Country people are grounded in time and truth. Of course, I over-generalize and am probably a wee bit prejudice. Being a red-neck girl, I gravitate towards boot cut Levi’s, cowboy boots, a western shirt, and a great Stetson. Saturday, I experienced the closest thing to time travel possible through an annual dinner.
It was a day to turn on the radio and begin scouring, on a mission to finish fall cleaning by Nevada Day, (the last Friday in October). Always very confusing, Nevada Day is sometimes the same day as Halloween, causing families to make the choice between attending big parades or taking the kiddos to Trick or Treat. Living in a small town, both dates are loved and celebrated.
Fall cleaning includes everything from changing out the AC filter to washing the base boards. Living in the desert, the wind blows. By the end of summer, it’s quite a job to get everything holiday ready. This is a great time of year to donate to my favorite thrift store, or just throw stuff out. Each room is tackled seperately.
Planning my cleaning schedule, I was interrupted by a phone call from a woman from my past. Almost old enough to be my mom, she raised her children on a vineyard very near our home place. Always light-hearted and fun, her kids knew how to play, while being lucky enough to have their very own pony. From now on, I will refer to her as Pony Mom.
Pony Mom birthed three children, but she also owned a small horse. Not just another animal, this was the fourth child. It knew when to be an older sibling and watch out for the kid brothers and sister. It knew when to be patient and put up with the kids, or when to call it a day and return to the barn. This pony was invited into their house on at least one occasion that I know of. Named Sugar, she had an willful identity all her own. I never knew her to hurt anyone intentionally, but have no doubt, she ruled her own little world.
Ponies are like the cutest of small children. Their behavior is often like that of an indulged child. Quite frankly, they can be brats and get away with a lot because of their cuteness. Once in awhile, Sugar visited our ranch. She’d tolerate all the extra rides and attention until deciding her visit was over. Trotting just faster than six stair stepped could run, she’d head down a row of vines, make a turn at the avenue, arriving to the safety of her barn. Great kid’s ponies are not trained but a gift from God. Sugar was just such a pony.
As kids do, we all grew and their family moved to another ranch miles and miles away. We’d run into them over the years, always marveling that all of us did okay in life. The country is a great place to raise free-range children. We learned to problem solve and create our own kind of entertainment. Bronzed kiddos, lean and inquisitive about the world, we snacked on bell peppers and cherry tomatoes from the garden. Summer time brought Elbow Peaches, named so because of the juice that would run to our elbows as we ate them right off the tree. Sitting under a vine, we’d plan our lives while reaching up to pick fresh grapes. If we were really quiet, we were be totally hidden from view while watching the world go by. The simple life of farm kids, magical by any standard.
Answering Saturday’s phone call, to my surprise, it was sweet Pony Mom. During the conversation, she made reference to some ancestral names shared between our two families. We’re probably distant cousins. We talked of people from the little country church that my Great-Grandparents helped build. The elders are slowly disappearing now. Women who cooked for funeral dinners for neighbors are all gone. The church community is different now, being more modern.
We talked about the American Historical Society of German’s from Russia. A small museum in Fresno, California houses historical records and heirlooms from valley residents who made their way from the Volga region of Russia to the Central Valley of California starting in the late 1800’s. Our ancestors did just that, traveling through Ellis Island. We marveled at the difficulty of the trip, amazed at how strong they were. Many people died as they walked across Poland to catch a boat to freedom. Those were MY people. I assure you, there was no white privilege when forced to leave their home or face exile or death.
Chatting with Pony Mom, there was no indication of our 20 year age difference. Our birthdays, both being in December, didn’t matter. It was the memories and history that made us laugh and remember such a sweet time in our lives.
After finishing the phone call, I had to hurry to get ready. I was about to attend an annual dinner for a gun club in a little town to the East. Not sure what to wear, I dressed as I would for church in a dress and party shoes.
The dinner was like every other annual business dinner for a club. The difference was that the door prizes were very expensive firearms. With raffle tickets costing $5 each, everyone was full of excitement as we waited until the last piece of homemade cobbler was consumed before winning tickets were pulled and announced. Winners would start the paperwork for ownership in the legal way at the local gun store. No firearms or people left early, all awaiting their chance with Lady Luck.
Members attending the meeting were my people. Looking around, it was if I was a teenager again, attending a function in my home town. This was one of the biggest events of the year. Local ranchers gathered to talk about such things as the drought and the price of beef. They talked about small town shops and gossip about those that bought thousands of dollars of raffle tickets. Five such people joined me to become dinner friends. California escapees all, we were all on the adventure of a lifetime living real life in the wild, wild west.
No, I didn’t win anything, but one of the ladies at our table won a pistol. Not bad for a $5 investment.
Driving back through the desert night, it was a perfect ending to a perfect day. The high desert of North Western Nevada is a place where time may not have stopped, but has surely slowed a little. A place where men can be men, and women love them just the way they are. A wonderful place that I call home.