No Life for a Lady

A piece I wrote for my English class.

           

             Beneath the lonesome Chispa Mountains in the vast desert of Far West Texas, between the cholla and Spanish dagger there rests a small adobe house. Following the smell of homemade flour tortillas and baked beans, through the screen door, with a hole the size of fist through the middle, and down the stone hallway, a dining room full of hungry ranch hands can be found. They bustle this way and that around the table, each with a mission to get supper ready. Though there are sundry mouths to feed, the phrase “many hands make light work” is in full play. Within minutes ten eager faces take a seat in one of the cow print chairs surrounding the old yellow pine table. Jane, as always, is the last to enter the room, and take her established seat at the head.  She surveys the spectacle before her with pr­­ide beaming in her eyes and with a smile she reaches out to hold the calloused hands of each person on either side of her. The room falls silent as all present follow her example. With heads bowed Jane begins and the others simultaneously join in, “Comemos y bebemos juntos)!” “We eat and drink together!”  “Now dig in”, she says with a grin.

A long-time native of the Pacific Northwest, one would imagine Jane to be a complete fish out of water in this Far West Texas territory but after just a few hours observing her immersed in the errands of the ranch you must rightly conclude she is anything but. Much of what she learned she attributes to her Mexican amigo Jose’, an illegal immigrant worker on the neighboring Hamilton ranch and best friend of Jane.

Rising with the first rays of the sun, Jane hustles out to meet Jose’ as he rides up like clockwork with his two sons Manuel (17), and Ricardo (15) astride their mules at his side.   Attired with chaps and a handlebar mustache, skin like leather, and a crucifix around his neck you know you are looking at the real deal. Every line in his face, hole in his pants, and scar on his body, testifies of the brutal life of a Mexican cowboy.

            Jane opens the ranch gate and lets the boys in greeting them with a warm “hola mis amigos!” Jose’ stops to chat with Jane while the boys canter into the yard, giving a little show to the sleepy eyed girls watching from the screen door. Jose’ lets out a harsh Spanish bark at the boys – a call to order, though never losing the twinkle from his beetle black eyes. Today is shoeing day and there is much work to be done. Chatting animatedly they make their way to the barn.

With two symmetrical patches on the rear of her working jeans, Jane bends down to lift the foot of her horse. With a mild tap-tap on the side of his lower leg, she asks permission to hold his foot. Biscuit, a seven year old chocolate brown gelding turns his quizzical gaze from a lone jack rabbit dashing by the water tank to his master below. With a slight pause he shifts his weight and gently raises his foot for her to hold. Biscuits shoe has worn thin and the nails are beginning to bore deep inside his hoof.  Without a word Jose’ reaches over from her side asking permission to take over. She willingly hands him Biscuits foot and retreats back, wiping her bandana over her sweat and dust covered face. She crouches down by his side and watches intently while he begins to work. You can almost see her pull out her imaginary pen and paper and begin to take detailed notes. With one fell sweep, Jose’ removes the shoe, nails and all, from the foot of poor Biscuit.

One by one the others leave the comfort of their beds and prepare for the day. The sun is low in the sky and the temperature is still a merciful 89 degrees. Left over beans and tortillas are on the menu for breakfast again this morning with a small plate of cactus fruit, nopales and some cantaloupe. Still everyone seems perfectly delighted with this selection and all eagerly dig in, fueling for the long hours of work ahead. While Jane, Jose, Manuel, and Tom (Jane's 21 year old son) work on shoeing the rest of the horses, the others divide and conquer. Some grab sheers and kerosene and head off to go tackle the hackberry that has coiled itself around the fence. Others grab wheelbarrows and shovels and begin the arduous task of picking rocks up out of the corrals. The sun rises higher and higher in the azure sky and once eager and energetic faces begin to droop. Covered in Jane mandatory safety ranch outfit of blue jeans, long sleeve flannel shirts, cowboy boots, gloves, cowboy hats, and bandanas around the neck, they receive maximum protection from the sun and harsh terrain. Even with all the precaution the heat begins to take its toll. Every half hour or so the young girls head down to the house to fill up the water and Gatorade canteens. Not a drop is spilled as each worker gulps down the precious element- here water is like gold. Water is life.

Finally, when it truly becomes just too much to bare, Jane announces they have just shod the last horse. Tired but satisfied expressions are exchanged along with a few feeble high fives as they begin to pack up their gear and head back to the house. Jane pulls out otter pops and cookies for a quick snack. After finishing they all strip down and joyously make their way up to the water tank perched above the ranch house on Choya Rock, Jane leading the way. Without hesitation she climbs to the top of the ladder and gracefully dives in. The others quickly follow suit, the dust and sweat circling about them. The feel of the water revives their spirits and they swim about, jumping and splashing like children.

All throughout the day a goat from Jose’ personal herd has been cooking in the kitchen. He is preparing Sangria-goat blood soup; a real treat for those with a taste for authentic Mexican cuisine and a real adventure for those lacking. They gather together in the yard this night, under the fruit lights hanging from the mesquite trees. Tom plays his mariachi guitar and Jane, Jose’, and sons all sing along while the others dance or clap along with the music. After the long day of work everyone moves slowly. Time does not exist out here, there is no reference to the clock, or deadlines, or rushing. Jane, with her unfailing ambiance of peace and simplicity sits at the front of the table, looking out at the spectacle before her with an almost reverent expression across her face, she bows her head taking the hands on either side of her- “Comemos y bebemos juntos!” she leads, “We eat and drink together!”