Archive for July, 2011

Family stories

I didn’t dare get off him. So I hung it out and dribbled down his shoulder and he felt that and he started abuckin’. That GD zipper just about sawed my penis off. I had a hell of a time … [I]t finally quit hurting enough so I could handle it and put it away. I was sorer than hell for a long time (36-37).

An excerpt from a book about my great-uncle called The Last of the Breed: The Story of Trapper Jake Korrel as Told to Kit Collings.  It’s pulled from the story, “King Arthur” — about a horse that would trample any rider who tried to get off him, which is why Jake chose to “dribble down his shoulder” when he had to pee.

Jake’s parents left Russia for the United States in the early 1900s. However, “[d]ue to the confusion and/or the language barrier, they got on the wrong ship and wound up in Buenos Aires, Argentina, for four years before raising enough money to continue on to Ellis Island … (5).

I first met my great-uncle when he visited my elementary school to teach hatchet-throwing.

Now three recent family stories …


My mom was outside with her irrigating boots on both arms, knocking them together to loosen mud from the soles, when she froze and cocked her head. Then she crept around the side of the house, motioning with her booted arm for me to follow. She faced the house with her knees slightly bent and her arms held straight out from her sides. Her boots were nearly up to her shoulders.

“Listen!” she said.

Her eyes were fixed on the side of the house while she did the following things:

She hopped one way.

She hopped the other way.

Some mud fell off the boots on her arms.

She cried, “Karoo!”

She thought there were starlings building a nest in the eave.

And there were.


My parents were missing a bull after my mom had a dream that a man wearing sweatpants stole him.

I said I’d try to find the bull.

“You?” said Mom. “You wouldn’t know where to look.” Then she said to Dad, “But I am worried about him.”

My dad said, “It’s not like we don’t have other bulls.”


“Screw him. He’s a little bastard.”

Dad owns a pair of camo pajama pants.


Not long after my boyfriend and I started dating, he drove to Crowheart to visit me and my family for a few days.

We decided to play cards the night Ryan arrived. As we played, my brother listened to his Mp3 player. He began yelling hip hop lyrics.

I remember the conversation like this:

“So Ryan, how’s school?”

“I — ”

“I spit on these ******* before I eat ’em!”

“ — I like it.”

My brother won the game.


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