journals

I found a treasure last week.
In an old box there was a stack of old journals that my grandpa had kept years ago.
I guess 'journal' is a little optimistic, because they were not really his deepest feelings. Mostly it was cattle weights, fertilizer ratios, hourly time schedules, the odd phone number.
But if you read between the lines, you could guess his day to day temperments. If he had trouble with one of the ranch hands, an entry read that he and the worker had a talk and a "good understanding" about the way thing were going to be if that worker was going to continue in employment on the ranch.
Invariably on Friday nights, my grandparents went to dinner with friends at Ray's Cafe (just down the hill from their house) or they carried someone over to the old Cottonwood Inn. I remember the place as a kid. It had these dummies propped up on the porch of the restaurant, dressed as cowboys. Dead cowboys, their heads half cocked as if to say.hey stranger, come on in. Try the fish. It was the last thing I et.
One of the later entries concerned my education. As you may know, I took a brief sabbatical from A&M between my sophomore and junior semesters that was a result of my shall we say lack of grade intensity. Anyway, after a semester of work and ACC I was admitted back into the College of Liberal Arts as an English major. Poultry Science wouldn't have me. I didn't even ask any other Ag-related departments. My PawPaw's words were--"He will study English." With 'English' underlined three times in disdain. The point is, I did well in the English dept. I didn't make great grades, but I passed everything and graduated. He never wrote he was proud or anything, but I know he was glad I decided to come home and work for the ranch.
That was worth more than words to me.