Reflections
Selected Writings & Artwork by Harriett Copeland Lillard
Selected Writings & Artwork by Harriett Copeland Lillard
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A Journey not Measured in Miles - Rash<br />
she would not miss the implication of the marker 's placement. Having done this, he stepped out of the car and, looking down, noted with a finehoned<br />
esthetic pleasure, the beauty of his ostrich-skin boots with their elaborate stitching and the perfection of his trouser legs as they broke at just<br />
the right angle across the arch of his foot.<br />
˜<br />
The sale barn was little more than a glorified shed. It was big enough, but there were few attempts at comfort or decoration. It was a corrugated<br />
tin building, freezing cold in the winter and scorching hot in the summer. The floor of the entrance area was bare, hard-packed dirt. This central<br />
meeting place was heated on this cold day by a huge, old-fashioned wood stove, but everyone kept their heavy coats on since the only warmth one<br />
gained was on that side of the body directly facing the stove; every other appendage or portion of the body simply froze.<br />
Just inside the entrance and on the right was the café; it had been hastily partitioned off from the main area at some point in its history. It was<br />
only open on sale day and the cook who ran it was well-known for her greasy hamburgers and good coffee. Now the heavy smell of frying meat<br />
filled every corner of the building and brought a small comfort to the day; at least it smelled warm. Inside the small room, the truckers, cattle<br />
buyers, and ranchers hunched over the jumbled tables and dirty coffee cups, discussing their eternal problems. Napkins, used for scrap paper to<br />
figure prices and cut tentative deals, littered the table tops and frequently fell to the floor. Neatness had no priority here. The activity was intense<br />
and strained. Everyone was feeling the crunch of the falling market, and pinched faces full of anxiety were now a common sight, in contrast to the<br />
loud talk and laughter in evidence during the rare good times.<br />
To the left was the office. It too had been partitioned off, by a waist-high counter, topped by glass with a pass-through opening at counter level and<br />
another round opening higher up through which the office girls talked to those at the counter. The office now had a concrete floor which set it off<br />
with some distinction from the rest of the building. Inside, the adding machines and calculators were neatly arranged on the counter along with<br />
assorted pads of blank counter checks and drafts from all the area banks. There was a long table in the center of the room where the purchase<br />
tickets were posted and then stacked on top of each buyer’s invoice. Every head of livestock passing through the barn was numbered. The owner<br />
had a stub, the buyer had a stub, and the office had the hard cardboard back. Each of the stubs was backed with heavy blue carbon, so that by the<br />
end of a busy day, everyone involved in these transactions had blue fingers, as well as blue carbon stains around the shirt pockets where they<br />
stuffed the stubs.<br />
Jassamine busied herself at the long table arranging the papers in preparation for the start of the sale. There would be no time for organization<br />
once the first head of livestock hit the sale ring, no time to eat, or think or go to the bathroom, just one long continuous state of pandemonium until<br />
the last purchase was bought and paid for. She was as out of place in this setting as the exotic flower her name implied would have been. She could<br />
barely contain her hatred for it and the resentment she felt for having to be here against her will. She wondered what quirk of fate or unknown sin<br />
had earned her this imprisonment in a life over which she had no control and in which she could find no delight. If she loved Walter, as a good wife<br />
should love her husband, perhaps she would have taken pleasure in helping him run his business, regardless of how distasteful it was to her.<br />
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