When my grandmother read in the Heber paper that the Glanville boys were going to spend their summer breaking horses in Park City, she proudly announced in hushed tones to her giggly girl friends at church, “ I’m going to ride horses all summer for money.”
It didn’t matter a bit that grandma had no idea who the brothers were. She saw it as a chance to ride horses for fun and spending money.
For several days, she made the walk up the hill to Peterson’s turnout, where grandpa and Uncle Blaine were breaking horses for the miners. These were not riding horses by any stretch of the imagination.
These were dirty, nasty, wagon burners, and all they were good for was “pulling logs or bear bait.” But, grandma walked up there, sat atop the corral “on the hinge side of the gate, so they could see me,” just waiting to be asked “to ride something”
For three days, neither brother paid any attention to “the shorter than most chairs” Mormon girl.
Finally on the fourth morning, Uncle Blaine decided he was going to ask her to Saturday’s dance at the Grange Hall. Well, Grandpa thought otherwise.
Uncle Blaine swore that he’d have won the scuffle if “my own damn brother hadn’t near drowned me in the water trough.”
The rest, as they say, “is history.”
They stuck together for 64 years, and no one in the family ever heard a cross word between them or from them.
Even when I came along, they were still just two kids happy to be with each other.
I always thought it was “just mushy” to see this four-foot- something lady holding hands with this six-foot-two cowboy that always cow eyed her.
I bring them up because this month is our anniversary, mine and Jane’s.
Granted, we didn’t hang out in a corral; it was Roy’s frontroom putting together a computer desk thing-a ma-jig.
Like Grandpa, I’ve heard most of the reasons people gave Jane for not being seen with me, let alone marrying me.
Like Grandma, Jane sees life without a contingency plan.
“It is what it is,” and for my sake the trips the weak side takes “to the land far, far away with the pixies and trolls,” fits in pretty good.
As life will have it, I still think it’s “just mushy” to walk with Jane holding hands, sticking my tongue out at all the worrisome folks that told her not to.
Happy anniversary, darlin’.
Now for something completely different
Since June has begun, I’ve noticed a lot of the fish-aholics among us are making a habit of skipping our very important meetings.
How do you expect to pass this infirmity onto our youth if you’re not willing to attend?
If you’ve forgotten times, places and requirements, here they are again: anytime is fine, as long as there’s a body of water with fish in it, and as always, you must drag a kid along with you.
I’m starting the rumor of three-pound trout at the Moffat County Public Safety Center, but don’t forget, only kids can fish for them, but it still counts as a meeting.
My sister-in-law, who dislikes her name in the paper, is celebrating her birthday (somewhat) on June 6. Happy birthday, Mrs. J. Southard.
On Mother’s Day, Wal-Mart gave its female employees a rose. If they don’t do something for the male employees on Father’s Day, is that sexual harassment?
Hey, you be careful out there.