BLANCHE EVRIDGE
Champlin, Minnesota
About Blanche Evridge
Me and Him and Lonzo
I still hear him baying in my dreams, come late at night,
Just like those times with Gran'dad when the world was dark and quiet.
Frost was on the punkins and the corn was ripe to pick
When Gran'dad took that coon dog cross the plains and through the crick.
Lonzo was a mighty beast with golden, shiny hide,
He carried well his handsome face with every cautious stride,
And when he trailed a raccoon and chased it up a tree,
He let go an awesome voice, putting chills all over me.
It sounded different on the run than when the coon was treed,
It floated kinda lazy as he sniffed and ran and peed,
But when the foe was closer and the race was nearly run,
His baying changed to urgency and signaled everyone.
My toes were cold, my nose was read, my shoes were damp with dew,
My hair was straight from sweating, my lips were nearly blue,
But nothing could have held me back from being in that race,
Even when I quit the night with cactus in my face.
You should've seen my gran'dad, Cripes! He thought he was a kid,
Jumping draws and leaping brush the same way Lonzo did,
And I played hell just keeping up, though I was fit and prime,
But chasing coons in moonlight made him younger than his time.
Thinking now about them times; I was a lucky child,
Cuz Gran'dad was a rancher when the Wooly West was wild.
Trailing coons with Lonzo was like a History trip,
With good guys chasing bad guys who were giving us the slip.
Maybe if there's Heaven for a poke with worn out knees,
Where he can bring his hunting dog, regardless of the fleas,
Then that's where I am headed when I've run my last Rat Race,
Cuz me and him and Lonzo--got another coon to chase.© 2004, Blanche Evridge
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Blanche told us:
This poem comes straight out of my memory--although I was too young to be more that a passive participant. I spent most of my "coon hunt" in the car with siblings--but the air was electrified by the voices of the dogs--the talk of the veteran hunters, the honed-edge of cold air. Forty years later, I can close my eyes and reenter Gran'dad's enervating past-time replete with wide-eyed cousins, lathered dogs and cigar-puffing maternal grandfather.
Earlier Blanche had told us that her grandfather, Watson Heston Tidball, was born in Missouri, moved to Oklahoma where "he gained the honor of 'Top Hand' at the age of 18, moved to Washington state, then homesteaded in South Dakota where I was born some time later. Watson Heston Tidball was posthumously named to the South Dakota Cowboy and Western Heritage Hall of Fame."
Left: Watson Heston Tidball's wedding picture. He married Anna Marion Paulson (whose parents emigrated from Denmark to homestead in South Dakota before she was born).
Right: Watson Heston Tidball, named to the South Dakota (Cowboy and Western Heritage) Hall of Fame, September 16, 1978.
Flat-Top Momma
Her hair is stiff and "stringy,"
Her "neck" is long and thin,
Her "body" hollowed out by time,
Her smile, a gaping grin.
The features on her "wooden face"
Are like "pegs" stuck in a board.
The wailing of her plaintive voice
Can never be ignored.
—And yet he loves to hold her,
They are partnered up for life,
Together in that ol' blue Ford:
D. W. and his…"wife?"
© 1998, Blanche Elizabeth Evridge, All Rights Reserved
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Blanche told us: When I first began participating in the Dakota Cowboy Poetry Gathering at Medora, North Dakota, back in the late 90's, the veteran poets and musicians welcomed me as if I was a family member. Some of those who were generous with friendship and smiles naturally include the best of the best, Bill and JoAnn Lowman. Others are the great "ranch-lore" poet, Elizabeth Ebert, retired bronc buster and comedic poet, Jess Howard, tale-spinner Rodney Nelson, off-the wall poet-rancher, R.P. Smith, and cowboy-musician-songwriter-poet, D.W. Groethe. In gratitude for that easy friendship, I have written a poem in tribute to Jess and his brother Pat Richardson with whom we jammed at Elko, some years back. Also, I wrote and dedicated a song to R.P. entitled "Broken Bow" from whence he hails. And, after hearing D.W. refer to his "wife" (his guitar) numerous times, I conjured up this poem to commemorate that clever wit—Flat-Top Momma. Viva Dakota Cowboy Poetry Gathering!
About Blanche Evridge:
(From her Western historical romance novel, MANDAN Dakotah Territory):
Blanche Evridge was born breathing the clover-scented dust of the Great Plains of South Dakota where her great-grandparents homesteaded in the late 1800's, and later her grandparents. Her mother and grandmother were also born there--close to the Bismarck to Deadwood Trail, nearby to where Medicine Man, Sitting Bull was born and killed. With four generations of prairie history galloping through her veins, this story rolls across the pages in graphic precision of places and people who have long awaited the chance to tell their tales. Ms. Evridge has performed across the west at Cowboy Poetry Gatherings, from her CD of original Western songs and poetry, and books of original Cowboy Poetry. She resides in Champlin, Minnesota with her husband, Roger. You may contact her at www.BlancheEvridge.com.
MANDAN Dakotah Territory (novel)
Available for $13.50 postpaid. Email for ordering details
Cowboy Poetry and Western Songs (CD)
Available for $10.00 postpaid. Email for ordering details.
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