Thomas Allen's Blog

Creativity on the Ranch

Have you ever thought about the innumerable differences there are in nature? Why does the cow say “moo”, the horse say “neigh”, the donkey say “he haw”, and the pig say “oink” …...not to mention the crow of the rooster? How dull the ranch would be if all the animals spoke the same language. And what about the differences in the way they raise their young? Yesterday, one of our cows brought her new calf close to the ranch house to show her off, after four days of keeping her hidden away from the herd and predators. However, since the calf was still somewhat weak and wobbly, the mother cow stood motionless by her baby for over an hour while the baby napped. When the baby woke up, they slowly walked down to join the herd. A horse would never do that. Within a few of hours of birth, our last foal started racing around the pasture, as if he was practicing for the next Kentucky Derby. Mother hens literally keep their babies covered in the umbrella of their wings, safe from harm for the longest time. All our ranch animals have different traits. Since we became ranchers, our education in nature has been continual and fascinating. I think only the Creator could have conceived and revealed the term creativity.

Feelings

Have you ever totally disappointed a good friend—hurt their feelings in some way? It might have been selfishness on your part, or that you just didn’t consider their feelings. I did that once to my friend. It was unintentional, but painful. I remember it, because it created a strained friendship between us that we didn’t verbalize for a long time. However, it never affected my friend’s love or loyalty to me. When I think back about it, I realize what a magnanimous heart my friend had. How many times do we hear of someone getting their feelings hurt, and they “take their ball and go home?” Sometimes not to return. I suppose it’s not that uncommon. But in the long run, isn’t their loss greater than their pain at the time. To have a friend, you have to be a friend….and friends don’t give up on one another.

My Lovable Burro

Years ago, twenty-two to be exact, I made a totally unexpected purchase for the ranch—a little dark burro (donkey) with a white nose (muzzle). I was at a wild horse and donkey auction with some friends who were looking for a donkey to guard their goat herd. As we looked in the corrals, first at the horses and then the donkeys, I spotted the little burro. He was in the middle of a herd of mainly large grey donkeys that were showing their discomfort by kicking and biting each other. But this little burro never kicked, never bit. He just looked forlorn, and he melted my heart. So, I put in my bid and came home with a burro. At the time I rationalized the purchase by deciding it would be a nice present for my 12-year-old granddaughter, who had mentioned she wanted a horse. (Her reaction was, “You bought me a WHAT!”) She still wanted a horse. So, every morning to tame him, I carried a bucket of feed into the little pasture where he grazed. Since he had spent the first four years of his life, on his own, in an Arizona desert, it took one month before I could even touch him. Through the years, he has become one of our favorite animals. He never fails to come over and greet me whenever I am near his pasture. He will stand by me indefinitely if I want to rub his ears, and will hold out his pink tongue long after he has received a treat. He welcomes any child who comes to the ranch. If he is grazing near the house in the mornings, he “Sweetly sings the donkey at the break of day” as a reminder he’s ready for his hay or oats. Through the years he has amazed and amused us. Now he is twenty-six and his once dark face is beginning to take on a salt and pepper appearance, but Paco can still melt my heart.

A Real Angel

Sometimes a news article reports that someone saw the vision of an angel—in the clouds, smoke, shadows —you’ve seen the reports. But something happened to me years ago I’ve never forgotten. I was traveling after midnight, on a very cold snowy interstate highway, in a VW bug. There were scarce cars to be seen on the road because of the snow and ice. I was driving someone else’s car because VW’s were known to perform well in those conditions. When we were about half way to our destination, miles between towns, we had a blowout. I pulled over to begin the incredible ordeal of changing the tire. Let me explain. First, my aptitude for anything mechanical is a minus 3, and the girl with me had never changed a tire. Second, I discovered VW’s were different from all other American cars—different storage place for the spare, and totally different bolt system to replace a tire. Third, it was below freezing—in the teens, with a strong wind. And fourth, it was totally dark. I had no flashlight. I had to locate the spare, jack and tools, then figure out the bolt system by touch. This required numerous trips back and forth into the heated car to warm my gloveless hands and stop my uncontrollable shaking. Each time back in the car, I took longer to warm up. I was not making progress, not sure if my numb fingers could ever feel to get the tire bolts lined up in the dark. Not one car had passed in all the time I had been working. Finally, out of nowhere, a truck approached from behind and pulled over, shining his headlights on the tire as if that was his destination. It allowed me, at last, to complete the job. I tightened the last bolt, turned and started walking back toward the truck to see who had come to my rescue and offer my grateful thanks. But instantly, to my amazement, the truck quickly moved out, went on down the road, and was gone. Whenever I read the passage in Hebrews— “some have entertained angels unaware” …… I remember that night.

Robins

I always look for Robins as the weather begins to lean toward spring. In Texas, I’ve heard when you see the first Robin, winter is over. That has proved true, by my observation though the years. But this year during the first week in January, I looked out the window as I ate breakfast, and noticed several Robins hopping on the ground below our large Bradford pear tree. Every time I glanced out, they had multiplied and were flying up and down under the tree limbs. They seemed to be gleefully playing. Noticing movement in the bare branches, I was amazed at the number of Robins, just like decoration on a Christmas tree. I started counting on the ground, in the tree, in the air—10, 20, 30, 40, even more. It was a delightful, unbelievable sight. Well, so much for folklore……... I’m still breaking ice on the horse troughs in the morning. Winter is not over.

Enthusiam

Have you ever known someone who appeared to delight in every activity, or new experience, or new acquaintance? Someone who seemed to retain a childlike fascination and enjoyment with anything they came in contact with. I have a friend like that. I guess that might be expected in a younger person, but my friend is in his fifties, and his enthusiasm for life seems endless. It’s not that he hasn’t had his share of trouble or sadness, he has actually had more than his share, but it seems not to affect his disposition at all. He is a joy to be around. He always lifts my spirits, and draws me into his exuberant mood when I’m around him. How lucky I am to know him. I hope you too, sometime in your life, will also have friends like that. If so, let them know how much they are appreciated.

Barn Cats

Our last barn cat, Zelda, was 13 years old when she died. She had been a faithful mouser for years, and had weathered several serious skirmishes protecting the barn area from who-knows-what varmints. Now we have two new male barn cats—rescue cats—delivered by an agency. Since barn cats have to accept their new home before they are allowed freedom, we decided to keep them in the bunk house for a week, with food, water, and litter. Our bunkhouse is a 16 X 24 combination workshop, toolshed, and storage room (camping supplies, deer feeders, two freezers, and general junk). Ten days ago, the rescue worker stroked them lovingly as she took them out of their carriers. They were calm and silent. She put them down and they slowly disappeared into the back of the bunkhouse. Since then, whenever I’ve gone into the bunkhouse, I haven’t seen or heard a single cat. I peeked through the window once and saw them both eating. Every day the food and water disappear, and the litter box needs cleaning, but no sign or sound of a cat when I go inside. I may name them Spector and Phantom. But one day when I open the door to feed them, I’m hoping to see four curious eyes and ears peeking out, and hear……. meow.

Looking Forward

It seems our modern culture has nearly eliminated all interest in the arts—literature, poetry, classical music, fine art. Through the ages, these disciplines were thought to draw out the finer qualities of humanity. They were expressions of a person’s search for a higher beauty, or a greater love, or an all-encompassing emotion to fill the soul. They frequently alluded to the ultimate search for the questions of life—why are we here, where are we going. Today it seems we never think beyond the latest Facebook post, the latest smartphone app, the latest celebrity sensation, the latest political scandal. We have forgotten how to dream. We go through life at breakneck speed, afraid to slow down, be silent, ask deep questions. It is quite possible during a person’s lifespan, to rush through a busy philanthropic, self-disciplined, upright moral life. However, at the point of death, if no relationship to the creator has been established, what is there to look forward to?

Beauty at the Ranch

As we were coming back from a late day walk on the ranch, we were suddenly surprised by a dazzling sunset. It demanded our attention as the usual scenery took a weak second place to the overwhelming colors which started at the skyline and stretched above us, surrounding us on each side. The clouds above looked like scattered pebbles of light pink and blue hues—cotton candy colors all over the sky—but never lasting long, ever changing, until the pebbles were overtaken with orange—bright and then darker as the sun moved slowly further down below the horizon. I’ve noticed that the winter sunsets are much more brilliant than any other time of the year. In spring and summer, it seems the colors are just low on the horizon and stay fairly close to where the sun drops down. But in the winter, the whole sky is filled with color and you become aware of a sunset even if you are walking away from it. Watching a sunset like that makes me aware of God’s magnificence and man’s limitations.

Honor

I recently read of two young men who fought together in World War I. They made a pact to take care of the other’s family if either was killed in battle. One man survived and true to his word, he personally assumed the care of his buddy’s mother and sister. The first 11 years of his adult life he struggled just to meet their basis needs for food and shelter. Although the two women were difficult to be around and in no way made his life easier, he took care of them cheerfully, without complaint, for over 30 years. He could have ignored or forgotten his promise when times were tough, but because of his honor, he fulfilled his promise to his buddy until the sister married and the mother died. We seldom hear the phrases “a man of honor” or “a man of his word” today. I wonder how much our country, culture, homes would be changed if those phrases were frequently heard today.