There's a new Airport in my Backyard

St George is replacing its smaller, geographically landlocked airport with a new, bigger airport that promises to improve air service to our community, and therefore attract new and better businesses. This week, every local dignitary, as well as some national dignitaries like Orrin Hatch, Bob Bennett, and Jim Matheson drove past my house to meet at the new site and did what politicians do. Gold shovels in hand, they pontificated and broke ground. Mayor McArthur put on a grand show, singing the local version of "Dixie" and fed the whole crowd BBQ to the tunes of an old fashioned brass band.

It is a bittersweet moment for us. We know this airport is needed, and of course I love all things that fly. Living next to an airport will be fun. The hard part is, they are gobbling up our playground. For several years, we could brag that nothing stood between us and the Grand Canyon--we could leave my house and ride trails all the way there. Now our path is blocked and getting on the highway is the only way around this new obstacle. In two years, we might not even be able to ride our mules around some of this spectacular country as it gets developed. Well...we were lucky while we were lucky.

It is a grand sight to look over the construction at dusk and see a string of lights blinking in earnest, a linear spectacle completely out of place and disconnected from any other visible signs of civilization. Kailee and I (...maybe the rest of the kids too, if they wake up in time) will watch the airport come to life, alongside the Owl, the Coyote, and the Rattlesnake, innocent spectators to a grand change. We will keep hopping the ledges and climbing the Chute until someone says we can't, enjoying the lucky until its gone.

Mustangs and Marriage

The way to marital bliss is long and tortuous for many of us men. The language of love that our women speak comes from outer space and we often stumble through life learning a word here, a gesture there, and a phrase or two along the way.

My good brother Mike, for example, kept telling his wife that her favorite horse was a worthless bronc. Hey, what else can you say about a 3 year old Mustang that she rescued from the BLM. It was gentled enough to handle, but who wants to risk their life trying to ride the thing, since no one has ever even tried? Why couldn't she see his concern for their safety? So, with the high price of hay and all, why not sell her to the Elmer's Glue people and be done with it? It just makes perfect sense.

He was wearing out the couch, which is a side effect of sleeping on it. And if that isn't bad enough, the sting of wondering what he said wrong that felt so right, was pure puzzlement.

I dunno Mike. Why don't you bring that widow-maker over and lets mess around with her a little? Whoa... looky there, picture proof of the potential your wife kept insisting was there. That horse is no killer! Riding Allie for your wife was a little phraseology in the pure mother tongue-of-love. Now repeat it over and over so you don't forget how to say it...now that you are all rested up from sleeping on a REAL mattress!

Pics of Mike on Allie's virginal ride, Saturday--these are the real deal:

Minnie Pearl and the young Skinner

She only had one chart hit in her whole career, a spoken-word answer song to Red Sovine’s “Giddyup Go.” But through the sheer force of her character-driven comedy, she became a country music icon all the same, one of the most instantly recognizable faces in the history of country music. Quoted at Country Universe 100 Greatest Women, #40: Minnie Pearl

Last week, we bought the neatest little mule. We weren't really looking too hard, but in the back of our minds, we knew that Chantra was probably never going to feel comfortable riding anything very big--and all my mules are big (or fixing to grow up big.) When we went to see her, we could see that she had been well raised. She is gentle and respectful. The family we bought her from handled her often and took her along on their trips--so she got the same kind of start we do with our babies. She is two years old this month and they had ridden her twice around the yard.

Apparently she was a mistake. When they bought her mother (pictured below), no one knew that she was pregnant. This poor little paint pony had been covertly molested by some Jack and a few months later (June 2006) these avid horse people had a surprise bundle of half-ass pony.

At 13 hands high, she is really too small for me to ride, so Kailee said she would take the job of breaking and training her for a small fee of course. When she is a high powered lawyer some day, sitting across a board room table from some jerk, Kailee will cherish the lessons she learned on the back of a young mule. After all, no one will want to mess with the girl who started skinning mules at the age of 13. She is learning how to make the wrong behavior really uncomfortable, and the way to ramp up pressure until the right behaviour is a relief. Her future suitors be warned--and not just because I'm a mean Dad. She's got some sweet skills and a developed sense for not being manipulated. Forget taking advantage of her.

Today as we rode up a hidden draw near our home, through shimmering heat waves and the piercing noon sun, a coyote appeared on the ledge above us. He (or she) started to bark and howl, not more than 30 or 40 feet away. Every coyote I've ever seen has been on the run, so this unusual display got our attention. Kailee and I stopped our mules and watched for 10 or 15 minutes as this dog paced back and forth, yipping its story--completely unafraid of our presence. I'm glad I didn't have my camera--we would never have seen it.

My Mule Skinner daughter taught Minnie Pearl her first big lesson today--walk down those steep hills, don't run. We practiced over and over until she got it. Good job girls.

Riders of the Purple Sage

I'm not sure I can improve upon the silence, or say it any better than these photos. The offerings of spring beg a little reverence, and command a lot of respect.

Riding RUSTY through the ASSpuns

Having a Jack around has given license to everyone I know, kids, neighbors, me, even proper Rotarians, to make "ass" Jokes. Like "Sittin on my ass all day," "Wore my ass right out," "I'm gonna kick your ass," "I'm gonna ride your ass all the way home" "Get off your ass and get back to work." You get the picture. My good wife just rolls her eyes way back in exasperation when my kids timidly offer these phrases--not sure if its OK to use such language. I ASSure them that proper latin and biblical precedence justify the use of Mr Donkey's real name in polite company.

There are a few more words in this same category: Gay is happy, Fag is a bundle of wood, Damn means to stop progression, and hell is a place. My dad even taught me that the "S" word was the proper Latin for the rear-end product of the bovine guacamole factory-especially if the wet end of her impatient tail laid some across my mouth while I milked.

So imagine my neighbors concern who aren't schooled in Latin and biblical phraseology, over the prominent placement of my ranch sign this year. In the summer, it casts a shadow on the greenhouse that makes it 4 or 5 times larger and visible from a far greater distance. Of course, it ain't the current neighbors I'm trying to help out--its too late for them, and they say they like Rusty anyway. Its the three or four hundred new neighbors about to descend like a swarm of locusts on the 30 acres next door to me to whom I am being most considerate. Rusty's voice has a 1 mile radius. His bray is the tone-clear, soul-piercing, auditory miracle of nature that ends with a jungle-like guttural growl fit for the king of beasts. Its a great selling point, actually. I think it adds to the curb-appeal of this new development.

I have to give some Kudos to a few people who really brought Rusty up properly. First, Dennis and Karen Miller at SugarCreek Ranch in Missouri got the whole package right. Rusty is the 2004 son of SugarCreek Okie, grandson of Oklahoma Diamond. If you follow the link to Sugarcreek Ranch, you will observe the fine specimen that fathered Rusty. Dennis must have put a lot of time into Rusty when he was little, because Rusty has been a gentleman to handle. The baby photos of Rusty are courtesy of the Millers. I also need to thank Travis Blackburn of Willow Creek Mule Company in Axtel Utah who took it from there. I bought Rusty from Travis, along with some great mares in March of 2007. Travis continues to share a wealth of knowledge about the care of, and Studly duties of my Jack.








After bringing Rusty home, I started riding him. This past year, he carried me over a lot of beautiful country--from desert lows to the beautiful ASSpun groves in the high country. He doesn't have power steering, but he will neck reign some. He absolutely loves to go. He doesn't EVEN know what "Lazy Ass" means. With the exception of steep hills, I never have to ask him to pick up the pace. And greatest of all, when he gets in a really tight spot, instead of scrambling or going berserk like a horse, he just sits down!

Good Mules start with Good Ass. Rusty has sired one fantastic little mule that I will feature later. He has two more babies due this spring. Its early yet, but I've booked three mares and one Jennet for his 2008 schedule. When the mares start getting randy this spring, we'll pick up a few more.

For a while there, "Wow, you have a GREAT ass" was getting to my head. Then I realized it was all about Rusty. You know...I DO have a GREAT ass. Thanks Dennis, Karen and Travis.