Prairie Memories by Gary Heintz: “In A Stew”

Dave and I planned a day, bringing grub, slickers, and chaps,

Our destination was a tree-lined lake, seldom found on maps.

We planned to ride the creek bed, kick up a deer or two,

Then make camp beside the lake, and rustle up some “stew.”

With horses tied to saplings, and a campfire showing life,

We broke out a can of beans, but discovered we lost our knife.

A can without an opener is like a guitar without strings,

But being young, we knew we could figure out “some thing”.

While trying to get those beans poured into that beat-up pan,

We figured just to save some time, we could heat them in the can!

With the can of beans sitting near the fire, getting hot,

We gathered more firewood, and found a good, sharp rock.

Returning to our camp, we sensed something was amiss,

It seemed the campfire was giving off an evil sounding hiss!

Looking closer, we saw the source of that eerie, lonesome sound,

Seeing that hot bulging bean can made our hearts begin to pound.

Dave uttered words and sounds not fit to put in print,

Then, while wearing chaps and spurs, he broke into a sprint.

But me, being the braver, or maybe dumber, of us two,

I tried to save those beans, to salvage our noon stew.

I prodded the can with a stick from the firewood pile… ,

When that can became jet propelled, it flew a country mile.

Hot beans painted my hat, my vest and batwing chaps,

As I froze in stunned disbelief at this culinary mishap.

Insult joined injury as those beans flew through the air,

And landed on our horses; you should have seen them rear.

They snorted and bolted, breaking halters, reins and ropes,

And were last seen going over the hill at a fast and frisky lope.

As we walked the miles home, we laughed and cuss words flew.

The lesson we learned that day; hobble your horse when you’re fixin’ stew.