basin Nursery gave them a very nice gift certificate to local store.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Kyle Fox with his wife Carrie "Foxxy momma" and their sons. Kyles pumpkin weighted 742 lbs at the Thanksgiving Point weigh off. It had dehydrated during the time it was on exhibition and weight 728 at Rowley Farms weight off. It is a bueatiful orange pumpkin. Kyle and Carrie helped put on a Giant Pumpkin Drop where Carrie's pumpkin weighting over 500 lbs was dropped from a crane 175 feet onto a car. Kyle will be in charge of Utah Giant Pumpkin Growers weight off next year. I hope I can convince him to help us put on a Giant Pumpkin Drop at Basin Nurserys weigh off in Vernal, Utah. I guess it will help if I pay off my debt to Fox family. I lost the bet and I owe the Fox Family a dinner. I hope to retire that obligation in the near future.
This pumpkin placed 3rd for weight and 2nd in painting contest at Rapid City, SD. It weighted 484 lbs and was grown by Doris. I am standing behind pumpkin which is being weighted as an exhibition pumpkin, ( it had been weighted at another contest.)Doris named this pumpkin the Swan as it was an ugly duckling as a young plant and turned into a bueatiful pumpkin after it was painted. This pumpkin was painted by renown Indian artist, Evan Flammond Sr, who is a Rosebud Sioux. If we have big pumpkins next year plan to take them to Rapid City and enter the contest and have them painted. Ladies especially like to look at this painted pumpkin. Hopefully Mr Flammond will consent to paint one of our pumpkins next year.
My pumpkin coming out of the pumpkin patch, compliments of good friend, Arn and his skidsteer. His sons and workers help load the pumpkins for us. This pumpkin and the one in previous picture were used for a "Guess the Weight" contest at Basin Nursery in Vernal, Utah. This pumpkin weighted 732 lbs at Rowley Farm's Giant Pumpkin Weight off in Santiquin, Utah.
Sign at edge of Hartsville, WY. Hartsville is built in a gully with a dry stream running thru town. One of the building, a fire station or city building, if I remember correctly spans the dry stream and run off can go under building and down the country. This town was probably a mining town in the beginning and many of them were built in gullys or small valleys near mining operations. The sites were not picked for ease in building but was close in proximity to mines.
Yes, real cowboys still exist "Out West." This ranch owner is leaving the local watering hole in Hartsville, WY. He got into his Dodge Cummin pickup pulling a gooseneck horse trailer to finish the days work or maybe just go home and kick back. These people live a rough life, many times for very little money putting up with government regulations and uncertian market prices to give us good red meat. Thank heaven there are still men and women that raise beef so we can have a good T-Bone steak. I take my hat off to them and hope they can continue to keep beef rolling off the range or feedlots and onto our tables.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
This story by Dean Reynolds was published in Archery magazine, July 1960. Dean calls it Bucks at Dawn.
It was morning in the Uintah mountain, I tossed a handful of chips on the cold remains of last night's campfire. A miniature cloud of fine ashes churned up to fleck my shirt sleeve. Two or three more times I blew before hidden embers discovered the fresh fuel and unfurled a wisp of fragrant smoke and hungrily tasted the wood with eager orange tongues.
As I added more fuel, the fire quickly responded. Its dancing light filtered through thin walls of the tent and mischieviously danced with shadows across the eyes of my sleeping partner. The flickering light distured his sleep. He opened his eyes . A sudden thought raced through his mind. Today was the day and tomorrow and next week and the next. With unaccustomed eargerness he rolled out of the sack into the chill, pale starlight of early morning.
"Morning, Dean," he yawned. "I'll warm up things tomorrow morning while you lay in bed."
"I won't hold you to that," I said, "I don't minind a bit getting out early. Especially on the first day of archery season. Let's grab a bite and get at 'em before daylight."
Ten minutes later we separated. My partner, having drawn out on an elk permit, moved off to the west to scout for elk as well as hunt his buck. He was immediately out of sight. I listened a moment to his fading footsteps and then turned my steps to the east, working my way up over a small hogback and down into a draw which is one of my favorite spots. There is a belt of aspen growing up the bottom of this draw, and on each side in several places there are pointed growths of them growing up the hillside. I wanted to be in one of these points of quakies come daylight, but right now I was having a time of it in the darkness. I guess I swore a little before I had made my way down into the gbottom and up out into easier going.
I crawled the last few remaining yards to within a hundred feet of the end of the trees which ended among tall sage and service berry bushes. A gentle, but chill, north wind was finding its way down my neck past my left ear. I reached up and fastened the top button of my shirt while noticing the sky lighting up in front of me to the east. Now and then I could hear a bird chirp out hesitntly as if it was forbidden. I settled down in a fresh deer bed which was free of noisy leaves and dry twigs to wait for daylight. I knew some good bucks were bedding in here, because I had kept an eye on them the past couple of days. One of them was a dandy four-point with antlers polished so well the tips were the color of a well-used bone knife. Ten minutes went by. I could see 50 yards now down into the trees where a robin was beginning to uncork his throat strings. I squirmed uneasily as the chill ground soaked through the seat of my britches an raised goose pimple up my spine. Now that I could see a little, I thought I'd better get into a more favorable position for shooting, and also get behind a little better cover.
As I rolled over to the left and palmed my bow to move up the hill a bit. I caught the dark outlines of five head of deer on the skyline ahead. As they stood etched against the purple sky, I could make out that they were all bucks. One of them looked huge in the poor light, and he was nervously looking back over his shoulder as if spooked by hunters below. Their hooves clicked faintly on stones as they moved off the skyline and into the deep shadows moving my way. I couldn't see them for a few minutes, but as the light increased spotted them moving along the fringe of the threes to my right. The large buck still showed signs of unesiness but the smaller ones seemed to be only curious, and I imagined they repected what his decision would be. They hung back a little, however , as he moved into the trees with long, stiff-legged strides, pushing up little mounds of dry leaves with his front feet. He didn't like to come in cross-wind as he was, but neither did he want to stay exposed out in the open.
Other creatures were now making themeselves heard. Several robins in the trees behind me were talking among themselves. A lengthy rustling in the leaves turned out to be chipmunk as he hesitantly moved along and ended up in the same bush with me. My nose itiched at that moment and as my left hand came up to scratch it, he ran up along a branch and stopped. We stared at each other from 2 feet with my left hand caught in mid air. As my arm got tired I slowly started to let it sink back down but he caught the movement and jumped off the limb onto the ground and went chattering down the hill with the dry leaves flying up behind him.
My attention jerked back to the buck. He had stopped as he heard the chipmunk, and he now stood behind a cluster of trees not 20 yards away. One antler swept out into view, all that's all I could see for a minute as I searched for a target. All I could find was his left hind quarter. Not a very good target, but as he was facing in my direction I figured I had been spottd and had no choice but to try him. My bow was already in the vertical positin with the end resting on the ground, so I started a slow draw then he moved, trotting toward me at an angle. He didn't know I was there. I was at full draw now, and I held it. Eight steps in front of me he stopped with his shoulder exposed. In the bad light, I thought he was the largest deer I had ever seen. Being uphill from me he seemed to tower over me, and his great antlers thrust into the sky. With a crack my arrow took him right where I was looking, even thought I had not been conscious of loosing it. He bounced out to the edge of the trees and circled them. A hundred yards away he stopped for a second and then dived down the hill into the trees....dead.
Area covered with rocks or boulders are common near timberline. Rocks are generally covered with different color of lichen or moss. It is a little hard to walk thru these rock fields and some time it is best to hop from rock to rock. This is best done if a person is young and agile not old and stumble footed as I am. I wish I could trave through these rocks as I did as a young man.
Snow remains among the pines. Many times as a child my family would go to the mountain for a picnic. A typical picnic would consist of hot dogs roasted over a fire on a stick, potatoe chips, maybe potato salad if Mom had time to make it advance. Sometime marshmellows were roasted for desert if we had no ice cream. I did not like marshmellows and thought a far better use of them was to toss them into a fast flowing steam and use them for target practice with the .22s. The kids would play in the snow and have snowball fights. Sometime we would use the snow to make homemade ice cream. Snow was packed around the metal container in the icecream freezer and salt added. We kids would then take turns, turning the hand crank to make the ice cream. It seemed that it never would get done but finally the crank would become harder to turn and then you knew the ice cream was ready. We would add a bottle of homemade jam to the ice cream to give it a different flavor than vanilla. Raspberry, strawberry and peach were my favorite jams to add to the ice cream.
Many meadows are present in the high Uinta mountains. They are filled with flowers in the spring. Deer and elks as well as cattle feed in the meadows on the lush green vegatation. Togography in the high mountains is generally gentle with many flat places that form meadows. Small lakes sometimes occur in the meadows. In this area most of the moisture comes during the winter and seeps into the ground upon melting. This water fills the underground acquifers which comes to the surface in springs and rivers. Surface run off is kept where possible in reserviors which many times are natural lakes that have had small dams built to increase the amount of water that can be held back for use in the summer time for irrigation. Many of these dams were built in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). Men that had no jobs during the great depression worked in these camps. They living in the mountains and built many dams as well as other projects such as bidges and roads.
A camping area near the reservior in picture before. Teepee poles are there if you want to bring your own covers and sleep in a teepee. Poles are made of logdepole pine which grows in this area. I suspect that it got it's name from the fact that Indian used these long and skinny pine poles to build or hold up there lodges or teepees. Today farmers and ranchers use the poles to make pole fences or corrals. Insects have been killing many of these trees and the dead or dying timber causes a fire hazard. The pines also make excellent firewood and well as lumber. The dead insect killed trees makes excellent lumber if it can be harvested shortly after dying. If left too long the trees twist and crack and are no good for anything other than firewood.
It is the middle of winter and deer are starting to shed their horns (antlers). This buck has dropped one side and has one horn remaining. Picture is near Gunnison, CO and winter was rough of animals. Many winter killed as snow got too deep. Ones that were able to get up on the ridges where snow blew off survived. Many of young deer got in the bottoms of valleys and snow was too deep. Couldn't get back up high and died. A few weeks later passed thru this area and could see many dead deer along the side of the road.
This is an experience that happened to Dean Reynolds and his father as they were working on their ranch located on Lake mountain.
Dad and I were working on the fence at the foot of the mountain below Hornet springs. We were at the foot of the high knoll just west of the dipping corral. We had run a plastic water line from Hornet Springs down to this point and installed a watering trough just north of the fence line and had fashioned a gate at this point. We had the fence mostly completed with cedar posts and combinatin wire. Now we needed to stretch a strand of barb wire on top. As the fence came down the straight side of the knoll to the bottom and then straightned out on the level as it reached the gate a hundred yards farther on. It made it rather difficult to know how tight to stretch the barb wire because if it was stretched too tight then, it would be impossible to pull it down far enough in the middle to staple it to the cedar post. On the other hand, if it wasn't stretched enough it would be too loose when it was pulled down in the middle. So, after we had the barbed wire in place and stretched to where we figured it ought to be, having tied the wire to the top of jeep, I said to dad. "I'll walk up to the low spot in the fence and check if we have the wire stretched tight enough or not. Now, if it is too tight, I will wave my hand toward me for you to back the jeep up a little. But if it is too loose I will wave my hand toward you so you can tighten it up a smidgen" He said "Ok." So with hammer and staples I walked up through the sagebrush to the low spot in the fence. When I took hold of the bard wire and pulled it down, I found it was quite a bit too tight. So looking toward my father down by the gate, I waved my arm and hand toward me indicating that the wire was too tight and for him to loosen it up a bit by backing up the jeep. Well, poor ole dad. He miss read my signal and getting in the jeep, he went forward instead of backwards thereby tightening the wire further instead of loosing it. I don't know how far he drove forward but, it must have been several feet because the barb wire was jerked up above my head and i could hear the ping as it snapped. I was too far away to see the wire where it broke at the jeep, but, I could hear it coming and could see the sagebrush it was ripping up and throwing in the air. I could see the coil of barb wire just before it reached me. I threw my head back to get out of the way and at the same time put my hands up in front of my face and was nearly jerked off my feet as the coil of barb wire swoosed past me. My hands felt cool and as I looked down at them. I could see that my hands were bare and without the gloves. Looking to my left, I could see gloves tangled in the bundle of barb wire where it had spent its momemtum and came to rest laying on top of a big sage brush.
Dad and I were working on the fence at the foot of the mountain below Hornet springs. We were at the foot of the high knoll just west of the dipping corral. We had run a plastic water line from Hornet Springs down to this point and installed a watering trough just north of the fence line and had fashioned a gate at this point. We had the fence mostly completed with cedar posts and combinatin wire. Now we needed to stretch a strand of barb wire on top. As the fence came down the straight side of the knoll to the bottom and then straightned out on the level as it reached the gate a hundred yards farther on. It made it rather difficult to know how tight to stretch the barb wire because if it was stretched too tight then, it would be impossible to pull it down far enough in the middle to staple it to the cedar post. On the other hand, if it wasn't stretched enough it would be too loose when it was pulled down in the middle. So, after we had the barbed wire in place and stretched to where we figured it ought to be, having tied the wire to the top of jeep, I said to dad. "I'll walk up to the low spot in the fence and check if we have the wire stretched tight enough or not. Now, if it is too tight, I will wave my hand toward me for you to back the jeep up a little. But if it is too loose I will wave my hand toward you so you can tighten it up a smidgen" He said "Ok." So with hammer and staples I walked up through the sagebrush to the low spot in the fence. When I took hold of the bard wire and pulled it down, I found it was quite a bit too tight. So looking toward my father down by the gate, I waved my arm and hand toward me indicating that the wire was too tight and for him to loosen it up a bit by backing up the jeep. Well, poor ole dad. He miss read my signal and getting in the jeep, he went forward instead of backwards thereby tightening the wire further instead of loosing it. I don't know how far he drove forward but, it must have been several feet because the barb wire was jerked up above my head and i could hear the ping as it snapped. I was too far away to see the wire where it broke at the jeep, but, I could hear it coming and could see the sagebrush it was ripping up and throwing in the air. I could see the coil of barb wire just before it reached me. I threw my head back to get out of the way and at the same time put my hands up in front of my face and was nearly jerked off my feet as the coil of barb wire swoosed past me. My hands felt cool and as I looked down at them. I could see that my hands were bare and without the gloves. Looking to my left, I could see gloves tangled in the bundle of barb wire where it had spent its momemtum and came to rest laying on top of a big sage brush.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Gottum Biscuit by Dean Reynolds, see start in earlier post continued.....
When were all standing on the porch together, I said,"you stay here and sit down on porch and I will fix you biscuit." They knew what I said and I'll bet they knew English as well as I did. At least, they sat down on the edge of the porch and I turned and went back into the house and turned down the damper on the stove and stuffed it full of wood again.
I hurridly pulled two fry pans off the wall behind the stove and laid them on the stove opposite the firebox. Then I pulled three or four spuds out of the gunny sack in the back room and pealed and sliced them into one of the pans along with a dab of Crisco. I done the potatoes first because I knew they took longer to cook than the rest of the meal. I slid the pan of taters over on to the heat and then with butcher knife and meat saw I sliced the entire front leg into thin slices and rolled them in flour and filled a frypan full which only took half of what I had cut. I knew that as hungry as the Indians and myself were it would take at least two pans to fill us up. I like venison rolled in flour and fried just long enough without salt that the red juices are still visible on the top of the meat. If you salt the meat first before turning it over the salt will bring out the juices which will be dried up when the meat is turned and then it will be dryer and tougher. After turning the meat over you can then salt and pepper to taste. Don't over cook. If you do like I have just said, you can cut the venison with a fork.
I then lay a dipper on the stove and placed about three fourth cup of Crisco in it and set the pan on the warm side of the oven so the shortening would melt without getting hot. I had a fifty pound sack of flour which I stood up by the table and carefully rolled down the edges of the cloth until they were even or a little below the flour. The next step is very important. I took my fist and gently pressed the flour down in the middle until a depression was formed. I pressed down on the flour until it was compacted and felt solid without any give in it. Next, I took a cup and poured about two thirds full and poured it into the depression I had made in the flour. An Indian came to the doorway rubbing his stomach saying, "Biscuit" I said "Pretty soon" He went back and sat down with the other two and I could hear them talking to each other. I couldn't tell if they were speaking in English or Ute. I hurridly removed the first pan of meat onto a plate and filled the fry pan with the remainder and setting the pan back on the stove while adding more wood. Next I added three teaspoons of baking powder and one teaspoon of salt along with three heaping teaspoons of sugar to the flour mixture.
I took a fork and started to stir the liquid while letting the fork tines dig a little flour from off the sides. Then when the mixture barely started to thicken, I took the dipper with the lard in it and poured about half of in with the rest. I continued stirring the mixture while digging more flour from the sides until the dough was just barely stiff enough that I could handle it with my floured hands. Then I would squeeze off enough dough for a biscuit and dip it into the remaining grease in the pan and then pick it up and flip it the opposite end of the pan. I continued to do this until I had used up all the dough and the pan was full. Opening the oven door I set the pan of biscuits on the rack and closed the door. After turning the meat over I turned the taters and added a splash of water and putting a tin plate on top moved the pan away from the heat to steam a little.
By now, things were smelling pretty good and my mouth was watering and I knew the Indians could smell it too and wondered how long they could restrain themselves from rushing in and taking over. But they remained patient and stayed outside.
The second pan of meat was done so I added it to the rest and adding a little more grease to the pan I spooned a tablespoon of flour in with it and moved the pan to the hottest part of the stove to brown. It didn't take long and I added water to the pan of flour and grease and stirred the mixture with a large spoon while digging all the good stuff off the bottom of the pan. Hmmm. I peaked in the oven and could see the biscuits had raised and were getting brown on top. I continued stirring the gravy until it bubbled and thickened. After I salted and peppered it I moved it to the side of the stove then pulled the biscuits out of the oven. I cleared off the top of the kitchen table and set four plates on it along with knives and forks. I called to the boys to come inside.
They came inside and stood looking at the stove and I don't know how they restrained themselves from grabbing the food I had prepared. The kitchen table was next to the bed and I motioned for two of them to set there and the other to sit at the table in a chair at the end. After they had sat down, I went to the wood box behind the table and getting four sticks of firewood, I placed them on the table. I turned toward the stove and picking up the pan of gravy I carefully placed it on the top of two of the sticks of wood. Then likewise I placed the pan of fried taters on the other two sticks. There were twelve biscuits in the pan so holding the pan over each of the plates I dug out three biscuits and placed them on each plate. Now the pan of taters were in the way so I scooped out portions of them on each plate and setting the pan out of the way, I placed the plate of meat on the sticks where the spuds had been.
Now, the time had finally come. I stood and holding my open hands in front of me I beckoned them to dig in. And dig in they did. To heck with the forks. To heck with the gravy. In their eagerness to get the biscuits and taters and meat into their mouth using their fingers I thought they were going to spill the gravy all over the table so I grabbed the pan and set it back on the stove.
After they had eaten and licked their fingers, they sat back and looking at me they smiled and one of them said. "You heap good Man." I dipped them up some water out of the bucket to drink. Then with their bellys full they got up and went out the door on to the porch. Two of them jumped to the ground and started for their horses. The other one went to the corner of the porch and wrapping his arm around the corner post swung down and ran and caught up with the other two. Grabbing the bridle rope and a handful of mane they swung their right leg over their horses back and turning around trotting down across the grassy flat in front of the house until they dropped out of sight.
As I stood on the porch looking to where they had gone, Grey Bird blew his nose and all was quiet. Suddenly, I felt kinda lonesome and said in my mind. "Did what just happened this afternoon really happen?" Of course, I knew it did and also knowing that the trail the Indians were taking back to the reservation would bring them back into sight as it went through a low pass before curving around to the west five hundred yards south of the cabin. I couldn't see the trail from where I was but knew exactly where it was in the sagebrush. I didn't have but a few minutes to wait until suddenly they came back into sight and they were on a high lope. The bay was in front and the two pintos were close behind and their hooves were raising a little cloud of dust. They were too far away for me to tell exactly but they had their right arms in the air and I felt they were looking back at the cabin and waving goodbye. The sun was getting low in the west and I knew why they were in such a hurry as the reservation was way off and they knew it would probably be way after dark before they reached home.
I stood and kept watch the trail where they had gone out of sight until the dust thay had stirred up settled on the ground. By this time the sun had slipped out of sight behind the ridge to the west and the shadows began creeping across the flat in front of the house. I walked over to Grey Bird and spoke to him. "Well, my friend. It's too late for Willow springs today. We'll have to take the little ride tomorrow."
I slipped the hobbles on him and untied the hitch rope and watched as he turned and in short hops made his way to the bottom of the flat where there was a bare patch of dry ground. He went down on his knees and toppled over onto his side and began kicking his legs while rocking back and forth until he turned clear over and then repeated kicking before grunting up on his front feet then shaking his body. I guess that feels pretty good after having saddle on one's back most of the day.
I turned back to the cabin and cleaned up the dishes and pans. Then going out the front door, I sat down on the porch. By this time darkness was closing in and the night hawks began flitting in their gyrations low in the sky chasing after bugs. Once in awhile one would climb up high and dive towards the ground before braking with it's wings making a sound like a quiet roar. As the air cooled off, the smell of balsum pine came sliding down out of Lake creek to the north. I always looked forward to that time of day when I could get that smell.
Down in the flat I could hear a whipper will's call. I mimicked his mournful whistle until he flew and landed a few feet on the ground in front of me. I couldn't see him in the darkness but heard him as he landed there. I spooked him so he flew off as I turned to go back inside where I lite a candle and dripped a few drops of wax on the table where I stood the candle up in it. I undressed and climbed into bed. I lay there for a while thinking of the three Indian boys and wondering if they had made it back to the wigwam ok. A few mice were stirring behind the stove and I dozed off...........Wonderful day....
When were all standing on the porch together, I said,"you stay here and sit down on porch and I will fix you biscuit." They knew what I said and I'll bet they knew English as well as I did. At least, they sat down on the edge of the porch and I turned and went back into the house and turned down the damper on the stove and stuffed it full of wood again.
I hurridly pulled two fry pans off the wall behind the stove and laid them on the stove opposite the firebox. Then I pulled three or four spuds out of the gunny sack in the back room and pealed and sliced them into one of the pans along with a dab of Crisco. I done the potatoes first because I knew they took longer to cook than the rest of the meal. I slid the pan of taters over on to the heat and then with butcher knife and meat saw I sliced the entire front leg into thin slices and rolled them in flour and filled a frypan full which only took half of what I had cut. I knew that as hungry as the Indians and myself were it would take at least two pans to fill us up. I like venison rolled in flour and fried just long enough without salt that the red juices are still visible on the top of the meat. If you salt the meat first before turning it over the salt will bring out the juices which will be dried up when the meat is turned and then it will be dryer and tougher. After turning the meat over you can then salt and pepper to taste. Don't over cook. If you do like I have just said, you can cut the venison with a fork.
I then lay a dipper on the stove and placed about three fourth cup of Crisco in it and set the pan on the warm side of the oven so the shortening would melt without getting hot. I had a fifty pound sack of flour which I stood up by the table and carefully rolled down the edges of the cloth until they were even or a little below the flour. The next step is very important. I took my fist and gently pressed the flour down in the middle until a depression was formed. I pressed down on the flour until it was compacted and felt solid without any give in it. Next, I took a cup and poured about two thirds full and poured it into the depression I had made in the flour. An Indian came to the doorway rubbing his stomach saying, "Biscuit" I said "Pretty soon" He went back and sat down with the other two and I could hear them talking to each other. I couldn't tell if they were speaking in English or Ute. I hurridly removed the first pan of meat onto a plate and filled the fry pan with the remainder and setting the pan back on the stove while adding more wood. Next I added three teaspoons of baking powder and one teaspoon of salt along with three heaping teaspoons of sugar to the flour mixture.
I took a fork and started to stir the liquid while letting the fork tines dig a little flour from off the sides. Then when the mixture barely started to thicken, I took the dipper with the lard in it and poured about half of in with the rest. I continued stirring the mixture while digging more flour from the sides until the dough was just barely stiff enough that I could handle it with my floured hands. Then I would squeeze off enough dough for a biscuit and dip it into the remaining grease in the pan and then pick it up and flip it the opposite end of the pan. I continued to do this until I had used up all the dough and the pan was full. Opening the oven door I set the pan of biscuits on the rack and closed the door. After turning the meat over I turned the taters and added a splash of water and putting a tin plate on top moved the pan away from the heat to steam a little.
By now, things were smelling pretty good and my mouth was watering and I knew the Indians could smell it too and wondered how long they could restrain themselves from rushing in and taking over. But they remained patient and stayed outside.
The second pan of meat was done so I added it to the rest and adding a little more grease to the pan I spooned a tablespoon of flour in with it and moved the pan to the hottest part of the stove to brown. It didn't take long and I added water to the pan of flour and grease and stirred the mixture with a large spoon while digging all the good stuff off the bottom of the pan. Hmmm. I peaked in the oven and could see the biscuits had raised and were getting brown on top. I continued stirring the gravy until it bubbled and thickened. After I salted and peppered it I moved it to the side of the stove then pulled the biscuits out of the oven. I cleared off the top of the kitchen table and set four plates on it along with knives and forks. I called to the boys to come inside.
They came inside and stood looking at the stove and I don't know how they restrained themselves from grabbing the food I had prepared. The kitchen table was next to the bed and I motioned for two of them to set there and the other to sit at the table in a chair at the end. After they had sat down, I went to the wood box behind the table and getting four sticks of firewood, I placed them on the table. I turned toward the stove and picking up the pan of gravy I carefully placed it on the top of two of the sticks of wood. Then likewise I placed the pan of fried taters on the other two sticks. There were twelve biscuits in the pan so holding the pan over each of the plates I dug out three biscuits and placed them on each plate. Now the pan of taters were in the way so I scooped out portions of them on each plate and setting the pan out of the way, I placed the plate of meat on the sticks where the spuds had been.
Now, the time had finally come. I stood and holding my open hands in front of me I beckoned them to dig in. And dig in they did. To heck with the forks. To heck with the gravy. In their eagerness to get the biscuits and taters and meat into their mouth using their fingers I thought they were going to spill the gravy all over the table so I grabbed the pan and set it back on the stove.
After they had eaten and licked their fingers, they sat back and looking at me they smiled and one of them said. "You heap good Man." I dipped them up some water out of the bucket to drink. Then with their bellys full they got up and went out the door on to the porch. Two of them jumped to the ground and started for their horses. The other one went to the corner of the porch and wrapping his arm around the corner post swung down and ran and caught up with the other two. Grabbing the bridle rope and a handful of mane they swung their right leg over their horses back and turning around trotting down across the grassy flat in front of the house until they dropped out of sight.
As I stood on the porch looking to where they had gone, Grey Bird blew his nose and all was quiet. Suddenly, I felt kinda lonesome and said in my mind. "Did what just happened this afternoon really happen?" Of course, I knew it did and also knowing that the trail the Indians were taking back to the reservation would bring them back into sight as it went through a low pass before curving around to the west five hundred yards south of the cabin. I couldn't see the trail from where I was but knew exactly where it was in the sagebrush. I didn't have but a few minutes to wait until suddenly they came back into sight and they were on a high lope. The bay was in front and the two pintos were close behind and their hooves were raising a little cloud of dust. They were too far away for me to tell exactly but they had their right arms in the air and I felt they were looking back at the cabin and waving goodbye. The sun was getting low in the west and I knew why they were in such a hurry as the reservation was way off and they knew it would probably be way after dark before they reached home.
I stood and kept watch the trail where they had gone out of sight until the dust thay had stirred up settled on the ground. By this time the sun had slipped out of sight behind the ridge to the west and the shadows began creeping across the flat in front of the house. I walked over to Grey Bird and spoke to him. "Well, my friend. It's too late for Willow springs today. We'll have to take the little ride tomorrow."
I slipped the hobbles on him and untied the hitch rope and watched as he turned and in short hops made his way to the bottom of the flat where there was a bare patch of dry ground. He went down on his knees and toppled over onto his side and began kicking his legs while rocking back and forth until he turned clear over and then repeated kicking before grunting up on his front feet then shaking his body. I guess that feels pretty good after having saddle on one's back most of the day.
I turned back to the cabin and cleaned up the dishes and pans. Then going out the front door, I sat down on the porch. By this time darkness was closing in and the night hawks began flitting in their gyrations low in the sky chasing after bugs. Once in awhile one would climb up high and dive towards the ground before braking with it's wings making a sound like a quiet roar. As the air cooled off, the smell of balsum pine came sliding down out of Lake creek to the north. I always looked forward to that time of day when I could get that smell.
Down in the flat I could hear a whipper will's call. I mimicked his mournful whistle until he flew and landed a few feet on the ground in front of me. I couldn't see him in the darkness but heard him as he landed there. I spooked him so he flew off as I turned to go back inside where I lite a candle and dripped a few drops of wax on the table where I stood the candle up in it. I undressed and climbed into bed. I lay there for a while thinking of the three Indian boys and wondering if they had made it back to the wigwam ok. A few mice were stirring behind the stove and I dozed off...........Wonderful day....
This is Dean Reynolds, a good friend of mine. Dean is in his 80's and has seen some interesting things in his life. He has written about some of these experiences. This is one of his stories.
Gottum Bisquit by Dean Reynolds
I put foot into the stirrup and swung up onto Grey Bird and turned his head around to the east and rode out of Wild Horse basin where I had been repairing a water trough at Hornet spring. It was about two in the afternoon. It was hot and I was hungry. The trail was steep as we headed towards the cabin which lay just around the point of the ridge below us. I was giving Grey Bird his head as he picked his way through the rocks on the trail. He was always a better horse when we were headed towards camp.
As we came out of the trees where the cabin came into sight Grey Bird picked up the pace and we trotted up to the hitching rack. I swung down and pulled the saddle off and laid it on its side on the ground. I tied a hitching roped around the horses neck using a bowline knot and tied him up. I pulled the bridle forward off his ears and let the bit drop out of his mouth. Then I hung the saddle on a nearby quakie knot. I picked up a stick and scratting his back where the saddle had rested, I spoke to him and said. "I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to let you stand here while I fix and eat me some dinner. Then aftr I do that we are going to ride over to Willow Springs and check on the situation there." Grey Bird didn't say nothing, he just swithed flies off his butt with his tail and shook his head to scare more flies away.
I stepped up onto the porch of the cabin and stepping inside I picked up the water bucket and headed out the back door and made my way up the path north of the cabin to where the spring was located. It is in an ideal spot, shielded from the sun in the shade of quaken aspen trees. That spring is a dandy. It never goes dry and the water is ice cold. Below the spring where the water pushes its way through the grass is some of the sweetest watercress you could ever imagine. Sure makes a tasty sandwich when combined with bread and butter. Well, anyway, I dipped the bucket in the water and as I straightened up and turned toward the cabin, I glanced down to see if I could see any hair snakes in the water. Seems like there has always been hair snakes in that spring and sure enough I could see some now. I'm not lying to you. There are such things as hair snakes. Ask any old cowboy. They'll tell ya. A hair snake is about three to four inches long and has a distinct tiny head. As you look closely at it, it will slowly wiggle back and forth. I've drank a lot of that spring water and I wouldn't be surprised if I have swallowed a few of them in my time. Guess they won't hurt you. I'm still around.
I walked back to the cabin and going inside I set the bucket of water on a wooded bench and turned and picked out a stick of quackie wood from the wood box back of the cook stove. I picked out a stick that was about ten inches long and as big around a one of the old alka seltzer bottles. I pulled my pocket knife out of my levis and opened the blade. Then resting the end of the stick on the floor in front of me while holding the other end in my left hand I pushed the knife blade down into the stick so as to shave off a thin slice of wood. It pays to have your knife blade really sharp. As the knife blade goes down the piece of wood a thin strip of wood will be sliced off and it will curl away from the stick. Now stop the blade before it reaches the end of the wood which will leave the shaving attached to it. Now go back up the piece of wood and start another shaving stopping the knife before reaching the first one. Keep repeating this until you have four to eight shavings curling out away from the wood but still attached to it. Now, what your have ended up with is what we call a fuzz stick. It is a neat fire starter. All you gotta do is touch a lighted match to it then pile on some small pieces of wood and your fire is lite. So, after I had the fuzz stick burning in the stove and had several larger sticks of wood on top. I closed the lid and opened the stove draft half way.
While the stove was warming up, I went into the back room where there was a large bundle laying on some old bed springs. A couple of days before I had dressed out a buckskin. The first thing I had done after bringing it into the house was remove a front leg which I cut in strips to make jerky out of it. I don't like jerky that has all of those spices in it. For me, all those spices hide the true taste of the meat. There are two ways I like my jerky made. One way is to keep adding salt to a pan of water until it will float an egg. Then I dip the meat into the mixture for one minute then hang it out in the sun until perfectly dry. As I didn't have an egg, I made it the other way. You salt each piece with about four times as much as if you were going to fry it up. The salt will draw a lot of the juices from the meat then, put it in a container to marinate along with the juice for a couple of hours. Then when you hang it out in the sun and breezes, the juice on the meat will quickly dry forming a coating on it that is almost fly blow proof. After the jerky is dry and ready to eat, I don't like to chaw off a piece and try to chew it before swallowing. I like to take my pocket knife and shave off thin pieces of it and pop it into my mouth....HMMM Each night I would hang the deer carcass out in the air to cool off and then the next morning I would bring it inside and slide it into a meat sack. Then I would wrap a quilt around it and roll it in a tarp to keep the cool in. I unwrapped the bundle and rolled the meat sack back far enough so I could cut off a front leg. After doing so I rerolled the bundle planning to unwrap the meat and hang it out after sundown that night. I took the front leg into the kitchen and laid it on the table. I took a butcher knife out of the drawer and taking the meat saw off the wall behind the stove. I had just started to cut myself a few slices of meat to fry up. It was at that moment that I heard Grey Bird whinny.
Knowing that a horse just doesn't whinny for the fun of it, I stepped out the front door on to the porch. This was in the year of ninteen thiry nine and I was sixteen years old.
What met my eyes coming up the grassy flat a hundred yards from the cabin were three Indians on horseback. If you have ever swallowed a live gold fish that was how my stomach felt right then. All three of the Indians appeared to be around my age or maybe a little older. They were wearing tight fitting britches and were bare from the waist up. They could have been straight out of the movies of cowboys and Indians that I had seen. Their black hair was braided and hung down on both sides of their heads. Neither of them wore a hat but were bare headed. Two of them were riding pinto ponys and the third was on a bay horse. They were all riding bare back. I don't recall what kind of a bridle they were using but I do remember how thin their bodies were. The door was open and I could tell from the sound coming from the stove that I should close the damper. Two of the Indians stayed with the horses while one of them came walking towards the house where I sood on the porch with my heart pounding wondering what their intentions were. He stopped ten feet in front of me and looking up toward me said, "You gottum biscuit?" He didn't need to say more as I instantly knew he was asking for something to eat.
His tone of voice wasn't demanding. I could tell that he and his friends were really hungry and they showed it. I knew thay were from the reservation and that the town of White Rocks on the reservation was at least twenty miles away to the west. I lost my fear of them and felt what you might call compassion and sympathy on their behalf. I indicated with my open right hand for him to come up on to the porch with me then beckoned toward the other two to come on to the house also. Which they did.
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