Sometimes in life there are things that will always and forever remind you of a story from your past.
One such story for me comes from a time when I was working at the Bar Ten Ranch. I spent many summers as a kid out at the ranch with my dad and as soon as I was old enough, there was nothing I wanted more than to work out there myself. One of my favorite years of working out there was the second summer that I spent working with Addie, Laura, Maria and Crystal. Because it was our second summer together, we were a well oiled machine. A complete unit. We worked really well together and had a blast, even when the days were too long and too hot and all we really wanted was a nap!
Until you have worked a summer at Bar Ten, you have no idea how great a nap can be. I don't think I have ever worked harder in my life than I did out there. We started our days early. Usually up at 4:30 in the morning (5:30 if we got to sleep in!) and worked our tails off till the program ended around 9:30 at night. Somewhere in all the work, we managed to find time to play (usually a good water fight, or practical joke of some sort) and even snuck in the occasional, coveted nap!
Still, there were days when the naps were elusive, and the sleep deprivation took it's toll. One such day I will remember forever- Addie and I were in the kitchen. It had been a long day. A long work week, really, and I remember that I was washing a never-ending stack of dishes. Addie was at the counter getting ready to make some lunch. As I stood at the sink with my back to her, she let out a cry of frustration and dropped what I later learned was a butter knife, on the counter. Startled, I turned around and asked, "Pants, what is wrong?" She looked at me for just a second and asked, "How do you make half of a grilled cheese sandwich?" I don't specifically remember what ran through my head, but I do remember telling her just to cut the bread in half. She rolled her eyes at me as if to say, "Thank you, Captain Obvious", but she picked up her knife and cut the bread in half.
Every time anyone eats a grilled cheese sandwich I remember this day in detail. In our overly exhausted state, it was hilarious. It's still one of my favorite stories. So, this one is for you, Pants! I love you- this much!
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
Over The River and Through The...Four Corners Area?
Yep, through the Four Corners area. That's how we got to Grandma's house. And boy was it an adventure. Why am I telling you this story? Well, I went to lunch with some of my coworkers today. As the six of us pulled out of the parking lot, Melanie asked us if we wanted to watch some TV on our way to the restaurant. (She has one of those fancy minivans with the TV screens built into the headrests so that when she travels with her kids she can put in a movie and lull them into complacency.) She was completely kidding- but I couldn't help but think back to when I was a kid and how things have changed since then.
Part of what I am about to tell you may be heresy. It is secondhand information that I don't have any specific memory of myself. But I have heard the stories often enough to believe that it really happened...and it is just too funny not to share.
When we were young, my mom's parents lived in Pueblo, CO. It was a thirteen hour drive from our house to theirs. We didn't make the trip often, but when we did we had to fit the whole fam-damily in our single cab pick up truck (did I mention there are nine of us???) and we liked to leave at 4 am and drive all day so we didn't have to pay for a hotel room. In fact, I don't remember staying in a hotel room till I was around 14 years old and went on tour with my choir. I do, however, have vivid memories of sleeping on the side of the road on more than one occasion... Anyway back to the story at hand.
If I'm totally honest here, I can't remember us ever taking the entire family to Colorado in a single trip. Mostly because my oldest brother is 21 years older than I am, and by the time I was old enough to actually remember going to Colorado the 4 oldest kids in the family had stopped going with us. Still, I got to hear the stories about when they would take everyone.
Are you wondering yet how they managed to take six kids on a thirteen hour trip in a single cab pick up truck? (If you're not, I haven't set the stage properly and my confidence as a writer will be shot- so lie!) The answer is fantastic. Are you ready for this? My parents would ride in the cab while the kids rode in the back of the truck! Put down the phone. There's no need to call child protective services. It's not as bad as it sounds. My parents would put the camper shell on the truck, load the kids inside and be on their way. It was actually quite perfect for the first few hours of the trip- while everyone still wanted to be asleep. But eventually the kids would wake up and the torture would start! I don't know the details of the torture, but I do know that when it started they would put a pillow over the camper window so that my parents couldn't look back and see what was going on. The thing I always wonder about is the bathroom issue. As far as I know, they were using a paper cup or a plastic bottle that they would empty when my parents would stop for gas. Maybe they would just bang on the camper window till my parents were forced to pull over and find out what all the fuss was about? I do know that we always stopped in Four Corners so that we could take awesome stinkbug style pictures of each of us. You know the one I'm talking about? With our tushes high in the air standing in four states all at once- one per foot and hand?
When I finally got old enough to remember the trips, it was usually just my mom and I going. I would spend the trip reading books out loud to her. Pollyanna, anything from the Nancy Drew files. I always loved to read to pass the time on a long trip. In fact, as it would get too dark to read I would wait with my book in hand till a car pulled up close enough behind us that I could use their headlights to illuminate my pages- it never occurred to me that there could be value in just packing a flashlight...
I never would've dreamed that there would come a time when DVD systems would be standard entertainment in the car. In a way, it almost makes me sad for those kids who are missing out on the fun of being trapped in a camper shell with their siblings while the windows are covered and mom and dad are blissfully ignorant of what is really going on. Sad that Pollyanna and Nancy Drew have been shelved in favor of something more visually stimulating. These were great times and great memories.
Part of what I am about to tell you may be heresy. It is secondhand information that I don't have any specific memory of myself. But I have heard the stories often enough to believe that it really happened...and it is just too funny not to share.
When we were young, my mom's parents lived in Pueblo, CO. It was a thirteen hour drive from our house to theirs. We didn't make the trip often, but when we did we had to fit the whole fam-damily in our single cab pick up truck (did I mention there are nine of us???) and we liked to leave at 4 am and drive all day so we didn't have to pay for a hotel room. In fact, I don't remember staying in a hotel room till I was around 14 years old and went on tour with my choir. I do, however, have vivid memories of sleeping on the side of the road on more than one occasion... Anyway back to the story at hand.
If I'm totally honest here, I can't remember us ever taking the entire family to Colorado in a single trip. Mostly because my oldest brother is 21 years older than I am, and by the time I was old enough to actually remember going to Colorado the 4 oldest kids in the family had stopped going with us. Still, I got to hear the stories about when they would take everyone.
Are you wondering yet how they managed to take six kids on a thirteen hour trip in a single cab pick up truck? (If you're not, I haven't set the stage properly and my confidence as a writer will be shot- so lie!) The answer is fantastic. Are you ready for this? My parents would ride in the cab while the kids rode in the back of the truck! Put down the phone. There's no need to call child protective services. It's not as bad as it sounds. My parents would put the camper shell on the truck, load the kids inside and be on their way. It was actually quite perfect for the first few hours of the trip- while everyone still wanted to be asleep. But eventually the kids would wake up and the torture would start! I don't know the details of the torture, but I do know that when it started they would put a pillow over the camper window so that my parents couldn't look back and see what was going on. The thing I always wonder about is the bathroom issue. As far as I know, they were using a paper cup or a plastic bottle that they would empty when my parents would stop for gas. Maybe they would just bang on the camper window till my parents were forced to pull over and find out what all the fuss was about? I do know that we always stopped in Four Corners so that we could take awesome stinkbug style pictures of each of us. You know the one I'm talking about? With our tushes high in the air standing in four states all at once- one per foot and hand?
When I finally got old enough to remember the trips, it was usually just my mom and I going. I would spend the trip reading books out loud to her. Pollyanna, anything from the Nancy Drew files. I always loved to read to pass the time on a long trip. In fact, as it would get too dark to read I would wait with my book in hand till a car pulled up close enough behind us that I could use their headlights to illuminate my pages- it never occurred to me that there could be value in just packing a flashlight...
I never would've dreamed that there would come a time when DVD systems would be standard entertainment in the car. In a way, it almost makes me sad for those kids who are missing out on the fun of being trapped in a camper shell with their siblings while the windows are covered and mom and dad are blissfully ignorant of what is really going on. Sad that Pollyanna and Nancy Drew have been shelved in favor of something more visually stimulating. These were great times and great memories.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Living Legends: A Few Thoughts About My Dad
It has been six years since I started working at Arizona River Runners and the novelty of being Garth's little girl has mostly worn off now. Though I used to hear it all the time, it has been years since anyone has made the statement, "I gotta take care of Garth's little girl". But a couple weeks ago I had the chance to experience that again, because a couple weeks ago, I was on a river trip with a new boatman that we hired this season. Well, he's not a new boatman. He has worked for Hatch for almost 20 years, but he is new to Arizona River Runners. Since I had never been on a trip with him before it was interesting to watch how he responded to having me on his trip. He was very adamant about taking care of me. It was really quite sweet and totally hilarious, all at the same time.
Still, the way he talked about my dad got me thinking about how lucky I am. There are people all over the world who know and admire this man. And I do mean all over the world. Every time I take a group on the river I have several passengers who comment on how amazing my dad is. It's not news to me. I have ALWAYS been a daddy's girl. But I do think that, sometimes, I forget to really appreciate how blessed I am in this regard. Let me tell you the "Readers Digest" version of how my dad ended up in the Grand Canyon and became the legend that he is today.
My dad was raised on the Arizona Strip. For those of you unfamiliar with the area, it is a strip of harsh and unforgiving land in the northwest corner of AZ. It is separated from the rest of the state by the Grand Canyon and there is very little live water to be found. Ranching was the industry that sustained life on the Strip. Cattle, mostly, but I remember hearing stories about sheep here and there as well. He learned at a young age to ride and work hard. He learned to appreciate what he had. He always says he learned to live like a coyote- to eat what he could catch, and run when he got scared. Now, he is a month shy of 78 years old, and he lives the same way. He still works harder than most people I know. He is a cowboy in every sense of the word.
Dad married Mom in 1960. I am the youngest of seven kids. 2 boys, 5 girls. My dad always says they had seven kids because they didn't have TV. I say it was because they had to keep going till they got it right! Either way, I was very blessed to be born into the family I was. Though I didn't realize it at the time, my upbringing was quite humble. My mom never worked outside the home. (I'm sure she had her hands full keeping track of all us kids!) My dad worked his tail off to provide for us. Until May of 1967 (when my parents finally built their first and only home), my parents lived in a trailer that was 8' x 21'-which may not sound so bad, till I add the fact that they had 3 kids by then. My dad had joined the Arizona Teamsters Union and was working on construction projects all over the Southwest. Most of the stories I remember being told are about hanging power lines, though I know there were other projects as well.
In 1983, Dad went to work for the Bar Ten Ranch as a mule skinner. He would help Tony Heaton bring river rats out of the canyon by mule. It was hard, hot work, and it was only seasonal, but he was good at it and he really liked being back on the AZ Strip. Then, in 1985, the ranch switched from mules to helicopters. Dad had been working at a good paying job through the winter and opted not to go back to the ranch that summer. He figured there was no need for him out there, now that the mules had been replaced with the helicopter. As the summer of '87 rolled around, dad had an accident on the job and had to find something else to do that summer. He ended up back at the Bar Ten, and has been working in the Grand Canyon ever since.
Now, it is true that the world of Grand Canyon river running is laced with colorful characters such as Norm Nevills, Martin Litton, and of course, Georgie White. Anyone in the river community will know these names-will picture a face and will immediately be able to tell a story (or two, or three...) about these individuals who made Grand Canyon river running what it is today. There are select few who can toss their name into the ring with these names and expect to compete, but the truth is, my dad is one of those remarkable characters who is known in Grand Canyon. Say the name Garth Bundy to anyone who has been in the Canyon for any amount of time and immediately they will be able to tell you a story about him.
Still, the way he talked about my dad got me thinking about how lucky I am. There are people all over the world who know and admire this man. And I do mean all over the world. Every time I take a group on the river I have several passengers who comment on how amazing my dad is. It's not news to me. I have ALWAYS been a daddy's girl. But I do think that, sometimes, I forget to really appreciate how blessed I am in this regard. Let me tell you the "Readers Digest" version of how my dad ended up in the Grand Canyon and became the legend that he is today.
My dad was raised on the Arizona Strip. For those of you unfamiliar with the area, it is a strip of harsh and unforgiving land in the northwest corner of AZ. It is separated from the rest of the state by the Grand Canyon and there is very little live water to be found. Ranching was the industry that sustained life on the Strip. Cattle, mostly, but I remember hearing stories about sheep here and there as well. He learned at a young age to ride and work hard. He learned to appreciate what he had. He always says he learned to live like a coyote- to eat what he could catch, and run when he got scared. Now, he is a month shy of 78 years old, and he lives the same way. He still works harder than most people I know. He is a cowboy in every sense of the word.
Dad married Mom in 1960. I am the youngest of seven kids. 2 boys, 5 girls. My dad always says they had seven kids because they didn't have TV. I say it was because they had to keep going till they got it right! Either way, I was very blessed to be born into the family I was. Though I didn't realize it at the time, my upbringing was quite humble. My mom never worked outside the home. (I'm sure she had her hands full keeping track of all us kids!) My dad worked his tail off to provide for us. Until May of 1967 (when my parents finally built their first and only home), my parents lived in a trailer that was 8' x 21'-which may not sound so bad, till I add the fact that they had 3 kids by then. My dad had joined the Arizona Teamsters Union and was working on construction projects all over the Southwest. Most of the stories I remember being told are about hanging power lines, though I know there were other projects as well.
In 1983, Dad went to work for the Bar Ten Ranch as a mule skinner. He would help Tony Heaton bring river rats out of the canyon by mule. It was hard, hot work, and it was only seasonal, but he was good at it and he really liked being back on the AZ Strip. Then, in 1985, the ranch switched from mules to helicopters. Dad had been working at a good paying job through the winter and opted not to go back to the ranch that summer. He figured there was no need for him out there, now that the mules had been replaced with the helicopter. As the summer of '87 rolled around, dad had an accident on the job and had to find something else to do that summer. He ended up back at the Bar Ten, and has been working in the Grand Canyon ever since.
Now, it is true that the world of Grand Canyon river running is laced with colorful characters such as Norm Nevills, Martin Litton, and of course, Georgie White. Anyone in the river community will know these names-will picture a face and will immediately be able to tell a story (or two, or three...) about these individuals who made Grand Canyon river running what it is today. There are select few who can toss their name into the ring with these names and expect to compete, but the truth is, my dad is one of those remarkable characters who is known in Grand Canyon. Say the name Garth Bundy to anyone who has been in the Canyon for any amount of time and immediately they will be able to tell you a story about him.
One of my good friends, Eric Dodge, is a singer/songwriter. He wrote a song called "Last Real Cowboy" for his grandpa, but every time I hear it, I think of my dad. If you want to hear it, (it's definitely worth a listen) just click here- I thought it would be appropriate to include the lyrics here-
I was only three, sittin' on his knee, hearing all those tales he'd tell.
'Bout the good old days, when he'd ride the range and blaze those rugged trails.
He'd let me steer the tractor when he'd plow.
Raising cattle and his family made him proud.
He was the last real cowboy.
He tamed the land with his own two hands, like his Granddaddy had done.
He loved his wife and the simple life of working with his sons.
He was up at dawn with his Stetson on.
He didn't stop to rest, till the sun went down.
He built a legacy.
The last of a dying breed.
He was the last real cowboy.
He was strong and brave and showed real faith, and earned respect from all.
He would plant his seeds, drop to his knees, then pray for rain to fall.
When the cause was just, he always took a stand.
He taught me work, and how to be a man.
He was the last real cowboy.
He tamed the land with his own two hands, like his Granddaddy had done.
He loved his wife and the simple life of working with his sons.
He was up at dawn with his Stetson on.
He didn't stop to rest, till the sun went down.
He built a legacy.
The last of a dying breed.
He was the last real cowboy.
I remember it well,when I got the call, that the cowboy's work was done.
It was nearly night, when I reached his side, and watched that setting sun.
He said his trail was waiting in the sky.
So I tipped my hat, and said my last goodbye-
To the last real cowboy.
He tamed the land with his own two hands, like his Granddaddy had done.
He loved his wife and the simple life of working with his sons.
He was up at dawn with his Stetson on.
He didn't stop to rest, till the sun went down.
He built a legacy.
The best of a dying breed.
He was the last real cowboy.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Chicken or Beef?
I had a disagreement with a good friend tonight. Well, maybe disagreement is
the wrong word for it. He said something that kinda stung me. He didn't mean
for it to affect me the way it did, and I knew he wasn't being the least bit
malicious. Yet, it hurt. It was silly that it did. I knew I was being
unreasonable. (Do I at least get points for recognizing that I was being crazy?
I feel as though I should.) Anyway, in my frustration, I decided to go for a
ride because it was a beautiful night and I thought it would calm me down.
I drove to one of my favorite thinking places. It's this cute little pond with these cute little ducks located right in the middle of town. It must be one of the best kept secrets here because I go there frequently and it is rare that there is anyone else around. It's pretty fantastic that way. So I sat there on a rock on the shore and I talked to the ducks. They seemed mildly interested at best. I always thought I was a reasonably good storyteller, but I guess the ducks had a different opinion. Next time I'll have to remember to take a couple slices of bread along to help hold their attention.
After getting nowhere with the ducks I began to wander back toward my car. I exchanged pleasantries with a father and son who were walking down the sidewalk and tried to hold the tears at bay. It was completely irrational, and I needed to find a way to feel better. So I drove past the house of another good friend whom I haven't talked to for quite some time. I told myself that if she was outside I would stop and talk, if not, I would head home and sleep my frustration away. As luck would have it, she was standing in her front yard. I think it is one of the tender mercies in this life that when I really needed her to be there, she was. We went into the house to catch up on all we had missed over the past several months and then, of course, I got around to telling her what was bothering me.
As I finished my tale of frustration and hurt feelings, she smiled knowingly and told me a story of her own. It was about people I didn't know who had had a blow-up of their own. A husband and wife had been going through a rough patch. One night while traveling, they had stopped to get something to eat. The wife was hungry and easily ordered a hamburger, then stood there and became increasingly impatient and upset as her husband kept changing his mind between the chicken sandwich or a hamburger of his own. By the time he decided what he wanted for dinner, the wife was so angry, she was ready to completely throw in the towel on their marriage. Essentially, she was ready to call it quits because her husband couldn't decide, chicken or beef?
Now, this is certainly an extreme example of the frustration I was feeling. I was nowhere near the thought of ending our friendship, but it provided me with a perspective that I will certainly think on for some time to come. How often do we let something as simple as chicken or beef become the determining factor of our relationships? Whether it is with our significant other or a close friend, we need to be aware that, sometimes, what we are getting upset about, is pretty trivial.
I drove to one of my favorite thinking places. It's this cute little pond with these cute little ducks located right in the middle of town. It must be one of the best kept secrets here because I go there frequently and it is rare that there is anyone else around. It's pretty fantastic that way. So I sat there on a rock on the shore and I talked to the ducks. They seemed mildly interested at best. I always thought I was a reasonably good storyteller, but I guess the ducks had a different opinion. Next time I'll have to remember to take a couple slices of bread along to help hold their attention.
After getting nowhere with the ducks I began to wander back toward my car. I exchanged pleasantries with a father and son who were walking down the sidewalk and tried to hold the tears at bay. It was completely irrational, and I needed to find a way to feel better. So I drove past the house of another good friend whom I haven't talked to for quite some time. I told myself that if she was outside I would stop and talk, if not, I would head home and sleep my frustration away. As luck would have it, she was standing in her front yard. I think it is one of the tender mercies in this life that when I really needed her to be there, she was. We went into the house to catch up on all we had missed over the past several months and then, of course, I got around to telling her what was bothering me.
As I finished my tale of frustration and hurt feelings, she smiled knowingly and told me a story of her own. It was about people I didn't know who had had a blow-up of their own. A husband and wife had been going through a rough patch. One night while traveling, they had stopped to get something to eat. The wife was hungry and easily ordered a hamburger, then stood there and became increasingly impatient and upset as her husband kept changing his mind between the chicken sandwich or a hamburger of his own. By the time he decided what he wanted for dinner, the wife was so angry, she was ready to completely throw in the towel on their marriage. Essentially, she was ready to call it quits because her husband couldn't decide, chicken or beef?
Now, this is certainly an extreme example of the frustration I was feeling. I was nowhere near the thought of ending our friendship, but it provided me with a perspective that I will certainly think on for some time to come. How often do we let something as simple as chicken or beef become the determining factor of our relationships? Whether it is with our significant other or a close friend, we need to be aware that, sometimes, what we are getting upset about, is pretty trivial.
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