I was perhaps about fourteen on a weekend at the ranch, a went to the ranch on the weekends from the trailer house in town,
Dad had fed the cattle and came back to the house,
He told me to come with him, without telling me why as I recall now,
I thought he had a chore for me to do, it was in late March or early April.
Once in the pickup he said there was an ice jam on Boxelder, and we must go watch it break free, as it was a love of his to see the event,
So we drove to the south toward Uncle Ralph’s place, the winding creek was built for jams,
It was a warming morning, and Spring was announcing herself, light breeze, bird songs,
And we walked to the edge of the creek bank overlooking the jam, found a place to sit and watched.
He told me of some kids when he was growing up who would get on the larger Boxelder ice icebergs and ride them downstream,
And we all know, that Dad thought that foolish, he said I would have never done such,
After some time the jam started to move, and the sound of low toned percussion filled the air,
The ice bulldozed into the bank here and there, moving slowly at first, but then picking up speed,
We followed it down the creek a ways, Dad with a smile on his face looking at me at times to gage my reaction,
It was a moment for the ages as I look back upon it, the jam finally sorted itself out, ice chunks picking up speed, heading to the Little Missouri,
Such a gift he gave me that day, better than the snowmobile he had once suggested he might buy for me,
I am grateful to still retain this memory, it is secure in my hard drive, to retrieve upon an instant.
11th Posting, February 17, 2023