Yipppee-ayo-kai-yeah!!!
I've blogged about my pets, my family, just about everything in the world but the horses I've known and loved. The first photo is of me (age 2 1/2), my great uncle Charley Smith, and my grandaddy, George Sidney Smith. Uncle Charley was born in Saxony, Germany. His real name was Karl Wilhelm Schmidt. So was their sister, Katerina Schmidt. Grandaddy was the first person in his family born in America. Both of them were real, honest-to-God, working cowboys. I'm sitting on Choklit, the brown and white pinto pony they bought for all the Smith grandkids to ride. Mamma wasn't happy. (she took the picture) Grandmother was happy. She loved to ride horses (side saddle!). Grandaddy, Uncle Charley, and I were as happy as three ducks in a room full of June bugs. I was just impatient and ready to ride with the wind blowing through my hair. The picture was taken in Uncle Charley's front yard in Wilbarger County, Texas. He was a widower who had married his boss's daughter, inherited the ranch, and struck oil before the war, so he could pretty much do what he darn well pleased. By the way, the photo was taken in 1945 when the war was almost over.
The next photo is well after the war. It was taken in 1949 when I was seven years old, and we are at the Altus, Oklahoma train yard getting ready to ride in the Fouth of July rodeo parade. Uncle Charley was always asked to carry the American flag in all the rodeo parades around. He was very proud of his American citizenship. He was naturalized during WWI, when they were killing so many Germans. Grandaddy bought a gun during that war for the same reason. A six-shooter, it was the first gun he ever owned. My cousin Monty owns it now. He inherited it from my youngest uncle, Carl, (named after Uncle Charley) who was too young to be in WWII.
I was proud to ride in the parade with my Uncle Charley. I was born in Altus, Oklahoma, July 30, 1942. The horse we're on is named Silver. He lived to be 21 years old, and starved himself to death, grieving when Uncle Charley died in 1952. Horses are amazing people.
By the way, those hats we're all wearing are genuine Stetsons, and the boots custom made in Nocona, Texas.
Signing off for now,
Karen Mabry Rice, aka Min Cotton (the protagonist in my mystery novel Ghost Walk)
Soon to be published by 4rvPublishing, LLC, of Edmond, Oklahoma.
I was born six months ahead of you, so I can empathise with your life. You look so cure as a youngster, sitting on the hores--and you still remember the name of the one you rode at 2 1/2 years old. That's a good memory. How amazing that your Uncle's horse grieved that way. I didn't know horses did that.
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Wow, Karen, very moving post, especially this line "horses are amazing people." We hear stories about dogs not wanting to leave their human's grave and refusing to eat, horses are just as amazing if not more so. I know a woman who runs a horse therapy place, where people recovering from various issues (alcohol, etc) go, the therapy being the fact that they are around horses ... really something, isn't it? Horses really have that power.
ReplyDeleteThose are great pictures of you, Uncle and Dad, showing the times so well. Thanks for sharing. Love your blog.