January 06, 2009

On Burn's Creek

Here is another childhood memory that needed to be written down. I remember this day like it was yesterday. On the way to the trailhead, we were pulling our plywood two-horse straight load trailer through the mud on a downhill slope when all of a sudden the old Jeep Wagoneer (which wasn't old then) jack-knifed and slide out of control until it came to a stop. I think the horses stayed calmer than I did through the whole thing. We got unstuck and continued on our way. It was on the trail at Burn's Creek north east of Idaho Falls and Ririe that we had this experience. Dad's prized American Saddler mare Slippers, which he was riding that day is seen in the photo.

On Burn’s Creek
By Paul Kern

Just a kid on horseback about twelve years of age,
Riding up on Burn’s Creek not far from Palisades,

It rained the night before so the air was crisp and clean,
Morning mist swooned all about throughout the mountain green,

Silver hooves plucked up the freshly wet brown dirt,
And sort’a flung it up – up high around their girth,

The sun had barely crested that Idahoan ridge,
When we did too, my Dad and me - just one of seven kids,

It seemed we saw forever toward the Tetons looming high,
Sunlight streamed throughout the hills, then bounced back to the sky,

There was something special in the air that day,
When Dad got off his horse, doffed his hat and knelt right down to pray,

He said a prayer out loud that still echoes in my ears,
It’s something that just lingers on somehow throughout the years,

Now my Daddy was bowlegged, straight backed and tan,
And those that knew him best, knew him best as a - man’s man,

His grip was strong and tight despite a missing thumb,
His steely eyes saw right through nearly everything you’d done,

But when he knelt to pray, he knew so well his place,
And talked with God as we talk now - us both - just face to face,

He started out a thanking the good Lord for that day,
And for the chance we both had had to come and get away,

He thanked the Lord for other things like - The workmanship of holy hands,
And for being able to enjoy it in a blessed privileged land,

For me, for our family and for a steady mount,
For small things - but in the end the things that really count,

Dad blessed that day and left his mark on a kid twelve years of age,
When he hit the dirt and said that prayer – on Burn’s Creek, not far from Palisades.

free hit counter script

No comments:

Post a Comment