I knew something was in the wind, and that wind could completely blow me off my feet. The fact that she brought a fresh mug of black coffee and a huge slice of apple pie was a pretty strong clue also.”
–Lou Bradshaw (Palouse)
Get in here, Pard. Don’t let the wind blow yuh away! I don’t see the trees swayin’ so I reckon yur safe this mornin’, but yuh never know, one of them mighty gusts could come up at any time and then yuh’d be in a fix. Hmmm, course lookin’ at yur girth yuh might only weave a bit. March, the windy month. Whooeee, that wind can blow. We was in Wyomin’ once and low and behold, the wind didn’t blow. First an’ only time I was ever in Wyomin’ without some kind of wind. Yuh see, Granny was with us, and she didn’t like the wind, not even a breeze, for some reason it bothered her physically and the good Lord saw fit not to have the wind blowin’ that day.
Pard, the coffee’s strong this mornin’. Can yuh smell it? Ahhh, it’ll get yuh goin’, those innards of yurs will be singin’ happy tunes. I was thinkin’ Pard, I do that once in a while, that there are all sorts of things brought in by the wind. There are winds of glad tidin’s and winds that speak of bad omens. There are winds that will blow yuh off yur feet, and not necessarily the natural type. There are winds of adversity, and winds that bring the dust a flyin’. There are those massive tornadoes, then there are the little dust devils that twirl round and round. There are howlin’ winds, and there are the soft gentle breezes that sure lighten up the soul. Then there are those blue northers that can sweep through and worry on the bones, but just as quickly there can follow a warm Chinook. Yep, Pard, yuh just be ready, for this is March, the month of the winds.
Ahhh, coffee sure hits the spot this mornin’. I saw a photo recently: “hot cakes and coffee–10 cents.” It was not that long ago–1949. I can remember when coffee came with a meal, it was part of the bargain. Another little piece of nostalgia, when I was in college we’d go once in a while to the Sycamore Inn to get a cinnamon roll and coffee. I think it came to 50 cents or 75 cents. I would always drink enough coffee, it was a dime, to pay for my roll.
Drink up Pard, I’ve one more story to tell. I wrote one day last week about work, how important it is, and that we are sore in need of good, quality workers today. My Grandpa Jones owned a small, yet busy cafe on the corner of Arapaho and 14th Street, next to the Boulder High School. Back in the spring of 1950, my Mom who was normally a waitress became one of the cooks as Grandpa wouldn’t let her wait tables ’cause she was pregnant with me. The day before I was born, she fried up 150 hamburgers. Hmm, imagine that in today’s society. Yuh know, that’s probably the reason I like hamburgers so much. Oh, and Grandpa’s nickname was “Wimpy.” Some of you ol’ timers will understand.
So, Pard, head on out into the wind. Pull yur hat down tight, check yur cinch, be trustin’ in the Lord, and ride safe.
Vaya con Dios.