GIRL ON THE RANCH
I grew up on a ranch in the Deep South. I was born on it. My ma went into labour when in the milkin barn an gave birth on a stack of hay. She always said how terrified she was bout me bein still born when she managed to push me out; but a nosy ol cock came stalkin round an eyed me as I lay in my ma’s arms sound asleep while wrapped in an ol cotton blanket, an then sounded off a mighty crow that shook up the whole atmosphere. The wretched thing cried right into my ear an that’s when I finally started to scream my lil lungs out. A few cows orated their own cries too, but my ma said their sounds came from irritation more then anything else.
Growin up I was always active. I’d run round the house with the ol dog an then would climb or jump over farm yard brick n bracken until I was so tired that I just fell asleep on the sweet country grass that grew over my head in most places. Sometimes I would wake in the near dark and then grab my boots an trudge back to the house where my ever ready ma would give me a mighty scoldin in having disappeared n all. I would tuck my hands inside my pockets an stand back a little an hear her words bein lashed out on her hot tempered tongue – but they never really bothered me. She always told her stories on how dangerous the mighty ol world was, how there were terrible things like snakes with sharp poisoned fangs, wild prairie dogs hungry enough to eat a whole person in one settin, an finally she would talk about wild men an women who go about walkin through country fields pickin up anything they find an taking off with them. I was a little confused bout it, cause I never saw no one in fields near or far. It was just one vast plot of land that spread as far as the horizon. It was covered in head high grass, an rimmed with rocky mountain slopes an rushin brooks which were great to collect fresh water from. So I paid no mind to my ma’s scoldin an just marched bout all over the place from field, to mountain range, to brook, an back again. I’d chew at grass stalk, I’d run wild huntin for the next rabbit hole from which I could perhaps spot a bouncin rabbit, an I’d bring a piece of string an try to catch a fish or two at the brook. But when I started school I learned of things like wild Indians who’d snatch people an take off their scalps n hang em off on racks in order to show em off; or even wild mountaineers who would race round the rocky ranges holdin a gun in one hand an a slashin knife in the other ready to chase an pounce on anything that looked like a good robbery or a good piece of sport adrift from the pack of townsfolk that inhabited in-town areas; that’s when I finally began to get a little nervous. Yep, always brought my dog with me after that on every walk in order to keep me in protection of the world round me. Always looked bout sharply imaginin of someone spooky just jumpin out with a cold barrel gun or some sharp ended spear n scaring the livin daylights outta me. I got so nervous when going out on a prairie run through the rocky slopes where the world is nothing but broken rock, flyaway dirt, scraggy wild sprigs, an filled with silence so dense that yer can never really hear the world because its so awful quiet; so I stopped goin over yonger an began to play in the fields closer – pickin fruit, chewin on garden vegetables, playin with the chickens n horses an havin a better time knowin that I was close to the house the whole time an just had to holler to get ol pa on the move out with his gun shoved under one arm an chargin like a warring soldier on the Western Front if anyone disturbed our peace.