High Octane Mule on the Dad-Trail

Of all the trails a man rides in this world, the Dad-trail ain't for sissies. Show-horses or pleasure boats need not apply. The Dad-trail is a technical and treacherous ascent through some ledges that appear impossible to navigate from below. Falling down on the Dad-trail in some places could mean a plunge to the boulder-strewn valley below. For this steep pull, you better have a solid, High-Octane Mule under saddle that knows where to put its feet. And you better have a steady heart that can stand having its fear of heights tickled.

Raising kids, especially girl-kids, terrifies the alert parent. Unless you live in a cave, the strident din of exploitative and seductive messages aimed at our daughters is unavoidable. Add that to the busy noise of well meaning experts and you face an importunate quest. So take this daughter of mine. She's the older of two girl-kids, and she has three brothers. At the age of 13, we are only two thirds up the Dad-trail. AND she is AMAZING! Such hyperbolic platitude is all the descriptive power I can muster to lay bare the swell I feel in my heart for her. I've used all the Dad-tools I know to help her get a proper start in life: Godly love, music, curiosity and the desire for learning, firm discipline, horse-sense, and chores without the possibility of parole.

Imagine the surge of systemic shock that burned through my veins this past week when I learned that Child Protective Services had taken her from the middle of a test in class for an unexpected interview. Some anonymous soul had filed a complaint with the State. After some very personal questions about the people who live in my home, he finally asked my sweet girl-kid if she ever felt afraid around me.

"Pshshshaw! You kiddin'? If you saw the places we go together on mules, you'd never ask that question!" Apparently we passed the official inquisition with flying colors...

(These photos were taken today on the Haslem trail. My 13 year old girl-kid skinned this 2 year old mule all by her self.)

The Haslem Trail...ode' to Old Kim

Not for the faint of heart, the Haslem Trail is tailor-made for mules. At 89 years old, Kimbal Haslem painstakingly carved it by hand in 2003 with some help from my neighbor, Jim Wallik. I've flown these cliffs many times, but this day(Friday March 28), I get to know them. From Warner Valley's monochromatic red floor, Jim and I pick our way up through ledge and cliff. Finally, we scramble over the petrified, honey-combed dune scape that guards the living, crimson sand dunes across her mesa top--in shock and awe that we get this all to ourselves! A ride up this trail is an eye full of miracle, and a gut full of adrenaline.


Just don't tell Jim or Kim that it ain't for horses. When Old Kim hacked this passage out of boulder and ledge, his un-shod horses were 30 years old and just as tough as he was--none moving too fast, but steady and full of purpose. They carried Kim along everything you see here, except the ledge jumping, but including the boulder hopping . Trail building is the way he stayed young. There could literally be over a hundred miles of trails in the county with his name on them, none on maps, but catalogued in the memory of young Jim who covered so many of those miles as Kim's riding partner and apprentice.


For years, Jim wondered if he would have to pack Kim's used-up tabernacle off of some impossible climb, or some boulder strewn ledge. But Old Kim still lives. He retired from horses and trailbuilding just a couple of years ago. His vision failing and his body finally exhausted, Kim left for California to spend his last days with his kids.


Kim used to invite me and my kids to come along before we started our Mule project. I regret missing the chance. Reflecting on Old Kim's contribution, Jim and I figured this trail had Kim's name written all over it--the Haslem Trail.


Sunday morning 2:00 am--the watch is on...4 days over due, and no baby mule yet.

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.