Love in Romance Arkansas (7 page)

John looked at his watch. “It’s about lunch time. Let’s go eat, see about a dump truck or trailer, and get my surveying tools. We might as well do this right the first time since there’s much more involved than just cleaning out the spring. We’ll have to determine how far downstream we have to open a channel to get proper drainage.”

As silt was removed, the true extent and craftsmanship of the work became evident. Rocks were sized and carefully fitted together and held with cement. The spring pool itself was the ten by six feet as revealed by probing. A surprise was the depth, almost ten feet. They discovered a vertical drop outlet under the five foot wide walkway to the original streambed. Cleaning the outlet dropped the pool level to about seven feet, leaving a three foot wall around the entire pool.

“I bet when this was built, the spring formed a waterfall to the streambed. Somebody built this to create the pool. It might have been used for cool storage of milk and other perishable products. Often a springhouse was built over the pool, though I don’t see any indication of a house here,” John observed.

Jenny asked, “How are we going to get all the silt out of the pool itself? The backhoe doesn’t reach the bottom and we don’t want to damage any of the stonework by using bigger equipment. Guess we could dig it out by hand, but that would be lots of work.”

He thought a minute then said, “A two or three inch pump will suck it out clean without stirring the mud so we can’t see. We can rent the pump and have the job done in a few hours instead of spending days trying to dig it out by hand, which by the way would be a chilly job.”

The pump proved to be a successful idea. Not only was the mud sucked quickly out of the pool, but the discharge was pumped to a small low area in an adjacent field instead of being hauled in the dump trailer, much faster and cleaner as well. The pump was also used to thoroughly clean the wall, walkway and other stonework.

Jenny got her spring pool and picnic area just by cleaning the existing work and then constructing a stone bench. The local paper got wind of the project and ran an article on it, stirring interest in other sites that might exist around the county.

The spring pool became one of their special places. John knew she almost always stopped for a few minutes on her daily ride. They often ate lunch in the cool shade when they were working in the fields. It was a pleasant place for relaxing after a long day or a nice spot for a moonlight dinner.

* * * *

One hot, hot summer day during haying they were eating lunch at the spring pool when he threw back his head and laughed in a most diabolical way. “What on earth are you laughing about that’s so funny? I don’t know if I like the tone of that laugh at all. You got something going on in that handsome head of yours?”

In answer, he grabbed her and tossed her into the pool—boots, clothes, hat and all. She squealed when she hit the cold water. The shock took her breath away as she went under. When she came up, he hit the water, ducking her again. “Are you out of your mind?” she screamed. “This water is freezing.”

“Yeah, but it feels good after the heat and dust of the hay field.” He ducked under the water and pulled her under also. They came up in each other’s arms. He looked at her for an instant, pulled her close and kissed her as she had never been kissed before. Her response was to clutch him and devour his lips with the same fervor. She was sure the hardening of her nipples was much more than the shock of the cold water. He held her at arm’s length and looked at her clinging wet tee-shirt. “Nice Jenny, very nice.” He pulled her in again.

Suddenly the water didn’t seem cold at all as she snuggled into his arms. The most natural thing was to wrap her legs around this waist and hold on. They stayed that way until the chill of the water drove them out. They must have looked like drowned rats as they climbed out of the pool.

John held her close. “Now that wasn’t so bad was it?”

The monthly rodeo was a relaxing time for her. She didn’t always win, but she was a tough competitor. One time a new girl and boy came to the rodeo driving an old truck with a homemade horse trailer. They were dressed in neatly patched old clothes. They both rode the same non-descript horse with an old saddle and worn tack. Some of the regulars made snide remarks because they didn’t even have boots. However, Jenny noticed both were excellent riders and the horse, though not on par with most, was well mannered and well trained.

The boy and girl stayed to themselves most of the time. As Jenny approached them, she heard the girl say, “I bet she is coming to tell us to leave—we should’ve never come here. We don’t belong here, let’s go.”

The boy replied, “Hold on a minute Sue. I’ve heard nothing but good things about this rodeo and the new owner of this ranch. As you know, there are snotty people everywhere. Don’t let a few stuffed shirts ruin the day. Let’s enjoy the fun while we are here.”

Jenny held out her hand, “Welcome to our little rodeo. I haven’t seen you before. I’m Jenny.”

The young man shook her hand with a firm grip and looked her in the eye. “I’m Bill and this is my sister Sue. We’re from across the river. Guess we’d better head home, since the rodeo is over. We had a good time. Appreciate your hospitality.”

“Aren’t you going to stay for the cookout? Everyone is welcome.”

“We didn’t bring anything, so we wouldn’t feel right about eating,” Sue replied.

“People only bring something if they want to share a special recipe. Some of the desserts are out of this world. You are more than welcome. Come on, get to know some of the people here and enjoy a good meal.”

“When you put it that way, we’ll be glad to stay,” the boy replied.

Jenny found John before the meal started. “John, I invited the new boy and girl to join us for the cookout. They thought they weren’t welcome because they didn’t bring anything. I also caught that the girl feels like they don’t belong here. Let’s try to make them feel at home so they can enjoy a good afternoon.”

Jenny seated Bill and Sue between John and herself. During the meal, she noticed they both were well mannered and good conversationalists. Bill and John were soon deep into a discussion of ranch work and cattle production. Sue was a knowledgeable cook who could taste any dish or dessert and tell the ingredients. She also expressed a keen interest in horses.

As the meal wound down, John said, “Bill, how would you like a summer job now that school is out?”

“I just need a job period. I graduated this spring and can’t afford to go to college right now, so I need a job. Hopefully I can make enough money to go with the scholarship I got to go at least one year.”

“Sue, do you need a job too? We always have jobs that need to be done.”

“Yes sir, I’m always on the lookout for some kind of work.”

“All we can offer at this time is grunt work—cleaning stables and barns, haying and fence maintenance. Maybe some gardening thrown in for good measure. Nothing glamorous, and the pay isn’t all that great, but it is always there.”

“I can do anything he can do,” she said, indicating her brother.

“Okay then, you both may start Monday.”

Later he explained to Jenny, “Those kids remind me of myself to a degree. They live with a disabled mother who draws a small pension. The family has a small farm with a few cows and chickens. They garden, hunt and fish to put food on the table. The father has been gone for years—in fact, Sue doesn’t remember him at all. I plan to help them as much as I can. Doug and Missy stepped up for me, now it’s my turn.”

“Count me in on the help. I think, given the right boost, those kids could make something of themselves. When the time comes, we can help them with college and school without it seeming to be charity. I don’t think either of them wants a handout. Another thing, someone has taught them well. They are both well-mannered and respectful.”

“John, since there isn’t a rodeo this weekend and the weather is so nice, why don’t we try some trap shooting? I’ve been thinking about Grandmother’s shotgun lately. If she enjoyed the sport, maybe I will also.”

“We can certainly try it, if you want. I’ve serviced, adjusted and loaded the trap machine so it is ready to go. There’s plenty of ammunition in the gun room, so we don’t have to reload any right now.”
All right, thought she had forgotten about it. I bet she enjoys the game. She is pretty competitive, as soon as she begins to break targets, she will be hooked, I hope.
“There are shooting glasses and ear muffs down there also.”

“Ear muffs? Why do I need ear muffs?” she questioned.

“I should’ve said hearing protection. It is easy to permanently damage your hearing without the proper muffs or plugs. We have both, so you can try each and decide which you prefer. Either way, the main thing is to protect your hearing with something that works. I use plugs under muffs to be doubly sure now. I say “what” too much due to just a few years of shooting without ear protection. Shooting glasses are necessary for eye protection, as well.”

* * * *

When they got to the trap field he said, “I’ve locked the trap to throw straight away at station three. This will let you get a feel for the game and your shotgun without trying to hit hard angle targets. Gets a bit discouraging for a beginner to have to start at station one. Okay, leave the gun in the rack for now. Just watch a few targets to get an idea of how they fly. To make this realistic, when you want to see a target, say “Pull” and I will release the target.”

He stood behind her as she stepped to the station. “You need to have your feet pointed a bit to the right of the target flight, like so.” He bumped her foot with his to get the right position with her feet about shoulder width apart. “Ready?”

“Pull!”

A clay pigeon sailed out of the house at about a hundred miles an hour, to her eyes, at least. “That thing is fast! How does anyone ever manage to hit one? This isn’t going to be easy. Let’s watch another one.”

“Call for the target again as you did before. This one will follow the exact same path as the first one. Try to picture the flight of the target in your mind’s eye.”

They repeated the process about seven or eight times. “Now, this time I want you to raise your left arm and point at the target with your left index finger. Try to keep your finger right on the target as it rises to its highest point.”

“Pull!” The clay sailed away as she tried to point right at it.
This is weird, pointing at a clay pigeon as it flies away.
“Not so easy when you try it. Let’s go again.” Soon she could smoothly follow the targets as they sailed away.

“Okay, let’s get your shell bag, glasses and hearing protection set and we’ll see how good of a teacher I am. This is a competition gun so it has no safety. It is to be broken open at all times unless you’re on station and ready to call for a bird. Step back to the station and stand as before. Mount your gun and point it just like you did your finger on the flight line of the target. No shell this time, just follow the bird with the gun barrel.”

They followed this procedure for several targets, with her opening the gun each time, then closing it in preparation for the next target.

“Get into the habit of opening the gun after each shot or for any delay that might come up. Always break the gun open when changing stations. Safety is the first priority.”

“Now load up and let’s get serious. Ready when you are.”

She loaded the gun, shouldered it, and tried to visualize where the bird was going. “Pull!” The bird zipped out, a bit to the right of her barrel. She jerked toward the target, pulled the trigger and watched the target fly away untouched. This discouraging sequence was repeated four times.

“OK, let’s back up a bit. Just point your finger at this one.”

The bird appeared and she tracked it smoothly with her finger.

“That is all you have to do with the gun barrel, track the target smoothly and pull the trigger. Try another one”

This time, some dust flew off the target.

“Dusted that one, you’re getting close.

The next shot was a clean miss. A chip flew off the next bird.

“Clean hit, broken bird, one hit.”

Dust and small chips rewarded her next few shots. The first time she held right, the clay pigeon disappeared in a puff of dust. “Say, I like that!”

“You smoked that one. Do you remember what your hold looked like? Work on developing a mental picture of each perfect shot. As that mental picture develops, your brain and muscles form an automatic relationship to function as a unit for breaking targets. Equally important, don’t dwell on missed shots, because the same type mental picture can form, leading to automatic misses—not the desired outcome.”

After that first solid shot, she proceeded to smoke the rest of her twenty five targets.

“You did well for a beginner, eleven isn’t bad.”

Isn’t bad—I want to smoke them all!
“Let’s shoot some more, I want to see them break!”

* * * *

“Just takes practice and the desire to do it. You know where to practice.”
Thought she might like the game since she is on the competitive side. May have created a monster here, but what a cute monster.

Jenny developed a practice routine where she shot four rounds three times a week. If she was having trouble with a certain shot, John would lock the machine for that shot and she would practice until it was automatic.
She is relentless and intelligent in her pursuit of perfection. I’ve never seen anyone diagram a problem shot and video it to see what is wrong. When she gets a shot down, it is as automatic as can be. This girl has the makings of an outstanding trap shooter.
Soon she was hitting twenty three or more each round with more than a few twenty-fives thrown in. As a sidelight, she learned to reload her own ammunition.

The hot tub became one of the centers of their lives. Nearly every night they would relax, recap the day’s activities and discuss the plan for the next day. It was an easy give and take that they both looked forward to and enjoyed. Their developing relationship took many steps around or in the warm confines of the hot tub.