Chapter 11 ~ Page 148
Actually, this was the system we had used the summer before, but with many refinements. Since the shape of the hard panniers never varied, I had designed pre-fitted pack covers to save seconds. And, braided a pre-tied diamond, that saved minutes.
Everything now was a bright red. Our colors before had been blue and white. In photographs taken in the glare of granite country, I had trouble finding the pack string in distance views. Equipment, as my shoeing hammer was oh so easy to lose in the tall green grass of a meadow. So, if it moved, but didn't talk or whinny, on went the red. Red packsaddles, red nylon for mantys (a new material for an old business), red nosebags, and I even tried a shoe coloring on the leather hobbles.
All this color, and the smooth fitted pack covers cried out for a final touch. After much thought, I suggested a Mexico to Canada sign. But, bashful about bragging, this called for a family vote.
"Well" counseled professor Barry Murray, Jr., "the pioneers painted 'Oregon or Bust' on their wagons, so this proposition would be in keeping with our historical principles."
"It's sort of like cheer leading," yelled the girls, "C, CA, CAN, CANADA, YEH."
Surprisingly, Bernice was overwhelmingly enthusiastic about the whole idea. "If any mother's son accuses me of lying this year, I'll tell the #$&*§ he can't read."
Agreed, we were professional packers now, proud of our accomplishments. We disagreed on how it should be designed.
"C, CA, CAN . .. ," yelled the girls.
"Perhaps one word per horse," suggested BJ.
I vetoed that, as the horses would always have to travel in the same order or "Mexico" might pass "Canada" by, somewhere around Oregon. Besides, I had to paint the thing and simple was best. Resolved—with the amendment that The Colonel should have the honor of carrying same, as he was the 'bestest' packhorse that lived. Resolved; and family meeting adjourned.
The best. Professionals. In all the occupations and professions I have undertaken in my life, I always have tried to be the best damn horseshoer, or photographer, or miner, or printer, there ever was. Now that we were veteran packers even Bernadette and Colette could cast a critical eye over any horse or pack and sound off on what was wrong, or needed adjustment. This wasn't bragging, rather, it was professionalism.
Everything now was a bright red. Our colors before had been blue and white. In photographs taken in the glare of granite country, I had trouble finding the pack string in distance views. Equipment, as my shoeing hammer was oh so easy to lose in the tall green grass of a meadow. So, if it moved, but didn't talk or whinny, on went the red. Red packsaddles, red nylon for mantys (a new material for an old business), red nosebags, and I even tried a shoe coloring on the leather hobbles.
All this color, and the smooth fitted pack covers cried out for a final touch. After much thought, I suggested a Mexico to Canada sign. But, bashful about bragging, this called for a family vote.
"Well" counseled professor Barry Murray, Jr., "the pioneers painted 'Oregon or Bust' on their wagons, so this proposition would be in keeping with our historical principles."
"It's sort of like cheer leading," yelled the girls, "C, CA, CAN, CANADA, YEH."
Surprisingly, Bernice was overwhelmingly enthusiastic about the whole idea. "If any mother's son accuses me of lying this year, I'll tell the #$&*§ he can't read."
Agreed, we were professional packers now, proud of our accomplishments. We disagreed on how it should be designed.
"C, CA, CAN . .. ," yelled the girls.
"Perhaps one word per horse," suggested BJ.
I vetoed that, as the horses would always have to travel in the same order or "Mexico" might pass "Canada" by, somewhere around Oregon. Besides, I had to paint the thing and simple was best. Resolved—with the amendment that The Colonel should have the honor of carrying same, as he was the 'bestest' packhorse that lived. Resolved; and family meeting adjourned.
The best. Professionals. In all the occupations and professions I have undertaken in my life, I always have tried to be the best damn horseshoer, or photographer, or miner, or printer, there ever was. Now that we were veteran packers even Bernadette and Colette could cast a critical eye over any horse or pack and sound off on what was wrong, or needed adjustment. This wasn't bragging, rather, it was professionalism.
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Text and Photographs © Barry Murray 1971-2007 Mac&Murray Multimedia