All over the west there is resistance to almost anything that is new. That reality extends to new people and especially to new people who raise buffalo. Even though we have been on this ranch for 8 yrs and have been ranchers for 36 years, our “new” neighbors are still standoffish and a little skeptical. That is why when one of those ranchers went out of his way to be neighborly, I took notice.
Three weeks ago I was helping move cattle at that particular rancher’s house. It was one of the first cold mornings of the winter. I foolishly brought a very young horse. Although I had been riding him most of the summer, he was used to controlled situations and warm days. We hadn’t ridden a hundred yards from the house when he blew up and I flew. I hit the hard ground and wound up in the hospital with three broken ribs, a broken scapular, and a collapsed lung. I spent five days in the hospital, in a morphine haze, thinking about how hurt I was. There was the physical stuff to be sure – I was about as wrecked as I have ever been – but that is not what I thought about most. What came to my foggy mind first was how hurt my feelings were. That little horse had been doing so well! I’d ridden him a hundred miles and he’d never offered to buck. How could he have let me down like that, in front of those neighbors that I feel are forever taking my measure. The second thing that came to mind, during the moments when I could catch a breath, was the embarrassment of the bad decision to bring that young horse in the first place.
I only lasted about two jumps and when I rolled onto my hands and knees, gasping for air, another rider had already caught the horse. He sat on his own horse calmly holding the reins to mine. I made it to the horse, took the reins, and was considering trying to get back on, when Gervase rode along side and said, “You better just stay on the ground.” I didn’t need much convincing and after a couple more minutes of gasping, led my horse back to the trailer as the pain rose.
It was an hour later, when they pushed the cattle into the corral, Richard, perhaps the most congenial neighbor in the county came up to me as I leaned against the corral fence. “You don’t look too good,” he said. “Kinda gray.”
It had begun to dawn on me that I might not be able to walk this off. “I feel a little gray,” I said.
“You ought to go into town,” Richard said, “get checked out.”
I managed to drive myself to town but by the time Jill met me at the hospital I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. There was a day of chest tubes, constricted breathing, panic, and pain. But when things settled, I was left with that juvenile embarrassment and the fear that the whole situation had jeopardized the acceptance of my neighbors that I had worked so had to earn.
In my own defense it was not only my silly, ego-driven embarrassment. In some parochial ways I have become emblematic of the changes that are coming to this country and are, understandably, threatening to these people that I am driven to win over. They judge buffalo and the restoration of prairie by what they see in me.
A few days into my hospital incarceration Jill told me that Richard had called to see how it was going. The extent of my injuries was not common knowledge and Jill said that he listened intently as she catalogued them. “Goll darn,” he said. “Goll darn.” When I finally made it home, there was a message on the answering machine. It was Richard and he was wondering how I was feeling. That was one of the first bright spots in an otherwise tough week.
The second week, although relived to be out of the hospital, it was hard sleeping. Day or night, I paced the house searching for a comfortable place to curl up for an hour or two. In-between my sleep and fogginess I caught up on movies and read. Due to the drugs my appetite wasn’t much and I could feel myself shrinking.
A week later, Richard called again. “How’s it going?”
“I feel like I got shot out of a cannon.”
“I’ll bet. Damn, you took a spill.” There was a little pause. “Say, you going to be home today?”
“I’m not going very far. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing. I just got this cartoon I thought you might get a kick out a. Cut it out of one of those cattle papers.”
“Well, sure.” I was suddenly excited to have some company. “I know your feeding cows this morning, but why don’t you stop over afterwards for lunch.” I probably spoke a little too fast because, though we are businessmen of a sort, it is not like we would ever meet for lunch at a restaurant. “Buffalo burgers and beans, it would be good to see you.”
There was a beat of silence on the line and I gulped to realize that I had just invited this died-in-the-wool cattleman to a buffalo lunch. “Ah, yea. Sure I could run over around noon.”
“Great. That’d be perfect.”
Jill was headed into town that morning for her first day back at the office since my accident. She quickly made some guacamole and left the rest of the fixing of our simple fair to me. I laid the food out like I would if I were sharing it with Jill. I set the guacamole on the table in a wooded bowl in the middle of a platter of lime corn chips. I patted the buffalo burgers thick and put them in a marinade of salt, pepper, and olive oil. I put the beans in a dish and put the dish into the microwave.
Though the weather had been cold at night, that day was warm enough that I planned to grill the buffalo burgers on the deck. By the time I saw Richard’s pickup pull into the driveway the grill temperature was climbing fast for that magic 550 degree mark. I watched Richard slide out of his pickup and push his cowboy hat back on his head. He knocked on the basement door where I have my office and by the time I got to the door he had removed his overshoes, exemplifying his years of training to not track mud in on the floors.
“How you feeling?”
“I’ve been better.”
“I’ll bet. Goll Darn. You got wrecked.”
He followed me up the stairs and we sat on the stools in front of the guacamole and talked about how much slower a guy heals when he gets older. Richard is actually a few years younger than I am, but the constant need to heal was a topic of great interest to us both. I commented that the last two times I came off a horse I ended up with broken bones. Richard shook his head. “I know what you mean, Goll Darn, used to come off a couple times a day and not really think too much about it.”
We talked about healing for ten minutes and concluded that it was the decrease of muscle mass as you got older that was part of the problem. “We just don’t have the bulk to hold those bones in place. No padding.” Richard shook his head. “And the other thing is that by the time you get to our age you know it’s going to hurt and so you tighten up even more.” He reached out and took a chip and a tiny bit of guacamole. He shook his head again. “Getting old’s damned sure tough.”
The grill was roaring hot and I was suddenly stricken with the problem of serving this kind man a buffalo burger. If I would have had a pound of beef I would have changed gears right then. But we never have any beef. I had marinated buffalo burgers and I’d been thinking about such food for my entire hospital stay. I’d almost starved to death in there. My appetite was finally coming back and I was ready for a little buffalo, done just right. Still, when I got to the grill I considered what Richard might prefer. I considered cooking them well done. But when I flopped those burgers onto the hot grate they sizzled so perfectly and the olive-oil flames flared with such joy, that in my mind I said, “to hell with it, these babies are coming off this grill rare and juicy”.
It took about four minutes to cook those burgers and in that time I flipped the microwave on to heat the beans, so that the little lunch come together just right. We didn’t have any buns so we ate the sandwiches on bread. There was catsup and mustered, but neither of used much.
We didn’t say much either. For a couple minutes we just ate and looked out the window at the Cheyenne River in the near distance. We both ended up eating two buffalo burgers and all the beans. “That was a damned good sandwich,” Richard said. “No foolin”. That made us both smile and he reached and loaded up a lime-flavored corn chip. “Goll darn,” he said, “I almost forgot.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and slid it along the counter to me.
I unfolded the paper and found a copy of a well known western cartoon called EARL. It was based on the misadventures of Earl and his cowboy companions. That particular cartoon was of two cowboys, one sitting his horse and the other tentatively dismounting. There is a third, rider less horse standing at a distance. The three horses and the two cowboys are staring at a smoldering crater in the prairie. A cowboy hat lies next to the crater and the caption reads “I Wonder If We’ll Be Able To Find Earl’s Little Black Box.” Richard guffawed and slapped his knee. The cartoon was sure funny and I would have laughed harder but just then I was touched deep in my shattered chest. The word “Earl’s” had been carefully crossed out. Above it, in straight, thoughtful printing was my name. “I Wonder If We’ll Be Able To Find Dan’s Little Black Box.” It was the best I’d felt for weeks.
Comments 37
Glad to hear that you are on the road to recovery, Dan. It’s funny to me how it often takes a relative disaster to bring people of different minds together. While I don’t envy you the injury or the recovery, I hope it has opened the door to more understanding relations with your neighbors.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone at Wild Idea.
Goll darn, Dan. Get healed up soon. I really enjoyed this little writing gem!
Dan, I’m sorry about your unfortunate dismount. The humor in the cartoon tickled me to laugh out loud. I hope you laughed, too, and that it didn’t hurt too bad. Thank you to Richard for reaching out and opening up the possibility of having some future dialog. Get well soon.
It wasn’t very long after getting my first racehorse that I learned first-hand why they call ’em crotch rockets! The infields of America’s racecourses must be littered with black boxes. Your stories always reveal the ‘real’ within the reality. Exhibiting grit somehow has a way of bonding folks together. You have most likely been more accepted than you know.
Hoping you’re pretty well on the mend by now and looking forward to a very, Merry Christmas.
P.S. Even though they’re my horse of choice, I’ve been told never to trust a paint….just sayin….
Dan, I have been thinking about you again…hoping you are healing & that the pain is getting better. I loved reading Wrecked. So beautifully and honestly written as always. YOU are a real gem. I couldn’t quit reading it Thank you for sharing this. Love you
Hope to see you this Holiday.
After eating those buffalo burgers I am sure Richard will change from cattle to buffalo, the natural way.
Great story, Dan. Thanks for sharing. Hearing about those buffalo burgers made my mouth water, too!
Dear Dan, live long and prosper, old adage, get right back on…as soon as you can and yes the same young horse, he needs to learn too…. and could you get your products into WHOLE FOODS or Trader Joes?…. the East Coast would embrace the buff as I always do a 5 min lecture with advice to check out your WIBC website to whoever queries me buying buf meat , yes complete with the nobility of reestablishing the great plains…et al ?
Goll darn Dan, the same thing happened to me some 40 years ago. I can feel your pain! Hope you’re back in the saddle again soon. Thanks for the story, it came with a price but it’s truely a gem. I hope Richard can read it. You’re a good neighbor.
Dan, I really enjoy your monthly musings. Iwish you and yours a joyous holiday season. We might be in Rapid sometime the week before Christmas, no final plans yet. Get well soon
Bob
Sorry to hear about your fall!
Your musings never fail to inspire my personal goals for writing! Thank you!
Heal on!
I loved reading about your wreck and your healing …both body and a friendship! Keep on writing about every day experiences like the Wreck .
Hello, Dan ! Too bad… Get healed soon !
I hope they find your black box.
Sincerely,
Dom.
Ouch! Reading this caused some twinges in my own ribs. Like you I am no longer young, but try to stay in shape. This made me think of 2 things simultaneously – a horse wreck of a friend’s a couple months ago and a bicycle wreck of mine last winter. She, a very experienced rider about your age, relaxed and trusted a young horse she had been working all summer. It has been doing just fine. It blew up as soon as she was off-guard. The result was a spectacular wreck that left her with a badly broken arm and a cracked pelvis. Ooooh. I don’t recall if she said it was a paint. Mine, I cycle all year as long as the road is dry. Except, one shaded curve had a little ice back in February. My backflip over the handlebars cracked ribs at my spine and sternum. Funny how it doesn’t start to hurt right off, I finished the ride, served dinner to guests, but then I lay down to try to sleep. Man, you have my empathy on that try to sleep stuff. Yep, laughing is tough to do. I am only a few years younger than you, but things got a whole lot better after 4 weeks, even better after 6 weeks. But you may still have a few reminders for a while. I thought I was good to go in June – until I decided to drive some T-posts. I noticed I wasn’t quite indestructible again…yet. Hope it gets better fast. I eat a lot of buffalo when I can get a critter in the freezer, and did last spring – maybe. just maybe, that helps you heal faster.
Ride on.
Great writing Dan!! I so enjoyed readying this. Glad to hear you are on the mend and feeling better. Those buffalo burgers sounded pretty gosh darn tasty!! Merry Christmas!!!
Dear Dan: After reading your book “Buffalo for the Broken Heart”, whick I thoroughly enjoyed, did not want it to end, I was thrilled to learn I could continue the connection with “Monthly Musing”. Enjoyed “Wrecked” but sorry to hear about your injuries. Continue recovering your health. Love your writing style and look forward to more “Musings”. Cannot wait to try buffalo burgers… Happy Holidays marnie
Oh no. Yikes. Hope you have a merry buffalo Christmas. I am older than you. I’ll be 79 this month but I still love horses. My neighbor has an old pony with Cushing’s disease who needs to at least walk as often as possible. She told me I could ride him…but…I decided a fall if he should stumble or something…would not be good, so, he and I walk together around the field next to her house. We both smell the breezes and avoid the puddles and are the better for the exercise. We even accelerate to a mild trot on occasion.
Peace and good healing to you!
Dan- Any jet plane carrying a black box on board also has an inflatable slide to exit passengers quickly — where was yours on that unfortunate morning? Don’t laugh now.
I finished Buffalo For the Broken Heart two nights ago. I eked it out as long as I could, laughing and loving it along the way. Blessings upon your healing process. Besides being an engaging writer, you are man enough to share and admit your mistakes, chagrin, pain and uncertainty. For inspiration, remember how the buffs throw themselves around and heal from the consequences all in a day. Still and all, aging that limits who we were used to being is difficult. You have a great craft that will outlast the ability to sit a frisky young’un.
Dan, This is Jim – Ernie’s rockhunting buddy from Sioux Falls. I am glad you are on the mend – don’t try to do too much too soon. I know that is hard for you!! My health has prevented me from coming out to see you all and to hunt some rocks, but I am determined to get better – a trip to the ranch would be a little bit of heaven for me!!
Happy Holidays to all of you, Jim
Dan, welcome back to better health. Your misadventure clearly had positive outcomes with your neighbor. The description of preparing your lunch with him made me salivate. Having recently read “Hard Grass” by Mary Zeiss Stange, my appreciation of your ranching for 36 years and 8 years with the WildIdea has grown exponentially. Those of us living in the la-la climates of CA make bison and your endeavors appreciated all the more. Thanks for all that you and company do to make this a better world.
David
Dan… So sorry you got “blowed up”. The honesty of your story is well taken. My worst physical injury was thanks to my old Onion, a 24 yr. old paint, when I was 54. Walked around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame for a week…..had scabs on the arches of my feet, the top of my head, along with inbetween…. ????.. go figure. Don’t have a horse anymore. Decided I was too old. Sorry about your ego, but being human is ok.
Hey Dan – this is what I want to know.
Did a break again one of the same ribs that you had already broken? My guess is yes becuase those ribs even though the bone built up upon them, where still a bit weaker than the ones who had never been broken — yet.
Ha, ha.
I hope you continue to heal well.
I am still a chicken farmer out of NC, but soon, I will take up residence in VA.
I found a job!
Peace to you and your family and in your mother’s memory – I pray for peace.
Ken
Sorry to hear that you were hurt, Dan; you were good to me when I was. I see that I’m only one of many wishing you a full recovery. “Wrecked” is so wise and droll. You’ll get the joke when I tell you that, when I had chemotherapy, Don Hunter said to me that–since I “wasn’t working”–he wanted me to edit a long manuscript of his! So I’m thinking of sending you a long manuscript of mine to read. But I’m probably kidding.
Thought of you on Nov. 23rd. I was 60 on Nov. 3rd. It’s a long time since the USD days, and it’s yesterday. Miss you, Dan; best to Jill; heal well.
Suzanne
Haven’t been on a horse in 50+ years, but have spilled from my mountain bike many times – and had cracked or broken ribs from rugby three times. They only hurt when you breathe – and it can feel like being stabbed 16 times a minute. You’ve my sympathies and understanding – and your neighbor is right about the slower healing on the dark side of 60. On the other hand, we’re both vertical and some people our age are not. Hope you heal well and get back to riding.
We are so sorry to hear about your incident and injuries and we wish you a speedy recovery! Happy Holidays to you and you’re Family.
Hi Dan, I am so glad you’re feeling better and able to write about your adventure. Fantastic story, and a bright ending. Miss seeing you and Jill. A warm “hello” to Gervasse. Enjoy the holidays.
Dan,
If I may be so bold during this time of healing, let me say that I have been reading about McGillguddy (I think that is his name) and Red Cloud, and the text is just riveting. I don’t read much during any single “sitting”. But, I enjoy everything I read, and for that I thank you. From the heart.
So with that said, I pray for healing.
Peace,
Ken
Sorry, but just be accurate.
I meant to say McGillYguddy.
Not wahta I said before.
Not what I said before…
Understand.
bk
So, I won’t say anything more here other than…..
Well Dan. That is enough from me. I hope you agree.
Dan,
Glad your doing better, if you want to get back on the ol’ paint I’d be more than willing to be around and help anyway I can let me
know.
Dan:
You sure have a lot of people that care about you. Happy Recovery!!
Linda, Minneapolis
So I just half-way have to explode just now, but I won’t.
That message from Linda just above hit the spot for me.
So says a chicken farmer from NC who has taken up residence in VA.
I mean it.
By the way, chicken farming ain’t no big deal try working in Narrows.
So in Narrows and where I work I am so close to the New River…and even both Red Cloud and McGillycuddy would recognize this for what it is worth. Know what I mean.
So says bk who just happens to be me.
Ken Hausle
So Dan,
Maybe if you are still healing this will cheer you up. It is a long story, but I will try to give the abbreviated version. Here goes.
1. We got seven fertilized eggs from Florida.
2. Three of them hatched. Two hens and a rooster it turns out.
3. We got rid of the rooster (I live in the middle of suburbia).
4. We got two more baby chicks that supposedly some dood from Korea had identified as female.
5. One of the two died. The other lived. This birds name is “nugget”, but to the annoyance of my family, I call her cupcake. Corina as well.
6. I have been trying for a while to get these three birds to get along, but the two original hens are some mean pecking birds and they were going to tear nugget to pieces.
7. Over the past few months Nugget has grown into a pullet and now she is almost an egg-laying hen.
8. The other two birds, Seniorita and Hope have been laying egs respectfully for the last several months. They are some good birds if I must say.
9. Today, the first day of 2011 and thought to myself I have had enough of this foolishness and so I put Nugget into the coup with the other two mean Mommas.
10. I hope they get along, but if they don’t I don’t really care. The three of them will either get along or I will eat one or more of them.
11. Simple as that.
So says a chicken farmer from NC.
(ha, ha).
Happy New Years to one and all.
And lastly, here is a prayer for healing.
Don’t we need it?
Peace,
Ken
ps – I did not proofread this so please excuse any typos….
Dan,
Hope that by now you are well on your way to being mended! As usual your story left me smiling and able to relate in my own way. Raising bison in the middle of corn, soybean and cattle country has earned me my share of weird looks!
My cousin and neighbor, Ryan, for example…in the last 3 years since we started this crazy idea… started out less than interested in what we were doing. As he often comes down for coffee and beer breaks on the weekends he has heard us talk and dream. This past October his brother, Ronnie, came for a visit from Florida and Ryan brought him down to visit “The Ranchers” as he calls us. I’ll be darned if I got to tell Ronnie a single thing! Ryan conducted the whole tour! It was one of those same kind of moments that left me smiling and feeling satisfied!
Hope you’re back to yourself in no time!
Carie