Workin’ at The Ranch The First Summer – Part One: The First Day

Today was my first day at The Ranch.

I got up at 6 as usual, went into the house, washed up, and fed the dog. Then I sat down at the table and had a bowl of cereal. While I was reading the back of the cereal box, I remembered that first job I had. It was last summer ― pulling up weeds in the neighbor’s yard. It was awful: The ground was as hard as a rock. Since I got paid for doing it, I thought I’d like it. I didn’t.

As I got ready to leave to get my new glasses, I thought a bit about what I would be doing at The Ranch. Tim said they needed me ― I didn’t know what for. I wanted to … to be a cowboy. It was stupid, but I hoped they would give me a job that had something to do with the cattle ― and maybe give me a horse to ride, too.

I always wanted to be a cowboy.

I was five when I first knew. We were living at my grandma and grandpa’s, on their small farm. In the mornings I’d play in the big room off the kitchen. Grandma had a couple of records she knew I liked, so she played them for me. One was about Pecos Bill riding a tornado and all that stuff he did. The other was, “Cool Water.” I liked that one the best. I would stretch out on the floor when she put it on and imagine everything that was happening in the song. Like, I was the cowboy singing it:

          Keep a-movin’, Dan, don’t you listen to him, Dan,

          He’s a devil not a man

          And he spreads the burning sand with water,

          Cool water.

          Dan, can you see that big green tree

          Where the water’s running free, and it’s waiting

          there for me and you.

I didn’t know then that Dan was a mule.

When I was six, I got to listen to the radio after dinner. That big old wooden one that sat on the kitchen counter by the jams and jellies and the outside light switches. Grandma would clean up the kitchen while I settled in at the kitchen table, leaned up against the counter and got ready.  At just the right time, she’d come over, dry her hands on her apron and then turn on the radio. She’d get it tuned in to one of the stations that broadcast The Lone Ranger, Hopalong Cassidy, Red Rider, or The Cisco Kid.

It took no time at all. As soon as the program began with the sound of the fierce winds of the Yukon, I was in the Northwest Territory with:

Sergeant Preston of The Yukon … as howling winds echo across the snow-covered reaches of the wild Northwest ... Woof-Woof! It’s Yukon King, the swiftest and strongest lead dog of the Northwest … On King! On, you huskies!

I didn’t care that Sergeant Preston wasn’t a cowboy, ‘cause he was just like one.

The next evening, as soon as I heard the sound of a galloping horse and gunshots, I was somewhere on the dusty, wind-blown plains of the Wild West with:

The Lone Ranger! … A fiery horse with the speed of light, a cloud of dust and a hearty, Hi, Ho, Silver! … the daring and resourceful masked rider of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early western United States … Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear.

A shiver would run through me when I heard:

From out of the past come the thundering hoof beats of the great horse Silver. The Lone Ranger rides again! Come on Silver. Let’s go, big fella ―Hi, Ho, Silver! Away!

I’d listen to the stories about honest, law-abiding town folks, ranchers and settlers who were killed, robbed and wronged by the crooks, gunslingers and gangs of outlaws. The Lone Ranger, with Tonto, brought them all to justice.  As he rode off at the end, someone would ask, “Say, who was that masked man?” “Why, that was The Lone Ranger.” “Hi, Ho, Silver! Away!"

The next words I heard were, “It’s bedtime now.”

Of course, while I climbed up the grassy slope of the hill behind the house in the morning, I knew my grandma was in the kitchen “cookin’ me up some grub.”

Mom even got me a Hopalong Cassidy outfit for my sixth birthday. It was too big. But that was ok ― I wore it anyway. The shirt was black with snaps instead of buttons: a real cowboy shirt. She took it away to exchange. I waited a long time for it. One day, I gathered up my courage and asked when I would get it back; she got mad.

On Sundays I’d go out with my father. First thing, he’d take me and my sister to the drive-in for hamburgers, fries and a malt. Afterwards, most of the time we’d go to the movies. Both of us would buy some candy bars ― then we went in and saw the news, the cartoon, and then the two movies. It was at that time I saw the westerns with cowboys like Randolph Scott and Joel McCrea, in one of those old, old, movie theaters in the city. I saw “High Noon” there, too, with Gary Cooper. It was a grown-up’s movie, but we saw it anyway.

I was eleven when I saw “High Noon.” When it ended, I knew that when I grew up, I wanted to be a man just like Gary Cooper ― a real cowboy. One who rode and took special care of his horse. A cowboy who was strong, who knew what was right and did it ― no matter how hard it was. Who loved his girl and didn’t let her keep him from what he had to do. I got upset during the movie because his friends abandoned him, even his wife left him when he made up his mind to do what it was he had to do ― but that’s what it was like for a real cowboy. Then his wife ran back to find him and even saved him from getting shot. I knew I wanted a wife like her, too ― someday.

At fourteen I’d already ridden a couple of horses. That was on vacation up in the Sierra with my father. I did all right.

I wanted a horse of my own. But I didn’t tell anyone. I knew exactly the kind I wanted and what he’d look like. I wouldn’t have told anyone that, either. So I wished for him to myself.

I got the social security card, like Tim said. Filled out a form, signed it and all that stuff. The post mistress told me, “Remember the number, you’ll be using it the rest of your life.” So I did. Branded it into my brain.

It was early when Mom and I left for the city to pick up my new glasses. The doctor’s office was in a fancy old building that had marble around the elevator doors and on the floors. I was his first patient of the day, so he got right to fitting me. While he did, he and my mom talked. I didn’t pay much attention to them, until Mom said, “Kids nowadays don’t have any imagination.” They talked with each other, just like I wasn’t there. She said, “When we were kids we had to use our imagination; kids nowadays don’t have any.” He nodded, “That’s right.” I thought about the Depression, when she was a kid.  I knew it must have been hard for her and she was right about having to use her imagination. But that didn’t mean we didn’t have any. Anyway, I didn’t like what she said.

Going back down in the elevator, I noticed I could see more. But there wasn’t much to see in an elevator. When I stepped out of the building, though, “Wow!” All of a sudden I saw more than I’d ever seen before. I could even see things far away, like the clouds and how blue the sky was. I saw the tops of buildings and way down the street in front of the car. I could even read the signs on the buildings. I couldn’t believe it and I couldn’t stop talking about it, either. As she started the car, Mom said, “OK, stop it now. I’ve heard enough.”

Boy, was I glad to have my new glasses before going to work. I had no idea I’d see so much better with them.

As we headed back home, I thought again about what I would be doing for The Ranch. The truth was, I knew my job would have to do with the pear harvest. That was the kind of work most of the kids my age did there in the summer ― pears and hay. But that hadn’t kept me from hoping.

Tim had told me not to worry about being late. Just to look out for him at Shav’s barn when I got there.

We passed the tomato field and the bar on the right, and then turned left and over the bump where the railroad tracks used to be. Shav’s barn, with the holes in its roof and its barn door long gone, was right ahead of us. The sorting machine was set up in the open field not far from the corral ― with a lot of teenage girls standing around it. Tractors were driving in with trailers loaded with full boxes of pears. Even a couple of big trucks were being loaded along the side of the road, with pears for the cannery.

As Mom stopped the car just off the pavement, I saw Tim over by the sorting machine. I got out, said “Bye” to her, and headed over to him.

Right then ― with the smells, the noise and walking through the dusty dirt ― I was one hell of a happy and excited boy. I knew then that somehow I’d get my horse.

At the turn headed towards Shav’s barn ― ca. 1950

 

To be continued:

The First Kiss

Since I turned fourteen, six weeks ago, a lot’s happened. I graduated from grammar school. I’ve had the mumps, I’ll start working for The Ranch next week, and I’ll get my first pair of glasses the same day.

That’s really important stuff. Graduating means, I’ll go to high school in September. Getting my first pair of glasses means, I won’t have to sit in the front row anymore to see what’s on the blackboards. Also, my real father and my mother won’t be fighting any longer over whose going to pay for them. Going to work for The Ranch and what that means, is more than I can possibly imagine right now.

There’s one thing that I haven’t told anybody about. It happened at Robert’s party a couple of weeks before graduation. I’d never been to a real party like his before and was looking forward to going, and nervous about it too. There’s this one girl I liked and I’d told myself I’d ask her to dance. When I got there, everybody was kind of standing around just talking, eating potato chips and dip, drinking cokes and stuff, and trying to act big. The boys were with the boys and the girls with the girls. It was like nobody really knew what to do.

After getting a drink and some potato chips, I walked around saying “Hi” to everybody. But what I was really doing, was looking for her. She was one of the new girls who came to the school last year. She’s beautiful and tall and has beautiful hands with long fingers and she wears nice dresses, and she has breasts … and well, I just really liked her. 

When I finally found her, she was sitting alone on a small couch, in a small dropped down area at the far end of the living room. I stopped and stood where I was, wondering what to do next. That’s when Robert came over to me and said “Why don’t you go sit by her?”

“Nah,  I can’t do that.” But that didn’t make sense because I wanted to. Then he said, “Do it, she won’t bite you.”

After he’d gone, I quietly went over and sat down next to her, as I did my arm and shoulder touched hers. All I said was, “Hi” and then we sat there with our shoulders touching for a few moments, without speaking. 

I saw her hand resting in her lap. I don’t know, I just reached over and took it, and as I did she just softly gave it to me.  I sat there for a moment … without the faintest idea of what to do next. I knew her hand was in mine, that was for sure. Then it happened, she turned towards me and we both knew what the next thing to do was, kiss. So we did. The moment our lips touched, thousands upon thousands of things happened − inside, was no longer the inside I knew. It was an overwhelmed mass of explosive new sensations − unfamiliar, and somehow oddly known.

From then on, until the party ended, we kissed, one very long kiss. We had to keep experimenting and taking chances to keep this new, and extraordinary experience alive. I knew this, but what was so out of this world, invigorating and inspiring was, she did too.

Once, I had the idea to put my hand on her waist, but I couldn’t, it would have spoiled everything.

After … I don’t know how long, the other kids came over and started making noises, jokes, and saying things, desperately trying to get us to stop. They had no idea that the only thing that mattered to us was what we were doing. Their words quickly became sounds in the background like the music, they finally left, with nothing.

Later, as the air around us began to cool down, we slowly ended our kiss and sat there holding each others hand without saying a word.

The party was over. Robert came up to us, and with him that empty moment when I had to let go of her hand. The first thing he said to me was, “Do you know, the two of you sat there kissing for over two hours?” As if it had been a contest of some sort. I stood up as I said, “Wow, really two hours.” It was so awfully wrong to say that. Like when I lied about stealing that pocket knife last summer. I turned to look at her, but she’d already gone. She was with the girls.

That night, in bed, I laid there  wide awake, unable to sleep. Sometimes laughing, astonished at what we’d done. Sometimes finding it hard to believe that we even had. I’d never held a girl’s hand before then and kissing a girl was the furthest thing from my mind. So, how did I know how to kiss with her like I did? How did she know? How did we know how to do all that we did together?

The next time I saw her was at school. I didn’t know how to act with her. So instead, I acted ridiculously.

The next week, there was a swim party at a private pool for the eleven us graduating. I did something then that I wish I hadn’t. Some of us were laughing and  playing around the pool. She’d stopped to adjust the neck strap of her bathing suit. It was the boys, we saw her and tried to push her into the pool. I saw an opening and took it. The moment I did, I wished I hadn’t. I’d pushed her into the deep end. In the pool, in front of all of us, her top came down. She tried to pull it up but the water was too deep. Some of the girls dove in to help her. I saw her and then turned away, but not before I saw how much she hated me. I went to the locker room, put on my clothes. Then, called my mom to come and get me. 

We still haven’t spoken, not even at graduation. But, maybe we will, after this summer, at high school. I hope so.

Tim Came By Today

Tim Frazer works at The Ranch. He’s their gofer and all-around assistant to whichever boss might need him to do something. He’s in his early twenties, likable, and – according to the girls – good looking.

I thought he was a boss. It’s obvious: anybody who works for The Ranch, who wears clean clothes, talks with people, and has a pickup truck, has to be a boss.

The year is 1957, the month is June. It’s summer, and school is out, and my fourteenth birthday was a month ago.

A lot has happened since then: I’ve been to my first party, kissed a girl for the first time, graduated from grammar school, survived the mumps, stopped “going out” with my real father every Sunday, and I’ll be pickin’ up my first-ever pair of glasses in a few days. There’re other things, but these are the most important.

That’s it, my first month of being a real teenager. At thirteen, I wasn’t a real teenager. Thirteen is a teenager with training wheels.

Things have changed. Changes that I wish I could talk with somebody about, but who? There’s no one to tell these things to.

Still, it looks like it’s gonna be a pretty boring summer. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m raring to go, but, I can’t find anything here at home that interests me − plus, it’s confining here.

Somebody just drove in the driveway. I can see from the front window it’s Tim Frazer.  He works for The Ranch. Everybody around here knows him. There’re only a couple hundred people who live around here. So, everybody knows everybody else. We moved here when I was seven.

The moment my Dad and I drove under the train trestle on Canyon Road, in his 1940 Chevy pickup loaded down with all our belongings, I knew I loved this place and would always call it home.

Now, at fourteen, it’s my world, it’s my life. But I’m not old enough yet to do all the things I want to do − things I want to do so bad I can taste them − like: work at The Ranch, fight grass fires, and the one thing I won’t tell anyone − to be a cowboy.

Tim just drove up. Finally, something to do. I’ll go to the garage and tell my Dad. I run out of the house, jump off the back steps, and run into the garage.

“Hey Dad, Tim just drove up out front.”

“Ok, thanks.”

He grabs a cloth, wipes his hands, and then walks up the gravel driveway to the front.

I wait in the garage. It’s not polite to be standin’ around listenin’ to adults talk.

It’s been five minutes now, and he’s comin’ back.

As he walks into the garage he says to me, “Tim wasn’t looking for me.  He said he’s here to see you.”

“Me! What for?”

First thing I think of is that the Old Man saw me and my two friends in that field in front of the school havin’ a tomato and horse manure war, with his tomatoes and horse manure −  he’s sent Tim over to tell my Dad.

Dad says, “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”

I run out to the front and up to his side of the pick-up.

“Hi, Tim.”

“Hi, Sam, how you doin?”

“Ok. And you?”

“Busy as hell.”

“You wanted to see me?” I’m sure he’s got bad news.

“Yeah, the Old Man told me to come by. Look, we could use you this summer at the ranch. Do you want to come work for us?”

I can’t believe my ears. “Me?”

“Yeah, we can use you, startin’ next week.”

“Ok. But I’ll have to ask my Dad first. I’ll be right back.”

“Ok.”

I take off for the garage at a dead run.

“Dad, Dad! Tim wants me to go to work for the ranch. Can I?”

He doesn’t look up. “If you want. It’s up to you.”

“Ok, thanks. Wow!”

I run back to, Tim, “He said it’s ok!”

“Good. Then you’ll need to go down to the post office and get your Social Security card. You gotta have that to work.”

“Ok.”

“I’ll come back next week and tell you when you’re gonna start.”

“Ok, Tim Thank you.”

“See you, Sam.”

“See you, Tim.”

I watch as he drives away and wave as he passes the house. Then I run back to the garage.

I don’t know what to say to my Dad, or what to do. I’m so excited that I can’t settle down.

He’s quiet for a long time, then he asks me:  “Are you sure you want to do this? Your hands are going to get blistered, bloody, and full of calluses and dirt. You’re going to hurt all over from all the hard work: hoeing, lifting 60-pound lug boxes of pears, and bucking 250-pound bales of hay. You sure you want that?”

“Yes.” I imagine my hands all blistered and bloody and full of dirt. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

I hadn’t expected to work at The Ranch, not at fourteen. Years later, I wondered if my Dad had set this up. He was fourteen once; he must have had some idea of what I needed at this age. To get away from the house, to work, and learn.  He never spoke about these sorts of things. He was intelligent – he must have known. It’s the kind of thing he would do and then disappear out of the picture. That’s the way he was. It was what he said in the garage after Tim left − he was testing me.  Did he set it up? I’ve never asked him − and won’t.

I went to work for The Ranch − and that’s where another story began.

Meetin' The Old Man

It’s a late spring afternoon. I’m riding my horse on a dirt road that runs along the edge of the walnut orchard  where the Mexican pear pickers’ camp, Little Tijuana, was last summer.  On the other side of the dirt road are hills – hills that used to belong to the old Davila Ranch. It’s clear and warm, and I’m for sure 15 years old  and feeling important.

I’ve never been back here on my horse before. I’ve been here on a tractor, but being here on a horse is a whole different thing.

I want to learn – learn all I can about cattle and cowboyin’  – and I know one of the best ways for me to do it is to get into a field with them. With no one around watchin’ me or tellin’ me what to do. This is as good a place as any to do it.

I’ve been workin’ after school and on the weekends for a rancher friend for about six months now. I’ve been around cattle on my horse. But not alone. Not when it’s just him and me and I can do as I please.

I came back here thinkin’ I might check on those cows I see up there on that hill. They belong to The Ranch − that’s what we call the outfit that owns most of the land around here. There’re about 30 cows up close to the top, and it’s so inviting to go up there and ride among them. All I want to do is look and watch and see how they move. To get a feel for ’em and how they act.

I’m takin’ a chance. ’Cause the ranch manager (we call him The Old Man) could come along any time. If he does, he’ll raise holy hell thinkin’ I’m up to no good ’cause I was trespassin’.  But that makes doin' it even more exciting.

So I get off, open the wire gate and lead my horse through.

I’m alone in new territory. I haven’t been in here before or done this before. I’m not used to this ground under my feet. There’s a lot of it and I feel kinda small standing here.

It’s a different sensation this time as I put my foot in the stirrup. I swing my leg over and find the other one with the point of my boot. Then I just sit there lookin’. Lookin’ at open space, out into the middle of nowhere, green hills and cattle, and there’s no place I’d rather be.

We’ve got an objective: those cows up on the top of that hill. I ride up there, but they’re farther away than they looked. They move away as I approach them, but stay close. I’m not a threat and they know that. All I’m doin’ is lookin’.

But … lookin’ for what? I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for. But … I keep lookin’ anyway. What do you look for? I didn’t know. Cows with runny noses? These don’t have any runny noses. When they’re not eatin’, they’re standin’ there sticking their tongues in one nostril then the other. Why do they do that?

I like watchin’ them, and for a brief moment they’re mine. It feels right and there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.

I figure  we better not stay up here too much longer ’cause the Old Man or his cow boss Manuel will catch us for sure. So, I head my horse back down the hill.

I’m a bit edgy when I leave the field − thinkin’ I might get caught just as I’m closin’ the gate.

Hell, I’ll just tell ’em the truth. I wasn’t doin’ nothin' − just checkin’ the cows. Sounds OK to me − and I don’t see a thing wrong with that. But I get the feeling that it’s not going to go down well with them. It’s the first time I’ve ever done this on the Ranch’s property, and it looks like I’m not going to get caught.

I close the gate and ride back down the dirt road.  Somethin’s different: I feel bigger than I was before and I’m thinkin’ − thinkin’ about how my horse moves around the cattle. He knows things about ’em that I don’t yet.

Then I see a cloud of dust movin’ towards me over the trees. It’s the Old Man’s car coming this way. Then it hits me, “Oh man, this isn’t good.”

He pulls up close to me, stops and waits until I get around to his side of the car. Right off, he asks me in a rough, gravely voice, “Were you ridin’  in that field?” I tell him I was.

I don’t think he hears me, ’cause in the same breath he tells me, “Well, if you were, then you’ve been trespassing.”

Then he asks, “What were you doin’ in there?”

I tell him, “I was just checkin’ the cows.” Like it was the most natural thing in the world to be doin’.

Then he says, “I got Manuel for that and don’t need anybody else doin’ it.”

I tell him, “OK.”

Then he says, “Don’t you go up there again without checking with Manuel first.” 

I say, “OK.”

That was a strange thing for him to say after what he’d said before. Maybe in his way he was tellin’ me it was ok if I checked with Manuel first.  

He drove off and I got back on my horse and headed home. That’s the first time I’d ever spoken with him. He was ornery, but not as ornery as folks made him out to be.

Still, it surprised me when he said that about checkin’ with Manuel first. I thought about it, but I wasn’t gonna do that. Not yet anyway.

I did what I went up there to do − even got caught and it turned out ok.

Talkin’ to Manuel, that was a whole other thing. Him with that one eye of his staring out at you from under that hat.