Getting quite a bit of this view today as I pray for my great uncle Roy Dykes, Tammy’s daddy. He’s a tough ole bird and my mind won’t quite wrap around that he’s in ICU and the doctors are not confident. They say it could go either way. 

Tammy’s momma always said Roy was supposed to go out of this world the same way he came in–by accident. 

He has survived the following: having been trapped under a tractor for an hour and ten minutes and was among Lifestar’s very first airlift patients. He had his middle finger ripped off at the knuckle while leading a mule (it’s buried in the flower bed…the finger, not the mule), he was attacked by a gigantic emu while trying to load them in the trailer (someone told him he could have them for free- “I ain’t gonna have no little bird hurt me!”). And while we’re on poultry…he was burning leaves out in the barn lot one time & it got a “little” out of control. Well, a rooster somehow got his tail feathers in the flames, & made for the barn. Roy followed in hot pursuit, before he could burn the whole barn down. He succeeded in running him out, mildly scorched but no worse for wear. There was also the time he totaled his truck while pulling a rented fertilizer buggy home one day. He’s also got me in a wreck or two. While fostering a love of horses in me, he still walked a fine line of quality horsemanship & “try this & see what happens”. Like the time he told me, “go ahead & mount in the hallway, she’ll be alright.” She was NOT alright. The mare lost her mind & very nearly killed us all.

This is why he can’t die from appendix surgery. The idea is ludicrous. Please help me pray for him, his soul, & comfort for my most huggable sweet cousin.

Mountain Dew 

There’s a big hollow tree down the road here from me

Where you lay down a dollar or two

You stroll ’round the bend and you come back again

There’s a jug full of good old mountain dew
   They call it that mountain dew

   And them that refuse it are few

   I’ll hush up my mug if you fill up my jug

   With that good old mountain dew
My uncle Mort, he’s sawed off and short

He measures about four foot two

But he thinks he’s a giant when you give him a pint

Of that good old mountain dew
Well, my old aunt June bought some brand new perfume

If had such a sweet smelling pew

But to her surprise when she had it analyzed

It was nothing but good old mountain dew
Well, my brother Bill’s got a still on the hill

Where he runs off a gallon or two

The buzzards in the sky get so drunk they can’t fly

From smelling that good old mountain dew
For Roy. The man who gave me Crockett and my first job (green breaking horses for $100 a head when I was in high school). He once offered me $1500 for my saddle horse, so I knew he was worth twice that.
For those of you still following updates: I left once Tammy got a solid army behind her to return to the pressing concerns of the Co-op in spring. Turns out I should have stayed. Mom texted me that they are waiting for the preacher, then turning off everything. His organs have failed. To have lived 83 years the way he did, this seems like such an uninspired ending. Maybe I’m just optimistic that he will blink a few times & say, “let’s go to Cracker Barrel, where’s my moneybelt?”
My uncle Roy did not become a miracle, he did not wake up, and he was cremated within two days. My cousin celebrated her birthday amid many tears and memories of both her beloved parents. I guess no matter what you’ve clawed your way through in the span of your lifetime, when your ticket is punched your board the train.