Remembering An Old Weathered Rope

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Title Saga of the Sanpitch Vol 16
Subject Pioneers
Description Stories and poems about early Southern Utah Pioneers
Publisher Snow College
Date 1984
Type Text
Format image/jpeg
Language eng
Rights Management Snow College
Holding Institution Snow College
ARK ark:/87278/s6j67f3x
Setname snowc_sts
Date Created 2005-03-01
Date Modified 2005-03-01
ID 324751
Reference URL

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Title Remembering An Old Weathered Rope
Description piled. Above the stalls was a loft which stored all sorts of treasures, such as old collars and harnesses^ dusty and cracked with age, a broken sickle and other rusty tools, cowbells, a cradle, bedsprings used for an occasional hired hand, hidden nests where chickens laid brown eggs, old liniment bottles, tin buckets full of spider vebs and sentimental junk. Prom the top of the loft I could see forever, so I thought, through the open ends of the barn, into the neighboring1 yards and fields, even to the downtown stores, way in the distance. Grandpa continually cautioned us, "Stay off the haystacks." He was a good-natured, kind fellow, but very protective of his animals and their feed. In spite of Grandpa'B warnings, Grandma was an easy mark for our coaxing and pleading. She took our word when we promised, "We'll play La the barn, but we won't get on the hayl" We intended to keep our word, but somehow temptation usually got the better of us and our promises were broken. I think she knew the truth, but chose to ignore it and let us have our fan. There were three or four of us who always played together. One had the job of being "lookout man" to watch for Grandpa and other intruders. One atood down below to throw the rope up, and the remaining one or two climbed up the long slivery ladder leaning against the warped rafters, to take a turn playing "Tarzan." "Look out belowl Here I come!" My fingers tightened around the long stout piece of old weathered rope. My small hands laade it hard to get a good grip just above the large knot. The tickle in my tummy began even before I left my perch high above the hay. Then oh, that feeling of flying through the air, whooshing sounds in my ears, pigtails trailing behind and legs dangling, gulping deep breaths of sTDBBer air fragrant with smells of new-mown hay, old leather and fresh manure. The mixture of odors was magic to my nini. The horses, noisily chomping on hay with their big stained teeth, seemed to be whinnying sounds of disapproval. We imagined that they were telling us to got off their hay. A squawking red hen often voiced her disgust at our antics. My wild ride was always the same as I swung from the loft, way across to touch the toea of my scuffed up shoes on the far side of the rafters, back to touch toes on the loft, then to the center of the barn where I let go of the rope, dropping about 10 feet right into the middle of the haystack and down deep inside* Than I scrambled to get out of the soft but scratchy piles, and for a few seconds it -13-
Format image/jpeg
Setname snowc_sts
Date Created 2005-02-19
Date Modified 2005-02-19
ID 324712
Reference URL