StraightUpAmerican.com

You can't have my bicycle!

Greetings,

We like to think of the CowChows as a place of higher learning, and not just because it sits at the top of the hill. For example, I learned a valuable life lesson a little while ago. Actually, I re-learned it but like most good life lessons once is never enough.

You may recall that during this past Summer the neighborhood kids were torturing me daily by riding their four-wheelers up and down the road all day long; up and down, up and down, all day long. I’m not sure which was worse, the sound of the machine growling its way up the hill, the sound of it whining its way down the hill, or the two minutes in between when you couldn’t hear it but knew it was coming back. It was brutal because they took it in shifts and never let up. But, wanting to be a good neighbor and not do any permanent emotional damage to their young psyches, I smiled and waved and called them names they couldn’t hear.

Then one day, the little girl next door was out riding a bicycle. I told her how much I liked her bike and how pretty it was, and I praised her bike for being so wonderfully quiet. Over the next several weeks any time I saw her out riding her bike I was sure to tell her how nice it was and how much I liked it. It was working like a charm. Suddenly, the four-wheelers fell silent and all the neighborhood kids were riding bicycles. Peace came once again upon the CowChows, and it was great.

A little while ago I was out messing around in the yard and I looked up to see the little girl next door riding her bike. I waved and she waved back. I called out, “That sure is a nice bike you’ve got.”

She looked at me for a long moment, saying nothing. I was about to repeat my compliment when she suddenly screamed, “You can’t have my bicycle!” And, then she rode off as fast as she could go.

I realized that I had gone too far. I’d commented on her bike one too many times, and sometimes the difference between achieving the desired result and becoming the “freaky bicycle guy” is just knowing when to shut up.

Shortly thereafter, I began hearing growling and whining again. So far it’s just me, but I expect the four-wheelers to start up any time.

Best Regards,

Tim Couch

Greetings,

The CowChows is on the road this weekend for a long overdue visit with family. Time with family is like an ice cream cone; there’s never enough and it’s always gone too soon.

I stepped outside this morning to watch the day arrive, and as the darkness gave way to the light I beheld a strange sight. In the distance, on a northern ridge of the Wichita Mountains, a staggered row of wind generators stood overlooking the valley. They stood tall and straight, and spanned the horizon from east to west. As the dawn grew brighter and the morning breeze picked up their great wings began to slowly turn. It was as if they were sentinels heralding the birth of a new day.

I stood mesmerized as these giants slowly came to life in turn from east to west. I marveled at the modern technology placed here in the most ancient mountain range in North America. I wondered at the progress we made in the past century, and that which we will make in the next. And I was moved, also, to celebrate the birth of this new day.

I raised my arms to the rising sun and let its life-giving rays warm me. I listened to the music of the songbirds as they joined in the celebration. I closed my eyes and found a rhythm in their song, and I began to dance a welcoming dance to the day. I felt the morning dew splash up on my ankles, and I became childlike and exuberant as I joyfully skipped through the freshly mown grass.

I whirled and I twirled in the growing light of day. The sun smiled warmly at my offering; the wind generators seemed to applaud my performance, and the birds cheered me on. And then, I stepped in a pile of dog crap.

So, it’s going to be one of those days. I knew I should’ve stayed in bed.

Cordially yours,

Tim Couch

"Just say the word"

Greetings,

Life is good here at the CowChows. The necessities of life are bountiful.

I was out back a while ago just rocking on the porch and watching the rain fall. There’s nothing more peaceful than a rainy afternoon in the Ozarks. While I was sitting there soaking up the peace the cattle that are pastured behind our place came down for a drink from the creek. They come by a couple of times a day and sometimes they stop to say hello. This time they did.

I watched them file into view along the fence line, and one after the other they stopped and turned my way. Ocassionally, one would dip her head to the ground and come up chewing a mouthful of fresh, wet grass. I wondered what it must be like to live your life inside a fence, not able to come and go as you please. I wondered what it must be like to know nothing of the world beyond the borders of iron posts and steel wire that enclose you. I wondered if they even realized they were captives. As I sat there wondering these things I felt sorry for these poor simple creatures and I hoped they didn’t know what it meant to be free, for then they would know what they were missing.

One of the heifers looked around furtively, and then stuck her head over the fence and looked directly at me. She craned her neck as if she were gesturing me toward her. At first I thought nothing of it, but she kept making this gesturing motion until my curiosity overcame my desire to stay dry. I descended the steps and began slogging my way across the wet grass toward the fence. I was drenched through before I had taken a dozen steps, and all the while she was nodding to me as if to say, “Come on.”

As I neared the fence, feeling more than a little silly, she again looked furtively up and down the fence line. I reached my hand toward her to let her sniff it, and then gently stroked her forehead. “What is it, girl?” I whispered, “What do you want?”

She looked me directly in the eye and whispered back, “If you ever want us to bust you out of your pen you just say the word.” And then, she winked.

Best Regards,

Tim Couch

Whatever

Greetings,

I hope the recent storms have been kind to you. We’ve had some minor tree damage here at the CowChows but nothing serious. I was out back a while ago cleaning up some of the broken limbs when I felt a little tickle on my forearm. I looked down to see a beautiful yellow butterfly sitting there. I raised my arm to get a better look, and as I brought him close he looked up sheepishly and said, “Sorry about your trees.”

“Excuse me,” I said.

He blinked and said, “Just wanted to say sorry about your trees. I was in South America a while back and well, I flapped my wings.”

I shook my head but it didn’t help. “What does that mean,” I asked, “you flapped your wings?”

He shrugged his tiny shoulders and said, “I landed on this flower and when I saw all the nectar was gone I flew away in a huff, and I probably flapped my wings harder than I should have. When I got back here I heard about this storm and thought I should apologize. So again, sorry about your trees.”

Still struggling to understand I said, “So, you think that when you flapped your wings in South America you somehow caused the storm half way around the world that broke my trees?”

“Haven’t you heard?” he said. “It’s all connected. Every breath we take, every move we make causes ripples in the fabric of all that is. Every thought and every deed has its own cause and effect that impacts everything and everybody. It’s all connected, man.”

“But,” I said, “you can’t possibly believe that you’re somehow responsible for everything that happens because everything is connected, can you?”

“Whatever,” he said in disgust. “You are so out of it.” He flicked his proboscis at me and gave his lacy wings a mighty flap. I stood and watched him fly away and as he grew too small to see I heard far off behind me, the distant roll of thunder.

Cordially yours,

Tim Couch

Life Among Tomatoes

Greetings,

Life here at the CowChows is pretty laid back today. The sun is shining; the breeze is blowing; and all God’s children are at peace, at least for the moment.

Gardens are funny things. We’ve got a little plot out back where we planted a small garden just to grow some tomatoes and peppers and squash for the dinner table. We did our best to place it in just the right spot where it would benefit most from the rains and would get just the right amount of sunshine. We prepared the soil; we water it frequently; we’re careful to keep the weeds out and the insects under control. Occasionally, we give it a little boost of fertilizer when the leaves start to look pale. LadyBug even talks to the plants and tells them how proud she is when they bloom and set new fruit. Our little garden does pretty well, and while we haven’t had an overabundance we have had fresh produce on the table all summer.

But then, there’s this other tomato plant. It came up volunteer on the other side of the house. It’s right next to a concrete walkway in hard packed earth; it’s in shade most of the day, and has struggled all summer against creeping ivy and overshadowing shrubs. I haven’t so much as given it a drink of water, and except for pulling off a few tomato worms it has grown entirely on its own. The thing is, this tomato plant is laden with tomatoes that are bigger, more tender and richer in flavor than those we have so carefully cultivated.

So, why the difference? We gave our little garden everything it needed to grow and prosper, and it provided just enough to keep us fed. While the plant on the other side of the house has thrived against all odds and produces an abundance of delicious fruit.

Is the difference due to the struggle? Do we, perhaps, flourish most when our accomplishments require our greatest efforts? Or, do we prosper and flourish most when we allow nature to guide us into the proper circumstances which will enable us to grow?

Cordially yours,

Tim Couch