In a few days, all those rhymers who lived in Tin Pan
Alley back when Gertie was a pup will be fulfilled once again. How’s
that you say?
Was a love song ever written that didn’t have both moon and June in
it? And the full moon will be here in a couple of days and it is our
responsibility to go look at it.
A full moon is probably the basic cause of most superstitions and
spooky stories and maybe even a religion or two. And that’s because
it shows us our world in an entirely different light than we’re used
to. A moon softens the hard edges of our everyday world. It casts a
pall of loveliness on rocks and water and even old cowboys. And you
know this is another reason so many people are married. In
moonlight, even a cholla cactus looks friendly.
Many years ago a few of us from the bunkhouse used to go to a place
in the southwest part of Death Valley to catch wild burros. It was
legal then, of course. Now keep in mind this is Death Valley in the
summer. The lizards only came out at night and they each had a
canteen. Yes, it was hot.
So what were supposedly human-type cowboys doing out there in that
kind of heat? Sleeping in the shade of the stock truck. If we could.
Because we only went jackassing there during a full moon, and only
at night. This limited our burro roping possibilities, of course,
because we wouldn’t run our horses through the lava beds or in the
shadows. The shadows were pitch black, and those lava beds could
turn you and your horse into ground round, and becoming two acres of
cowboy burgers didn’t appeal to me.
So we’d hide in the shadows and watch the open valley before us. It
was dotted with sagebrush and some other types of puckerbrush, but
it was safe to run a horse there.
And soon, here would come the wild burros, wandering out into the
valley, and we’d build a loop and come boiling out of there like the
dawn of doom.
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And if we were successful, we’d
lead a wild burro back to the stock truck, talking to them all the
time and letting them know that we had no intention of eating them.
One night I roped a little foal, put it up in front of me on the
horse, and rode back to the truck. Along the way, I named him
Barney. When the sun rose the next morning, I changed HER name to
Barneyetta. We were the best of pals for years.
So why does this memory carve so deeply into my soul? Probably
because it was done under a full moon. A full moon in the desert
makes it almost light enough to read by, and at the same time making
ugly objects become steeped in magic and mystery and beauty, even
old cowboys.
Don’t miss the full moon. Full moons and baby burros are good for
us.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
(BF) Brought to you by
all the wild burros in Butte Valley and Death Valley in eastern
California, except for that one-eared old stud jack. He’s too mean.
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