We had an old drought-ridden ranch in southern New Mexico where water was hard to come by. Wells were 500 foot deep to wet mud, then water had to be sucked out of the sand. In a stiff breeze, a windmill would put out about a gallon a minute. When it quit pumping, you would have to pull the rods and pipe to repair the damage. It could be a half day or six weeks until the job was done. You don't sleep at night because you know those old cows need a drink, all the money is gone from the bank account and the stock tank is bone dry.

It was just my Dad and me on the ranch and times were hard with help harder to find. We had an old Dodge 6x6, six wheel drive, World War II army truck. It had a winch on the front and we used it as our well truck. It had no cab, hot in the summer and freeze to death in the winter.

My Dad was a little man in his older years with all of his teeth pulled. He never would wear his store-bought teeth because they fit his shirt pocket better. He had bad skin cancer on his face. The sun tore him up, so a neighbor lady make him a sunbonnet. He wasn’t very pretty in it, but it helped him some.

One July summer day we were pulling rods at a windmill we called the Stevens. My Dad was in the old 6x6 which had no muffler. I was under the tower, breaking down rods as they came out of the well. It was around two in the afternoon, jalpeno hot. Dad couldn’t hear me, so I didn’t talk to him, but if something went wrong I sure as hell heard him then.

At one point, I noticed a car coming down the road to the well. I knew that it was just a tourist from town, looking for directions. Once they are out in the country, lost is their middle name. A retired couple from Ohio pulled up to the windmill. They didn’t have a clue as to what we were doing.

An old man got out and came my way. He glared at my Dad in the driver's seat of the 6x6, wearing no teeth and a sunbonnet., Then the old man looked at me, his face was getting blood red. He forgot to ask for directions he was so mad, and I wondered what the hell had I’d done. I soon found out.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, " he boomed, " making your poor old grandmother work this way." Then he stormed off back to his car and drove away.

I rolled in the dirt laughing and Dad turned off the engine to the truck and asked, "What’s so damn funny?"

I never would tell him, and that made him mad. I guess that’s what you call ranch romance.