Chapter 2 ~ Page 38
"What a life," I told myself, picking up the pieces, "but, unless you want to quit, accept what you asked for." From that moment on I had the understanding that every day would bring new problems; it was part and parcel of horse packing.
Also, if someone 'recommended' that we do this or that, first we had to consider the circumstances. We were fugitives from the 20th century, and had to rely on our own experience. Perhaps we hadn't done too well so far, but we were learning .
That day we ripped a grain pannier trying to go through a gate wide enough for a saddle horse, but not one with packs. We had to unfasten a barbed wire fence further on. A park ranger had "recommended" we follow the paved road. Instead, we found a path that dropped over the rift wall of the San Andreas Fault, down, down, into a desert within a desert, the Anza Borrego. In Southern California we were to often travel from pines to palms within a few short miles, for this was typical in the "rain shadow" countryside of the desert mountains.
Un-typically, the storm that had brought us snow, followed as rain, and brought color to desert flowers few visitors see. Our trail lead through an ocean of yellow and red. With moisture, the century plant—even if it was a myth that they only bloomed once every 100 years—gave us a once in a lifetime display of their glory. The vast multitude of hues and shapes made up for the dampness of a cold camp. Maybe we couldn't go as fast as a pickup camper and horse trailer, but then, we were seeing more of this land called America.
As we rode on we began to experience something else as wondrous as a newly opened blossom. Our family began to work together. I no longer had to explain why it was necessary to get up at first light to have time for breaking camp and breakfast. They knew that minutes were precious at the other end of a day.
While Bernice cooked, the rest of us took down tents and crammed our sleeping bags into their nylon stuff bags. If we did it fast enough, there was time to help to cook, and give her a well earned chance to stop and enjoy a cup of tea. After breakfast our dishes were tossed in the "round-up" wash pan, and the race was on to see how fast each could complete his assigned task. The boys brought in the horses so the girls could slip on nosebags filled with oats, and I could groom. James and I hurried to slip on all the saddles before BJ, Bernadette, and little Colette could complain about waiting to tie on saddle bags.
By then Bernice would have the "kitchen" and "pantry" sets of panniers in order. These then would be weighed to make sure that they balanced at not more than (hopefully) 75 pounds per side.
Also, if someone 'recommended' that we do this or that, first we had to consider the circumstances. We were fugitives from the 20th century, and had to rely on our own experience. Perhaps we hadn't done too well so far, but we were learning .
That day we ripped a grain pannier trying to go through a gate wide enough for a saddle horse, but not one with packs. We had to unfasten a barbed wire fence further on. A park ranger had "recommended" we follow the paved road. Instead, we found a path that dropped over the rift wall of the San Andreas Fault, down, down, into a desert within a desert, the Anza Borrego. In Southern California we were to often travel from pines to palms within a few short miles, for this was typical in the "rain shadow" countryside of the desert mountains.
Un-typically, the storm that had brought us snow, followed as rain, and brought color to desert flowers few visitors see. Our trail lead through an ocean of yellow and red. With moisture, the century plant—even if it was a myth that they only bloomed once every 100 years—gave us a once in a lifetime display of their glory. The vast multitude of hues and shapes made up for the dampness of a cold camp. Maybe we couldn't go as fast as a pickup camper and horse trailer, but then, we were seeing more of this land called America.
As we rode on we began to experience something else as wondrous as a newly opened blossom. Our family began to work together. I no longer had to explain why it was necessary to get up at first light to have time for breaking camp and breakfast. They knew that minutes were precious at the other end of a day.While Bernice cooked, the rest of us took down tents and crammed our sleeping bags into their nylon stuff bags. If we did it fast enough, there was time to help to cook, and give her a well earned chance to stop and enjoy a cup of tea. After breakfast our dishes were tossed in the "round-up" wash pan, and the race was on to see how fast each could complete his assigned task. The boys brought in the horses so the girls could slip on nosebags filled with oats, and I could groom. James and I hurried to slip on all the saddles before BJ, Bernadette, and little Colette could complain about waiting to tie on saddle bags.
By then Bernice would have the "kitchen" and "pantry" sets of panniers in order. These then would be weighed to make sure that they balanced at not more than (hopefully) 75 pounds per side.
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia