Soapweed
Well-known member
The Nebraska Game and Parks owns and operates a working cattle ranch north of Merriman, Nebraska. It was willed to them in 1985, at the time of Mrs. Eva Bowring's death. Anymore, there are not too many people left that knew Mrs. Bowring. I want to share some personal memories before they get lost in the sands of time.
BOWRING RANCH STORIES by Steve Moreland
The first recollection I have of Mrs. Eva Bowring (1892 – 1995) was sometime during the early to mid-1950's. Jay Cole, who raised Angus cattle on his Nine Bar Six Ranch east of Merriman, had donated land just north of town for the building of a new airport. It had a paved landing strip and a couple hangars capable of housing four or five small aircraft. It was to be known as the Cole Memorial Airport, and this particular day the new facility was to be dedicated. Hundreds of people were in attendance, and many of the local cowboys rode their horses to town and paraded for the big celebration. Senator Eva Bowring, local dignitary, was one of the featured speakers. Having been born on November 8th, 1951, I was still just knee-high to a jackrabbit. Most of my memories are enhanced by looking at an old home movie of the occasion. My life-long commitment has been to be nothing more than a cowboy, and the major regret of that day was that my dad determined I was too young to ride a horse in the grand entry. I don't remember anything of Mrs. Bowring's speech, or the profoundness of it, but I do recall her being in the limelight.
For the next several years, Mrs. Bowring was barely more than an elusive legend. My school-mates were the Goodwin girls, and their dad, Gerald, was foreman on the Bowring Bar Ninety-Nine Ranch, two miles north and two miles east of Merriman. Linda and Vonda Goodwin would periodically fill the rest of the school kids in on celebrity sightings, always with an air of mystery. Mrs. Bowring was gone most of the time in those days, as she was first appointed United States Senator to fill out the term of Dwight Griswold, who had died while in office. She didn't seek re-election to that post but was offered a position on the Federal Parole Board. It was the duty of these board members to interview prisoners and to determine if they could be eligible to get out early, with responsibilities to report regularly to the parole board.
The next time I saw "Mrs. B" was also the first time I actually met the lady. Her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Don (Mildred) Forester, was teaching our country school the year that I was an eighth-grader (1965 -1966). School was held that year in the tenant house at the Bruce Weber Ranch, three miles east of Merriman and four miles north. Mildred Forester's husband, Don, had died just about three weeks prior to the beginning of the school term, in a tragic accident while operating the ranch for his mother, Mrs. Bowring. He had been in the process of moving hay machinery to a different meadow, which necessitated pulling the tall "beaver-slide" stacker underneath a power-line. It was touching the bottom wire, and Don had climbed up the stacker to push the wire over the top with a wooden-handled pitchfork. Electricity had arched across, and Don was killed instantly. My dad, Bob Moreland, had visited with Don earlier that same day at the post office in Merriman. Don's widow, Mildred, decided to go ahead with her original plans to teach our country school. She continued to live at the Bowring Ranch, and drove her car about three miles each day to get to school. After about a month of this, she moved into the same house where school was being held. School consisted of six students in six different grades with just one teacher (and she was a very good teacher, I might add). I was the oldest, in eighth grade. Greg Weber was a sixth-grader, my sister Sandra in fifth, Elisa Weber in fourth, my sister Sybil in second, and Kurt Weber was in first grade.
On the day that I met Mrs. Eva Bowring, she was making a cordial visit to her daughter-in-law's school. We students were all impressed with her as being dignified, stately, prim, proper, and polite. We were all on our very best behavior that day, as she was about the closest thing to royalty that Cherry County, Nebraska had to offer. She brought us gifts, and I still have some United States Senate stationary and a pencil that she gave each of us that day. Our interview with "Lady Eva" went rather well, and we felt camaraderie with her. She was now a friend, and no longer merely a figment of our imagination.
After her visit to the District 75 School, one day Mrs. Bowring sent with Mrs. Forester china horses for each of us six kids. One of the horses sustained a broken leg during the trip to school, but Mrs. Forester glued it back with just a hair-line crack. We drew straws for first choice. I picked the proper straw for last position in the selection process. Kurt Weber, the first-grader, was second to the last. I held my breath as he almost picked the broken-legged horse, but at the last instant he saw the crack. Alas, I got the broken-legged horse, and I still have it. Guess you can't look a gift horse in the leg.
Although Mrs. Bowring was regarded as both friend and neighbor, she regaled in a self-proclaimed air of royalty. She knew how to drive her big Cadillac down the street of Merriman, keeping her eyes straight ahead so as not to appear overly friendly to passers-by. Once in a while she would visit for a bit in the post office, but it was usually very briefly and to the point.
A veterinarian from Gordon, Dr. Sid Waterman, tells of a time Mrs. Bowring called him on the telephone. She needed him to check out one of her bulls because, "he is not romancing the cows."
In the late fall of 1966, the Merriman telephone company was in the process of changing from the old original one-wire crank-to-ring local-operator type of operation to the new "dial" system, requiring two overhead copper wires strung up on poles. The weather was unusually mild that fall, and the ground was not frozen, permitting easier digging. Our party-line members northeast of Merriman consisted of the Bowring Ranch, the Bruce Weber Ranch, my dad's ranch, and the Ronald Snyder Ranch. Cattle work for the season had been mostly completed. This allowed time to work on the new phone line, which was owned and maintained by the local ranchers in those days.
The ranching area south of Bassett, Nebraska had been on the dial system for several years already, and had recently converted to underground cable. Consequently their relatively new poles and copper wire were no longer needed in that vicinity. Our neighborhood recognized opportunity where they saw it, and purchased the supplies. Several trips to Bassett were necessary to take out the posts and roll up the wire there, then haul it all back to this area and set it up again. Dad, Bruce Weber, and Ronald Snyder each had one hired man working for them, so the six of those fellows all worked had on the phone project. Mrs. Bowring only had one hired hand, and he helped a little on building the new line northeast of Merriman, but wasn't available to help take out the line south of Bassett. When it came time to settle up, Dad, Bruce, and Ronald drove over to Mrs. Bowring's ranch. Dad was acting secretary, and had a paper with all expenses written out and the costs incurred for each ranch. Mrs. Bowring wasn't happy with the situation, and required all gas receipts and other documents. Dad had to make a quick trip back home over five miles of sandy trail roads to procure the necessary papers. Everything jived just as Dad had originally written it down. When the settling up had been completed, and the deal sealed with cups of coffee, Mrs. Bowring commented, "This wouldn't have taken so long if Bob had done his homework." Dad replied, "I just assumed everyone thought I was an honest man."
The Bowring family had in earlier years owned a ranch just northeast of Eli. The Linenbrink family purchased the deeded land of the ranch, back in the late 1940's, but Bowrings retained the lease of a school section surrounding the western half of Clubhouse Lake, which is a couple miles northwest of Eli. This 640 acre parcel was about a third lake, a third hilly pasture, and a third pretty good hay ground. The meadow part was always mowed and raked and left "windrowed" to be turned into as winter pasture every year. My dad's Green Valley Hereford Ranch was between the main Bowring Ranch and this area of their winter pasture. Twice a year Bowring cattle were trailed across our family ranch going to and from Clubhouse Lake.
We lived on the "Green Valley" northeast of Merriman, but had summer pasture about twenty miles south and west of town, requiring a two-day one-way cattle drive of at least 25 miles. We usually made a couple trail drives down each spring, and a couple drives home again each fall. We always crossed Highway 20 at the Green Valley turn-off, three miles east of Merriman. Just south of the highway was Bowring land, and there was a small fenced enclosure which occasionally we used to "pair-up" cows and calves before moving on farther. On one particular cattle drive, we had crossed the highway with about four hundred cows and their calves. The holding pen was not big enough for the whole herd, so we just passed on through and quit pushing the cattle. This allowed the cattle to rest, match up, and gave the calves opportunity to suck their mamas. This was also a good chance for Mom to meet up with the cattle-drivers and give us a little lunch. From this point on for several miles it was hilly and hard to get a vehicle though. My mother would always meet up with us again at the Saults Flat south of town with more food, and then be on hand with the car to flag traffic as we trailed down Highway 61 for quite a few miles.
The cattle were enjoying a rest, and the cowboys were snacking and stretching their legs. We could hear a vehicle coming down the highway from the east, and it sounded like the muffler was not working properly. As it drew closer, we could see that it was Charlie Sukasch driving his "hot" souped-up short-box Chevy pickup. Charlie was working for Mrs. Bowring at the time, and the grand lady was his passenger. They roared by us on down the highway to the next gate. Charlie squealed to a stop and threw open the gate. They then roared into the pasture where our cattle were laying down, and started romping on the gas pedal and banging the sides of the pickup. Our cattle were being persuaded to move quite rapidly through the pasture. There wasn't much we could do, so we leisurely finished our lunch before we again mounted our horses to catch up with the vanishing herd. As we drew near the pickup, it came to a stop on a little knoll. Dad rode up to the passenger-side, where Mrs. Bowring was sitting. She looked straight ahead, with the window up. Dad rode around to the other side of the truck. Charlie had his window down. Dad said, "Good morning, Charlie." Charlie said, "Good morning, Bob." Dad said, "Good morning, Mrs. Bowring." Mrs. Bowring said nothing.
Dad commented, "Mrs. Bowring, twice a year you have to trail your cattle across our land getting to and from your winter pasture. We consider you folks good cowboys, and don't feel we need to help you trail your cattle. Twice a year we have to drive our cattle to and from summer pasture, and we have to go across your land to make our drive. We are also pretty good cowboys, and I think we can get our cattle moved without you helping us." Mrs. Bowring said, "Well! Driving cattle across someone else's pasture is one thing! Stopping to graze is quite another!" Dad calmly stated, "Our drive is a two-day 25 mile trip, and the cattle as well as the cowboys need to rest once in a while. Besides, the calves need a chance to get with their mothers or they'd all run back home." The horse people took over the trailing of the cattle once again, but with "snoopervision." Charlie and Mrs. B escorted us for another mile until we were unmistakably out of the Bar Ninety-Nine pasture.
In our community, ranches trade help each spring to get the new crop of baby calves branded. This makes a hard job fun, and gives everyone a break from "calvin' fever." The cowboys all get a chance to show off their best horses and their roping skill, and a morning of work is always topped off with a great dinner. The neighbor ladies all get together to help with the preparation of the food. Gerald Goodwin ran the Bar Ninety-Nine until about 1964, and his wife, Inez, always prepared a top-notch meal. In 1966, Mrs. Bowring with the help of Mildred Forester and maybe one or two other ladies cooked up the dinner. They served it from the edge of the garage, and the members of the branding crew just sat out in the yard on the ground to eat. It was a cold raw windy day. I had taken my coat off to wash my hands, but after getting my food, determined the day to be too chilly to continue without the coat. As I put it back on, Mrs. Bowring commented, "What are you, some kind of a panty-waist?" My thought was that if she would let the crew eat in the garage out of the wind like every other ranch did, I wouldn't have been chilly. At least I had the good sense to hold my tongue. Sometimes you just have to consider the source.
Mrs. Bowring always felt the need to be in control. Her daughter-in-law, Mildred Forester, had an older Chevrolet car that had quite a few miles on the speedometer. Mrs. B told Mildred that she would buy her a new car. Mrs. Forester was quite excited, and she told my folks that she would soon be getting a new vehicle. The two ladies went car shopping in Chadron. They found a suitable car, had the deal all made, and were in the process of signing the papers. Then it turned out there was one string attached. Mrs. Bowring wanted the car to be registered to the Bowring Ranch. Mildred said nix to that, and just drove her old car back home. She still had the old car when she passed away many years later, but she also still had her freedom.
Although Mrs. Bowring did none of the outside work involved with the running of a ranch, she tried to "micro-manage" the outfit. Whoever was working there always had to report to the Big House first thing each morning to get instructions for the day. One gentleman worked for her for several years. He stuttered a little bit. A hired man prospect came along that Mrs. Bowring thought she liked better so she discharged the first fellow. As he reported to the house to get his final paycheck, his parting words were: "M-m--missus B-b-bowring, I hope all your d-d-d-damned cows d-d-die." The new man didn't pan out, and he stole a pickup to flee the country. Mrs. B "ate a little crow" and hired the first man back.
The Bowring Ranch had another 80-acre parcel of hay ground that was also leased from the State of Nebraska, as school land. This was about a mile west of my dad's house, and in years past Bruce Weber had put up hay on shares for Mrs. B. In the summer of 1978, we stacked the hay for her at the rate of $20 per ton. When it came time to settle up, Mrs. Bowring and her hired hand drove over in the big Cadillac to help measure the hay. Dad suggested that we "put on the dog" a bit, and invite her over to our ranch a mile away for coffee after the measuring was done. She was "too busy" so declined the offer.
We had raised a nice sorrel stud colt four years previous, and LaVern Thayer, her hired man at the time had paid Dad $175 for the colt at weaning time. This was the same fellow that later stole a pickup to get out of the country. Anyway, now the horse was a green-broke four-year-old, and I was acquiring him back on the hay deal for consideration of $600 off of the money she owed us for stacking her hay. A couple days went by, which she used to submit the measurements to the local banker for him to compute the tonnage of hay. Dad and I used our own primitive forms of mathematics and came up with the same results fairly quickly. She wanted it done her way, so we obliged. She rang us on the phone, and said anytime we were ready we could come pick up the check and the horse.
After dinner that day I threw my saddle into the trunk of my dad's car, so I could ride the horse home. Dad and I drove over to the Bar Ninety-Nine. Mrs. Bowring was on her best behavior, and her hospitality was astounding. She invited us in for tea and crumpets, and then gave Dad and me the grand tour of her amazing house. It was an experience that I treasure more as time goes by. She showed us all of her collections of photographs, china, silver sets, Persian rugs, and other things. She even had me climb up a step-ladder to get items out of closets. We were there for probably two hours, and she kept us spellbound the whole time.
All too soon it was time to take our leave. LaVern Thayer had the horse in the corral. The big sorrel hadn't been ridden for several months, but had turned into a good-looking high-headed mount that any cowboy would be proud to ride. He sported the Bowring horse brand, a "bridle bit" on the left shoulder. I put a hackamore on the horse, who I now called "Bowring," eased on the blanket and saddle, and rode him around the round corral for a few minutes. Eventually I got him lined out for the Green Valley, and Dad kept the gates open for me. We had the horse for several years, before eventually trading him off to Tom Gaskins from Eli.
BOWRING RANCH STORIES by Steve Moreland
The first recollection I have of Mrs. Eva Bowring (1892 – 1995) was sometime during the early to mid-1950's. Jay Cole, who raised Angus cattle on his Nine Bar Six Ranch east of Merriman, had donated land just north of town for the building of a new airport. It had a paved landing strip and a couple hangars capable of housing four or five small aircraft. It was to be known as the Cole Memorial Airport, and this particular day the new facility was to be dedicated. Hundreds of people were in attendance, and many of the local cowboys rode their horses to town and paraded for the big celebration. Senator Eva Bowring, local dignitary, was one of the featured speakers. Having been born on November 8th, 1951, I was still just knee-high to a jackrabbit. Most of my memories are enhanced by looking at an old home movie of the occasion. My life-long commitment has been to be nothing more than a cowboy, and the major regret of that day was that my dad determined I was too young to ride a horse in the grand entry. I don't remember anything of Mrs. Bowring's speech, or the profoundness of it, but I do recall her being in the limelight.
For the next several years, Mrs. Bowring was barely more than an elusive legend. My school-mates were the Goodwin girls, and their dad, Gerald, was foreman on the Bowring Bar Ninety-Nine Ranch, two miles north and two miles east of Merriman. Linda and Vonda Goodwin would periodically fill the rest of the school kids in on celebrity sightings, always with an air of mystery. Mrs. Bowring was gone most of the time in those days, as she was first appointed United States Senator to fill out the term of Dwight Griswold, who had died while in office. She didn't seek re-election to that post but was offered a position on the Federal Parole Board. It was the duty of these board members to interview prisoners and to determine if they could be eligible to get out early, with responsibilities to report regularly to the parole board.
The next time I saw "Mrs. B" was also the first time I actually met the lady. Her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Don (Mildred) Forester, was teaching our country school the year that I was an eighth-grader (1965 -1966). School was held that year in the tenant house at the Bruce Weber Ranch, three miles east of Merriman and four miles north. Mildred Forester's husband, Don, had died just about three weeks prior to the beginning of the school term, in a tragic accident while operating the ranch for his mother, Mrs. Bowring. He had been in the process of moving hay machinery to a different meadow, which necessitated pulling the tall "beaver-slide" stacker underneath a power-line. It was touching the bottom wire, and Don had climbed up the stacker to push the wire over the top with a wooden-handled pitchfork. Electricity had arched across, and Don was killed instantly. My dad, Bob Moreland, had visited with Don earlier that same day at the post office in Merriman. Don's widow, Mildred, decided to go ahead with her original plans to teach our country school. She continued to live at the Bowring Ranch, and drove her car about three miles each day to get to school. After about a month of this, she moved into the same house where school was being held. School consisted of six students in six different grades with just one teacher (and she was a very good teacher, I might add). I was the oldest, in eighth grade. Greg Weber was a sixth-grader, my sister Sandra in fifth, Elisa Weber in fourth, my sister Sybil in second, and Kurt Weber was in first grade.
On the day that I met Mrs. Eva Bowring, she was making a cordial visit to her daughter-in-law's school. We students were all impressed with her as being dignified, stately, prim, proper, and polite. We were all on our very best behavior that day, as she was about the closest thing to royalty that Cherry County, Nebraska had to offer. She brought us gifts, and I still have some United States Senate stationary and a pencil that she gave each of us that day. Our interview with "Lady Eva" went rather well, and we felt camaraderie with her. She was now a friend, and no longer merely a figment of our imagination.
After her visit to the District 75 School, one day Mrs. Bowring sent with Mrs. Forester china horses for each of us six kids. One of the horses sustained a broken leg during the trip to school, but Mrs. Forester glued it back with just a hair-line crack. We drew straws for first choice. I picked the proper straw for last position in the selection process. Kurt Weber, the first-grader, was second to the last. I held my breath as he almost picked the broken-legged horse, but at the last instant he saw the crack. Alas, I got the broken-legged horse, and I still have it. Guess you can't look a gift horse in the leg.
Although Mrs. Bowring was regarded as both friend and neighbor, she regaled in a self-proclaimed air of royalty. She knew how to drive her big Cadillac down the street of Merriman, keeping her eyes straight ahead so as not to appear overly friendly to passers-by. Once in a while she would visit for a bit in the post office, but it was usually very briefly and to the point.
A veterinarian from Gordon, Dr. Sid Waterman, tells of a time Mrs. Bowring called him on the telephone. She needed him to check out one of her bulls because, "he is not romancing the cows."
In the late fall of 1966, the Merriman telephone company was in the process of changing from the old original one-wire crank-to-ring local-operator type of operation to the new "dial" system, requiring two overhead copper wires strung up on poles. The weather was unusually mild that fall, and the ground was not frozen, permitting easier digging. Our party-line members northeast of Merriman consisted of the Bowring Ranch, the Bruce Weber Ranch, my dad's ranch, and the Ronald Snyder Ranch. Cattle work for the season had been mostly completed. This allowed time to work on the new phone line, which was owned and maintained by the local ranchers in those days.
The ranching area south of Bassett, Nebraska had been on the dial system for several years already, and had recently converted to underground cable. Consequently their relatively new poles and copper wire were no longer needed in that vicinity. Our neighborhood recognized opportunity where they saw it, and purchased the supplies. Several trips to Bassett were necessary to take out the posts and roll up the wire there, then haul it all back to this area and set it up again. Dad, Bruce Weber, and Ronald Snyder each had one hired man working for them, so the six of those fellows all worked had on the phone project. Mrs. Bowring only had one hired hand, and he helped a little on building the new line northeast of Merriman, but wasn't available to help take out the line south of Bassett. When it came time to settle up, Dad, Bruce, and Ronald drove over to Mrs. Bowring's ranch. Dad was acting secretary, and had a paper with all expenses written out and the costs incurred for each ranch. Mrs. Bowring wasn't happy with the situation, and required all gas receipts and other documents. Dad had to make a quick trip back home over five miles of sandy trail roads to procure the necessary papers. Everything jived just as Dad had originally written it down. When the settling up had been completed, and the deal sealed with cups of coffee, Mrs. Bowring commented, "This wouldn't have taken so long if Bob had done his homework." Dad replied, "I just assumed everyone thought I was an honest man."
The Bowring family had in earlier years owned a ranch just northeast of Eli. The Linenbrink family purchased the deeded land of the ranch, back in the late 1940's, but Bowrings retained the lease of a school section surrounding the western half of Clubhouse Lake, which is a couple miles northwest of Eli. This 640 acre parcel was about a third lake, a third hilly pasture, and a third pretty good hay ground. The meadow part was always mowed and raked and left "windrowed" to be turned into as winter pasture every year. My dad's Green Valley Hereford Ranch was between the main Bowring Ranch and this area of their winter pasture. Twice a year Bowring cattle were trailed across our family ranch going to and from Clubhouse Lake.
We lived on the "Green Valley" northeast of Merriman, but had summer pasture about twenty miles south and west of town, requiring a two-day one-way cattle drive of at least 25 miles. We usually made a couple trail drives down each spring, and a couple drives home again each fall. We always crossed Highway 20 at the Green Valley turn-off, three miles east of Merriman. Just south of the highway was Bowring land, and there was a small fenced enclosure which occasionally we used to "pair-up" cows and calves before moving on farther. On one particular cattle drive, we had crossed the highway with about four hundred cows and their calves. The holding pen was not big enough for the whole herd, so we just passed on through and quit pushing the cattle. This allowed the cattle to rest, match up, and gave the calves opportunity to suck their mamas. This was also a good chance for Mom to meet up with the cattle-drivers and give us a little lunch. From this point on for several miles it was hilly and hard to get a vehicle though. My mother would always meet up with us again at the Saults Flat south of town with more food, and then be on hand with the car to flag traffic as we trailed down Highway 61 for quite a few miles.
The cattle were enjoying a rest, and the cowboys were snacking and stretching their legs. We could hear a vehicle coming down the highway from the east, and it sounded like the muffler was not working properly. As it drew closer, we could see that it was Charlie Sukasch driving his "hot" souped-up short-box Chevy pickup. Charlie was working for Mrs. Bowring at the time, and the grand lady was his passenger. They roared by us on down the highway to the next gate. Charlie squealed to a stop and threw open the gate. They then roared into the pasture where our cattle were laying down, and started romping on the gas pedal and banging the sides of the pickup. Our cattle were being persuaded to move quite rapidly through the pasture. There wasn't much we could do, so we leisurely finished our lunch before we again mounted our horses to catch up with the vanishing herd. As we drew near the pickup, it came to a stop on a little knoll. Dad rode up to the passenger-side, where Mrs. Bowring was sitting. She looked straight ahead, with the window up. Dad rode around to the other side of the truck. Charlie had his window down. Dad said, "Good morning, Charlie." Charlie said, "Good morning, Bob." Dad said, "Good morning, Mrs. Bowring." Mrs. Bowring said nothing.
Dad commented, "Mrs. Bowring, twice a year you have to trail your cattle across our land getting to and from your winter pasture. We consider you folks good cowboys, and don't feel we need to help you trail your cattle. Twice a year we have to drive our cattle to and from summer pasture, and we have to go across your land to make our drive. We are also pretty good cowboys, and I think we can get our cattle moved without you helping us." Mrs. Bowring said, "Well! Driving cattle across someone else's pasture is one thing! Stopping to graze is quite another!" Dad calmly stated, "Our drive is a two-day 25 mile trip, and the cattle as well as the cowboys need to rest once in a while. Besides, the calves need a chance to get with their mothers or they'd all run back home." The horse people took over the trailing of the cattle once again, but with "snoopervision." Charlie and Mrs. B escorted us for another mile until we were unmistakably out of the Bar Ninety-Nine pasture.
In our community, ranches trade help each spring to get the new crop of baby calves branded. This makes a hard job fun, and gives everyone a break from "calvin' fever." The cowboys all get a chance to show off their best horses and their roping skill, and a morning of work is always topped off with a great dinner. The neighbor ladies all get together to help with the preparation of the food. Gerald Goodwin ran the Bar Ninety-Nine until about 1964, and his wife, Inez, always prepared a top-notch meal. In 1966, Mrs. Bowring with the help of Mildred Forester and maybe one or two other ladies cooked up the dinner. They served it from the edge of the garage, and the members of the branding crew just sat out in the yard on the ground to eat. It was a cold raw windy day. I had taken my coat off to wash my hands, but after getting my food, determined the day to be too chilly to continue without the coat. As I put it back on, Mrs. Bowring commented, "What are you, some kind of a panty-waist?" My thought was that if she would let the crew eat in the garage out of the wind like every other ranch did, I wouldn't have been chilly. At least I had the good sense to hold my tongue. Sometimes you just have to consider the source.
Mrs. Bowring always felt the need to be in control. Her daughter-in-law, Mildred Forester, had an older Chevrolet car that had quite a few miles on the speedometer. Mrs. B told Mildred that she would buy her a new car. Mrs. Forester was quite excited, and she told my folks that she would soon be getting a new vehicle. The two ladies went car shopping in Chadron. They found a suitable car, had the deal all made, and were in the process of signing the papers. Then it turned out there was one string attached. Mrs. Bowring wanted the car to be registered to the Bowring Ranch. Mildred said nix to that, and just drove her old car back home. She still had the old car when she passed away many years later, but she also still had her freedom.
Although Mrs. Bowring did none of the outside work involved with the running of a ranch, she tried to "micro-manage" the outfit. Whoever was working there always had to report to the Big House first thing each morning to get instructions for the day. One gentleman worked for her for several years. He stuttered a little bit. A hired man prospect came along that Mrs. Bowring thought she liked better so she discharged the first fellow. As he reported to the house to get his final paycheck, his parting words were: "M-m--missus B-b-bowring, I hope all your d-d-d-damned cows d-d-die." The new man didn't pan out, and he stole a pickup to flee the country. Mrs. B "ate a little crow" and hired the first man back.
The Bowring Ranch had another 80-acre parcel of hay ground that was also leased from the State of Nebraska, as school land. This was about a mile west of my dad's house, and in years past Bruce Weber had put up hay on shares for Mrs. B. In the summer of 1978, we stacked the hay for her at the rate of $20 per ton. When it came time to settle up, Mrs. Bowring and her hired hand drove over in the big Cadillac to help measure the hay. Dad suggested that we "put on the dog" a bit, and invite her over to our ranch a mile away for coffee after the measuring was done. She was "too busy" so declined the offer.
We had raised a nice sorrel stud colt four years previous, and LaVern Thayer, her hired man at the time had paid Dad $175 for the colt at weaning time. This was the same fellow that later stole a pickup to get out of the country. Anyway, now the horse was a green-broke four-year-old, and I was acquiring him back on the hay deal for consideration of $600 off of the money she owed us for stacking her hay. A couple days went by, which she used to submit the measurements to the local banker for him to compute the tonnage of hay. Dad and I used our own primitive forms of mathematics and came up with the same results fairly quickly. She wanted it done her way, so we obliged. She rang us on the phone, and said anytime we were ready we could come pick up the check and the horse.
After dinner that day I threw my saddle into the trunk of my dad's car, so I could ride the horse home. Dad and I drove over to the Bar Ninety-Nine. Mrs. Bowring was on her best behavior, and her hospitality was astounding. She invited us in for tea and crumpets, and then gave Dad and me the grand tour of her amazing house. It was an experience that I treasure more as time goes by. She showed us all of her collections of photographs, china, silver sets, Persian rugs, and other things. She even had me climb up a step-ladder to get items out of closets. We were there for probably two hours, and she kept us spellbound the whole time.
All too soon it was time to take our leave. LaVern Thayer had the horse in the corral. The big sorrel hadn't been ridden for several months, but had turned into a good-looking high-headed mount that any cowboy would be proud to ride. He sported the Bowring horse brand, a "bridle bit" on the left shoulder. I put a hackamore on the horse, who I now called "Bowring," eased on the blanket and saddle, and rode him around the round corral for a few minutes. Eventually I got him lined out for the Green Valley, and Dad kept the gates open for me. We had the horse for several years, before eventually trading him off to Tom Gaskins from Eli.
