Excerpt
Not many came to the funeral. Some said it was because
of the time of the year—calving and all. Others recognized that it
was because not many really knew Edward Hooper. He would
have turned ninety later that summer and the reality was that
there just weren’t that many ninety-year-olds around this country
any more. It was almost as if he was the last man standing.
Maybe he was, in this part of the country anyways.
A few of the nieces and nephews from the city came for the
funeral—not that the old man would have recognized any of
them unless they had introduced themselves, and that certainly
wasn’t happening that day. And there were a few Native American
riders who had worked for him on and off over the years,
especially in the early years when he had more cattle and actually
needed cowboys for something other than just company. It
was a small group of maybe a dozen or so who congregated on
that lonesome knoll to pay their respects and say goodbye to
Edward Hooper.
And that is why Joel Hooper was making his way on horseback
through the lush pasture this beautiful morning—to pay his
respects to the man he knew as his father. Their lives together
had been both brief and hard. Especially hard. It was difficult for
Joel to even see the man as his dad. As Joel rode along the ridges
to the corner of the pasture where the family graveyard stood, he
knew that he was just as much going there to pay his respects out
of his concern as he was for what others would say if he didn’t.
The way word traveled in the hills, sooner or later someone
would hear that he hadn’t visited his father’s grave. Then what
would they think of him? And who were they anyways?
Eventually, Joel arrived at the family plot—a small knoll set
back in the hills sheltered on the backside by the even higher hills
and with an open view to the vast valley floor far below. After dismounting
the orange gelding and being unable to find a place to
tie the horse, Joel realized that he could simply drop the reins;
Manolis Aligizakis 