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96 Tamale Ridge by: Chuck Cusimano

We stayed busy, doing all the things that you have to do to keep up on a ranch. The rains

weren’t coming like we needed them but there was nothing we could do about it. I had made

plans to drill a water well and put a windmill up in a big meadow over to the north of the home

place. Windmills weren’t as common up here in the mountains as they were down on the flats.

In the mountains we had a lot of natural springs and water was more plentiful. This year,

however, I had decided to try to get a well and a metal tank over there so if I wanted to fence

that place off, it would have its own water. Uncle Trent had established a good spring, and that

was where we got the water for the horses. He had even built the cabin over a nice little spring,

and we had a hand pump in the kitchen. The spring ran right under the kitchen part of the house

and Uncle Trent had dug a hole about four feet deep and six feet around and put some heavy

timbers under the floor so the weight of the wooden floor wouldn’t be a problem. He had a

small trap door where you could crawl into the water to clean things out if need be. The only

time I ever had a problem with it was when we had a real heavy, fast rain. Then it would get

muddy for a day or two. The overflow ran through a metal pipe that continued out away from

the cabin and into a small garden that I kept promising to take better care of. Juan kept it up

real good though and had even planted some potatoes. He was growing tomatoes, corn, chile

peppers, pinto beans and onions. We had been eating pretty well since Juan had come around.

He didn’t seem to mind cooking and he would raise all kinds of heck with me when I’d pay

him.

“I no need it the mohney.” He’d say. “I no go no place, to spend it.”

“You save it then Juan. I’ll put it in the bank for you when I go to town, if you want.” I had

told him more than once.

“I no needit, in banco.” He’d say.

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