BetterMost, Wyoming & Brokeback Mountain Forum

Our BetterMost Community => The Holiday Forum => Topic started by: dot-matrix on December 09, 2006, 03:47:28 am

Title: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: dot-matrix on December 09, 2006, 03:47:28 am
My Grandma grew up on the Great Plains but she was born in Texas, she use to recite this story-poem to us every Christmas Eve.  I am so glad I remembered enough of it to look it up.

The Cowboy's Christmas Ball
~by William Lawerence Chittenden

(http://www.thegracemuseum.org/images/perm_collection/Cowboy-Christmas-Ball.jpg)

Way out in Western Texas, where the Clear Forks waters flow 
Where the cattle are "a-browzin'," an' the spanish ponies grow; 
Where the Northers "come a-wistlin'" from beyond the neutral strip;
And prairie dogs are sneezin', as if they had "The Grip";
Where the coyotes come a-howlin' round the ranches after dark, 
And the mocking-birds are singin' to the lovely "medder lark";
Where the 'possum and the badger, and rattle-snakes abound,
And the monstrous stars are winkin' o'er a wilderness profound; 
Where the lonesome, tawney prairies melt into airy streams, 
While the Double Mountains slumber, in heavenly kinds of dreams; 
Where the antelope is grazin' and the lonely plovers call- 
It is there that I attended "The Cowboys' Christmas Ball."
The town was Anson City, old Jone's county seat, 
Where they raise Polled Angus cattle, and waving whiskered wheat; 
Where the air is soft and "bammy," an' dry an' full of health,
And prairies is explodin' with agricultural wealth; 
Where they print the Texas Western, that Hec. McCann supplies, 
With news and yarns and stories,uv most amazin' size; 
Where Frank Smith "pulls the badger," on knowin' tenderfeet,
And Democracy's triumphant, and mighty hard to beat; 
Where lives that good old hunter, John Milsap from Lamar, 
Who "used to be the Sheriff, back East, in Paris, sah!" 
Twas there, I say, at Anson, with the livly "widder Wall,"
That I went to that reception, "The Cowboys' Christmas Ball."
The boys had left the ranches and come to town in piles;
The ladies- "kinder scatterin"- had gathered in for miles.
And yet the place was crowded, as I remember well, 
'Twas got for the occasion, at "The Morning Star Hotel."
The music was a fiddle an' a lively tamborine, 
And a viol came imported,"by the stage from Abilene.
The room was togged and gorgeous-with mistletooe and shawls,
And candles flickered frescoes, around the airy walls.
The "wimmin folks" looked lovely- the boys looked kinder treed,
Till their leader commenced yellin'; "Whoa! fellers, let's stampede,"
And the music started sighin', an' awailin' through the hall, 
As a kind of introduction to "The Cowboys' Christmas Ball."
The leader was a feller that came from Swenson's Ranch, 
They called him "Windy Billy," from "little Deadmans Branch." 
His rig was kinder keerless," big spurs and high heeled boots;
He had the reputation that comes when a "fellers shoots."
His voice was like a bugle upon the mountain's height; 
His feet were animated, an' a mighty, movin' sight, 
When he commenced to holler, "Noew fellers, stake yer pen!
"Lock horns ter all them heifers, an russle 'em like men. 
"Saloot yer lovely critters; neow swing an' let 'em go, 
"Climb the grapevine 'round 'em- all hands do-ce-do!
"You Mavericks, jine the round-up Jest skip her waterfall,
" Huh! hit wuz gettin' happy, "The Cowboys Christmas Ball!"
The boys were tolerable skittish, the ladies powerful neat, 
That ol bass viol's music just got out there with both feet! 
That wailin', frisky fiddle, I never shall forget; 
And Windy kept a singin'- I think I hear him yet- 
"O Xes, chase your squirrels, an' cut 'em to one side 
" Spur Treadwell to the center, with Cross P. Charley's bride,
"Doc Hollis down the middle, an twine the ladies chain "
Varn Andrew's pen the fillies in big T Diamonds train. 
"All pull yer freight tergerther, neow swallow fork an' change,
"Big Boston' lead the trail herd, through little Pitchforks range.
"Purr 'round yer gentle pussies, neow rope 'em! Balance all!"
Huh! hit wuz gettin' active - "The Cowboys' Christmas Ball!"
The dust riz fast and furious, we all just galloped 'round, 
Till the scenery got so giddy, that Z Bar Dick was downed. 
We buckled to our partners, an' told 'em to hold on,
Then shook or hoofs like lightning, until the early dawn. 
Don't tell me 'bout cotillions, or germans. No sir 'ee! 
That whirl at Anson City just takes the cake with me. 
I'm sick of lazy shufflin's, of them I've had my fill, 
Give me a frontier break-down, backed up by Windy Bill.
McAllister ain't nowhar! when Windy leads the show, 
I've seen 'em both in harness, and so I sorter know- Oh, 
Bill I shan't forget yer, and I'll oftentimes recall 
That lively gaited sworray-"The Cowboys' Christmas Ball." 
Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: dot-matrix on December 09, 2006, 03:50:08 am
and this another story we always looked forward to her telling over and over again.  She actually had a copy of an old yellow newspaper from her childhood that she would refer to when she forgot some of the details.

A Miner's Christmas Carol

By Samuel Davis 1886, Published in the Golden Era Gazette

In 1858- it might have been five years earlier or later, this is not a history for the public schools- there was a little camp about ten miles from Pinoche, occupied by upwards of three hundred miners, every one of whom might have packed his prospecting implements and left for more inviting fields any time before sunset. When the day was over, these men did not rest from their labors, like the honest New England agriculturist, but sang, danced, gambled, and shot each other as the mood seized them.

One evening the report spread along the main street (which was the only street) that three men had been killed at Silver Reef, and that the bodies were coming in. Presently a lumbering old conveyance labored up the hill, drawn by a couple of horses, well worn out with their pull. The cart contained a good sized box, and no sooner did it's outlines become visible through the glimmer of a stray light here and there, than it began to affect the idlers. Death always enforces respect, and even though no one had caught sight of the remains, the crowd gradually became subdued, and when the horses came to a standstill, the cart was immediately surrounded. The driver, however, was not in the least impressed with the solemnity of his commission.

"All there?" asked one

"Haven't examined. Guess so."

The driver filled his pipe and lit it as he continued:

"Wish the bones and load had gone over the grade."

A man who had been looking on stepped up to the man at once.

"I don't know who you have in that box, but if they happen to be any friends of mine, I'll lay you alongside."

"We can mighty soon see," said the teamster coolly. "Just burst the lid off, and if they happen to be the men you want, I'm here."

The two men looked at each other for a moment, and the crowd gathered anticipating trouble.

"I believe that dead men are entitled to good treatment, and when you talk about hoping to see corpses go over a bank, all I have to say is, that it will be better for you if the late lamented ain't my friends."

"We'll open the box. I don't take back what I've said, and if my own language don't suit your ways of thinking, I guess I can stand it."

With these words the teamster began to pry up the lid. He got a board off, and then pulled out some old rags. A strip of something dark, like rosewood, presented itself.

"Eastern coffin, by thunder!" said several, and the crowd looked quite astonished.

Some more boards flew up, and the man who was ready to defend his friend’s memory shifted his weapon a little. The cool manner of the teamster had so irritated him that he had made up his mind to pull his weapon at the first sight of the dead, even if the deceased was his worst and oldest enemy. Presently the whole of the box cover was off, and the teamster, clearing away the packing, revealed to the astonished group the top of something which puzzled all alike.

"Boys," said he, "this is a pianner."

A general shout of laughter went up, and the man who had been so anxious to enforce respect for the dead muttered something about feeling dry, and the keeper of the nearest bar was several ounces better off by the time the boys had given the joke all the attention it called for.

Had a dozen dead men been in the box, their presence in the camp could not have occasioned half the excitement that the arrival of that lovely piano caused. By the next morning it was known that the instrument was to grace a hurdy-gurdy saloon, owned by Tom Goskin, the leading gambler in the place. It took nearly a week to get this wonder on its legs, and the owner was the proudest individual in the State. It rose gradually from a recumbent to an upright position, amid a confusion of tongues, after the manner of the tower of Babel.

Of course everybody knew just how such an instrument should be put up. One knew where the"off hind leg" should go, and another was posted on the "front piece."

Scores of men came to the place every day to assist.

"I'll put the bones in good order."

"If you want the wires tuned up, I'm the boy."

"I've got music to feed it for a month."

Another brought a pair of blankets for a cover, and all took the liveliest interest in it. It was at last in condition for business.

"It's been showin' its teeth all week. We'd like to have it spit something."

Alas! there wasn't a man to be found who could play upon the instrument. Goskin began to realize that he had a losing speculation on his hands. He had a fiddler, and a Mexican who thrummed a guitar. A pianist would have made his orchestra complete. One day a three-card monte player told a friend confidentially that he could "knock any amount of music out of the piano, if he only had it alone for a few hours to get his hands in." This report spread about the camp, but on being questioned he vowed that he did not know a note of music. It was noted, however, as a suspicious circumstance, that he often hung about the instrument, and looked upon it longingly, like a hungry man gloating over a beefsteak in a restaurant window. There was no doubt but that this man had music in his soul, perhaps in his fingers'-ends but did not dare to make trial of his strength after the rules of harmony had suffered so many years of neglect. So the fiddler kept on with his jigs, and the greasy Mexican pawed his discordant guitar, but no man had the nerve to touch that piano. There were, doubtless, scores of men in the camp who would have given ten ounces of gold-dust to have been half an hour alone with it, but every man's nerve shrank from the jeers which the crowd would shower upon him should his first attempt prove a failure. It got to be generally understood that the hand which first essayed to draw music from the keys must not slouch its work.

It was Christmas Eve, and Goskin, according to his custom, had decorated his gambling-hell with sprigs of mountain cedar and a shrub whose crimson berries did not seem a bad imitation of English holly. The piano was covered with evergreens, and all that was wanting to completely fill the cup of Goskin's contentment was a man to play that piano.

"Christmas night, and no piano-pounder," he said. "This is a nice country for a Christian to live in."

Getting a piece of paper, he scrawled the words:

$20.00 Reward

To a competent Pianer Player

This he struck up on the music-rack, and though the inscription glared at the frequenters of the room until midnight, it failed to draw any musician from his shell.

So the merry-making went on; the hilarity grew apace. Men danced and sang to the musicof the squeaky fiddle and worn out guitar, as the jolly crowd within tried to drown the howling of the storm without. Suddenly, they became aware of the presence of a white haired man, crouching near the fireplace. His garments-such as they left-were wet with melting snow, and he had a half-starved, half-crazed expression. He held his thin, trembling hands toward the fire, and the light of the blazing wood made the almost transparent. He looked about him once in a while, as if in search of something, and his presence cast such a chill over the place that gradually the sound of the revelry was hushed, and it seemed that this waif of the storm had brought in with it all of the gloom and coldness of the warring elements.

Goskin, mixing up a cup of hot egg-nog, advanced and remarked cheerily:

"Here stranger, brace up! This is the real stuff."

The man drained the cup, smacked his lips, and seemed more at home.

"Been prospecting, eh? Out in the mountains-caught in the storm? Lively night this!"

"Pretty bad," said the man

"Must feel pretty dry?"

The man looked at his streaming clothes and laughed, as if Goskin's remark was a sarcasm.

"How long out?"

"Four days."

"Hungry?"

The man rose up, and walking over to the lunch counter, fell to work upon some roast bear, devouring it like any wild animal would have done. As meat and drink and warmth began to permeate the stranger, he seemed to expand and lighten up. His features lost their pallor, and he grew more and more content with the idea that he was not in the grave. As he underwent these changes, the people about him got merrier and happier, and threw off the temporary feeling of depression which he had laid upon them.

"Do you always have the place decorated like this?" he finally asked of Goskin.

"This is Christmas eve," was the reply.

The stranger was startled

"December twenty-fourth, sure enough"

"That's the way I put it up, pard."

"When I was in England I always kept Christmas. But I had forgotten that this was the night. I've been wandering about in the mountains until I've lost track of the feasts of the church."

Presently his eye fell upon the piano.

"Where's the player?" he asked.

"Never had any," said Goskin, blushing at the expression.

"I used to play when I was young."

Goskin almost fainted at the admission.

"Stranger, do tackle it, and give us a tune! Nary man in this camp ever had the nerve to wrestle with that music-box." His pulse beat faster, for he feared that the man would refuse.

"I'll do the best I can," he said.

There was no stool, but seizing a candle-box, he drew it up and seated himself before the instrument. It only required a few seconds for a hush to come over the room.

"That old coon is going to give that thing a rattle."

The sight of a man at the piano was something so unusual that even the faro-dealer, who was about to take in a fifty dollar bet on the tray, paused, and did not reach for the money. Men stopped drinking, with the glasses at their lips. Conversation appeared to have been struck with a sort of paralysis, and cards were no longer shuffled.

The old man brushed back his long, white locks, looked up to the ceiling, half closed his eyes, and in a mystic sort of reverie passed his fingers over the keys. He touched but a single note, yet the sond thrilled the room. It was the key to his improvisation, as he wove his cords together the music laid its spell upon every ear and heart. He felt his way along the keys, like a man treading uncertain paths; but he gained confidence as he progressed, and presently bent to his work like a master. The instrument was not in exact tune, but the ears of his audience, through long disuse, did not dectect anything radically wrong. They heard a succession of grand chords, a suggestion of paradise, melodies here and there, and it was enough.

"See him counter with his left!" said an old rough, enraptured.

"He calls the turn every time on the upper end of the board," responded a man with a stack of chips in his hand.

The player wandered off into the old ballads they had heard at home. All the sad and melancholy, and touching songs that come up like dreams of childhood, this unknown player drew from the keys. His hands kneaded their hearts like dough, and squeezed out the tears as from a wet sponge. As the strains flowed one upon the other, they saw their homes of the long ago reared again; they were playing once more where the apple blossoms sank through the softair to join the violets on the green turf of the old Mew England States; they saw the glories of the Wisconsin maples and the haze of the Indian summer, blending their hues together; they recalled the heather of Scottish hills, the white cliffs of Britain, and heard the sullen roar of the sea, as it beat upon their memories, vaguely. Then came all the old Christmas carols, such as they had sung in church thirty years before; the subtle music that brings up the glimmer of wax tapers, the solemn shrines, the evergreen, holly, mistletoe and surpliced choirs. Then the remorseless performer planted his final stab in every heart with "Home, Sweet Home."

When the player ceased, the crowd slunk away from him. There was no more revelry and devilment left in his audience. Each man wanted to sneak off to his cabin and write the old folks a letter. The day was breaking as the last man left the place, and the player, laying his head down on the piano, fell asleep.

"I say, pard," said Goskin," don't you want a little rest?"

"I feel tired," the old man said. "Perhaps you'll let me rest here for the matter of a day or so."

He walked behind the bar where some old blankets were lying, and stretched himself upon them.

"I feel pretty sick. I guess I won't last long. I've got a brother down in the ravine-his name's Driscoll. He don't know I'm here. Can you get him before morning. I'd like to see his face once before I die."

Goskin started up at the mention of the name. He knew Driscoll well.

"He your brother? I'll have him here in half an hour."

As he dashed out into the storm the musician pressed his hand to his side and groaned. Goskin heard the word "Hurry!" and sped down the ravine to Driscoll's cabin. It was quite light in the room when the two men returned. Driscoll was pale as death.

"My God! I hope he's alive! I wronged him when we lived in England, twenty years ago."

They saw the old man had drawn the blankets over his face. The two stood a moment, awed by the thought that he might be dead. Goskin lifted the blanket and pulled it down astonished. There was no one there!

"Gone!" cried Driscoll, wildly.

"Gone!" echoed Goskin, pulling out his cash-drawer. "Ten thousand dollars in the sack, and the Lord knows how much loose change in the drawer!"

The next day the boys got out, followed a horses tracks through the snow, and lost them in the trail leading toward Pinoche.

There was a man missing from camp. It was the three-card monte man, who used to deny point-blank that he could play the scale. One day they found a wig of white hair, and called to mind when the "stranger" had pushed those locks back when he looked toward the ceiling for inspiration, on that night of December 24, 1861.
Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: Ellemeno on December 09, 2006, 05:26:29 am
Dot, I just read "The Cowboy's Christnas Ball."  What fun.  it sounds very authentic to my ear.  I wonder what "pull the badger" means?
Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: dot-matrix on December 09, 2006, 05:40:24 am
Dot, I just read "The Cowboy's Christnas Ball."  What fun.  it sounds very authentic to my ear.  I wonder what "pull the badger" means?

My grandma always said that the dogs ran the badger to ground and then the hunter "pulled" it from it's hole.  Hence pulled the badger.

Here's a list of some the other idioms she taught us.  I've been trying to catalog them for my neices for a long time now... I'm sure there are more, but I just can't remember them all.  I'm taking the list to my brother and my Dad at Christmas, hopefully they will remember more.

Ace in the hole: a hideout, a hidden gun
Acorn Calf: a weak runty calf
Air in Lungs: cussin'
All Horns and Rattles: fit of temper
Apple: saddle horn
Among the willows:  dodging the law
Arkansas toothpick: a large knife 
Auger:   the big boss 
Axle grease: butter
Bad medicine: bad news
Bait: food 
Bake: to overheat a horse
Baldface Dishes:  china dishes
Band Wagon:  a peddlers wagon
Bangtail:  a mustang
Banjo:  a miners term for a short-handled shovel
Bar Dog:  a bartender
Barefoot:  an unshod horse
Bark:  to scalp
Barking at a Knot:  trying the impossible
Base Burner:  a drink of whiskey
Bay:  a horse of light red color
Bean Master:  a camp cook
Bear Sign:  doughnuts
Bed Ground:  where cattle are held at night
Bed Him Down:  to kill a man
Beef Tea: shallow water where cows have stood
Belly Cheater:  a cook
Belly Robber:  a cook
Belly Through the Brush:  dodge the law
Belly Wash:  weak coffee
Bending at the Elbow:  drinking whiskey
Bible:  cigarette papers
Big Jump:  death
Big Pasture:  the penitentiary
Big sugar:  ranch owner
Biscuit:  saddle horn
Biscuit  Roller: a cook
Biscuit Shooter:  a cook
Bite the Ground:  to be killed
Black-Eyed Susan:  a cowboy's six-gun
Black Snake:  a long whip
Black spot:  shade
Black Water:  coffee
Blue Belly: a Yankee
Blue Lightnin':  a six-gun
Boggy Top:  a pie with no top crust
Boil Over:   a horse that starts bucking
Bone Orchard:  cemetery
Boogered Up:  crippled
Boston Dollar:  a penny
Brain Tablet:  a cigarette
Broken Wind:  a lung infection in horses
Brown Gargle:  coffee
Bucket of Blood:  a tough saloon
Buffer: traders name for buffalo
Buffaloed:  confused
Bug Juice:  whiskey
Bull Nurse:  a cowboy
Bumblebee Whiskey:  whiskey with a sting
Burn the Breeze:  ride at full speed
Burro Milk:  nonsense
Caboodle:   the whole thing
Cahoots:  partnership
Calf slobbers:  meringue
California Collar:  a hangman's noose
California Prayer Book:  a deck of cards
Callin':  courtin'
Can Openers:  spurs
Cash in:  to die
Catalog Woman:  mail order bride
Catgut:  a rope
Cat Wagon:  wagon carrying women of less than honorable intentions
Chew Gravel:  thrown from a horse
Choke Strap:  a necktie
Chuck:  food
Chuck Wagon Chicken:  bacon
Clean his Plow:   beat up in a fight
Cold Meat Wagon:  a hearse
Cookie:  camp cook
Corral Dust:  Lies and tall tales
Cottonwood Blossom:  a man lynched from the limb of a tree
Cowboy Cocktail: straight whiskey
Cow Salve:  BUTTER
Crawl his Hump:  to start a fight
Crumb Castle:  chuck wagon
Crumb Incubator:  a cowboy's bed
Curry the Kinks Out:  break a horse
Cut a Rusty:  to go a courtin'
Cut his Suspenders:  a departed cowboy
Desert Canary:  a burro
Dice House:  bunkhouse
Didn't Have a Tail Feather Left:  broke
Diggers:  spurs
Ditty:  a which I ma call it
Dive:  bunkhouse
Dough-Belly:  cook
Doughgods:  biscuits
Down to the Blanket:  almost broke
Dream Book:  cigarette papers
Dusted:  thrown from a horse
Eatin' Irons:  knives,forks,spoons
Equalizer:  a pistol
Excuse me  ma'am:  a bump in the road
Fandango:  a dance
Fiddle: a horses head
Fill a Blanket:  roll a cigarette
Flannelmouth: a talkative person
Flea Trap:  bedroll
Gambler's Ghost:  a white mule
Gelding Smacker:  a saddle
Getting  Long in the Tooth:  getting old
Grubworm:  cook
Hair in the Butter:  a delicate situation
Hot Rock:  a biscuit
Lead Plumb:  a bullet
Lincoln Skins:  greenbacks
Lizzy: a saddle horn
Lookin'at the Mule's tail:  plowing
Look to See:  investigate
Lynching Bee:  a hanging
Mail-Order Cowboy:  a tenderfoot
Mexican Strawberries:  dried beans
Monkey Ward Cowboy:  a tenderfoot
Mule's Breakfast:  a straw bed
Neck Oil:  Whiskey
Paintin' his Nose:  getting drunk
Pair of Overalls:  two drinks of whiskey
Play a Lone Hand:  do something alone
Pop Skull:  whiskey
Porch Percher:  a town loafer
Pot Rustler:  cook
Prairie Dew:  whiskey
Prairie Tenor:  coyote
Puddin' Foot:  an awkward horse
Put on the Nose Bag:  to eat
Round Browns:  cow chips
Saddle Bum:  a drifter
Sage Hen:  a woman
Savvy:  knowledge or understanding
Singin' to Em':  standing night guard
Smoke Wagon:  a six-gun
Snuffy:  a wild or spirited horse
Squeezing the Biscuit: holding the saddle horn
Stretching the  Blanket:  telling a tall tale
Stringing a Whizzer: telling a tall tale
Swamp Seed:  rice
Talking Iron:  a six-shooter
Tear Squeezer:  a sad story
Techy as a Teased Snake:  grumpy
Texas Cakewalk:  a hanging
To Much Mustard: a braggart
Uncorkin' a Bronc:  breaking a horse
Unshucked:   draw a gun
War Bonnet:  a hat
Wasp Nest:  light bread
Whistle Berries:  beans


Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: Ellemeno on December 09, 2006, 06:03:46 am
These are great!  Did she say all this stuff for real, "Pass the axle grease"?  Here are some of my favorites:

Arkansas toothpick: a large knife 
Beef Tea: shallow water where cows have stood
Boil Over:   a horse that starts bucking
Bone Orchard:  cemetery
Brain Tablet:  a cigarette
Burro Milk:  nonsense
Down to the Blanket:  almost broke
Prairie Tenor:  coyote
Whistle Berries:  beans

I notice there's quite a few about biscuits and blankets.  It shows how pared down to essentials a cowboy's life is.

This one - Snuffy:  a wild or spirited horse.  There's that song about "Get along little dogies" has a line "The firey and snuffy are rarin' to go."  Never understood that, so thanks.

And this one - Techy as a Teased Snake:  grumpy.  I guess it's not your kind of techy, with a hard K sound?  :)
Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: dot-matrix on December 09, 2006, 03:31:59 pm
These are great!  Did she say all this stuff for real, "Pass the axle grease"?  Here are some of my favorites:

Arkansas toothpick: a large knife 
Beef Tea: shallow water where cows have stood
Boil Over:   a horse that starts bucking
Bone Orchard:  cemetery
Brain Tablet:  a cigarette
Burro Milk:  nonsense
Down to the Blanket:  almost broke
Prairie Tenor:  coyote
Whistle Berries:  beans

I notice there's quite a few about biscuits and blankets.  It shows how pared down to essentials a cowboy's life is.

This one - Snuffy:  a wild or spirited horse.  There's that song about "Get along little dogies" has a line "The firey and snuffy are rarin' to go."  Never understood that, so thanks.

And this one - Techy as a Teased Snake:  grumpy.  I guess it's not your kind of techy, with a hard K sound?  :)


 :laugh: No Elle, she would say pass the butter at the table but if someone lamented it being difficult to make bisquits  she would say something like  "Hard!  Pffft, How can it be hard? All it is, is a few cups of flour, a little milk, a pinch of baking power and some axel grease!"  She was born in 1890 and had a very colorful way of speaking which came from growing up herself in the west at a time when things were still not quite civilized, but she was a lady right down to the ground.  Some of these phrases peppered her everyday speech, others we learned from stories she or Grandpa told us.

Techy as  a Teased Snake was a favorite of her's, she used that one often.  It a soft ch sound.  Think touchy not the modern tek as in technical.
Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: Meryl on December 09, 2006, 03:40:44 pm
Dot, those are wonderful stories and Westernisms!  Thanks so much.  8)

What part of the West did your grandma live in?  Do you live out West yourself?
Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: dot-matrix on December 09, 2006, 03:53:47 pm
Dot, those are wonderful stories and Westernisms!  Thanks so much.  8)

What part of the West did your grandma live in?  Do you live out West yourself?

My Grandma lived in Southwestern Montana from 1925 until her death in 1979.  She was born in Odessa, Texas but her Daddy was surveyor and they traveled all over the Great Plains while she was girl.  I was born and raised in Montana but have lived in Southern California mostly since my college days.
Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: Jeff Wrangler on December 09, 2006, 07:10:06 pm
"Monkey Ward Cowboy: a tenderfoot"

I think I remember reading somewhere that "Monkey Ward" was a kind of a nickname for "Montgomery Ward," as in the Montgomery Ward mail-order catalogue. So that would make sense: a tenderfoot would be a "mail-order cowboy"!  :D
Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: dot-matrix on December 10, 2006, 01:55:05 am
A Busted Cowboy's Christmas
~ by Iyam B. Usted  

(http://img182.imageshack.us/img182/7877/sadlmedvb6.jpg) (http://imageshack.us)

I am a busted cowboy
And I work upon the range;
In summertime I get some work
But one thing that is strange'
As soon as Fall work's over
We get it in the neck
And we get a Chritmas present
On a neatly written check.
The come to town to rusiticate,
We've no place else to stay
When Winter winds are howling
Because we can't eat hay.
A punchers life's a picnic;
It's one continued joke,
But there's none more anxious to see Spring
Than a cowboy who is broke.
The wages that a cowboy earns
In Summer go like smoke,
And when the Winter snows have come
You bet your life he's broke.
You can talk about your Holiday,
Your Chritmas cheer and joy;
Its all the same to me, my friend,
Cash gone-I'm a broke cowboy.  My saddle and my gun's in soak
My spurs I've long since sold;
My rawhide and my quirt are gone;
My chaps-no, they're too old;
My stuff's all gone, I can't even beg
A solitary smoke.
For no one cares what becomes of 
A cowboy who is broke.
Now where I'll eat my dinner
This chrismas, I don' know;
But you bet I'm going to have one
If they give me half a show.
This Christmas has no charms for me'
On good things Ill not choke
Unless I get a big hand-out - 
I'm a cowboy who is broke.   


******This appeared in the Stock Growers' Journal, Miles City Montana in their December 1893 issue.  ****** Iyam B. Usted is most likely D.J. O'Malley  editor
Title: Re: Holiday Stories *** Share those that are part of your Holiday Memories
Post by: dot-matrix on December 24, 2006, 03:15:55 am
My brother shared this one with me tonight, thought you all might enjoy

"A Cowboy's Christmas Eve"
by Dee Strickland Johnson  
(http://img344.imageshack.us/img344/8048/christmasbigdb4.gif) (http://imageshack.us)

After the candles are lighted,
After the bells have been rung,
After the story from Luke is read
And the carols have all been sung,
After the flames are extinguished,
Except in the eyes of love,
I ride alone in the desert
And gaze at the stars above.
Those glittering specks celestial
That reflect the glorious light
That God imparts to a cowboy's heart
In the cold calm holy night. . . .
Then the spirit sings in the silence,
A gentle, yet powerful surge
To awe struck shepherds -- and cowhands
And mystery and miracles merge.