Echoes From the Campfire

A good woman’s a treasure you’ll not find anywhere on this earth.  A man ain’t really complete without a family.”
              –Dave P. Fisher  (Where No Man Rules)

    “Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm. For love is as strong as death, its jealousy as enduring as the grave. Love flashes like fire, the brightest kind of flame.  Many waters cannot quench love, nor can rivers drown it.
If a man tried to buy love with all his wealth, his offer would be utterly scorned.”
              –Song of Solomon 8:6-7 (NLT)
It’s that time of year again.  That’s right, at least once a year the heart should start palpitating with romantic vibes.  Now romance is not a feeling, but an attitude, a frame of mind that often loses the glow as the years pass on.  There’s an old poem that I’ve used a few times when thinking of a romantic Valentine.

          “It’s that there girl ‘most all the time,
           Fer workin’ I hain’t worth a dime;
           An’ jes’ can’t turn around or stir
           Without some foolish thought o’ her.
           Can scarcely sleep or eat my chuck–
           Dog-gone the luck!  I guess I’m stuck!’
                   –Robert V. Carr

Those days of long ago have passed, and sitting here at a desk or in the dim light of my room, dreaming of a gal and what the future might hold.  Well, most of that future is now past.  Did we live all our dreams?  No, but we stuck together through thick and thin.  Which reminds me of one thin time in our lives.  It was year number two of our marriage.  We were poor; I was in the Air Force making less than $300 a month.  Annie would do laundry at the apartment complex.  One time she went to pick up the towels she had left to dry–they were gone.  We had no money at the time to purchase new ones, so for a week or two we dried with my t-shirts.
    It’s been a ride and thank the Lord that He has been with us.  She was a keeper and I kept her.  Hmmm, maybe this fits.

          “She would do the work of two men then cook supper for the crew,
           Kept her sourdough a’goin since she wed,
           Made her bridle horses light an’ she could rope a lick or two
           While her bun stayed tight an’ tidy on her head.

           She taught her kids, an’ one young ranch hand, all the way up through grade eight,
           Spent her evenings in some far off place in book,
           Her garden was an envy an’ her bread an’ pies were great,
           An’ she would gut an antelope or bait a hook.”
                     –Waddie Mitchell

She might not rope or saddle and bridle horses, but she knows how to wrangle the kids and grandkids, plus keep an eye on the ol’ fence post and keep me in line.  I’m not sure about gutting an antelope, but sure she could if she needed to, but she can do wonders with a chicken, an’ the pies are great.  
    Dreams of the future?  Well, friends, we still have a few.  We may move a bit slower, and we do more moseying down the street than running up the hills, but we are still holding hands, helping each other up the steps, and going forward.  So, I thank the Lord often, for that day long ago when I caught her eye in the college cafeteria.  For one thing for sure–things weren’t ever the same after that.   
    Now I sit on the deck in the morning and listen to the sound of the birds as they waken.  Or maybe by the fire in the evening time and watch the breeze swaying the limbs of the trees.  Then I feel the touch of her hand and hear the sound of her voice, “Sleep tight, love you.”

          “Each vagrant breeze seems to whisper a song.
           Whispers a melody sweetly entrancing,
           Telling me, dear, of your love ever true…”
                      –E.A. Brininstool
This Day in the Texas Revolution:  Travis and Bowie agree upon joint command of the Alamo’s forces.