OLD LINE SHACK (4)

OLD LINE SHACK (4)

 

Dang.  With Christmas time, visitors and other

great things happening, I just plumb forgot

the old line shack.

 

The last time I was down by the crick, where

the old line shack is, there was a teen age girl

chop`n firewood for the cook stove, an old

dog  with three legs lay`n by a horse that was

tied to the front porch.  Of course there was

me, sitt`n my  sorrel pacer and roll`n a smoke

with the make`ns.

 

I was go`n inside, but I don`t know them folks

and they sure don`t know me.  I just looked

around the yard where I used to play when

just a wee kid.   The old snapp`n turtle that

almost got me when I thought it was a mountain

lion.  The old dog reminded me of the one we

had, got caught in a trap one winter and he

gnawed his leg off to get out.  We pampered

him for a while, but he didn`t need no help, he

was just fine.

 

Look`n out across the yard reminded me of the

Christmas tree that used to grow on the far

cutbank.  My Mother used to see it from her

kitchen window `til one day, just before Christmas

my brother came drag``n it home behind his

horse and put it up in the front room.

 

That was in the old days, when the shack was

home.

 

We used to hold the spring round up out there

in the corrals.  Cowboys used to rope and ride

with their .44 by their side.  Actually it was more

than likely just a .22.  The West had already been

won and the gun was just used for shoot`n

rattle snakes.

 

But, it was fun times.  Big bon fire with some

cowpuncher smoke`n up a bunch of Mountain

Oysters.  Some other Honyokker strum`n an old

beat up guitar.   Bawlin calves be`n stripped of

their masculinity , herds of cattle be`n drove in

and out to the tune of yell`n , git- hah !

 

Old Fred, the neighboring rancher who teased

me unmercifully, sitt`n on a stump by the camp

fire.  He slapped his leg when he told a great

joke, slapp`n the pocket full of stick matches he

always carried.   How I rolled on the ground in

a fit of laughter when I saw him erupt in a mass

of flames, runn`n for the crick to jump in and put

out the fire.

 

You might say , "those were the days", but you

would be wrong. Them ghosts of the days and

nights, old memories kinda brand a place in the

mind where it flares up now and then and them

ghosts come march`n `cross the pasture by the

old line shack.

 

----- Eagle Cruagh

Reviews

[paparapapa]

Made me think of the past. Such a refreshing read. :) Well, I gotta say that I really love the accent of your writes. In fact, whenever I read a piece of yours, I read it in my mind with my lame imitation of your accent. :))) just say'n. :))))) anyway, definitely keep on writing and bring us more smiles. :P

[emmajoy]

There's real nostalgia running right through this wonderful write .. yet the ending made me sigh .. a sad sigh that only your kind of writing can produce. You can make me laugh, you can bring tears to my eyes .. whichever, Eagle, I know you know how.

Places and faces do things to a person, 'Them ghosts of the days and nights, old memories kinda brand a place in the mind where it flares up now and then and them ghosts come march`n `cross the pasture by the old line shack.

Could almost hear you too!

[Kenneth The Poet]

Got to love those childhood memories for sure.

[Marie Harrison]

Amazing write.
Made me smile!