As far back as I can remember my dad had horses. He used them for farming. They were what pulled the plow, and the harrow , as well as the hay rack and the buckboard. Hank Windiate had one old horse and he used it to pull the wagon he used as his means of transportation. Every morning Hank would harness that poor old bag of bones and hook it to the wagon. I know there is a name for that kind of wagon, but I forget what it was. Hank was paralyzed on one side of his body, but he could still drag himself up over the wheel and onto the spring board seat and off to town he went. I think all the old farts went up and set on a bench that was right outside the jail and watched the world go by.
Now the jail in itself was another story. It was very small. No! Smaller than that. It was probably about 10' x 10'. I heard that it could hold 4 prisoners, but I found that hard to believe. Maybe they slept standing up. I asked Dad once if there had ever been a prisoner in their and of course he gave me some bullshit story about a bank robber or some such nonsense. I know I never seen any sign of a prisoner. I did hear all the old men arguing one day because some one had spit on the street and that was just so disrespectful and that man should be put in the jail. The sheriff would take care of it when he came back. No one was real sure where the sheriff had gone. They were not even sure who the sheriff was, but they were all pretty sure he would come back and lock that man up, whoever he was.
But this is not about the sheriff now, is it? No. It is about my Dad's horses. When we were still on the Stroh place he had bought us kids a Shetland Pony. I am pretty sure he was drunk when he did that and I am pretty sure Mother pointed out to him that he was not very smart if he thought for one minute that he could go into town and do "whatever" and then come dragging a pony home and she would overlook his indiscretion. I had to take her side in that one, especially after we got a good look at our new pony. It was little, not like the big horses that we wanted to ride in the parade. He was also furry. He was kind of cute looking out the back door at him clear across the yard standing there all alone. Looks are certainly deceiving!
My brother, being the oldest and bravest decided he would ride Star first. He got the saddle and walked toward the horse. Holy Mary, Mother of God! I swear that horse had fire coming out his eyes and nose both. Jake hesitated and Star began to emit sounds that only the Devil in Hell below could identify. He began to rear up and kick backwards, and forwards and I swear that beast had 8 legs. At that point Jake dropped the saddle and lunged on his back to ride him bareback. With his hands wound in his mane he looked towards Heaven and smiled a very wide smile which was immediately followed by Star reversing directions twice causing Jake to do a half backward, followed by a full forward and then a side dismount. Star turned to face us as if to ask who was next. There were no takers. About the only action Star got after that was for us to lead him around the yard and we could pet him, but make no mistake, he was not going to be ridden by any man, woman or child.
Little note here on the side. My brother had a scar on his right cheek. He had Star to thank for that. Well actually he had himself to thank for that. Jake and some of his little friends were playing in the yard and they bet each other that they could sneak up on Star and "goose him". Jake went first. He also went last because at the same time Jake reached his rear end, Star kicked backwards at the unseen intruder and Jake went clear across the fence and was immediately rushed to the hospital in Hutchinson to get his face put back on. After that he gave Star a wide berth.
When dad bought horses they were always a "matched pair." A matched pair was some sort of big deal to the men who had a matched pair. The last matched pair my dad ever owned was bought about the time we left the Stroh place. In my 7 year old mind I seem to recall that this was a pair of "Strawberry Roans." Not sure how to spell that, but I can still see them in my mind. They were strawberry which meant that were sort of red. Mostly off white with a kind of pink sheen and roan because of the spots. Their tails were blondish red and dad spent many hours braiding the tails and putting a ribbon in the braids.
(Did I ever mention that my dad was in World War 1 and served in the Cavalry and his job was to take care of the horses. He had a hole in one of his arms where he had been bitten by a horse. I never attempted that horse riding business because I did not want no damned horse trying to eat me.)
I used to think my dad was mean, but time has softened my memories of him and I now see him as a sad little soul. He was 30 years older then my mom and so I think kids were just something that had happened to him, because he certainly did not have paternal feelings towards any of us, although in later years he did dote on my sister Mary. And when I had my first baby, Debbie he actually touched her and held her. She is the only one I have a picture of with him.
Looking back I think he brushed his horses on a daily basis and braided their tails as an act of love. He was always tender with them, but if they did not obey when he "hee'd or haw'd" he was not above picking up a single tree, or whip or what ever was handy and beating them into submission. Lord the things we did back then would get a man hung now days. I think maybe in my little mind I was afraid he would do the same to me. He was always just a silent man around the house and we walked lightly.
When Star was gone, the Strawberry Roans were gone and Danny was gone there was no reason to stay in Nickerson. Mother had gone to Salt City Business College and learned to be a bookkeeper/secretary. She then found a job in Hutchinson and we moved there. Dad used to drive to Nickerson every day to hang out at the pool hall there and play dominoes with his friends. I guess he worked there. I guess he never really left Nickerson either.
I guess Hutchinson was too much of a change for me because I skipped school most of the time and finally dropped out completely. I got a job washing dishes at Skaets Steak Shop. Then I met and married my first husband. Mom went to work there as did my sister Donna. When I left my husband I returned to work at Skaets as a waitress until I opened my own restaurant. Dorothy worked there. And now my sister owns it. A long time ago.
Lot of water under the bridge, so to speak.
Now the jail in itself was another story. It was very small. No! Smaller than that. It was probably about 10' x 10'. I heard that it could hold 4 prisoners, but I found that hard to believe. Maybe they slept standing up. I asked Dad once if there had ever been a prisoner in their and of course he gave me some bullshit story about a bank robber or some such nonsense. I know I never seen any sign of a prisoner. I did hear all the old men arguing one day because some one had spit on the street and that was just so disrespectful and that man should be put in the jail. The sheriff would take care of it when he came back. No one was real sure where the sheriff had gone. They were not even sure who the sheriff was, but they were all pretty sure he would come back and lock that man up, whoever he was.
But this is not about the sheriff now, is it? No. It is about my Dad's horses. When we were still on the Stroh place he had bought us kids a Shetland Pony. I am pretty sure he was drunk when he did that and I am pretty sure Mother pointed out to him that he was not very smart if he thought for one minute that he could go into town and do "whatever" and then come dragging a pony home and she would overlook his indiscretion. I had to take her side in that one, especially after we got a good look at our new pony. It was little, not like the big horses that we wanted to ride in the parade. He was also furry. He was kind of cute looking out the back door at him clear across the yard standing there all alone. Looks are certainly deceiving!
My brother, being the oldest and bravest decided he would ride Star first. He got the saddle and walked toward the horse. Holy Mary, Mother of God! I swear that horse had fire coming out his eyes and nose both. Jake hesitated and Star began to emit sounds that only the Devil in Hell below could identify. He began to rear up and kick backwards, and forwards and I swear that beast had 8 legs. At that point Jake dropped the saddle and lunged on his back to ride him bareback. With his hands wound in his mane he looked towards Heaven and smiled a very wide smile which was immediately followed by Star reversing directions twice causing Jake to do a half backward, followed by a full forward and then a side dismount. Star turned to face us as if to ask who was next. There were no takers. About the only action Star got after that was for us to lead him around the yard and we could pet him, but make no mistake, he was not going to be ridden by any man, woman or child.
Little note here on the side. My brother had a scar on his right cheek. He had Star to thank for that. Well actually he had himself to thank for that. Jake and some of his little friends were playing in the yard and they bet each other that they could sneak up on Star and "goose him". Jake went first. He also went last because at the same time Jake reached his rear end, Star kicked backwards at the unseen intruder and Jake went clear across the fence and was immediately rushed to the hospital in Hutchinson to get his face put back on. After that he gave Star a wide berth.
When dad bought horses they were always a "matched pair." A matched pair was some sort of big deal to the men who had a matched pair. The last matched pair my dad ever owned was bought about the time we left the Stroh place. In my 7 year old mind I seem to recall that this was a pair of "Strawberry Roans." Not sure how to spell that, but I can still see them in my mind. They were strawberry which meant that were sort of red. Mostly off white with a kind of pink sheen and roan because of the spots. Their tails were blondish red and dad spent many hours braiding the tails and putting a ribbon in the braids.
(Did I ever mention that my dad was in World War 1 and served in the Cavalry and his job was to take care of the horses. He had a hole in one of his arms where he had been bitten by a horse. I never attempted that horse riding business because I did not want no damned horse trying to eat me.)
I used to think my dad was mean, but time has softened my memories of him and I now see him as a sad little soul. He was 30 years older then my mom and so I think kids were just something that had happened to him, because he certainly did not have paternal feelings towards any of us, although in later years he did dote on my sister Mary. And when I had my first baby, Debbie he actually touched her and held her. She is the only one I have a picture of with him.
Looking back I think he brushed his horses on a daily basis and braided their tails as an act of love. He was always tender with them, but if they did not obey when he "hee'd or haw'd" he was not above picking up a single tree, or whip or what ever was handy and beating them into submission. Lord the things we did back then would get a man hung now days. I think maybe in my little mind I was afraid he would do the same to me. He was always just a silent man around the house and we walked lightly.
When Star was gone, the Strawberry Roans were gone and Danny was gone there was no reason to stay in Nickerson. Mother had gone to Salt City Business College and learned to be a bookkeeper/secretary. She then found a job in Hutchinson and we moved there. Dad used to drive to Nickerson every day to hang out at the pool hall there and play dominoes with his friends. I guess he worked there. I guess he never really left Nickerson either.
I guess Hutchinson was too much of a change for me because I skipped school most of the time and finally dropped out completely. I got a job washing dishes at Skaets Steak Shop. Then I met and married my first husband. Mom went to work there as did my sister Donna. When I left my husband I returned to work at Skaets as a waitress until I opened my own restaurant. Dorothy worked there. And now my sister owns it. A long time ago.
Lot of water under the bridge, so to speak.
