THE USUAL NOTE FROM LB: From the summer of 2002 to the spring of 2010, Gwen the Beautiful and I were the proud and often exhausted owners of a beautiful Ozarks property we called Cloud Creek Ranch.
In many ways, the ranch was paradise. But it was a paradise with a price that started going up before we even knew it existed. Here’s another Monday musing about our adventure and the lessons we learned.
Oh, and if y’all detect any irony, please believe me when I say it comes straight from the universe and not your kindly Uncle Larry B.
by Larry Brody
Huck the Spotless Appaloosa almost killed me the other day.
He came this close to punching a hole in my brain.
I was in the corral with him and His Gal Rosie, bringing them each a bucket of mash. Rosie’s daily mash is especially important. It contains the antibiotic we’re using to clear up the infected wound on her leg and keep her alive.
As usual, Huck met me at the gate. Not as usual, so did a big, buzzing, spring wasp. The wasps here on The Mountain seldom sting, but as this one buzzed around the gatepost I heard the clear, unmistakable voice of the Wind from the Southwest:
“Watch out for this one,” the Wind said. “This one’s trouble.”
The last time something or someone said to me, “This one’s trouble,” was almost thirty years ago. Then the words were uttered by a friend, about a woman I was seeing, and the friend was right. I ignored him, as most of us do when someone tells us something we don’t want to hear, and, sure enough, my relationship with her just about ruined a large part of my life.
So this time, when something as awesomely powerful as that force I think of as The Wind of Mystery said, “Watch out,” I should’ve listened. Still, I chose not to. “C’mon, it’s just a wasp. What’s the big deal?”
The big deal turned out to be that as I passed behind Huck after putting his bucket down for him, the wasp stung My (almost-Clydesdale-size) Brother, and he leapt up off the ground, body twisted, and kicked out with both hind legs.
Missed my head by no more than six inches, and through no effort of my own.
I was just standing there.
If anyone had been there watching, I probably would’ve looked pretty cool. Confident. Unfazed, that kind of thing.
The truth is, I had no idea what was happening until it was over, with Huck still bucking as he moved farther away. I saw the whole thing out of the corner of my eye but didn’t put it together with a need to save myself until it was too late.
“So much for listening to that ‘still, small voice,’” I said.
“You’ll hear it again,” the Wind said. ”You’re always wanting to know the secrets of life. How’s this one? Life is a baseball game where you’re always at bat. The pitches keep coming at you until it all ends.”
And those are the words that got me thinking. “Until it all ends.” When does it end? What makes it end? Why didn’t Huck’s back hooves connect with my skull? Why wasn’t it over for me right then and there? Why was I still on the ground, exasperated with myself, instead of floating in the air toward a tunnel of golden light—exasperated with myself?
Standing there, I thought about other near misses.
The time when the car I was driving spun out on the highway, going directly into the very crowded opposing lane of traffic and then, miraculously, returning to the right lane, facing the right direction, and ready to go.
The time I stood at the bow of a ferry boat trying to land on the Greek island of Hydra in the middle of a raging storm. A huge wave came up along the starboard side and tossed the boat onto its side in the water. The wave started to engulf us…and then was gone and we were horizontal again, slipping into port while those gathered there gaped and cheered at our survival.
The time Gwen the Beautiful and I flew into the airport in Reno, Nevada. As our plane landed, it was picked up by the wind, and pushed…well, our experience was that it was pushed right back up into the air, to circle and land again, safely. But the friend who was picking us up was amazed because the landing field suddenly was littered with debris—from a plane that “hadn’t crashed.”
And on, and on….
A myriad of times this “baseball game” could’ve ended but went into extra innings instead. With no help from me.
Extra time.
Extra life.
Do-overs.
I called out to the Wind. “Does everyone get these chances? Or is it reserved for those who are special?”
The Wind laughed, as it often does when I speak to it.
“You all get them, every last living being. Usually you don’t know it.
Because those are the rules of this game.”
