Growing Up in Montana

By Neil Cromwell

I always felt privileged to have been raised in the Bitterroot Valley. Yes, we had tragedy when we lost our dad and our ranch, but with the help of the Good Lord, we prevailed. These are our experiences of ranching, hunting, logging, and even fighting forest fires.

The valley was at its best,

And its beauty must be told.

Hearing it again and again,

Its memories shall never grow old.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646282395

Book preview

Moving into the Bitterroot Valley

Dad and Mom were married on August 15, 1936, in Missoula, Montana. Following their marriage, they moved to the little town of Plains. Dad’s older sister, Lucille, had married Carl Pilgrim, and they wanted them to stay with them until they got a place of their own. It was while they were there that Dad decided to get a job in the woods and become a logger. Because of his ambition, he realized the best money was felling trees, so he became a feller. In those days, they never had the modern chain saws as we have today. The only saws that were available to them were those long crosscut saws. With a feller on each end of the long saw, they slowly began cutting their way into a tree, with one man pushing while the other was pulling. Little by little their blade sank deeper and deeper into the very heart of their tree.

Finally, after several minutes of strenuous work, they could hear their tree as it began to crack. With a great sigh of relief, they withdrew their blade from the tree. Stepping back, one was always heard to yell, Timber! With a yell that echoed up and down the canyons below, everyone knew that another great tree was about to fall. What an awesome sight it was to see one of those towering trees come crashing down upon the ground!

With a crash that could be heard for miles, everyone knew that another tree was on the ground.

Reaching for their axes, the loggers would begin to carefully cut each one of the branches off. Because of the lengths of the beds of the truck, each log had to also be cut into thirty-six-foot lengths. As you can see, this was extremely hard and slow work. What a relief it was when the day was over and they could finally go home. As you can imagine, all loggers were rough and tough men. They simply had to be in order to survive the rigors of the woods.

It did not matter it if was a hundred degrees in the shade or forty below in the sunlight—the logging must go on. Then to realize they often cut those trees in four feet of snow, it makes you wonder how any of them survived at all. Because of their rough and tough lifestyle, they were known to have a great social life.

When Dad began logging, he was teamed up with another feller by the name of Marshall Wood. Together they made a great team, so naturally they soon became great friends as well. Having made a great friend and felling partner, he felt that he was on his way to becoming a successful lumberjack.

As Mom and Dad entered into 1937, little did they realize the heartache that awaited them. It began on June 26, 1937, when Mom gave birth to their first child. To everyone’s surprise, she delivered twin boys. What joy those identical twin boys brought into their lives! They were both blonds and had blue eyes. Because neither of them expected twins, they named one Cliff and the other Don. Then suddenly, tragedy struck. Because of the inadequate facilities, that night they each took a chill and died. They put each one of their little baby boys into a casket, and both were laid to rest in a single grave.

Following the graveside service, the next day, Dad was back in the woods. Soon another tragedy would occur that would alter their lives forever.

Suddenly and without any warning at all, a dead snag began to fall, striking Marshall; he was instantly killed and died upon his feet. Seeing his lifeless friend as he lay dead upon the ground, Dad gently reached down and lifted him up into this arms. Slowly he began to carry him down into the landing below. Setting him gently back on the ground, he got into his truck and drove away.

When he arrived at home, he told Mom what had happened. With Dad still shaking himself, they both went into shock and unbelief. When she finally was able to gain her composure, she pleaded with him to leave the woods before something terrible happened to him. After thinking it over, he felt Mom was right. Even though there was good money to be made, it was just not worth risking his life every day in order to make it.

Following Marshall’s funeral, Dad again got into his pickup truck. Because our economy was so dependent upon lumber, he drove into plains and began looking for a job. After looking it over, he had to carefully see what he would do. When he arrived home that day, he explained it to Mom this way. I am just not cut out to walk around and work all day under a tin roof. Mom knew Dad and fully understood his feelings. Dad did not know what he really wanted out of life, so Carl told him to drive up into the Bitterroot to see his older brother, Les. After Les carefully listened to Dad’s dilemma, he suggested that it was time for them to buy a ranch of their own. After all, Les told him, you were raised on a ranch, so it is time that you get a place of your own.

No one ever told me how Les and his wife, Naomi, had met Don and Gladys Costello, but they had. It was Don who first told Les that their neighbors the Jamisons had put their ranch up for sale. Don and Gladys were hoping that Les and Naomi would buy it and become their neighbors, but after Les heard of Dad’s dilemma, he stepped back and asked his kid brother to buy it.

Once Mom opened the curtains in that large ranch house, she knew where she belonged. On top at a great hill, the beautiful Bitterroot Valley seemed to lie at her, yes, very doorstep. Stretching far below were miles and miles of some of the most beautiful country in all of Montana. No young couple could have possibly been happier than they were when they finally closed the deal on their ranch. Not only did they have a very nice home, but they also had a very nice ranch.

Just above them was a large canal that constantly brought a fresh flow of irrigation water for their land. It was this canal that brought new life to much of the east side of the valley. Years earlier, the planners of the valley had to decide what kind of a valley they wanted. After carefully analyzing the land, they felt this could become a very fertile land for both fruit and beef. What they lacked for the east side was water, so they quickly set out to see what could be done. Just south of their county seat in Hamilton were two beautiful mountains. Because of the abundance of furs that were harvested from this area, they named these mountains Trappers Peak. Seeing the nice creeks that flowed down from off their snowcapped peaks, the valley’s planners decided to make a large earth-filled dam. Once this was completed and they saw all the beauty and wonder of it all, they named it Lake Como. From the overflowing waters they made their irrigation canal and named it the Big Ditch.

It stretched far out across the east side of the valley, and they now had ample water for all their crops. With creeks flowing down and out of each of the canyons in the Bitterroot Range, they felt they were ready to develop the entire valley. Then the planting began. They planted thousands of both apple and cherry trees, and the valley began looking like a paradise. How beautiful it was to see all those blossoms in the spring. Then seeing all the red fruit from both the apple and cherry trees made my horse reach across the fence.

What was not planted into fruit was planted into hay and grain for livestock. With the floor of the valley rich in topsoil, the sugar beets were seen to grow. It is very difficult to describe both the beauty and enjoyment that everyone lived and experienced. Ranchers are also sociable people, so every summer we would see all those blankets lying on the ground and under the shade of those fruit trees. With children playing everywhere, you knew their parents were all up a tree and close by.

If two words could best describe what this valley had become, I feel they would have to be trees and trains. With fruit trees and beef cattle on every hillside, trains were constantly needed to haul all the products to the markets in Missoula. What a welcome sight it always was to watch that train as it slowly pulled its way up into the valley. With huge puffs of smoke and the whistle blowing at every crossing, everyone knew we were living in a land of plenty. It was also a welcome sight to watch it pull into Stevensville. We always turned around in class to watch the steam engine stop and take on fresh water. Then with a blast of his whistle, he slowly began its long trip back to Missoula.

Raising Up our Ranch

Those early years were not only exciting; they were also extremely busy as well. Not only were we in the middle of the Second World War, but money was also extremely hard to come by. Driving up to the bank in Hamilton, Dad carefully laid out his plans to Marvin Bell. Dad was not only a very gifted person but, Marvin soon found out, but also a very persuasive one. Hearing of all his plans, what else could Marvin do but loan him the money that he needed? With these additional funds, he set out to develop his ranch. With a nice string of dairy cows and pigs for pork, we were able to have a healthy living. One thing that can always be said about a rancher is that we may not be rich, but we live on a daily basis what the people in the cities can only dream of enjoying. It did not take Dad long, however, to realize that his ranch alone was not going to take him far. It was for that reason that he turned to the love of his life, and that love was the wonderful world of horses.

Dad’s mother was the niece of the bronc rider Dugan Smith. We were told that he not only rode with the best of them but that he had also ridden all over the country. One look at him in the saddle and we all knew where Dad got his love and ability to ride.

Once the word got out that Dad not only was a bronc buster but also trained horses, the trucks began to arrive, and they came and they came. Looking out the window one day, he soon began to wonder if he had a cattle ranch or a horse ranch. I had to say, You added a new face to a great idea.

In those days, the Forest Service patrolled every trail in the forests. Because of this, there was a great need for a lot of horses. Just north of Missoula was the once-famous Remount Station. With horses everywhere, it was there that Dad once walked in and laid out his plan to some great and well-known friends. Taking him outside, they showed him the best young stud that they had. Once Dad saw that beautiful chestnut with a split-blaze face, he knew that he found what he was looking for. In keeping with his own name, the announcers were heard to echo up and down the valley, This is Cliff Cromwell on Champ, passing directly below the announcer’s stand! With black-studded bridles and saddles for all of us, we, too, joined in the parades and horse shows. It did not take Dad long to realize that he was in for some mighty competitive competition for the blue ribbons. It seemed that many of the horses that were there were either trained by him or sired by Champ and trained by him.

He took it in good humor, however, because it is all in a good day at the Ravalli County Fair.

One of the most lasting memories I have of Dad was to see him in the saddle of a good bronc. What others paid good money to see in the rodeos, we always enjoyed daily.

One day we saw the unusual. Dad was in the saddle, and the bronc did everything he could to throw him, as so many say, higher than a kite. We could see that Dad just would not come out of the saddle, and the horse could also see that he was beginning to run out of steam. Realizing this, he decided to just lie down and let Dad off. When he hit the ground, Dad found one of his legs pinned under him. He stayed in the saddle, and the horse gave up, stood back upon his feet, and stopped bucking altogether. Dad did suffer from an injured ankle, but he just hobbled around for a couple of days.

Because Dad was such an exciting person to be around, people were drawn to him. With a huge front gate that seemed to always be open, our ranch welcomed people who seemed to come from everywhere. One day I looked up and saw one of the most unusual sights of my life. I was only four at that time, but as Dad came in through the gate, I saw the smallest horse I had ever seen. We were only used to seeing huge horses, but this little horse was so small we could hardly see her in the back of the truck. Running out of the house, I was at the barn to open the door for him. Seeing how excited I was, he quickly told me that she was a Shetland pony and her name was Trixy. Dad felt the need for me to have a horse of my own, so he brought her home for me. As soon as she was off-loaded, he showed me the saddle and bridle that had come with her. I was accustomed to riding behind him, but now I could honestly say I had a horse of my own.

Soon the saddle was on and Dad lifted me upon her back. Once I felt the touch of that saddle, I knew where I belonged. The next morning, he told me that he had to ride out and do some irrigating. He did not have to ask if I wanted to go, because I already had my hat on!

As we rode out that morning, I reminded him of how we must look like Red Ryder and Little Beaver. That was the name of a very famous comic book, and they always seemed to go out riding together. With a very tall man in the saddle and an Indian boy by his side, they made quite a pair.

As we approached our field, he told me to just give Trixy some rein and let her graze on the tall grass. Soon he had a shovel over his shoulder and went striding off through the hayfield. Looking up, I saw one of the most unusual sights of my childhood. Up the road came the strangest-looking trucks that I had ever seen. Just as they approached me, they all stopped. To my surprise, the drivers and their assistants were wearing the strangest-looking uniforms. Reaching for their rifles, they loaded them and then began to walk to the back of the trucks. Soon the tailgates were down, and men began to jump down from out of them. Toward Don Costella’s apple orchard, I saw what had to be over a hundred men. They began to climb the ladders into Don Costella’s orchard.

The next day, I rode out with Dad, and then the next and the next. With each passing day our trucks were seen as they came driving up the road. Just as suddenly as they arrived, they disappeared and were never seen again. You may ask who they were and where they came from, so I will tell you this. Those men that were up in the trees all came from Germany and were some of the finest soldiers the German Army ever had. Each one of them was a POW and sent to Fort Missoula. Once the war was over, they were free and went home. Together, we all experienced the most bountiful and most glorious years in the history of the Bitterroot Valley. I say that because we are known as the Second Yakima Valley.

My Earliest Memories

Pools of Water

My earliest memory found me suntanning on the top of Dad’s barn. When Dad and Mom purchased their ranch, it came with a very tall barn. With a hayloft for their hay, there was adequate room for some livestock as well.

With visions of his own, Dad felt a single barn was not adequate for his needs, so he decided to add two wings on the sides for additional usage. It had a very nice horse barn on one side, and he then made a dairy on the other. This improvement really enhanced the look of the ranch. With this addition, Don and I had dreams of our own with those nice summer months coming. That nice sloping roof was all we needed. Placing a ladder against the side of that dairy barn, we were soon on the roof. Now all we needed to do was take off our shirt, pull our hat down over our eyes, and have the perfect suntan. Once in a while, we even turned over so the tan came out on both sides.

We became so dark that we dared not slip out of our trousers and put on our swimming trunks. The reason for that was that we simply looked like a half-baked donut. Lying on that roof with nothing but time on my hands, I began to think of something else.

Maybe it was the feel of the soft summer breeze, or maybe the sounds of running water from our irrigation ditch might have had something to do with it, but I began to think of a nice, cool bath. Explaining all this to Don, I quickly climbed back down the ladder and headed for the ditch. Now what was needed was a nice hole to slide into. As I looked around, it did not take me long to find the ideal place. Seeing a couple of nice rocks, all I had to do was remove them and even make the hole bigger. Once that was done, I began to look around. Not seeing anyone, quickly I slid out of my trousers and quietly slid down into my new bathtub. Oh, how wonderful that cool water felt, especially after being on the top of that hot barn!

Once again, I pulled my hat down so no one would recognize me, or maybe it was to keep the sunlight out of my eyes. Suddenly, I heard a plop. Looking up, I saw the cutest little frog lying in the middle of my stomach. With a smile upon my face, I could only welcome my new guest. After all, with a stomach as brown as my own, I could only guess he thought it was a nice, warm rock. After all, he probably thought it was his turn for a good suntan too!

As I continued to enjoy my new friend, I saw Don begin to get the idea. Once we told Mom, she was as excited as we were. Without running water in the house, she felt we had our bath for the week. We had to agree, because all this crystal clear water that came directly out of Lake Loma was certainly good enough for bathwater. This was the way we enjoyed our youth, with not even a radio to interrupt our peaceful and quiet lives. We had no idea what was going on in the outside world.

Well, one thing does lead to another, so here is where it went. Years later, our cousins Russel and Phillip approached me with a request. They wanted to know if Don and I wanted to go fishing with them.

Smiling, I knew why they asked. They were just not certain where the good fishing was. Their parents had moved to Missoula, so they were not certain about the Bitterroot. Always loving a good smile, I assured them that they came to the right person.

Just north of the little town of Victor was a canyon known as Swethouse. I will never know why they gave such a beautiful place that name, but they did. I loved fishing that canyon for two reasons. First, that creek was ideal for some great fishing. Second, with rushing waters and a rugged canyon, there were deep pools of water for the fish.

So it was agreed to fish the Swethouse Creek the next day. What was to follow was so precious that I will just never forget it. Once we were there, we decided to walk up the canyon for three or four miles and then fish our way home. With a limit of fifteen per person and an ample supply of fish, we decided, as each one of us limited out, we would walk down to the car and wait for the rest of them.

So off we went for an enjoyable day of fishing. Soon we were there, and we were each on our own. After a great day of fishing, I could see where I had caught my limit. Now I will admit, I am just not the greatest fisherman around, so I began to wonder how long the rest of them had to wait for me. After walking for nearly a mile, I finally came walking out of the canyon. To my surprise, I saw both Russell and Phillip, but Don was nowhere to be found. Don was a good fisherman, too, so it surprised all of us that he was not here.

Realizing that they lived in Missoula, I asked them to go ahead and go home. I knew Don, and I trusted him completely. Realizing Don would soon be coming down the trail, I once again began making my way back up the creek. Even though the sounds of rushing water might drown out my voice, I began calling out to him.

After walking for nearly a mile and getting hoarse from calling, I began to be concerned. What if he did slip and was injured? After all, with all these boulders around, he might be dead in the creek. Then I remembered there were grizzly bears and cougars in this canyon too. Now I did feel bad, because not only did I send Russel and Phillip home, but now I was also alone and could not find Don anywhere. Fear began to set in, and my heart began to pound.

Looking up, I could see from the sun that it was also beginning to get late in the afternoon. Looking everywhere, I began to push my way up and through the brush. Then I saw something. At first, I just could not believe my eyes. There he was in a pool of water, his hat pulled down over his eyes. Even though I was worried sick over him, I just could not become angry. After all, he was my brother, and furthermore, I had taught him that. Well, I began to feel relaxed now, so I felt he owed me something for what he had put me through. With the stealth of a cougar in prowl, I quietly crouched over and sneaked up on him. As I approached him, I got down on my stomach and steadily worked my way right up to him. Taking a weed, I began to work it up under his hat. Suddenly, I touched his nose. Completely startled, he jerked his hat off and began to look around. Seeing me next to his ear, he became even more startled. As I began to smile, he began to calm down.

Because I have always loved humor, I wanted to see just how far I could take it. Pointing to the sun, I began to say, Donald, the sun comes up and the sun goes down. The sun goes down and the moon comes up. The moon comes up and the cougars come out to…prey.

I feel that was the spark that Don needed to warm his water, because suddenly he jumped out and we headed for home.

As for me, I went laughing, all the way!

Parachutes

Finally, it was over, and not only Germany but Japan as well had surrendered. Now we could finally have peace and some sugar for our fudge!

One afternoon, Dad and Mom came driving in through the front gate. Both Don and I were anxious to see what they had brought home for us. To our surprise, they each came in carrying two nice boxes. As quick as we could, we ran to see what they had. To our surprise, they had the most beautiful cloth we had ever seen. In one box was blue-and-white material, and in the other, red-and-white. It only took one touch to realize this was different from anything we had ever seen. Dad explained that our soldiers were all coming home now. Because the war was over, there was an abundance of surplus as well. Taking them out of the boxes, they carefully laid each one on the table. Dad told us they were parachutes, so that was new to us.

Now we were curious. Sitting us down, he carefully explained what they were used for. Now I was excited. I quickly asked Dad to climb up on top of our barn and show us how they worked. For some reason, he did not feel it was that great of an idea, but he did promise to help me make a small one so I could see how they worked. He got a piece of old sheet, and I soon saw him cut it out. Running out into the barn, I began cutting some strips of twine. Cutting several holes in my chute, we soon saw how it would work. Now it was up to me to find something to tie all these strings to. Finding an old spark plug, I was ready to see how this thing worked. In our yard were several large cottonwood trees. Climbing as far up as I could, I began looking down on the top of our house. Yelling as loud as I could, I began seeing everyone as they came outside to see my parachute work. Once they were ready, I carefully threw it as far as I could. How beautiful it was to see it so nicely drift down and across our large yard! Needless to say, I was impressed. That night, all I could think of was joining the Army so I could come down and out of an airplane.

The next day, I found myself climbing as high up in that tree as I could. Each time I became more thrilled than I was before. After climbing up that tree for several times, I began to think of something new. After I shared my idea with Mom, I saw terror all over her face. I could not understand why she was so upset over my idea. I was never one to plead and beg, but I soon found myself doing both. After promising her that there was nothing to worry about, I began making myself a new parachute. This one must be much larger, so she did consent and gave me an old sheet. Laying it across our oak table, I began to cut it out. This was a very nice parachute, so I knew it would work.

Dad taught me how to braid strings together, so I began to carefully braid my strings together. Boy, was I pleased when I was finally finished. Seeing terror still on Mom’s face, I promised her that I knew what I was doing. Running out to the barn, I had to find the cat that I liked the least. Our barn cats were tame because we always fed them. Soon I found what I thought was the right one. Running outside, I quickly got our ladder. Placing it against the barn, I very carefully began tying my cat into my large brand-new parachute. Once I knew he was secured and in place, I carefully began climbing up the ladder. I will admit, I held my breath when I stepped out and onto the roof of our barn. That roof was steep, and to carry a large cat in a large parachute was difficult. Realizing also that my cowboy boots were slick made it even more difficult. Not realizing what was about to happen, my cat trusted me completely. Little by little I began to ease my way closer and closer to the edge. This began to be scary for even me, but I knew my cat was safe. Looking across the yard, I could still see terror upon my mom’s face. Putting the final touch on my experiment, I began to lay the chute carefully to the side of my cat. Carefully, I began to check each string again. Not realizing what he was in for, my cat just lay in my arms and purred. What complete trust he had in me! I just wish Mom had that much trust in me too.

Once I felt everything was right, I threw him over. As long as I live, I will never forget what was to follow. I just could not realize how terrified that cat became. He even turned over and tried desperately to climb up the very strings that held him into the parachute. I looked again at Mom, and she, too, was still completely terrified. Looking down, I could see my cat had a perfect flight. Still terrified, he fought his trip all the way to the ground. At the last moment, he turned over and made a perfect landing. I was impressed. What a perfect landing he made! What amazed me was the way he came down. With a perfect landing, I expected him to lie down and wait for me. I was wrong. In fact, I just could not begin to be more wrong. Once his feet touched the ground, he tore out of there like a man that was shot out of a canon. Now I did have a problem. I had to keep an eye on him to see where he was going. He finally snagged my chute on a piece of wire, so he could not get away. Now I had to carefully work my way down from off the top of the barn.

As I got down, my concern was getting slivers in my britches. Inch by inch I began to work my way down. One slip and I knew I would break either a leg or my neck. I finally found him. I was sure that by now he would be glad to see me. How wrong was I again! He was so angry he looked like a wildcat from out of some African jungle. With his mouth wide open, all I could see were teeth. Then with those claws out, he reached as far as he could to tear me apart. Carefully I reached down and began working my parachute closer and closer to me. Finally, after several moments of talking to him, I managed to get him to begin to settle down.

Checking him over, I just held him closely to my heart. I could tell that cat how absolutely disappointed I was. I kept telling him that he was okay. After several moments, he finally began to fall asleep in my arms. Now I knew he trusted me. As he slept, I again made my way back to the top of the barn. Pausing for a long moment, I knew he was ready. Again I carefully threw him over. Again, suddenly terror gripped him. He fought that chute all the way to the ground. I was so surprised. I kept thinking that all he had to do was drift all the way to the ground. When I finally caught him again, he was as mad as he was before. Again, I was disappointed, so I carefully untied him and let him go. After thinking it over, I finally realized that cats are just not cut out to be paratroopers. The only thing that was left for me to do was to dream and wait for the day when I would come flying out of a plane myself.

Piggies on the Roof

Feeling that my experiments with parachutes were such an overwhelming success, I decided to pursue something else. I did feel bad, however, that my cat did not share the enthusiasm. Because of my love for animals, I decided to reverse my plan and see how I could give great pleasure to them!

Then one day I saw something that sparked the light of a bright idea. It all began when I looked into a rather-dark pigpen. Just seeing that sow (female pig) with all her new piggies lying there made me feel sorry for them. Once you have seen and gotten the feel of a piggy, you know how cute they really are. I thought they were so cute I even had aspirations of making a pet of one. I even mentioned to Don that I might possibly even have one of them sleeping beside of me on my pillow. What a cute round nose they have! I told Don. I could even see me rolling over in the back and rubbing noses with a cute little pig. For some reason, Don just did not share any of this at all.

Anyway, as I continued to look into their dark gloomy surroundings, I really began to feel sorry for them. Especially just above them was a brand-new roof, and the sun was shining so brightly. When Dad and Mom purchased this ranch, it had also come with a chicken house and toolshed all made up into one building. The problem was that it was old and unsafe. One night we bad a windstorm and it blew the roof right off the ground. It was so unusual that they took a picture of Don and me as we stood in front of the roof that lay flat on the ground.

Because Dad was such a good carpenter, he made a brand-new chicken house, calves, toolshed, and even a place for our pigs. With that large sloping roof now, I just felt it was time to really enjoy it. What better way than to give each one of these adorable piggies a suntan of their own. I ran up to the barn and reached for the ladder. Placing it firmly against the building, I climbed over the panel gate we had and approached my first piggy.

I dare not disturb the huge mama pig because I was just not certain how she would like it. My little adorable piggy just did not seem to mind it at all. After looking at me, in fact, he seemed to enjoy being lifted right off the floor like that. As quietly as I could, I again began to climb over the panel gate. Without so much as making a sound, we were over it and gone. Somehow I felt that I had been as quiet as a fox in a chicken house, because not a sound was heard. Once I climbed the ladder, I began to look for the best place to release him. But before I did, I must first enjoy the gentle touch of his nose—an unusual thing. Very cautiously he walked over the edge.

Looking far below, he just backed up, found a nice spot, and lay down. Once I felt he was content, I began to climb back down the ladder.

Again, I carefully climbed over the panel gate and picked up another pig. This time, however, I heard the sow grunt, but nothing more was said. Before I knew it, I had nearly a dozen piggies on the roof. Just the feel of that sunlight made them sleepy, so they all had a snooze and a mighty fine suntan at that. How pleased I was, and I could only imagine how pleased my dad must be. Feeling a little tired myself for all the work I had done, I decided to join them. So there we were all a dozen of us lying on the roof of the building and enjoying a great afternoon suntanning. With the brim of my hat down over my eyes, all I could feel was that warm, sunny breeze. Then, once more the thought returned to me: How proud Dad must be of me! But then I realized that he should be home soon. I just could not wait to see the expression on his face when he first saw all this. Finally, after an hour’s snooze, I woke up. Looking high into the sky, I could see from the sun that it must be time for Dad to be coming home.

How right I was as he came driving in through the gate. Jumping up quickly, I climbed down the ladder. I was so excited I opened the door of his truck before he had time to reach it himself. Seeing all the excitement upon my face, he was quick to follow me. Climbing as quickly as he could, he just could not wait to see what was there. Then suddenly it happened. How shocked I was when he was not excited at all. Yelling in anger, he told me to get those pigs off from the roof of his building. In his haste and anger, he never gave it a thought what his voice would do. Now all my piggies were awake and became terrified at what they heard.

Naturally, I had total chaos. With a dozen frightened piggies running around, now they were afraid to even let me touch them. Bending over to catch one, all I got was a frightened squeal as he ran between my legs. I must also admit that I began to become frightened too. My fear was that one of them might take the jump and others might follow. Now what was I to do? How I wish Dad would have shared my enthusiasm. Finally, I caught one. It made a squeal that even frightened me, and I picked him up. Now fear of his mama began to concern me. What would she do when I returned them into the pen? How surprised I was when she continued to calmly lie in the shade. It must have been the quality time off, being alone, that brought such serenity to her. Finally, after great difficulty, I had the last one in my hands. With one final glance, I had to tell them how much I had enjoyed being with all of them.

Needless to say, by the time I washed up for supper, the mood of the moment was rather cold. I would not be stretching it if I say it was downright chilling. It seemed like no one was anxious to see me at all. With such silence it gave me pause and a chance to reflect upon everything that had happened. I was not allowed to speak and defend myself, but in my heart I knew I was right. To me, every piggy should at least be given the opportunity to have suntan once a week at least, once a week!

Frightening Experiences

I am certain that everyone has gone through some very frightening experiences of their own. Once you have, you just never forget the trauma that was once yours. To my surprise, I went through what I would call terrifying experiences of my own. What surprised me was that I went through all three of them before I ever saw the inside of our schoolhouse door.

Allow me to begin by saying that as children, both my brother Don and I grew up on Western movies. Nothing thrilled my heart more than to see the cavalry as they came riding out across the great plains of our country. Then to see them as they set the charge and came galloping in was nothing short of spectacular. With their bugle blowing and those sabers flashing in the sun, everyone knew that they came in to save the day. On the other hand, I loved to see the Native American warriors as they rode out upon those beautiful mustangs. They truly added a flair that will live on in our hearts and memories forever. Because of this, I decided that I wanted to be able to ride a horse with a saddle or bareback like the Native American people had done. To my surprise one evening, Dad reached for his hat and told us that he wanted to go out for an evening ride. As we rode out that night, he decided to ride down the hill and go completely around the neighborhood. After riding for only a couple of miles, we began to approach Zeilers’ place.

When Mr. Zeiler saw us coming, he began to wave at us. Often, ranchers do that, so Dad knew that he wanted to visit for a couple of minutes. When he approached us, none of us knew what he had done to my horse. When he began waving his arms and shouting at us, it made my horse nervous. Without realizing that, Dad told me to ride on home and he would catch up to me later. As I began to turn my horse, he shot out of there like a racehorse does when he comes out of the starting gate. Just the day before, Dad had cut off his mane, so without a saddle or mane to hold on to, I began bouncing up and down like a cork upon water. Each time those thundering hooves came pounding down upon the hard surface of the road, it sent me bouncing all over his shoulders. I was so terrified all I could do was yell. Dad turned and saw what I was in for, and he was as terrified as I was. Now it became a two-horse race. Champ was a good horse, but with a man in the