Sawtooth Sunset Ranch

Grandpa Payne

Grandpa Payne was one in a million. Although having polio in his younger days had left him with health problems, his cheerful disposition rarely allowed a glimpse of these conditions to show through. He was amiable and good natured and to his grandchildren, a source of great whimsy and pleasure.

Norman and I were especially blessed, because of having the luxury of living nearby. He loved to have us with him and would often take us on his rounds around the ranch. His old blue Chevrolet pick-up was a chariot that transported us to unbelievable reaches of the rambling ranch. The vehicle bounced and bucked courageously over the terrain, disdaining the necessity of roads. There were fences to be checked, watering places to maintain, herds of sheep and cattle to oversee, and many various tasks which kept him busy from dawn 'til dusk.

I would stand beside him on the seat, arm encircling his neck, happy to be on this important mission. Of course, there were arguments with Norman as to who got to sit beside Grandpa. We took turns. He entertained us with whatever spur-of-the-moment notions that popped into his head, and there were certain, ongoing themes that he loved to tease us with. It was Norman's job to hop out and open gates along the way, and Gramps came up with an amusing way to aggravate him and keep things lively. We had a cousin about the age of Norman, named Paul. So Grandpa would tell Norman that Paul had a long, magical arm that reached out to open the gates, without him having to even get out of the truck. He would boast about how much easier it was to travel with Paul along because of this great ability he had. This would infuriate Norman to no end. Once, he was sitting next to Grandpa and became so vexed that he reached over and switched off the ignition key! We later learned that when Paul came for visits and would be the passenger, Grandpa would turn the story around so as to present Norman as the one with the "arm," similarly angering Paul.

He had funny, unique observations about almost everything. Another way he would pester us was to give certain names to people, all in good fun but nonetheless able to provoke. His name for Daddy was, "Old Shoes" and for Mama, "Old Red Dress." So he would say such things as, "Too bad your pappy is nothing but an old pair of shoes!" This could even get me a bit steamed, since my Mommy and Daddy were my idols. But still, we knew that it was just Grandpa's way of having fun with us. Sometimes, he would put on a pouty face, mumbling about how "poor" he was. He would say, "poor, poor, poor old Grandpa . . . just so poor his pants are falling down . . ." That was to get my sympathy so I would give him a hug. As ranch kids, we were used to the term "poor" meaning "very skinny" or in bad shape, often used to describe underfed livestock.

There was a wooden gate out near the front of our house, which led into the immediate grounds surrounding the ranch complex. This gate could be opened to allow cars to drive up and park just outside the yard fence. When Grandpa came over, he wanted us to meet him at the gate, perching on top. He would go on and on, chiding us if we failed to show up there when he popped in. In fact, this evolved into his jokingly demanding that we just sit there all the time, waiting perpetually for his arrival. He pretended to be terribly put out if he happened by and we were not on the gate. It didn't count if he saw us running out to meet him, therefore proving that we had not been waiting. At least, we had one trick in our favor. We could see his old truck as it came over the hill about a mile away and could make it out to the gate after he disappeared into the canyon that he still had to cross. We developed the habit of keeping an eye on the stretch of road across the canyon, ever vigilant to fulfill our "duty" to be on that gate. He never showed up without some little treat such as candy or gum, "Wrigley's Doublemint" being his favorite. He would act like we were not eligible for the treats if we failed in our "gate detail," but would always relent, "Just this time."

When we returned from visiting our other grandparents in California, we were bubbling over with stories of all that we had done on the visit. Those grandparents lived seven miles from Lake Elsinore. We had fished at the lake several times, among other things. Back at the ranch, Grandpa listened intently to all of our descriptions of the wonders of life in California. He seemed to be puzzling over something in particular. He would shake his head and keep saying how remarkable it was, knitting his brow in deep thought. Finally, he asked, "Just how far did you say your Grandpa lives from that lake?"

"Seven miles." We chirped.

"Well, he sure must have a long fishing pole!" Was his emphatic reply.