This Memorial Day weekend will be a big one for Mary and me, as it has been for several years running. I’ve been busy preparing another presentation for the annual Dakota Cowboy Poetry Gathering. A call to my doctor got me another prescription of my stage-fright medicine, and I’m ready to go. Who’d have thought, not me, that I’d walk on a stage with a guitar to sing and play “stuff” I’ve written. It went over well enough last year. I know because I was asked for copies of that stuff so it could be used other places. This year I’m turning serious and tying together my cowboy poetry theme with the spirit of Memorial Day. My Grandpa fought in World War I with a division made up of cowboys from the Dakotas, Wyoming, Montana, etc. so I’ve had an interesting time researching and writing this all up and think it will fit in quite nicely.
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Yesterday a letter in my mailbox came as a complete surprise. It was from a cousin I hadn’t seen or heard from for 40-50 years. She has been living in New York City and sounds as though she has done quite well for herself. She stumbled upon this blog while cruising around the internet and was prompted to get in touch. She spoke of her fondness for our grandpa so I forwarded much of my Medora presentation to her. Personal letters have become something of a rarity and are always appreciated when they arrive.
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It is dry in this part of the country. Plants and trees are greening up, but strong winds want to blow and suck moisture out of the ground. Weathermen tease us with their percent chance of rain, but nothing has fallen yet. Rain fell in a timely fashion last year and the good hay crop furnished enough so that one can see quite a little carryover in ranchers’ yards to use next winter if the hay doesn’t grow this year.
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Word came this week of the death of a friend’s father. The paper stated he was 101 years old. His life was an example of a hardworking farm life not hurting him but instead probably contributed to his longevity. I have lots of good memories of him.
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Well, I’ve done enough bloviating for this week. I’m tempted to put a counter on this blog so I can find out if anyone besides my cousin reads it. In one sense, it doesn’t matter a lot to me since this is a log, akin to a diary, where I place random thoughts and themes. Forcing myself to write once a week makes my brain work.
