Ahh; rich…
I hear the echo often. I repeat it on occasion, especially over a good cup of coffee. My son, the young man donning hat 2 of 26 may have even heard it a time or two. But, before the Stetson became his own, this hat belonged to another.
My maternal grandfather, Howard, was a man who wore many hats: Navy seaman, Postmaster, husband, father, Christian. But, rancher? No way. He was all hat, no cattle. That much is certain.
There is joy in that admission. You see, my grandfather was always the optimist. He found joy in the small moments, like a quiet cup of early morning coffee with his grandson, or a leisurely afternoon stroll. It was on such strolls that the hat would come out. Hats are good for wearing on strolls, especially Stetsons.
We would walk down to the creek, but not to check the livestock. Creeks were good for “plunking”, which if you don’t know is the fine art of throwing rocks over the embankment and waiting for the “plunk” as they hit the water hidden down below.
We would walk down to the market, but not to trade any commodities. The market was a great place to solicit a free chocolate chip cookie from the baker.
Howard grew up in the central/west Texas hamlet of Millsap. I heard him relay tales of covered wagons, and siblings dying young in accidents involving horses and plows. Grandad no doubt knew how to work the land, and maybe even how to punch a cow or two. But to my knowledge, he never owned one. In fact, I remember him buying that Stetson fairly late in life, probably long after this picture was taken. He likely even had to save up to get it.
And yet, the man was rich.
Rich, like a strong, aromatic cup of coffee.
Rich, like a resounding plunk from the neighborhood creek.
Rich, like a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie.
Yep, my grandfather was all hat. That, and so much more.
