Family Reunion with Granny

Editor’s Note: Using your best Texas accent, step into the author’s ongoing story about her rodeo family that she’s including in her Storyworth book. 

My brother, Mark, is fifteen years younger than I am. When he was born, my sister, Susan, and I fought over who would take care of him. He was real cute until he turned two and then he became a terror to the point that we had to nail a piece of plywood over the bottom of the doorway to our bedroom just to keep him from coming in and destroying all our things. That attitude softened as we all got older and left home to make lives and families of our own. So when my sister called one day in 1983 to invite us to her house in Cody, Wyoming, for a “family reunion,” we all were excited. At least most of us.

Family reunions are enjoyed by only half of the people that actually show up – the one whose blood relatives are hosting the get-together. In this case, mine. Peter, my husband, is a good sport — most of the time — and he agreed to take the two-day drive from Rochester, Minnesota through flat, dry, hot South Dakota and angle up into northern Wyoming to end up in Cody where the Coffey clan was to gather.

You can’t get more “western” than Cody, Wyoming, or the Coffeys. That made it particularly difficult for Peter, definitely NOT a cowboy. All table conversations centered on roping calves, riding broncs, which horse was for sale, whether or not a two-horse or a one-horse trailer pulled the best behind a Ford pickup. Or for that matter, whether a Ford was better than a Chevy. Occasionally, one of the Coffeys would nod toward Peter, a gastroenterologist at the Mayo Clinic, and ask him “how was work?” not really knowing the difference between an intern and an internist. But they were nice and nodded, asked a few questions, and then the conversation somehow would veer back toward ropin’ and horses. Our son, Jeff, at age nine made it just fine with all his cousins and enjoyed the whole scene.

So what do you do at a family reunion besides eat and visit? Well, in our case you sit on the porch and visit and watch the activity in the roping arena below, talk about whether or not the horse pulled the slack just right, whether or not the roper threw the loop at the right time, or how the calves were spoiled and you needed a fresh batch. 

Then we made the unusual decision to go on a river rafting excursion down the Shoshone River.

One thing I forgot to mention, Granny Coffey was at the reunion, too. Now Granny is a whole ‘nother story! But suffice it to say that her signature was her white cowboy boots that she had custom-made in Cherry Valley, California, where she had lived for many years. Granny was born on a wagon train coming from the Oklahoma Territory into Texas where she grew up with seven brothers and was the favored girl. She still maintained that toughness and independence and, in fact, carried an old Colt .45 under the seat of her car wherever she went. At eighty-something, she was still going strong and a force to be reckoned with. No one was going on a rafting trip without her!

Susie talked her out of wearing her cowboy boots with her blue polyester cutoffs just above her knees and got her into some tennis shoes. She completed her outfit with a red gingham cowboy shirt, a blue scarf tied at the neck, and a hat made of plastic milk cartons stitched together with colorful crochet. To make sure it sufficiently shaded her eyes, she had painted the bill of the hat with red nail polish to provide additional protection from the sun.

We all set out for the Holiday Inn in Cody where we were to meet up with the bus to take us to the rafting site. There must be something in the requirements of all rafting guides that they have to be a “hunk.” The guys meeting us there did not disappoint. Tan, muscular, sun-drenched hair, and a little shadow of a beard framing white teeth – these guys were gorgeous. This fact was not lost on fifteen-year-old Shelly, my niece. We paid our money and trailed over to load on the bus. Granny was making sure that she remained the center of attention at all times, as was her custom. Shelly was lagging behind not wanting to be identified with such a colorful family, especially in front of these river-rafter guys. All of a sudden, Granny stops in her tracks and turns around and says loudly, “Shelly, why are you way back there? Get up here with your Granny.” So much for anonymity!

We headed out of town toward the river with the guides giving us all kinds of warnings and pointers how to do this rafting thing. We arrived at the edge of the water, loaded in the rafts. Granny was quite the picture perched up in the middle flirting with the guides and being Granny. For an old girl, she was quite a sport. She held on through the rapids and laughed and joked with everyone the whole way. Our guide decided to name one of the rapids “Granny Rapids,” after her – and well deserved. We all made it to the end without falling off, and headed back to Cody. Next was the rodeo with Mark, but that story is for another time.

Copyright © 2024 by Carol Carryer