The Cowmen’s’ Fathers’ Day Conversation(G. Mitchell Baker) Ambling into the crowded Cowman’s Cafe, the warmth, and smell of the fresh coffee melds with the oak and hickory smokes coming out of the hearths built deep into the back wall. The massive wall structure of gray stone, with low-intensity fires burning warm in the four separate hearths, always impresses, especially those walking through the door for the first time.

Burning slow beneath the sturdy mantel, each hearth with its own row of charred and speckled blue camp kettles, provides an instant setting of wellbeing. Hanging, filled with brewing coffees, the setting is for those now returning safe, from the hard ride of the day.

It is after taking a good look at the impressive edifice constructed to brew the Cowmen’s Coffee that one begins to hear the cowmen and cowboys, the cowgirls and their daughters laughing when the conversation is good, and saying little-to-nothing when there isn’t anything good to say at all. The banter rolls past the gray stone hearths, from one end of the Café to the other.

Hanging dead center over the mantel is a steer skull, finished with shining black lacquers. Its natural horns spread out wide from the skull, but not in the Texas-style wide. Rather, the skull appears that of a big bull not bent on exaggeration. At once appearing menacing, and then appearing as if to welcome, it is in an odd sort of way the single light shining down on the skull casts a soft, exacting shadow image enough to frame the all-seeing, all-knowing skull’s ferocity. Indeed, and although there is laughter, upon a closer listen it is plain that the raucous sounds arise from tired cowmen and cowboys who have worked their day, and now settle in to work out the rest of whatever’s on their minds.

Huddling around large roughhewn finish wood tables, trading stories, and hoping to put some Cowman’s Coffee back before it is time to go, Caldwell Rudin, or “Caldy” to all who know him, asks for the 'Don’t Ask Don’t Tell' coffee from the second hearth from his left. A potbellied rancher of maybe fifty years or so, Caldy then goes quiet, listening as Mark adds to the order.

“I’ll take a cup of Hang ‘em,” says the fellow rancher, who has known Caldy for a long as he can remember.

Then Mark also quiets, listening to the growing banter of the others sitting all around, but feeling a little more gregarious than the cagey cowmen now sitting across from him, low over his coffee. Preparing to draw down the coffee just poured, and to continue their most recent conversation, Marks opens up at about where they had left off in the truck.

“Well … well all hell Caldy,” argues Mark right off the cuff, and as he lifts his cup as if to hold it between them - a kind of odd-looking protection. “You know you aren’t as tough as you once was…”

“Shoot,” Caldy does not look up from his steaming cup of 'Don’t Ask Don’t Tell' coffee, “…I’m glad to be any-tough-at-all anymore.”

“So what’s happened to you…,” inquires Mark, his question sounding earnest enough to Caldy.

“Guess I’ve been fighting off the Gelding Types for too long…”

“’… Gelding Types …’” balks Mark, “…never heard of them damned Gelding Types from you before … wait … you don’t mean…”

“Yeah,” Caldy interrupts, ruminating, “…years of fighting off bankers, and mostly used car salesmen and lawyers bent on … what do they all call it … emasculating … yeah… emasculating me and men in general…”

“What in the name of Cowman’s Coffee are you talking about,” scoffs Mark, “…hell … you're too old … too seasoned to be fretting about that kind of stuff...”

“Oh they are all there alright,” Caldy continues on, “…those Gelding Types …oh yeah they’re out there ready to geld on me and you every chance they get…”

“What for,” asks Mark, incredulous, “...why would anyone be paying any attention?”

“So as to calm me down I suppose…” Caldy shakes his head gently, “…you know, take the life and risk-taking right away from me … right outta’ me and maybe even you.”

“Well that isn’t right now is it,” Mark insists, agreeing for the sake of carrying on the conversation.

“I figure it may be to force guys like you and me to settle in the dust and just die.”

“That takes the tough right out of a guy doesn’t it,” Mark thinks about all the possibilities, taking a good pull on his coffee, then breathing in real deep, as if to contemplate some bigger picture.

“You know,” says Caldy, “…it just gets to be a lose some and lose some more doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean,” asks Mark, curious enough.

“Well I figure a guy can get tired either way.”

“Sure,” Mark agrees, “…some real tired ... I guess.”

“Seems that’s all the life left in it,” Caldy finally raises his mug of coffee, taking a quick sip, “…we start off strong and… well then … and then we finish it all off …the weaker for any effort.”

“Tough to finish strong isn’t it,” concludes Mark, placing his cup down on the table, as if laying the empty vessel to rest.

“Yeah,” Caldy takes another quick sip of the coffee, “…especially when there’s all those pushy Gelding Types out there flicking their little pocket knives at you every chance they get…”

“Not a pretty picture.”

“Not a pretty picture at all.”

“You ready,” asks Caldy, letting go of his coffee mug, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

“Sure,” Mark says, amenable, pushing aside his own coffee cup.

“Then what do you say let’s pray a little…”

“What we going to pray for,” asks Mark.

“What do we always pray about?”

“Well Pastor Caldy,” Mark explains his wanting to do something a little different, “…seeing as it is Father’s Day and all … why don’t we…”

“Okay then …,” Pastor Caldy interrupts enough to begin. “Dear Heavenly Father,” Caldy prays hard, “…may those Gelding Types always lose their pocket knives, and so to allow in your good grace for a couple of tough Cowmen to always have their coffee and conversation in peace, and, without any fear they’ll be left without anything more to talk about … And they all said …Amen.”

“’…Amen…'” says Mark, joining in on the ‘…Amen…’, then rolling his eyes skyward in appreciation.

“And,” Pastor Caldy grins, “…Amen again to you Mark … and a very happy Father’s Day to you.”

“And a happy Father’s Day to you too my good Pastor,” offers Mark, now reaching for a menu.

“You look ready to order,” observes Pastor Caldy.

“Yeah,” Mark says confidently, “…got my appetite back … I’m ready for a little breakfast now.”

“A little tougher?” asks Pastor Caldy, mischievous.

“Feeling a little tougher,” smiles Mark, “…I figure a whole lot tougher now…”

Caldy does not reach for the menu, rather choosing to stare up at the steer skull finished with shining black lacquers, its natural horns spreading out wide enough, but not too much in the balance.

“You know,” says Pastor Caldy to no one in particular, “…we all have our time scheduled for our place on that mantle don’t we.”

“Huh,” Mark looks up and around, not cluing into the observation.

“Well I guess,” Pastor Caldy reaches for the other menu, “…I guess being a little more like that fierce-old-steer isn’t so bad either.”

“I didn’t know you got a fierce-old-steer,” Mark comments, hungry and looking around, for a server.

“Never mind,” Pastor Caldy looks down into this empty mug, “…just you never mind son.”

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