Page three 3 continuation of letter of 12-02-08 (saved as 08.11.30.odt) What I (think I) am attempting to chronicle in these Father-to-son writings called letters—what I think keeps percolating from outside of my conscious body-of-knowledge and causing me to attempt-after-attempt to express what I know to be my too-oft-faulty thinker's reactions to these curious thoughts that my thinker keeps, I guess, coming up with or somehow 'finding' words to/for/about; and its speculations as to what has surfaced (or descended or otherwise 'enveloped' my curious-person part . . .”& why is the curious mind unclear?”)
Had I done more garden work, as all rural youth were assigned to do in the era previous to this one, until they became able to manage a horse—usually by around eight or nine years old—which sent them bouncing along to and from the many pastures, hills, and gullies of the 'wide open spaces', to town and back, and who knows where all else, over the horse-manager's lifetime, he or she may 'manage' their horse to go. Actually: It was horses, and dozens over a lifetime. The majority of females of that era also incorporated horse sense and ability into their lives, way back then, but seemed to, by and large, prefer letting the males do the bulk of the heavier lifting of horse work: The wrangling. Had I got my own horse at eight years old (and had a dad to help me learn), and with the amounts of very free time I had as a boy in the late-forties: How would have my life differed???? I think that I would have had a better chance at accomplishing a successfuller life's history. I know (or sense/feel) this with such a surity. The more information I glean from each subsequent book I read whose author grew up in the last years of our 10,000 years' old history of using the power of equines and bovines wherein those males who wrangled horses had to be “THE BOSS” over animals 4 or 5 times their weight and who, also, in their heart-of-hearts exist to be free. Maybe I'd have had arms and legs broken and only lived to 60, but I think that I would have enjoyed more successes than I feel that I have in this life-of-Adam. And no: I am not, nor will not let myself get depressed over having felt this urge to write about this stuff here. I see this all writing as purely an effort to pass information along, and with out much of any pre-conceived notions about what kinds of effects I wish to inflict upon any other person—only to fill in on some minor details, and maybe, in the long run, fill in on some blanks that you may still be in the dark about, or whatever. I know that you think you have some handle upon how our brains go about doing and thinking and such, but I don't think I care whether or not you perform psychoanalysis or whatever upon my letters about thoughts I have that have prompted me to type and type and type away here, and for whatever idiotic or not so idiotic reasoning or lack of same. Yer dad, he sez ......... all the types of work and labors that I've always done mirror all of those old time ancestors of mine's types of labors. Only it is cars & trucks instead of wagons, harnesses, hitches, plow, harrow, and saddle tack that I keep in usable shape. Built shelters on a shoestring; have kept, as did they, a woodstove supplied with firewood for the past forty-three years of this life of mine. As did those old time ancestors of mine, yours, and ours, I worked the tools that they used, with some updated versions. Gleaning foods from the wild, gardening and food preservation loom large on my yearly list of chores-to-accomplish. . . . But in today's world, it all doesn't seem to mean very much, or count for anything, anymore, to anyone, save for the very few who still see value in the old ways.
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