From Cape Cod girl to Eastern Oregon Woman

by Cyndy Coleman Marshall

How I met the Willis'

- or -

My Education at "University of Big Port"

I grew up Cindy MacPherson on Cape Cod. [white sandy beaches, fishing boats, sailboats, yacht clubs, clams, summer tourists and yes the Kennedy's] I was hopelessly in love with horses and the western lifestyle. I read every horse magazine I could find. Western Horseman was my favorite. I blame my big brother Bruce for my horse crazy malady; when I was 4 years old, he brought a girlfriends horse to our house to give me a ride. The horse was coal black, with a white star just like Black Beauty and once I got on, he couldn't get me off. I was hooked, and was horse crazy ever since. I finally talked my parents into letting me get a horse when I was 13. I paid for the horse, she was a palomino named Duchess and saddle and all of her feed with my own money. That was the deal, my Dad agreed to build a corral and small barn, and I had to pay the rest. I was a very enterprising youth, I did a lot of babysitting and bussed tables/washed dishes at a local restaurant, (started this believe it or not when I was 6 years old) until I got old enough to be a chambermaid and pump gas. I horse showed every weekend in summer, was a member of the Cape Cod Rough Riders and arranged for horse trailer rides to all the events I took my horse to as we didn't have a horse trailer. While my school mates dreamed of California beaches and surfing, I dreamed of Wyoming and cowboys. In 1977 with two baby boys and two preteen step daughters, my then husband and I loaded a homemade utility trailer, a jeep wagoneer, and a 67 Ford station wagon and drove the 3000 miles from Cape Cod to Salem, Oregon. He pulled the trailer with the jeep, and I drove the station wagon with all our food and camping gear. We arrived in Oregon during the height of Blazer Mania.

Living in Salem, I became very involved in Oregon State politics, and it was there I met Larryann Willis, she was a rancher from Vale, Oregon. She was the real deal... I remember our first conversation about the ranch... and I making a comment to the effect of “so what did she do, did she have job, or was she a housewife?” Insinuating that it was her husband who was the rancher... and you'll laugh if you know Larryann. She quickly straightened me out, "she" was a rancher and "he" also was a rancher, and together "they" ran the ranch. She was bigger than life to me... we bonded instantly and she began staying at my house in Salem when she would come on business.

I remember my first trip to her Malheur County ranch was in February, I drove by myself from Salem to the end of the earth... or so it seemed, it was so desolate. After you got past The Dalles, the countryside was so bleak, no trees (except near the home sites), rolling brown hills. And it was pretty much just like that all the way to her house. Once I was there however, I was enthralled with feeding the cattle hay from a tractor and wagon, seeing the baby calves run and buck, a remuda full of horses. But at the same time I remember saying... How could anyone ever live this far from civilization... I'd never live here unless I had my own Lear jet... and that wasn't about to happen. Then I came back with the kids for the 4th of July weekend and I fell in love with Eastern Oregon. The Vale Rodeo, Parade, and "the Suicide Race" Wow, and everything was green, (irrigation) I didn't know I hated the rain, until I saw the sun for 4 days in a row !!! Tim and Eric were 5 and 4 yrs old this is a pic from that weekend.

Tim and Eric just before the Vale 4th of July Parade. Larryann and her son Russel rode in the parade on a cart pulled by this donkey. She, the Donkey, had a little cellulitous issue in her neck... it's flopped over to the side under Tim's hands.

The Willis' take us in: That 4th of July visit changed our lives forever... the sun was out for 4 days in a row with out a cloud in the sky, then we went back to Salem to the rain and gloom we had when we left... we moved two weeks later and have lived in Eastern Oregon ever since. Myself, Tim, and Eric were immediately and graciously welcomed into the Willis family. Much later I would get to meet Larryann's mom Marion Long, and she told me how Larryann was always bringing home strays to take care of... and I smiled to myself thinking about being one of her strays that she had rescued and then asked Big Port and Averyel to take care of. Larryann's husband is the oldest of 5 children, his first name was Porter, and his Dad's name was Porter, that was pretty confusing since was saw both of them all the time and so to sort them, my kids began calling Port Sr. "Old Port" that was immediately modified to "Big" Port... don't know how many others called him that, but to us it was Port and Big Port.

Big Port and Averyel lived on the Oregon Slope and had a feedlot and ran several head of black cows on the west side of Payette, Id in an area known as the Washoe, the point of land between the Snake River and the Payette River and where they come together. There was a little two room scale house at the feedlot, and that was where we lived for the first year or so. We went back and forth between the J-O Feedlot and Port and Larryann’s ranch at Vale which was about 20 miles west. I was like a sponge… soaking up the western life of the cowman. While I was an accomplished horsewoman, I had never really seen cattle before, that is except as steaks on a BBQ.

I helped with everything they would let me help at. At my first branding I was in awe… gathering the cattle horseback, then sorting them, then as they roped (headed and heeled) the calves, brought them to the branding fire, castrated them, ear marked them, vaccinated and branded each one… My senses were peaked, the smells, the sounds, the sights and the thrill and excitement of each successful loop that scooped up a set of heels. I kept thinking to myself, Oh -my - gawd -, this is just like in the movies, they really still do it this way????… Beings this was literally my first trip the branding pen, I was given the typical green horn first job… vaccinating the calves, precisely where I was shown for each, one was IM - in the muscle, the other SQ - under the skin keeping the vaccines cool, mixed and straight and keep the fire just right. To this day, you'll never see me hold a vaccine gun with the needle straight out, it will always be pointed at the ground. I was fascinated with the roping, how they could do it, how the horses worked, and how efficient the whole process was.

Big Port roping on Eldebeast at Garden Valley, ID

The other amazing thing that day, was the realization that there were four stud horses (Drift'n Sands, Windy Wood, Tonto, and Ole Baldy) being roped off of in the branding pen, with others roping off of mares. I for sure remember Dean was roping some on his gorgeous bay mare and then at the lunch break, they were all tied to the fence hanging their heads. Not a peep out of any of them. It was that day that I heard and learned the Willis philosophy that... "a stud horse is just horse, unless he is loose in the breeding pasture, or you tell him it's time to mount a mare. When a stud horse is saddled he's just a horse... woe be to one who drops or get studdy except for breeding. The other tidbit of wisdom I learned... never pick at a stud horse, if you are going to correct one, get into him hard and mean it and get out and he will respect you. Pick at him, and he'll become a mean rotten unpredictable son of gun.

Trailing cattle from Cascade Lake, ID to Indian Valley, ID

Through the Willis’ I was indoctrinated into every aspect of ranching and farming… branding horses, pulling calves, starting colts, handling stallions, breeding mares, feeding cattle, riding sick pens, and drive green chop truck, feed truck, all the haying equip (cept for the harrow bed, nobody ever trusted me with a harrow bed). Oh yes, then there was irrigating. I quickly learned there were different ways of doing the same things. For instance, Big Port used a wood fire to heat the branding irons, Port and Larryann used electric branding irons. It was all so new to me… and I wanted to learn it and do it all. Most of all I wanted this lifestyle for my boys.

The first summer Big Port named Eric “uncle how-come”… Eric so was full of questions all the time. How come you this? How come you that? How come that does that? How come you do? How come we have to? How come you don't?... How come, how come, how come... that was Eric. If we were ever looking for boys, you only had to look as far as the nearest puddle, water trough, irrigation ditch or mud hole and they'd be in it. Big Port always said someday he was going to take my boys to the high desert of Harney County and become a millionaire… cause all he had to do was turn 'em loose and they could find water anywhere.

Christmas Ponies that Larryann bought for the boys that first Christmas. This one is Tim's and they are in the alleyway of the feedlot sorting pens. The pens backed up against the Union Pacific mainline that ran between Boise and Portland, Oregon.

My favorite Port-ism: “A man convinced against his will, is of the same opinion still”

Common Sense: I remember being lectured about getting on and off the machinery… tractor, front-loader, to always have a hold of something before the next step… specially in the ice. Even today, as I get down off of my JD4020, I can hear his warning. (I never have fallen or mis-stepped, off the equip anyway)

Mint Silage, UGH ! That first summer I was there, Big Port had a deal to get all the mint left overs for silage for the feedlot. The fields of mint plants are harvested with a big machine that cuts them a couple of inches above the ground, throws them into a truck bed, they are hauled green to a still and then cooked/steamed at a very high temp and pressed/squeezed to get all the juice out of them to make mint extract. They would bring the truck loads of squeezed mint, with basically zero water content to the feedlot, dump it on the slab in front of the silage pit, Big Port would use a Cat to push it back into the pit… my job was to climb onto and stand on top of this pile of steaming hot mint waste and hose it down with water from an inch and a half fire hose. Then after I hosed it down for what seemed like forever, he would pack it with the Cat, and a Michigan loader and then another load would come and the process started all over again. I suppose what I was doing with the water was replacing some of the water content that had been squoze out of it to start with. The silage process being that as it was packed, sort of sealed, then it would ferment over the next few months to be fed to the cattle. It was so wicked hot weather wise, and this mint I was standing knee deep in, was still steamin hot from the still. It burned the crap out my feet, and I'd have to keep hosing them down. I can remember neighbors stopping by and making fun of the process and me. For the next few weeks I was permeated with mint. Even after showering, I still smelled like mint where ever I went. Then in the winter when we started to feed that silage... the smell ewwwwwwwww ! I hated mint forever, specially mint tea… When ever I smell mint it takes me back to that summer. Tim could ride with Port for hours on end in that hot dusty John Deere

Averyel's delicious handiwork: The highlight of each day was going up to the house on Douglas Rd, and having lunch lovingly prepared by Averyel. Her cooking was always wonderful, even when she was down to one stove burner. Her theory with kids fighting and misbehaving was they must be hungry ;o)… and she'd distract them with something to eat. There was always homemade treats of some kind. (Seems kind of backward to today's worries of over weight kids... but it was the level of activity that made a difference. They were outside doing and going constantly) As for Averyel's cooking, it was always amazing to me how she could make something special out of anything. They had a wonderful shaded patio, with lots of shaded cool green grass that was like an extra room in the summer. I did end up spending a lot of time there at the house... I'd help Big Port all day and then go up for dinner too. It was so stifling hot in the scale house at the feedlot... We often stayed up at the big house in the evenings until it cooled off.

I know I was a "gunsel" for many years... and asked too many questions... and probably was in the wrong place at the wrong time more than I will ever know... but I eventually learned enough to hold my own, so much so that I never thought about that Lear Jet ever again... and I never could imagine living anywhere but Eastern Oregon for the rest of my life.

Begging to Apprentice: The first few times, I helped horseback, I was put on Averyel's gelding Laddie. He was the finest bridle horse/ranch horse I had ever ridden and he took care of who ever rode him. He had the nicest head set of any horse I was ever on. You could just feather your fingers and he responded. I felt so beautiful when I rode this beautiful horse.

Their youngest son Dean who was in high school at the time, had a magnificent beautiful bay mare that he rode and I was very impressed with how he rode her in a rawhide bosal (hackamore) to do everything and she handled so well for him. I begged and begged Big Port to teach me how to make (train) a hackamore -bridle horse... In the beginning, he told me he wasn't sure I was tough enough to put up with his getting after me. After all he was a tough old bird. The fact of the matter was I could ride anything with my seat and balance, I could ride like an indian. Spent most of my teen years riding bareback, but my hands and brain were all out of sync. I didn't have a clue, what a real bridle horse was or how to use a spade bit, but I was quick to recognize that it was an art and I wanted to learn. Big Port always packed a buggy whip when he rode... didn't matter what he rode, he always had the buggy whip. Sometimes it was for getting after cattle, sometimes it was the "shoo bush" to encourage his mounts to walk as fast as equinely possible without trotting, and sometimes it was for those "out of no-where" reminders tappin my wrists or the saddle horn - alerting me that I was over riding or being too heavy handed again. Crazy as it seemed... and I don't remember ever being out of sorts at his scolding. I just wanted so badly to learn it all.

It was Big Port that put the foundation in me to know how to read a cow. We did lot's of sorting in the feedlot, lots of pairing up out in the pastures... I watched and listened and obeyed like my life depended on it.

Me on Laddie - Do I look just a little intense?
(I don't want to screw up my chances of sorting with the big dogs)

First Time in the Gate: I remember the first time we were sorting alone, he had me working the gate, I was on Laddie and we were sorting steers and heifers... he was bringing them one by one doing the sorting himself and calling 'in' and 'by'... he had this little dingo/queensland dog named "Cindy"... she would like most dogs who weren't supposed to be in the pen... hang out under the fence and grab a heel here and there as they went by... So I'm doing what I'm told, I'm in manual mode, haven't graduated to thinking and doing... but I have figured out by now, that we are putting steers by and heifers in... and I can tell the difference between them (there might even have been a different ear tag) and instead of a single, I can see that he's bringing three head, two steers and one heifer... I'm thinking ok I must be graduating and he's going to let me do something a little harder and I'm mentally preparing for doing the sort... (unbeknownst to me, he's thinking he'll put them all in the steers and then sort the heifer out after) he's getting closer, and closer, and I'm getting ready for him to tell me to split the heifer off, and at the last second... he screams "CINNNNNNDEEEEEEE !!!" and I spurred my horse, jumped out there and split them perfect... he almost split a gut, he hung his head and laughed and laughed. He was actually yelling at the dog - Cindy who had gotten in the pen behind me and I took it as my queue to do the right thing... He rides up and taps my saddle horn with "the handle of his buggy whip" and he tells me there’s one thing he can count on - that if I'm gonna do something on my own, he can count on me to do it big... an it would be either really really right, or really really wrong. That one happened to be really really right. The fact of the matter was, I was so wanting to please him by only following directions, that I was only doing exactly what I was told when I was told to do it, and would not have moved an iota if he hadn't started to yell at Cindy the dog.

By 1985, I was living in Vale on Porter and Larryann's place after Larryann started Law School in LA and Porter Lynn and Russel were at Sun Valley. I was starting colts and day working for other ranchers in the area. I was making it on my own in the ranch/farming community, I was finally considered to be good help. I moved to Burns, Oregon in 1987 and started day working for a few ranches. For many years, I never revealed my Cape Cod heritage, I let them think I was ranch raised. Well and technically I was, it just all happened in about 6-7 years Payette, ID. When Harney County folks would ask me where I was from, my pat answer was "oh mostly from over around the Vale area". I wanted to be respected for what I could do, and did not to be judged by my back ground. How could a Cape Cod girl, possibly know how to read a cow or pull a calf or bale hay? I didn't want to be known as a "Wannabe", I wanted to be known as; "call Cyndy she's good help".

Thank you Willis Family !!

you all contributed to my accomplishments. I will forever be thankful for you letting me become part of your extended family.

Big Port on Marriage: When I married my second husband in 1986, Big Port got him aside... and said Steve have you ever ridden a really fine bridle horse? you know one that you just feather the reins (as he makes this gesture as if holding a rommel, with his thumb facing up, and wiggles his little finger and ring finger) and she slides to stop or spins left or right... does just what you want with as little effort as possible, she does that cause you treated her right to start with, you built trust and confidence, you grained her, and you never hurt her, never spurred her ribs off or ripped on her face. She'd go to the end of the earth for you and then some... You treat that little girl, just like you would a fine bridle horse and you'll have a wonderful life together. (guess who didn't listen?)

Then he told me... while it wasn't quite so profound. "Little Cyndy Girl, You are an exuberant little person and full of life... let your clothes show that, don't settle for browns or beiges, be colorful... always wear bright colors, that are happy and cheerful, and don't let yourself get blah. Over the years, I can't tell you how often, that when I pick out clothes, I hear that conversation as if it was yesterday... and that is the reason so much of what I have is colorful. So you will probably see me Saturday in Booneville wearing something bright and cheerful.

With love and hugs for all you who miss Port,

love cyndy coleman marshall