A right turn onto sandy gravel put us heading northwest. The driver side window paralleled the Elk Mountains whose big ones had names like Baldy and Matchless. We rolled over the first of several cattle guards - we needed to be careful. Mark let off the accelerator as Colorado was an open range state. Local law allowed the herds of livestock lovers to roam free. I loved that.
We continued another mile and then our tires drove over another stretch of the perpendicular metal beams. Cows were afraid of them. The negative space of the gaps between the iron strips provided a kind of depth perception solution. It worked. Cars could continue through but the milk and beef providers stayed put.
Before making it around a rather dangerous blind corner, three furry beasts forced Mark to break hard. One black cow with her soft and new calf, and a mid sized heifer were a mere fifteen feet in front of the engine’s hot hood. They looked confused yet not startled.
“Oh wow!” He exclaimed.
But by the time the words left Mark’s mouth we both looked past the near collision and focused our gaze on the double dozen herd of cattle ahead. Probably a mix of Angus and Hereford, they came complete with real cowboys on horseback. What a delight!
“What are you doing?!” Mark asked.
“Gotta video this!” I said, jumping out.
I walked ahead of the stationary red Ram. The wild west had wondered across our path and it was a magic that must be captured.
Grief and dread makes its way through the body. It does odd things. Mark and I had felt so slow since Lucy’s diagnosis. It was as though we had been operating at the speed of a sluggishly bad dream.
Tears and worry sap energy. And crying and worrying for a little one has the ability to completely deplete.
Our previous month had been full of heavy and rather horrible conversations. Medical words which found their origins in Latin had invaded our once-fun family. The feathery lightness of Tedder households had been replaced with laborious, Olympic sized weights. So to experience excitement and delight on an unnamed gravel road, felt foreign. But what a wonderful thing. It was long overdue and very welcomed.
The cattlemen clearly needed their herd moved from one field into an adjacent one, which required driving them down the middle of the dirt road - our road. So we waited. It was a marvelous thing to watch.
Each rider had two dogs working alongside him. The men whistled instructions to the well-educated canines and in no time at all the tandem work of man, horse, and dog had the the rogue three musketeers in front of us, rounded up and back with the rest of the livestock.
I stepped up on the muddy runner board and back into the cab. The herd were safely off the road.
“Slide open the sunroof baby,” I said. “Hurry, and go super slow when you pass them!”
My upper torso poked through the roof with cell phone in hand.
Up close the weathered men were even more impressive. The one on the dark horse got up late. He was tired. His slouching posture said so and his lack of attention to fashion detail didn’t included cleaning his hat before he started work.
The cowboy closest to our inching-by truck wore a dark red shirt and wide scarf. A gray painters brush mustache caterpillared off his upper lip while two fluffy mutton chops dangled from his cheeks and held the wind.
I waved.
He waved back with a smile.
Extending his right hand into the air, the leather glove matched his off white hat. He never let go of the rein with the other hand.
Then he went back to work. He relaxed a little now that his herd was safely off the road.
Crumbling back into my seat, we were both jazzed by our brush with the cowboys and the dogs and the cows.
Our tearfully reluctant camping retreat had begun with the unexpected - surprise, excitement, and a deep kind of American joy at seeing our heritage.
It’s the little mercies.
#ilovelucy #nomorechildhoodcancer
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