Fixing fence is the one of the hardest jobs on a ranch. I no longer live on a ranch, but I do know what hard work is. Fences are everyone's concern, but nowadays,the "hole" is always your neighbor's side not your own. It used to be that you would respect your neighbor and mend the fence together. If their cows got in your field, a simple phone call resolved the problem. You might even saddle up your own horse and help them gather them up. We need more people who are willing to roll their sleeves up and fix the fence regardless of who your neighbor is. There are people in this country who need to be reminded that a fence is like the way you should conduct your life. Your posts should be straight and neat. The wire needs to be stretched tight and your gate might be closed, but can still be easily opened. And most of all, we can all saddle up together and ride the range, it won't matter if you have an Appaloosa, Quarter Horse or Thoroughbred. The cows still have to be gathered, fences have to be fixed, and the range is a wide open space of opportunity for us all.

Dad's Place on the Hill

Posted Saturday, December 10, 2011, at 6:10 PM

Dad's place as the sun was setting after the dedication

On Thanksgiving Day of this year, our family was able to dedicate "Dad's Place On The Hill".

Our brother, Buddy began an ambitious project to create a place for Dad's covered wagon complete with a gathering place for us all. Many members of the family; siblings, grandchildren and cousins labored at different times to complete this memorial

Mom is able to see Dad's Place each morning as she wakes up. A path has been cleared for her to walk up and sit on a park bench on the sunny days.

Visitors are able to view Dad's Place long before they stop their car in the driveway. To me, it is Dad's way of welcoming us home each time we visit.

The great-grand kids can clamber into the wagon and pretend that they are pioneers, just as my sister Bev and I used to do. They will play "hide and go seek" amongst the metal memories of rusted vehicles and Dad's "Auction Finds".

We siblings can reminiscence about our walks up the hill with bare feet on the scorching ground. We had great adventures in the pastures that surround our newly special place. Bessie and Abby, two of our milk cows meeting us at the top of the hill and walking companionably to the barn to be milked. The times that we dared each other to walk down into the creepy darkness of Old Ben Raymond's basement. Or riding our horses to the abandoned orchard on the Kast property to get wormy apples.

Honoring our loved ones does not have to be a big event or building a fancy structure. It is the simple act of sharing a legacy of memories and examples of those who have passed through this life.

A transformation has come over our family since the loss of our dad. We have grown closer as siblings and each of us has found a way to honor his memory.

Buddy honored our father by creating a place to be enjoyed by everyone.

Jody honored him by building a cross to comfort my mother.

Rick was able to honor him at the memorial service by memorizing his poem, "Growing Up Poor".

Our sister, Bev honors him by being there for Mom when we are not able to do so ourselves.

And hopefully, I am able to honor him by sharing these memories in the form of a blog.

This year, we will each have a stocking hung on the chimney with care. A pocket from one of Dad's shirt adorns each stocking to remind us of the "treasures" that he would bring home from his horse rides.

Dad will always occupy a special place in our hearts. All of us remember the twinkle in his eye as he prepared to tell a "story". We hear his counsel when we are making decisions in our daily lives.

And best of all, when the world gets a little too noisy or combative; we have "Dad's Place on the Hill to spend a quiet moment or two.

Comments

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Your blogs do truly honor your Dad. I like the idea of the shirt pockets.

Thanks, once again, for sharing

-- Posted by jessiemiller on Sat, Dec 10, 2011, at 10:53 PM
Thank you, We never knew if it would be a special kind of rock or a black and brown wooly bear. My mom always got the first buttercups of the year.

-- Posted by KH Gal on Sat, Dec 10, 2011, at 11:01 PM
Great article Bonnie...the memorial looks really nice. Papa was an extraordinary man and we are all better people because of his teachings and the impressions he left on us.

-- Posted by shanea9 on Sun, Dec 11, 2011, at 9:54 AM
loved the article, too bad more kid's don't have as much love and respect for thier parents anymore.

-- Posted by grammaidaho on Sun, Dec 11, 2011, at 6:25 PM
He will live on in your heart forever!

-- Posted by MsMarylin on Sun, Dec 11, 2011, at 6:49 PM
I loved the story too, but have to wonder if I might have known a relative of yours in MH back in the 50's and 60's. His last name was Allen, but I cannot come up with a first name. He lived in a small house on South 5th West street and had horses. I know he had at least one son who would be about 65 or 66 now.

-- Posted by wh67 on Mon, Dec 12, 2011, at 12:10 AM
My cousin Roy lived in Mountain Home for a lot of years. He is about 82 now. I know that he had a son who died very young who might have been that age now.

-- Posted by KH Gal on Mon, Dec 12, 2011, at 7:38 AM
Roy Allen doesn't ring a bell for me either.

-- Posted by wh67 on Mon, Dec 12, 2011, at 10:02 AM
I have some friends who has lived on S 5th W forever. I will ask them if they lived there in the 50's or 60's and knew someone with the last name of Allen. They lived there when the Dairy was across the street and none of those houses were built yet. The houses were built in the 70's

-- Posted by MsMarylin on Mon, Dec 12, 2011, at 10:27 AM
I forgot, but my Uncle Henry lived in Mountain Home for a very long time and his son Doug would have been about that age now.

My aunt's name was Willa, but we called her Aunt Bill. She had red hair and Uncle Henry had a head full of white hair. He wasn't very tall.

They moved to King Hill after they retired. I sure miss them.

-- Posted by KH Gal on Mon, Dec 12, 2011, at 3:14 PM
Doug Allen sounds right for some reason. His dad did have white hair. I lived right straight across from the dairy for almost 18 years. A friend of mine (Jim Gette, also gone now) and I dug a "fort" in your Uncle's back pasture once. Or at least I think we did.

-- Posted by wh67 on Mon, Dec 12, 2011, at 8:59 PM
There's still a house that sits across from where Browns Dairy used to be. It sits next to an open field where there has been horses out there.

-- Posted by MsMarylin on Mon, Dec 12, 2011, at 9:07 PM
MsMarylin - The house I grew up in on S 5 W is still there and has a huge weeping willow out front. The dairy I mentioned was actually a cold storage/freezer plant for Young's Dairy from Twin Falls. Semitrucks dropped milk and ice cream cases and local drivers loaded them for delivery to MH, MHAFB and surrounding grocery outlets.

-- Posted by wh67 on Tue, Dec 13, 2011, at 9:47 PM
I know which house your talking about. When I lived down the street the Dairy was then called Browns Dairy and from your description it sounds just like Young's Dairy.

The Dairy is no longer there, in its place they built 2 apt buildings. I asked my friend if she remembered anyone by the last name of Allen who at one time lived in that area. She doesn't remember, and she reminded me that she was only born in 1963. lol!

-- Posted by MsMarylin on Tue, Dec 13, 2011, at 10:00 PM
I will ask my mom if she remembers where they lived. Doug was quite a bit younger than the other kids. Sadly, he struggled with alcohol for many years and ended his life in 1989.

My Uncle Henry had a colorful past. I think that he also had a brother named Lewis/Louis.

-- Posted by KH Gal on Tue, Dec 13, 2011, at 10:09 PM

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