The Gathering

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I had already titled and loaded the photos for this next post when I received word that I had lost a special old friend to cancer. I have not suffered well the loss of precious old allies in this new millennium and my thoughts and writing reflect that troubling sorrow too well this time so please forgive any typos and disjointed thoughts from my deep distractions of the last week. I decided to leave the title as it was and add my recent loss to "The Gathering".
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May was always a bittersweet time of sudden activity out at the ranch. It was a time of fresh life bursting out in new greens and bright colors but also a time for the Colorado cowboys to wrap up their winter graze and head home. By June, the canyons and mesa tops would be empty of cattle and their rowdy, adorable caretakers and then remain deafeningly void of that delightful cowboy mischief until their eventual return with the first signs of early winter.
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So, this time last year, Terry and I headed 'up top' to meet up with Slim and a rep from a gas drilling corporation. We would take a hard right at the foot of this mesa after leaving our place and continue on some eight miles or more before arriving at Slim's place. He was either our second or third closest neighbor, depending on what roads you took. If you counted in the adjoining property lines, I suppose he was our second closest. Today would be a smooth ride up to the top; no mud bogs and the deep sands on the hill climb section were unusually agreeable to traction. The sun was hot on our arms that rested on the truck doors as breezes wisped up tiny dust rodeos around us - it was one of those many ranch days that filled us with easy and deep contentment.
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Slim's cattle dotted the fields of both our ranches and the driving was slower now due to the arrival of frisky new calves who might get a wild and exuberant hair to leap out into the road, all just for young calf grins. The anti-neighbor's ranch matron mother had warned me repeatedly that the bull calves were the dumbest and most foolhardy when it came to such things.
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While Mama Cow might be traffic wise, you don't count on her calf or the ones she might be babysitting to behave.
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This little calf had just burst from the sage and dashed across the road in front of us to join its mother. It could have easily been road kill with such a stunt and, every year, some are lost to such traffic mishaps. The gas field is probably 98% of the vehicle traffic out there and, except for the odd idiot, they do a great job of avoiding collisions with livestock. Beyond such vigilance, the pumpers (the fellas charged with the regular well maintenance) usually go the extra mile and alert the rancher to any problems they see, such as a cow bogged down in waterhole mud or caught in a cattle guard. Of course, that fine relationship depends on neither the pumper or the rancher being a jerk.
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Here is gas company rep Mike meeting with Slim. Terry and I both enjoyed dealing with Mike since he was an engineer by original trade even though he was performing the much reviled task of playing 'land agent' here. A 'land agent' is the guy who is supposed to grab your surface land into perpetuity for as little as possible. That company had bought out an outfit which had abused us shamelessly before we were able to get down there and become acquainted with price realities. Mike entered the picture later and I loved to watch him and Terry, two highly intelligent Dilberts, enjoying a fine game of cat and mouse. They each had a fine, dry sense of humor and kept the proceedings ever civil and gentlemanly.
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While Terry and Mike were using Mike's tailgate as a desk in the foreground, Slim got on to more serious cowboy matters. Here is a Colorado camera crew recording scenes from the cattle gathering. If the series ever shows up on TV, I will certainly let you know. You just won't see me in any of it. When I did an obvious duck and cover from the cameraman, Slim exclaimed "Ah-hah! I knew it! Why else would anyone live out here in the middle of nowhere ... you're in some kinda witness protection program, ain't ya?!!" Well, that got me to laughing. I guess it would seem odd to most folks that I really dislike having my picture taken and that I don't like having neighbors close enough to see them from the front porch or even in a five minute drive. Terry loved that seclusion as well and a big part of our spirits are still out there.
.After a winter of having the range to themselves, some of the horses were not keen to get back into the whole cattle work scene. Here is one of Slim's horses expressing contempt at being saddled up again after a long season off. He's heading for the secret critter escape trail up the mesa wall from Slim's fenced compound.

The gathering will continue on through that week. Slim's friends and family will help him gather in the cattle from the far reaches of the grazing lands, corralling them in for the next phase - the roundup weekend when all the new calves will be branded, counted and prepared for the big ride back up North for the summer. It will be the time when a rancher can get a first glimpse of whether he will be running in the black or the red, if his cowboy passions pay off that year.

Next post - the branding party.
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An Old Friend Gathered In

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Before pulling down the driveway for the last time as we headed off to New Mexico, I checked the mailbox one last time. I retrieved a small box and hastily put it under the seat in my Dakota. It would remain there until we could settle into the Rat trailer a month later.

When I opened the package, I beamed with a chill of delight. Two small jars stated that they were from "Bob's Kitchen", the line below further announcing that they were "handcrafted by Bob Sinclair". On his last visit, shortly before we made the big move, he said that he would send us a little something that he had made and here they were in the fruity flesh, two glass jars promising a tangy joy within. Terry laughed as I stowed them away on the new pantry shelves he had just finished building. "Saving them for the Queen's visit, are you?" He knew me so well, that boy did. As my grandmother and mother before me, there were just some things which were too precious to consign to the mundane. I had many such things that we so regrettably never got to enjoy; rather, they disappeared down the driveway of the old life with acquaintances when the moving van supposedly ran out of space. These precious jars had survived only by fate of timing and they would be the start of my comforting new 'save for best' collection.
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Since the first week in May, I had watched this borrowed television set with dread. The graphic news coverage of the Santa Barbara fires brought horrid thoughts and worries with it; I had an old friend out there, one who was battling cancer.

Being the fighter he was, he had surpassed the original due date offered by the specialists by over two years already. But it became apparent in the e-mails of the last two months that he was slowly losing the fight when the cancer started to metastasize to other regions. It had attacked his brain with that stunning 165 IQ and my heart knotted up in sorrow as his once meticulous written English started to decline in recent messages. I wanted to scream and pound the ground with outrage at this sadistic, unjust turn of fate.

I e-mailed both Bob and his wife, Anne, with my concerns but I held the dreaded suspicion that only Anne would reply this time. I waited and worried and the reports of the raging fires taunted me with every new report. My heart ached in agony for Bob and I imagined dear Anne dealing with so many losses at once. Then I got an e-mail reply from Anne last week which started off with "It is with a heavy heart that .... ". The fire had started just one road over from their house and Bob had to be evacuated to a hospice facility for his last days; he didn't even get the chance to remain at home, surrounded by his family, his border collies, his native fish collections or his garage full of vehicles he enjoyed so much. Damn this mortal realm, damn it all to Hell anyway. Yes, I have anger issues with life and fate right now - psycho-babble sound bites of the moment be damned - deeply do I live, feel, care and hurt over others. I will painfully miss genuine old allies when they depart. I care not to change that ever.
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Here are a couple of photos that Bob had shared with us over the years.
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This is Bob and Anne at a Saab Rally in New Zealand a few years ago. He was such a dedicated auto enthusiast that they popped up all over the world to join other like-minded souls.
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Here is Bob on the East coast, picking up his last two-wheeled acquisition before riding it back to California. His passion for riding and driving had him crossing the continent several times a year as much for the pleasure of each road mile as for any destination itself. He told me about driving his 360GT across the country and back and how it got sand-blasted in a freak New Mexico sand storm on the way home, playfully adding that he now called it his 'Ferrari beater'.

If you enjoy reading about amazing people, please try this link which I hope will remain active for some time to come:
Legendary Saab exec Bob Sinclair dies: AutoWeek Magazine
This is one article where even the comments are worth reading through for more insights.

On his last visit, he kept us spellbound with stories of his adventures and years in the auto trade. Despite my best badgering attempts, he would not consign his incredible memoirs to paper and I consider this as an incredible loss to us all. Now, Anne, I will tattle on Bob and I know that his devilish humor will have him chuckling at the very idea; we happened to have an unopened bottle of Courvoisier around and cracked it open that night. Terry grinned and whispered that the visit from the Queen had finally arrived as I quietly handed him the dusty bottle from the cabinet. Although he protested at first, Bob would impishly sneak back to the kitchen later for a little refill with that naughty cat-like grin. The tales got even more spell-binding and I think he slept very well that night before his planned 800 mile ride the next day.
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Last weekend, a rummage through the refrigerator had that last jar of Bob's preserves pop into view and I picked it up and cupped it in my hands like a gold chalice as I thought about the events of the last weeks, of the last few years and of the last 30 years. I reflected sadly "It's just time, isn't it, old friend?" as I reverently emptied the last of the precious contents onto some beautiful sesame seed Italian bread toasted. I had saved it for the best of best reasons. God luv ya, Bob, and thank you for remaining a keenly astute, faithful and understanding long term friend, even after Terry left us. Not all did.

But I will leave you with a bit of good news here. Despite their home sitting in the birthplace of the fires, it survived. I had to thank God profusely for sparing Anne yet another heartbreaking upset to deal with.

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And I will now pass along a so timely bit of sentiment that I just received from my old friend, Moose in Alberta, here. This is belatedly for Bob and also for my true friends that remain. God bless you all, especially in this interesting year ahead.

There comes a point in your life when you realize:
Who matters,
Who never did,
Who won't anymore ...
And who always will.

So, don't worry about people from your past; there's a reason why they didn't make it to your future. Give these flowers to everyone you don't want to lose in 2009, including me, if that's what is in your heart.
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