Happy Happy Birthday

When you grow up in Wyoming and your birthday is in January, you know how cold feels. But here in the desert, it was 61 degrees today. Good gift for CoolGuy. Here's a great story he told me about being cold:

He remembers going out with his dad to feed cattle at a ranch on the west side of the valley where we grew up. In fact, this ranch is actually in Idaho because it is down a creek and around the hill from the high mountain valley we both called home. For some reason, it is often even colder as you crossed the imaginary line that divided our isolated community between two governments. I don't know why.

Well, anyway, they went over there one day to spread out hay from a sled that was pulled by a team of horses. His father would have been getting a bit of a work-out from cutting the strings and breaking the bales into a trailing buffet of alfalfa for the cattle jostling along side. But, CoolGuy, who thinks he was possibly four or five, was just standing there in his layers of clothes on the sled. (He would have been too young for Kindergarten and spending the day with Dad because Mom worked as a telephone operator.)

As he watched his dad's efforts, Dad turned and directed him to get off onto the snowy field and walk behind in the sled tracks. CoolGuy remembers being upset about this. It was probably hard work trudging through the snow all bundled up, and he had to jog to keep up with the work team (short-legged boy, long-legged horses.) He was mad and crying and the tears froze on his cheeks.

Yes, it was likely well below zero on that afternoon. In January the mercury frequently didn't creep above 15 or 20 below, even at midday, for long stretches at a time--ten days is one bit I recall vividly. So, in order to prevent those little toes and feet from becoming chunks of ice, Dad made CoolGuy keep the blood flowing with some activity. Dad was fine, he was tossing haybales around, but a little child couldn't help and might get knocked down.

As he got older, CoolGuy skiied and played outside during the winter, even camped, oblivious to the temperature as kids often are. But he tells that story about the frozen tears whenever we talk to people who marvel that we not only survive Las Vegas weather, but frankly revel in it.