A Slice of Life
Bill Lites
As we headed East for the beginning of our return trip we decided to camp at the famous Donner Pass camping area along the Truckee River at over 7000 ft altitude. It had been pretty hot on the drive from Fort Bragg, so we didn’t even think about the altitude being a factor. We cooked supper and set around a campfire enjoying the beautiful scenery. It started cooling off as we began cleaning up the supper dishes. We kept thinking, “Hey, it’s mid-July, how cold can it get?” Well, let me tell you, when the sun went down, it got COLD. We ended up running our little electric heater full blast all night and sleeping in several layers of clothes and we were still cold.
I don’t know how cold it got that night, but the next morning a half glass of water next to my bed was frozen solid. You would have thought that experience would have caused me to research our campsites a little better the next time, but of course, it didn’t, because back then we were young and indestructible.
Our trip East took us across the high desert to our next stop in Lovelock, Nevada, near the Ute Indian Reservation, where DiVoran was born. We toured the small town and enjoyed a picnic lunch in the city park. As we were leaving Lovelock, we passed a group of people riding turn-of-the- century big-wheel bicycles. What a sight that was.
Then it was on East through Winnemucca to Elko, Nevada where we experienced our firs family style Basque dinner (including French fries?)at one of the local boarding houses.
We later learned that Elko was the site for one of the annual “Cowboy Poetry Gatherings” and was honored on the Johnny Carson Show. We recorded the show where Johnny was impressed, as we were, with some very unusual Cowboy poetry.
This inspired DiVoran to write a poem of her own, and paint a picture to illustrate it. The poem was about an experience that took place later in Colorado and goes something like this:
Bridget’s Mustang
By DiVoran Lites
Horse trader come down the draw
In a boil of red-powder dust.
I saw he had three stallions,
And own that one, I must.
“I’ll take the paint;” I say,
“He looks like he’s got soul.
The mare’s in the corral.
Next year we’ll have a foal”.
“You keep an eye on him.” the trader says.
“He’s mustang through and through,
a wild one from the range.”
Foal next year? Maybe two.
“You’ve got fine boys and pups,” he said.
The trader wasn’t done.
You need to jaw around these parts.
It’s all that makes life fun.
“My little `un,” says I, “he’s four.”
My boys are twins—them two
I can’t keep clean clothes on their backs,
Nor none will wear a shoe.
“The pups? Well, one’s part wolf,” I said
“You see those pale, cold eyes?
He has to play the alpha.
Now that ain’t no surprise.”
“You ever want another horse,
I’ll bring one out this way.
Now, watch him close, don’t leave him
For at least a night and day.”
The pups dance all around,
The boys run to and fro,
the horses mill in the corral,
And oh, the dust does blow.
—–To Be Continued—–
Old Things R New 
