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Dee, The Young Master's Mare

She was just a new endeavor, maybe about half grown
But there was "spirit" in her eyes the day the boy brought her home

I thought the new would wear off and his interest soon would fade
But he never shirked his time with her his dedication never waned

The sun shown on her flaxen mane, in the field, as she romped and played
And she looked like an Indian pony running free out on the range

The boy fed and stroked her, groomed and talked to her and she knew
That he really cared about her and so the love between them grew

As, often times it happens, things longed for seem to hide
And it seemed the time would never come when Dee was old enough to ride

But, if one thing's true in this life, time moves at a natural pace
We can never speed the process all things have a time and place

When, at last, the time had come and her back could bear the load
He placed the saddle on her and gently climbed aboard

Though she was somewhat nervous the load did not offend
It seemed she truly recognized the one who rode her was her friend

Each day they rode the back roads and the trails around the place
As dreams of competitions began to take on shape

They joined up as "pard'ners" with the "Dark Horse" racing team
Chuck wagons raced around the track, the competition there was keen

They, two, would chase the wagons as they raced around the track
They had to cross the finish line before their wagon team could pass

They ran in many races and many times they won
Their first year in competition, in the state, they were number one

It was wondrous just to watch them as they raced around the track
This beautiful paint with flowing mane and my son sitting on her back

They took home many prizes, gold buckles, trophies and such
But, compared to the love between them, those things didn't matter much

They say when you're on the bottom the only way to go is up
Sadly, the opposite is sometimes true when you're already on the top

One day Dee started limping and daily it got worse
There was no apparent reason for this dreadful, sudden curse

It was saddening just to watch her try to walk on hooves so sore
And then she lay down on the ground, she could stand and walk no more

The "Doc," again was summoned, his words were "chilling" as icy rain
He said if Dee were his horse, he wouldn't let her bear the pain

With heavy heart and defeated gaze the boy then acquiesced
And, as the potion was prepared, his heart sank in his chest

The boy then dropped down to his knees and placed his face against his friend
In that moment there was silence as the potion was put in

As the pain eased in her body, as if whispered in the wind,
It seemed an almost audible voice said, simply, "thank you, my friend"

Copyright: C.R. Clark 3/24/07

The Dark Horse is Joe T

It's the first of September at the Bar of ranch, the Sun's just startin to rise
Joe T's stirring, gotta feed the stock, be a race to be run after while

The horses are tethered down at the crick, he'll take ‘em some oats and hay
Gotta keep ‘em happy cause, in a spell, he expects ‘em to win a race

By the time Joe T's got the horses fed, Miss Sondra's got vittles on
She says "come on Joe, it's might near ready, the coffee's already done

After "grub," he checks, on the horses shoes, makes sure they're all real tight
Checks out the wagon and tack and stuff and visits with cowboys that happen by

Later on he gets the wagon tarp out and laces it up good and tight
The wagon itself is John Deere green and the tarp on top is black

On the side of the tarp, in big yeller letters, the name of the team is spelled out
With the wagon out front, it's apparent to all that this here's the "Dark Horse" camp

‘Fore noon he saddles ole "Rooster" up and rides off around the track
Meets up and visits with more cowboys, catches up on the latest Bar of facts

When him and rooster get back to camp it's time to get the team hooked up
There's a good deal of pain in Joe T's knees but he'll just "cowboy up"

"Frat Rat" and "Super" get all excited when they see Joe T coming in
They know it's "might near" time for the race and they "shore nuff" like to win

A little later on, down at the track, the parade's just finishing up
The teams are getting nervous, ready to run, the first heat's lining up

Now a chuckwagon team has three that run an outrider, driver and cook
The cook's gotta throw the bedroll in back and then he climbs on up

He talks to the driver, as the race is run, and tells him what's going on
Where the outrider's at, who's catching up, does he need to slow down, or go on

Now the outrider's gotta throw the "cookstove" in then he springs up on his mount
He's gotta pass his wagon and finish first or their time aint gonna count

There's the shot; they're startin to move, the cook's up behind the seat
Around the barrel, they've got lined out, they're startin to pick up speed

The outrider's mounted; he's closin fast, There don't seem to be any doubt
He'll pass ‘em up by the second curve so, Joe T's windin ‘em out

Heeyaaa, heeyaaa, go "Frat," go "Sup," git on around this track
The cook says " Joe, the Outlaw Gang's comin up on the right, real fast"

As they're comin up on the second curve, the wagons are two abreast
The Dark Horse and The Outlaw Gang, what a race, what a tight contest

They disappear in a dusty fog as they're comin around the curve
Heeyaaa, heeyaaa, both drivers shout, as they head for the last big turn

After they round that final barrel, they're ready to stretch ‘em out
Heeyaaa, heeyaaa, go "Frat" go "Sup," The Dark Horse is pullin out

As they're closin in on the finish line the teams are nose and nose
"Frat" and "Sup" give it all they've got and they win, but it's mighty close

Joe T brings the team back around, In front of the spectator stands
It's the same thing he always does, of course, but since they won, it's a victory dance

There's a lot of shouts from the Dark Horse fans as the team heads back to camp
Gotta feed the horses and let ‘em rest, It'll start all over when the sun comes up

The Dark Horse team's been around for years, but the members have sometimes changed
Outriders and cooks have come and gone, but the driver's been the same

New members will always come and go, I ‘spect that's the way it'll be,
But the driver will always be the same, ‘cause the Dark Horse is Joe T

The Dust of Long Ago

In the land of thermal waters, many moons ago
When streams in virgin forests, yet with crystal water flowed
Before the Europeans came from lands so far away
And vowed to conquer for their king, this new land they would claim

The "Redman" dwelt these mountains, the trails and piney woods
His father and his father's father many times removed
Had lived and raised their families here within this pristine land
Using only that supplied by nature's bountiful hand

His life came from the mountains, the woods, and crystal streams
He planted fields of corn and groves of fruit and nut trees
He felt close to all God's creatures, a kinship he could see
With the turkey, deer, and bear, and majestic wapiti

He killed only what he needed for his people to survive
And, thus, the game was always here in plentiful supply
He would gather with his people in the longhouse round the fire
And sing of "age old" heroes like Aquixo and Casqua

There were many here in those days, as many as the stars
And they lived in tune with nature so that all could well endure
There were Tunica and Caddo, Quapaw and Osage
There were Natchez and many others before the Europeans came

The Spaniards with DeSoto brought iron weapons, tools, and greed
But they did not bring understanding for the native people's creed
They seized the people's food stores and many they enslaved
They destroyed fields and villages as they passed along their way

The people died by thousands from drought and strange disease
That was brought by the invaders and our people had never seen
Yes, my son, these were our people, once mighty, strong, and proud
But now they are just a memory passed on by word of mouth

My son said "tell me father, will we be great again, at last?"
Will we sing in the longhouses of mighty leaders of the past?
Will we hunt the woods and mountains and fish the crystal streams
And once more live as brothers with the bear and wapiti?"

My son these things I tell you are things I've never seen
My father told them to me as his father told to him
They live now in our legends that we pass on as we go
But, my son, these things have settled with the dust of long ago

Mose And Bonnie Lee

Way back in the mountain and beyond bread creek
Where muscadines hang from the hardwood trees
The coyotes howl all through the night
And backbones tingle when the catamount cries.
Where the mountain's hard and mighty unforgivin'
And, where the faint of heart got no bus'ness bein'.
Old "Mose" the hermit lived by hisself
In a ratty old shack on the mountain's shelf.
He didn't like people and he didn't like towns.
He didn't like it when folks from the valley came ‘round.
But, once in awhile down the mountain he'd go
To get salt and meal at the gen'ral store.

‘Twas on one of these trips his life made a change
When he was headin home through a drivin rain.
A little walker pup, soaked plum to the bone
Had been dropped and abandoned on that lonely old road.
With the goods on his back and his head bowed down,
He paid little notice to the rain soaked hound.
When he finally got home he was soppin wet,
So he pulled a blanket up around his head,
And stood by the fire to try and get warm,
Then he saw somp'n movin outside in the yard.
That little wet pup was standin out in the rain
Starin at Mose through the wind'r pane.

Now, it weren't like Mose to care much ‘bout nuthin,
But, fer some odd reason he swung the door open
And that little hound pup, not one bit shy,
Come saunterin in and laid down by the fire.
Somp'n ‘bout that pup touched old Mose' heart.
He sat hisself down and propped his feet on the hearth.
He said, "pup, this mountain man is pore indeed,
Hope you can make do with some cornbread and beans."
When the pup had finished her "pore man" feed,
She curled herself up ‘ginst the old Man's feet.
Old Mose couldn't ‘member when he'd felt so pleased
And he called the little pup "Miss Bonnie Lee."

Now, Mose and Bonnie Lee got to be real tight;
When she'd grow'd up she made a powerful sight.
She was big fer a hound and her shoulders was wide,
She had somp'n ‘sides walker blood to give ‘er that size.
She was strong as a Dane and she could run all night;
She'd whup'd ever coyote that ever come by.
But, there was this one time they was huntin the hill,
Hadn't been fer Bonnie, old Mose'd been kill't.
A big old catamount jumped from a tree
And knocked the old mountain man down to his knees.
Bonnie was on ‘em like a flash of lightning
You could hear growls and cat screams all over that mountain

When Bonnie first landed on that big mountain cat,
She grabbed a mouthful of fur at the back of its neck
And lifted that catamount right off of its feet
And they fought as they rolled down the hill to the creek.
When they landed in the water, Bonnie Lee started shakin
And the skin on that old cougar's neck started breakin.
She shook the cat loose and it whirled in the air
And she was left standin with a mouthful of lion hair.
But, that old cat'd had all that it wanted
When it's feet hit the ground, it was scat'in and squallin.
Bonnie's hound instinct said she oughta give chase
But, Mose called her back, He didn't want to tempt fate.

Up there on the mountain, as the years went by,
The light was gettin dim in the old man's eyes.
He'd always loved goin up to the crest;
Seemed like that's where he always felt best.
He'd stare in wonder at what God had created
And tell Bonnie, "I ‘spect we're the reason he made it."
But, seemed like lately he'd been stumblin a lot
So, Bonnie would lead'm past the blowdowns and rocks.
The old man knew their time was runnin low
And worried ‘bout Bonnie if he's the first one to go.
So, he ask the Lord, "if I'm the first one to leave,
Won't you please watch over Miss Bonnie Lee?"

Way back in the mountain and beyond bread creek,
Where muscadines hang in the hardwood trees,
The coyotes howl all through the night
And backbones tingle when the catamount cries.
Where the mountain's hard and mighty unforgivin'
And, where the faint of heart got no bus'ness bein.'
A blind old hermit, on a cold winter's night,
Sits by the fireplace in the glowin light,
Thanks the Lord for all the blessins he's had,
In partic'lar the best dog a man ever had.
He props his legs up to warm his feet
And, gently, pats the head of Miss Bonnie Lee.

Copyright: CR. Clark -1/4/2008

Hog Killing Time

It always happened in the fall of the year
When the temperature dropped and left a chill in the air
We'd pile fire wood round the old wash pots
Fill ‘em up with water and get it real hot
The hog was stuck while still in the pen
Then hoisted up and laid on a sled
With a horse or tractor we'd pull'm on up
As near as we could to the hot wash pots
We'd cover‘m with tow sacks to hold in the heat
And scald‘m real good to make the hair release
I remember that wet, musty smell in the air
As we used sharp knives to scrape off the hair
Once the hair was scraped off that side
We'd flip'm over and do the rest of the hide
Then the men folk would hoist'm back up
And drop out the innards in a big wash tub
Then they'd let'm down in the bed of the truck
And take'm to the women and they'd cut'm up
Into hams and bacon and chops and ribs
And little pieces to run through the sausage mill
There was a lot more fat than the sausage required
So they'd put it in a wash pot that set on the fire
They'd render it down and dip the cracklin's all out
Then, you know what was left? A pot full of lard
They'd put it in buckets then for goodness sakes
Use it to fry taters and make cornbread and cakes
Weren't none of that crisco or peanut oil
Like modern folks get when they go to the store
Just good ole lard, one hundred percent country
As ‘merican as apple pie, ‘lasses, and cow salve butter
Then the men folk would take them bacon slabs an ham
Out to the smoke house where they'd rub ‘em all down
With sugar cure and then they'd have to set
For, what seemed like forever, ‘fore they could be et
But once they was ready, what a treat that would be
If I live to be a hundred I'll never forget
Them sugar cured hams and bacon, woooyes
By then, it was generally getting towards dark
‘cause we might'a been working up three or four hogs
We'd take all the sausage meat into the house
And get the old hand cranked sausage mill out
We'd take turns a crankin ‘cause yer arms'd give out
But that old mill jest kept spittin it out
When we got it all ground, it was seasoning time
And ‘course we had to test it, ‘cause it had to be right
Mix in some salt, red pepper and sage
Then fry up a batch and we'd all have a taste
Us young'uns knew we was in fer a treat
‘cause fresh kilt hog meat jest can't be beat
I'd looked forward to this part all day
‘cause, I loved testing sausage that old country way
I can see Pa or my uncle standing there at the stove
They'd fry a batch up and say what does it need
A little more pepper and a little more sage
Then fry up some more and we'd have another taste
You just can't find great sausage anymore
You sure can't buy it when you go to the store
They call theirs country but that's really a stretch
‘cause it don't compare to the real thing that much
Could be why the store bought just don't stand a chance
Is ‘cause it jest don't have the whole ‘sperience
I love to remember all the great things we did
A way back yonder when I was a kid
Times like this have pretty much gone by
Young'uns today don't understand why
We often reflect on the things that we've done
And wish we could have another day in the sun
They think we're old fogies ‘cause we often do pine
For things we remember like hog killing time