He gathered wood while I sliced bacon from a slab and placed it in a skillet, then poured ground coffee into a pot.”
–Elmer Kelton (Other Men’s Horses)
Mornin’ to yuh, Pard, glad yuh were able to stop by. Got to have yurself some good coffee. Pard, the thought jist came to my mind. What kind of coffee do yuh drink durin’ the week? Do yuh make it yur ownself, or does the missus, or do yuh go out to some coffee shop? I reckon for sure, that if’n yuh don’t make it yurself, it’s sorta diluted some. No matter, always glad to have yuh come ’round.
I read somewhere or heard someone say, that “Coffee is like a journey through time: with a single sip, I can relive distant memories and create new experiences.” My mercy, ain’t that the truth, ‘specially now at my age. Why I sits in my chair a-lookin’ out the window at the woods and ponder all sorts of memories. Ol’ Kelton brought one to my mind. I remember the first backpackin’ trip Annie and I took. It was up in the Indian Peaks Wilderness, and that was back before passes, and reservations, and no cookin’ over campfires, and all that nonsense that has come about because folks don’t know what they’re a-doin’ in the woods. We camped jist below Blue Lake right at timberline. Plenty of wood there.
We only had time to spend a couple of nights, but I recall the marmots yippin’ in the evenin’, and the rush of the stream by our camp that came out from under a snowbank. Water, oh my, it was cold, but it shor did make good coffee. Chilly nights even though it was summertime because of the elevation. The area shore has changed since that hike back in 1974. Whooeee, that’s a long time ago, amigo. Annie still insists that I put the iron skillet in her pack. 🤠
I wrote the grandkids the other day in a mornin’ note I send them, that the Lord had given them another day to be writin’ their life story. Yuh realize that we all do that, one day at a time, one hour at a time. When we get to the end of our time here on earth, most of us will have quite a book. Some of yuhs, could write a best seller with yur life. All I know is that the Lord has been faithful and good to us, that I had a wonderful travelin’ pardner through most of it. Yep, Pard, it could’ve been better, but I’ll take what the Lord has handed out and allowed.
Ahhh, shor is mighty tasty this mornin’. Maybe the missus will be up in a bit, an’ she’ll get the biscuits a-goin’ and some gravy. That’s the normal Saturday breakfast. If’n we drink the whole pot, I’ll get another one started right away.
Bein’ tryin’ to stay away from all those liars and woke media folk, and politicians. Yet, I like to know what’s goin’ on, but it’s hard to tell the truth or the lie. Yuh want to believe the news, but half the time they’re a-lyin’ jist like the others. Yuh see a liar, yuh know where they’re from–the ol’ devil himself! Some of the stuff happenin’ is atrocious. Injustice, pseudo-justice, mockery of the law and the truth. Pard, some of it jist jerks my jaws. Why I read where this one gal said that the Native Americans and blacks were the original inhabitants of this country? Did she make it past second grade history? “Nough of that, I’m not gonna get my gizzard riled this mornin’ as I want to be all settled for breakfast.
Yuh be havin’ a good day, an’ a good week. Remember, yur writin’ yur life story, so make it a goodun. Keep lookin’ where yur a-steppin’, I don’t want no root or one of the devil’s snares trippin’ yuh up. Ride with a smile, knowing that the good Lord is with yuh, and for mercy’s sakes, be a-checkin’ yur cinch.
Vaya con Dios.