A Day of Thanksgiving

There's a “special” day for just about any reason you can think of, but my favorite of all has got to be Thanksgiving. We tend to take a whole lot for granted as we go on about our day to day lives, and it's good to have a time where we slow down and look around, and see just how good God has been to us. And what sorry people we are, because we don't deserve a bit of it.

I'm not a big fan of turkey anyway, and it really grates on me to have Thanksgiving Day denigrated to the status of “Turkey Day”. In fact, I seldom cook turkey. Usually we have roast beef and ham. And once in awhile, since we often have guests that expect the obligatory turkey, I will even roast a turkey breast, so we won't be deemed quite as weird as we are.

When the kids were little, we often went to Grandma and Grandpa's-- either one. Both sides of the family had lots of kids, and having all the cousins together was a lot of fun. Sometimes I wonder how the grandparents kept their sanity.



2 of my brothers, myself, and our kids at my folks when they lived in Canada. 
(Confusing since Canada's Thanksgiving is in October.)  Brother standing behind Dad on
 the right, and his bride on the left, are responsible for 5 of the boys-- and a little girl.

But the years when ranch-work wouldn't allow us to get away, I'd cook dinner at home, and invite the single cowboys, or people that didn't have anywhere to go. Old, young, it didn't matter. Thanksgiving is a time for family and sharing, and no one should have to eat alone. Those were special times, and when the kids were in college, they'd always bring home a stray—or two—or three. Apiece. We loved it.


Kids and friend from the Youth Challenge program playing on the ditch after dinner, Thanksgiving 2010

One year we had about six college age kids camped out in the basement. We were way out in the sticks, which worked well. They came to our Wednesday night church service with the kids, and when they got home they got started on a game of pinochle-- and didn't quit. All...Night...L-o-n-n-g!

They killed the pumpkin pie to keep them going. We could hear EVERY thing, all the giggling, roars of victory, and smart remarks. Even with pillows over our heads! I think Clayton and Nate finally crashed about 3 or 4 a.m. Because they had big hunting plans for 6 a.m. That was one of our all time favorite Thanksgivings.

This year it seemed like a week-long Thanksgiving. It has to be one of the best ever.

Our housewarming party was the Saturday before. In spite of hunting, preg-testing, and football championships, we still ended up with over 70 friends, family, and neighbors who stopped by and stuck around most of the afternoon. It was the coldest day of the year so far, but it was warm and comfortable in the house, and we had loads of food and a good time just doing some old-fashioned visiting.

I don't know if we could have pulled it off without those 3 lovely young ladies who we are fortunate to be able to call our daughters. Once the first door-bell rang, I pretty much left them on their own, to make sure all the food and drinks were out, to meet, to greet, to visit, and to make sure kids had help getting served.

We had plenty left for Thanksgiving, and I just left the table extended all the way out because all the kids and the 2 grand-babies were coming and staying overnight. Everybody else who had been invited already had other plans, so this year it was just us. That was special too.

Thanks to little miss “Happiness Captured”, we had the first family photos we've had since Clayton got married. We even color coordinated for the first time ever! Another good day to remember. And to remember how blessed we as a family, and we as a nation, are.

God forgive us for our un-thankfulness.

Blessed be the Lord, who daily loadeth us with benefits, even the God of our salvation. PS 68:19





Cowboy Carpenter



1986 - Cowboy carpenters patching roof
on cowcamp barn. It's gray tin now.

I'm not real sure how this fits with “scenes from the saddle” aside from the fact that this little cabinet looks like something we might have drug in from an old shop or barn. We've explored a lot of old homestead era buildings while out on the range, and have drug in more than one old, but salvageable item over the years.

At least that's the look I wanted. I looked all over the state and E-bay for a specific size cabinet that would fit on the end of that wall, and display my old “True West”, and new “Montana Brand” dishes. And, it had to fit my cowboy budget: fairly cheap, or free.

I finally found this nice modern white laminated one, made in Japan, with the put-together-number stickers still attached to the various pressed wood pieces. BUT, and this was the biggie, it was the perfect size. And I just knew my favorite cowboy could remodel it for me.

He amazes me with the stuff he can do. As long as I don't mind a little...umm... “primitive” look. He calls it crude, but the antique stores call it primitive-- and jack the price up about three times. My taste may be “primitive”, but I guess that's because the style incorporates the distressed “cowboy character” I'm always harping on.

My cowboy took the cabinet outside and went to work on it. He knew I planned on beating it up, so he didn't worry about dinging it. Pleased with the outcome, he set it up on the concrete floor of my laundry/sewing room, and told me it was ready, and that he'd “tightened” it up for me as well.

“Hmmm, I need to get my putty knife and spackle, and fix those screws”, I thought to myself as I glanced at my waiting project when I walked by the room.

WHOA! Screws? I don't remember there being screws on the outside... I didn't have the heart to have a hissy fit and tell my favorite cowboy he'd just turned my expensive primitive cabinet into a cheap crude one. Instead, as calmly as I could, I just commented that if he was going to use screws on the outside, he should consider counter-sinking the heads.

“Well, I knew you planned on taking a hammer and wrecking bar to it, so I didn't figure the screws would make any difference.” was his cowboy logic.

 I managed to get all but 2 of the screws mostly hidden. The other 2 just had those edges that stuck right up there where it was impossible to get a nice smooth transition. Since I didn't really have a clue as to what I was doing, I did a lot of looking on the internet, and combined bits and pieces of several how-to instructions into my own thing.

Then I had another wild hair. I liked the way my re-finished old coffee table turned out so much due to the kid's “distressing” when they were little, that, wouldn't it be neat to carve all 8 of our names (mom, dad, kids and grandkids) into my project, along with the year of our house!

Someone told me, at least once or twice, that not every idea that pops into your head is a good idea. This was probably one of those.

It took me at least 2 full days to get them carved to where they looked kind of right. By the time I'd done Ray and I and the girls, I had figured out that names longer than 3 or 4 letters were too long. I reduced Clayton and Kristine to initials on the other side, but spelled out their 2 kids full names. The good thing is, I strategically placed them to help camouflage screws.

So, this is how I work under pressure-- spend 2 days carving names when I need to be cooking, baking, and cleaning for our housewarming party! I finished a final coat of varnish by 3 on Friday morning, with 35 hours left to get ready for our housewarming... no wonder I stress out. (In highschool I studied for tests the night before with a flashlight under my covers!

Next week... Housewarming and Thanksgiving

Here is a link to a fun blog where I found the best info to get me going: http://movitabeaucoup.com/2010/07/19/how-to-antique-and-distress-furniture-with-paint/)

Cowboy Heart

"Cowboy Conference" Two graduated "wannabe's", and Colt, during fall gather.

It's been said that “a person wrapped up in himself makes a pretty small package”.

Until I married Ray, I never gave much thought to the differences between cowboys aside from the main categories: real working cowboy, rodeo cowboy, and wannabe-a-cowboy. I of course, had my sights set on the first category since I always figured that was the only “real” cowboy.

A guy I worked with up north finally told me that all I was going to find up there were loggers, and that if I wanted a cowboy, I needed to move down here, since this was ranch country, and this was where the “real” cowboys were.

I'd never been to this part of the state, and even up there we made fun of Butte-- next best sport to telling North Dakota jokes! I listened to him though, and I'm so glad. I still run into him once in awhile since he retired in Butte. He's one of my favorite friends from my past, and he is tickled to death that his advice was so successful.

He's the kind whose happiness comes from having a hand in the happiness of others. He is an unusual single person in that his world doesn't revolve around himself. If he weren't an Irish construction engineer, I could probably call him a “real cowboy”. I think if I went deeper into my cowboy distinctions, they would have a general breakdown encompassing most situations: (Bear in mind, I'm coming from a skewed perspective since I happen to be married to the world's best “real cowboy”.)

Real Working Cowboy > has a passion for quality of life, even if it means living at the so-called “poverty” level, and going without some things. That passion comes from caring about basic life, loving to work hard outdoors, and the ability to spend quality time with family. He cares about the welfare of the things under his stewardship, and the welfare of others. He gives very little thought to what others think as long as he's confident he's doing the right thing to the best of his ability. He's very likely to have faith in Jesus Christ, and to glorify Him as the Creator--or at the very least, he lives a life in line with God's laws.

Rodeo Cowboy > also has a passion for life, with a narrower focus. He revels in improving his personal skills to the point where his performance is consistently sharp. Quality of life is not nearly as important, since his passion stems from always looking ahead to his goals. He has a faithful, loyal circle of friends within that focus. Often, his main job is simply a means of subsidizing his personal quest for excellence. He's often on the road, and his main focus is the thrill of the next contest, and making it to the top. Some have a relationship with Jesus Christ, but are more likely to manage that relationship to fit their own personal goals, rather than align their goals to the relationship.

Wannabe a Cowboy > This can actually be broken down two ways. The ones who “wannabe” so bad that they make it happen, and then the ones who think it would be fun to be a part of that circle, but are not willing to make the sacrifice. They are content to put on the garb and look the part-- and maybe even fool a girl or two, as well as themselves. Often the latter category will grow up and move on, but some never do. Some actually work on ranches and make pretty fair hands. But they got no heart. They're in it for the glory. 

It's been fun over the years, to watch some wannabe's become the genuine article. The gal from a wealthy family in Connecticut, the working class young man from Pennsylvania. The black kid from Alabama (with top level political connections) who stole his grandfather's old pickup at age 15, and headed west. Farmers from Wisconsin and Kansas, a couple young high school dropouts from Montana, and this dairy farmer from up north (but south of the border). 

Clayton and Colt, one of the kid's favorite cowboys.



“Real Cowboys”, regardless of their occupation, have a heart for others. Their own success comes from helping others be successful.

Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others. Phil 2:4

Flying Time



Clayton, his wife Kristine, and Kyle, heading out on a miserable, slippery
November day to search for missing cattle.



You'll find a lot of ranchers up-in-the-air about this time of year. Sometimes finding all your cattle for fall round-up can be a bit of a challenge. One of our old neighbors came up short 30 calves this fall. Most of those though, spend summer in an area that's become infested with wolves, and since most of the mother cows are accounted for, it's a pretty good chance that their babies fell victim to the local wolf packs. Pretty pricey dogfood considering the price of calves this fall.

Sometimes, especially with yearlings, there will be little bunches that have found themselves a nice pocket of trees somewhere, or are up on a higher, steeper place than the mountain goats. Those can be a bugger to get even if you find them by flying. Footing can be scary in the summer, but downright treacherous this time of year. Usually it's best to ride to the top of the ridge above them, then bother them until they start moving. (i.e: scream and holler until you're hoarse, and roll and throw rocks down the side of the mountain.) At least they're in the pasture where they belong.

Then you have the case of gates left open by inconsiderate people-- or sometimes torn down by game, or even cattle. The stolen gate I talked about last week, resulted in a case of twenty-some missing cattle. The rancher ended up having to hire a plane to try and find them. Sure enough, they'd all gone through the missing gate to the other side of the mountain. Today Ray and another cowboy drove to our old place-- about 100 miles each way, then rode up the mountain from that side, bringing the missing cattle down to those corrals, and hauling them home from there. A lot of extra time and expense.

On another “flying time” note, I sent out our first batch of invitations for a housewarming we're planning. Scary thought. Can't change the date now. Time to kick in my “work under pressure routine”. I only have one piece of furniture left to refinish, and I want to get that done. Anything else that's not done will just have to wait, or I won't have a clean house or enough appetizers.

Of course I may not anyway since we're flying by the seat of our pants. I don't know if we'll need enough for 50, or 200! Besides the invitations, we're doing an open invitation in our new neighborhood.

I could probably count the parties I've planned, on three fingers. It ranks right below cooking for a crew on the anxiety scale. But, I'm also excited since this is the first time in our married life we've lived in an actual neighborhood, in our very own house.

I've never been scared of flying, so guess it's not time to choke up now!