Before Long
Dressed in a red coat and work denims, Grandpa Lalo set the chainsaw to cut
the tall pine. Before long, the tree fell over with a sharp crack, filling the mountain air
with the splintering crash of branches. Besides working as a logger and tending to his
goats, Grandpa Lalo cultivated friendships with everyone he met.
Grandpa Lalo was a lumberjack. He lived in a world of rutted logging roads, tall
pines, well-trained horses, piles of firewood, and noisy sawmills. He could get timber
out of mountainsides where others could not. When he was already eighty-one years
old, he cut some vigas for the house I was building. He would drop a pine, cut off the
branches, and fasten one end of a chain to the log and the other to his harnessed
horse. When he shouted a command, the horse immediately took off, dragging the log
down the slope through the brush to the truck parked far below. When we lifted the logs
to the truck, I was amazed at his strength since I was struggling with my end of the logs.
Grandpa Lalo always had a herd of goats. They roamed the mountains, grazing
on grasses and herbs. When milking time came, they would line up outside the milking
shed. He milked each goat as she munched contentedly on sweet oats. Before long,
the large enameled cup would be filled with frothy milk. When the cabritos were fat
enough, he would butcher one of them. While my brother and I held the goat still,
Grandpa would cut its throat. Then he would hang it from a beam and skin it, leaving no
meat on the skin. He always built a little fire into which he threw pieces of liver. After
we washed the blood from our hands, he would take the pieces of roasted liver out of
the fire, brush off the embers, and offer us the delicious morsels. He liked to say that a
man who had goats would never go hungry.
Grandpa Lalo was friendly. He welcomed everyone who drove up to his
mountain homestead, whether they were curious hippies in their Volkswagen vans, deer
hunters who had spent a cold night in a camper, or wayward grandsons who hadn’t
visited in a long time. All were greeted with a big hug and invited in for hot coffee,
roasted cabrito, and warm tortillas prepared on a wood-burning stove. He entertained
his guests with stories, which his father had told him, about hunting buffalo with the
Indians. He had an endless store of jokes. Before long, he had everyone laughing. He
liked to travel and meet new people. Like Will Rogers, he believed that strangers were
just friends he hadn’t met yet.
Although Grandpa Lalo passed away on Christmas day in 1992, I will always
carry him in my mind. Whenever I cut up firewood with a chainsaw, I think of him.
Whenever I watch my goats grazing in the field, I remember his advice. Whenever I
meet new people, I try to treat them as friends, just as my grandfather would have.
522 words
Before Long