writing – Only in a Stauff world

I had to take a day off of work to go work my other job. I had to run to Rapid to get stuff for the lodge to get ready for folks to stay.. I was lucky enough to catch lunch with J and then went about gathering, pondering and dreaming. The last stop, Walmart.. I was about drained of energy and had a headache that was starting to pound. I strolled the isles planning things out in my head when I turned down the cereal aisle. In the aisle was a dad and his son, whom I would guess to be 8 or so. As I wheeled my creeky cart toward them, I caught their conversation. Dad, “hey, do you want to pick out some cereal?”. Boy, “yea!”. Dad, “here is some that has dinosaurs in it it. Would you like those?”. Now, at this point I almost looked at what he was pointing out and grabbed a box. I laughed to myself thinking of having dinosaur cereal at the lodge. Anyway….

Boy, “no, oh WAIT! These.. I love these”.

Dad, “Applejacks? I have never seen you eat those before”.

Boy, ” I have too, they are the best”. Dad, “are you sure?”.

Boy, “yep, that is the one I want”.

I was smiling at their conversation as I whispered a “excuse me” as I swerved through them. As I past them, my brain replayed a million scenes of the same conversation with my hooligans as they were growing up. As my brain finished the memory lane it looked at my heart sitting there all swelled up. My brain asked my heart what was wrong. My heart said, “gosh, it is hard to believe those days are over. All in the past.”. And then just like that my heart broke just a little. I looked down and some big ole drops fell from my eyes and splashed to the floor by my feet. I turned to face this “fascinating” selection of granola. I pushed my glasses into my hair and wiped the tears away as my brain whispered, “you two, pull your shit together, tears another time, another place”. And, so we did. I managed to squeeze some air back into my lungs that at some point had deflated and went on about looking at my list.

The creek of the rusty wheels on the cart was the only sound my ears could hear. I don’t know if it was my headache, the tide wasnt right or it just caught me just right, but one thing is true. If you have kids or friends or loved ones, or pets, do me a favor and love on them a little. Time is indeed a thief and you won’t understand that, until that time is gone. Buy the cereal. Plus, I think this world needs a little more happiness and lovin.. oh….side note…the kiddo got his Apple Jack’s and I got a random sack of protein strawberry granola.. lol..

She was a teacher who moved from Omaha to the wilds of Wyoming in the early 1900s, leaving her family behind to embark on a new life in the West. The newest school teacher in the area sparked intrigue, particularly capturing the attention of two dusty cowboys who worked for a large local cattle company. Introduced as Miss Gieseleman, or Helen to those close to her, she began to dream of her own land and homestead. As days turned into months, the two cowboys continued to visit, offering their assistance. Eventually, one cowboy proposed, unaware that the other had feelings for her as well. Unsure of whom to choose, Helen devised a plan: she declared that her heart desired a piano, promising to marry whichever cowboy could deliver one to her school. Charles Zerbst stepped up to the challenge and delivered a beautiful piano. Grateful, Helen took his hand in marriage. She signed her name to her first homestead paperwork on June 3, 1909, and just six days later, Charles and Helen were married in Omaha. They would bring three children into the world—a girl and two boys—believing they had forever together, but ultimately, their time was limited to just 17 years.

They built a vast ranch together, where Helen continued to teach. Every year, she would take their three children with her to school, where she dedicated herself throughout the academic year. Once the school year concluded, she would return to the ranch with her family in tow. Horses, cattle, and sheep formed the backbone of the ranch, and selling horses to the cavalry stations helped to establish their trusted name.

Nestled in a beautiful valley, the ranch was graced by a lazy creek that meandered through the landscape. Lush meadows filled with tall grass provided ample grazing for the livestock, and a quaint two-room cabin housed the family of five—creating what many would consider a perfect life. However, tragedy struck when Helen was just 39 years old. Her oldest son, William, was left to help lay his mother to rest. At just 16, he had completed the eighth grade and was already working alongside his father. As they managed the ranch together, he also took on the responsibility of raising his younger siblings.

Helen’s untimely death marked the beginning of a series of heart-wrenching tragedies that would befall the ranch. Over the course of its 117-year history, the ranch has been a source of both profound joy and deep sorrow.

At the end of the day, as I gaze around the familiar meadows they once roamed, I watch the sun rise over the same hills and sink down into the horizon they cherished. Though the horses and sheep are long gone, the brand first pressed onto a calf endures to this day. The worry and wonder of maintaining the ranch and building upon its legacy persist, four generations later. I would do anything to keep the ranch and their dream alive. As I gaze at their wedding picture taken on that June 9th in 1909, I notice the dimple in my son’s chin and the curls of my daughter’s hair; I see echoes of five generations reflected in my own children. I remember the locket that Great Grandma lost, and how Dad found it one day while riding, the same one I have safely locked away.

So I dust off the dust and adjust my hat, casting off the burdens that weigh me down. I come from a long line of strength, a resilience forged in the moments spent on my knees, praying for help, a sign, or just a much-needed break from the trials that life so often thrusts upon us. Each whisper of hope echoes through my lineage, reminding me that even in the darkest times, we rise, fueled by unwavering faith and an unbreakable spirit that has been passed down through generations. It is this legacy of perseverance that lights my path, guiding me through storms and shadowy corners, teaching me that the essence of my ancestors lives on in me, urging me to keep pushing forward, to embrace the challenges that come my way, and to never lose sight of the dream that fuels me to fight for a better tomorrow.

And to think, it all started with a piano. Maybe I should learn how to play one.

Tag: writing

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