He didn't know how good he was !

by Cyndy Coleman Marshall

Believe it or not... Porter A. Willis was also a "humble" man. While he had an ego as big as the Columbia River, he really didn't know how good he was.


From the first day I met him, I was like a sponge trying to learn and absorb everything I could about cattle and horses Porter Willis style. Of course I thought the sun rose and set on Big Port, I followed him around like a puppy dog. I was willing to do anything... even going underneath the cattle scales... (looking back... I can't believe I did that) I was very happy to be asked to do the yuckiest of jobs. And then they had a hay shed that the trusses were a few inches too low for the harrow bed to unload in. So he took the upper bar off the front of the harrow, the one that holds the hangy down teeth/tines that keep each row of hay bales that are added from falling forward on the table. The problem with this solution, was that the hay fields were all corrugated for flood irrigation... (I'm laughing as write this, remembering how it must have looked to the passer by) While he was driving around the field picking up bales of hay, I would stand on the harrow table, facing the hay bales, with my arms extended over my head (I'm only 5'1" tall at the time weighed about 110lbs) to push/hold the bales in place to keep them from falling forward until the harrow bed was full, and he could put the table up to secure it for the trip to the shed where it was going to be stacked. I was just happy as a clam, riding around on the harrow table in the hot sun all day in this position.

FYI - this is a harrow bed or bale wagon, You can see the forks at the top that are what holds the hay bales in place.

Ok, I've digressed from my original story, but that was another example of how eager I was (or perhaps deranged) to help at anything.
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Over the years, I would learn that working with Big Port then (80-85), I was only seeing the tip of the iceberg of the cattleman that he really was. You see, by the time I came on the scene, they were ranching on a much smaller scale. Except for Dean who was a senior in high school and soon to be going off on his own, the boys were grown and gone with ranch interests and families of their own. Big Port and Averyel were running a small bunch of black/black bally cows and feeding a few head in the Feedlot on a shoe-string budget.


I showed up that summer and was free help... willing to do anything, working for room and board and soaring on cloud nine feeling like I was part of a real life movie. For the next five years, I studied and absorbed and listened and tried to do everything on the ranch and in the feedlot that Port would let me do. He helped me start my first colts, and kept me from killing myself... or was it that the Driftwood/Bras D'or horses that he raised were just plain gentle and level headed enough that any gunsel could start 'em?


Eventually I grew up and left the safety of the shadow of Big Port... I married a rancher from Ironside and moved to Burns. I began showing working cowhorses, and dabbling in amateur cutting horse contests. I eventually bought this beautiful 5 year old mare called Bucky Chex that I was extremely proud of. I showed her in cutting and working cow horse events. I had won a few buckles and really enjoyed the heck out of her.


It was probably in 1993 when I had to take some cattle to the Vale Sale, and decided I'd take some time to go up and say hello to Port and Averyel. They were still living up on the Oregon Slope and it was lunch time when I stopped by... Imagine that, I timed it just right !


I can remember like it was yesterday... Averyel was fussing over the stove and Port was sitting in "his" place at the head of that huge antique dining room table with the window behind him. Was the table mahogany or cherry wood?


"Well, well well, look what the wind blew in... Cyndy girl, what brings you to these parts?"


I had brought a little show and tell with me, a framed 8"x10" photo of Bucky Chex and I working a cow. Feeling like I had reached a worthy milestone with this horse, I wanted to show him what he had made, the fruits of his work so to speak. I wanted to thank Port for all he had taught me. Beaming I handed him the photo. He studied it for a long time and was real quiet... then he said " Cyndy this is fantastic, where'd you learn to do this?"

1992 Bucky Chex HDC Open Champion

Truly I thought he was pulling my leg, that he was kidding me... and that he knew darn right well it was he that had taught me, and he was just building up for his own pat on the back.


I said something sarcastically along the lines of: "Ya right, like you don't know ?!"


He said "No, no I'm serious I want to know who'd you learn this from?" and I said, You, I learned it from you!" and he said "no you didn't..." I said "yes I did..." Noooo, I didn't teach you anything like this." And then I realized that he was dead serious, that he didn't realize he had in fact taught me.


I told him that I had come there that day to "Thank Him" for all he had taught me and I wanted him to know how grateful I was. "But I didn't teach you this" he insisted... I told him, "yes you did, you taught me everything I knew about reading cattle and starting colts on cattle and the rest just came from the foundation you had built. When anyone asked where I learned to read cattle, I told them you were my mentor, you were the one person responsible for my ability to read cattle, it was you Porter Willis.


I can remember shaking my head, thinking to myself he really doesn't know how good he is.
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I can still remember the butt chewing I got the first time I turned my horses butt to a cow to get where I thought I was supposed to be... I also remember the many times of him telling me to slow down... give the horse time to think... wait on the horse to read the cow, and the one most important thing he drilled into me "the horse had to be stopped - before you turned it with the cow". No turning the front end until the hind end was stopped.
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I remember times just sitting horseback with him watching different herds... hearing his soft low voice -"now watch the ears, the ears will tell you everything - which one is going to break and which way she'll go... first you look 'em in the eye and stare them down, ... and then if you need to you, just step this way or that... till they step back... if you sit and do nothing until they're already running you are way too late and the wreck is on. He taught me about a cows comfort zone... others would subsequently call it a bubble. Then there were his words of wisdom about sorting pairs, like just watching the body language and ears to show you where her calf was. I could go on and on, but you get the point.
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There might have been others who have coached me over the years... but I got my foundation as a student of the University of Big Port.


Thank you Porter
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The other vivid memory I have of that day, sitting there at their dining room table, was how proud he was to be helping the "little girl" next door with her horse. And talking of how she had watched his horses over the fence since she was "really" little, and that now as a 13ish young lady, she was totally horse crazy ready to learn, she had begged him to help her. It was so obvious that he was thoroughly enjoying having someone to mentor again. It was obvious that helping her at that time in his life was the highlight his days.

PLAYING CHICKEN WITH A RATTLE SNAKE

by Larryann Willis

On the Buckeye Ranch we have a lot of rattle snakes and they don't really appreciate our presence. One day about 8 years ago Big Port and I were sitting in lawn chairs in the yard. We were enjoying a warm summer evening and he was telling me one of his many stories when suddenly there was a very loud, angry buzzzzzzzz. I looked over and there was a big, ticked-off rattle snake coiled up about 4 feet from my father-in-law's chair. Now Big Port just HATED to be interrupted when he was in the middle of a good story and he just went right on talking. I was sitting on the other side of him, so I felt relatively safe. But I have to tell you, I was very attentive and alert. I guess Big Port must have thought I was enraptured with his tale because I was so transfixed, so he became more animated. Every time he waved his hand that snake got more and more agitated. I knew my father-in-law was tough as nails and I always tried to keep up with him. It was a matter of pride for me not to show I was afraid if he wasn't. So I sat there, determined to stay put as long as he did. But that snake just wouldn't settle down. In fact, it was getting madder and madder. It reared up in the classic rattle snake pose you see just before it strikes with it's head about a foot of the ground and that was just too much for me. I finally, broke into his story, pointed at the snake and said, "Doesn't that snake bother you just a little bit?"

Big Port looked around and zeroed in on that snake that was all reared up and rattling like crazy. By that time in his life Port Sr. had so much trouble with arthritis he had a lot of trouble getting out of a chair and walking. But, when he laid eyes on that snake he just levitated straight up and out of his chair. He moved as faster than he ever did as a kid and almost knocked me clear over on his way out of the area.

That was the first time I realized his hearing was going. He told me, "Gosh, I looked right at that snake and saw it's tail going like crazy but I never heard a thing!" He was terribly impressed by how calm I had remained and I never told him, I was scared to death and just sat there because I thought he was being brave and I didn't want to disappoint him.

THE SAVAGE BAY BEAST

by Larryann Willis

THE SAVAGE BAY BEAST aka Rabbit

When we got home from Port's funeral the horses were grazing high on the mountain above the Buckeye Ranch working corrals. They saw us and the herd of about 25 horses came racing down the mountain with one old, lame, bay gelding coming as fast as his old arthritic legs would carry him. Yes, we still have Rabbit, aka The Savage Bay Beast. He's 22 years old but still the boss horse....and a pain in the neck. Rabbit is one of the best horses we ever raised...and one of the naughtiest. He's a fantastic cow horse and no matter how bad the footing is, even today, old rabbit stands up like a mountain goat. When he was young, one of his favorite past times was standing under a shelter and kicking the roof with both hind feet. That's right. He'd just stand on his head and kick straight up clobbering the metal on the 8 foot roof. I'm sure he did it to keep in practice for the next time he decided to buck, which used to occur on a regular basis. Mostly he was good to ride and such an athlete that we put up with the occasional bucking outbursts, but every so often if you asked him to do something he didn't want to, he uncorked.

It must have been about 1991 and Rabbit must have been a 5 year old when we took him to his first branding at the Miller and Wood Ranch Rob was managing near Bishop, CA. We had quite a few calves to brand at the Mammoth Cow Camp corrals and were having a good old fashioned rancher get together. Rob had pulled his pick up into the middle of the corral and we had a branding fire going next to it and the vaccine and other paraphernalia in the pick up, along with numerous children we were trying to keep out of trouble while still allowing them to feel like they were part of the action. Everything went along smoothly until I decided it was time to see how Rabbit liked roping calves.

I had been swinging a rope on Rabbit and dragging logs and he seemed fine, so I thought he was ready for the next step. Maybe I should have started with a little bit smaller calf but a big 400 lb bull calf with 4 inch horns was handy so I caught him with a head shot and started to pull him for my heeler. Rabbit thought it was fine for me to throw the rope and take my dallies and even turn and start for the fire....BUT when that 400 lb pull hit the saddle horn he decided he didn't like that at all. Rabbit blew up, throwing a major temper tantrum, kicking high and bellowing. I hung on to my dallies for dear life because that's all that was keeping me on. Rabbit bucked right through the branding fire scattering the ground crew, branding irons and flaming wood everywhere. The kids in the truck had the best seat in the house and I could them whooping and hollering as we bucked by. Rabbit bucked past the pick up and around the front of it, dragging the bull calf behind him. The calf stuck a horn in Rob's headlight shattering it and I could hear Rob yelling to get that @#$%? outta his corral!

Rabbit bucked around the pickup and back into the open corral where he was really getting going, when Big Port came riding in. He slammed his mare into Rabbit's left side shoving him hard enough that he brought his head up to see who was interfering with his show. That gave Big Port his chance and he grabbed the rein next to the snaffle and gave Rabbit a good shake. Rabbit responded by biting Big Port on the arm. Big Port slugged him in the face and followed it with several Luis L'Amour style jabs to the nose each time Rabbit tried to bite him again and again.

While Rabbit and Big Port were slugging it out, the calf was still trying to get away running circles around both horses. Rabbit and Port's mare ended up tied together like a Christmas package, with the calf putting the final touches on it by running under their bellies. He finally used up the last of my 50 rope and ended with his head sticking out from under Rabbit by my stirrup. The good news was there was no way Rabbit could buck any more, with us all wrapped up that way.

Rabbit finally figured out his temper tantrum wasn't getting him anything but a bloody nose so he quit fighting. The dust started to settle and Big Port coolly and calmly said to me, "I do believe it would be ok for you to turn loose of your dallies now."

I have to say I was a little nervous doing so because I wasn't sure Rabbit was finished. But he was .....in more ways than one. Rob was furious and ordered him OUT OF THE BRANDING CORRAL!!!!!

The next day Porter Lynn decided to "straighten the SOB out." So he rode in and roped a big calf with him. Rabbit did the same thing, blew up and went to squalling and bucking. Port let loose of his dallies and lined him up on a railroad tie post. Rabbit hit it head first and knocked himself silly. Port Lynn figured he'd learned his lesson, so he tied into another calf. Porter Lynn was right Rabbit wasn't any dummy and had learned his lesson. This time when he blew up he stayed away from the fence. Porter Lynn was a good bronc rider and decided to just ride him through it, so he didn't let go of his dallies. Rabbit saw he couldn't throw Porter Lynn so he purposely turned so the rope hit Porter Lynn on the side and knocked him off. They had quite the knock down, drag out fight that went on all day. And Rabbit showed everyone that the rope trick was no accident. The day ended in a draw. Porter Lynn got some calves roped on him and Rabbit dumped Port off a couple of times. Porter Lynn's final evaluation was, "I guess Rabbit doesn't want to be a rope horse. But he's sure good to sort on and ride in the mountains." So we kept him. We had to, As Porter Lynn said, "We wouldn't want to ruin our reputation by selling a dirty bronc like that to anybody." The funny thing is that Rabbit is a wonderful kids' horse. He just doesn't like to be roped on.

From that time on Big Port always referred to Rabbit as "The Savage Bay Beast". I was sure glad to see my father-in-law ride in to my rescue because I don't think that bay horse would have quit until I was on the ground. Thanks Big Port! You were always there when we needed you.

Friend - Family - Mentor

by Mardi Motley Juhl

I got to know the Willis clan way back in the early 1970's when my then-husband, Lindsay Motley, and I moved from San Luis Obispo north to a little, lumber town not far from the north-west corner of Oregon. Lindsay and Porter Lynn were friends, or at least acquaintances, at Cal Poly.

Porter had invited Lindsay to come north to work with his dad and brothers on the cattle ranch they were running in Clatskanie, the CRA. Young and ambitious at the time, Lindsay arrived at the ranch with the dream of someday becoming the ranch foreman. However, we hadn't been there very long when reality crept in and Lindsay figured out that even if he could someday outlive Big Port, there was no way he could outlive all four of his sons who were sure to be standing in line before him. So, Lindsay settled in pretty quickly to life as a ranch hand.

If you've read Larryann's and Cyndy's blogs about the ranch you already have a pretty good idea of what my memories were like. When I think about Big Port, no matter where or when the memory, I think about him astride a big red studhorse. Most who knew him could share that about him. But in my case, one of my memories about Port and his stud is a little unique. When I came to the CRA I had a slender, sorrel mare that I college rodeoed on. Even by Willis standards, the mare was a pretty decent reining horse and pretty handy. I not only competed on her in barrel racing, but I roped and gathered cattle on her at the CRA and at the feedlot. While at the CRA, I came home one day after work to find my mare missing from the pasture. I jumped in the truck racing around the ranch to find Lindsay, sure she'd been stolen. When I finally tracked him down he didn't seem too concerned. He disclosed that he had turned the mare out to pasture with Big Port's big red studhorse, deciding that I would never get the few ranch colts that I had ridden if I kept depending on her. I ended up raising two fillies out of that mare and Big Port studs; and owned her first dark chestnut filly for a very long time, raising one really nice cutting horse filly out of her. So I guess I forgave Lindsay and Big Port for their conspiracy.

I could go on and on about all of my many adventures on the CRA ranch in Clatskanie – watching the guys castrate and break the colts; the brandings and cattle drives, bottle raising lambs and trying to get beef cows to accept multiple orphan calves, like a dairy nurse cow would…that was Larry's idea and I just about got my head kicked off trying! And did anyone ever mention the RAIN! Lord, what wet country that was…hardly your ideal for a cattle ranch.

Or then there were the Payette feedlot memories, where Big Port let me go around and pick up all the baby calves that were born in the feed pens and bottle raise them in the backyard of the feedlot house where Lindsay and I lived. By the time I made bottles for them all, got them their morning feeding, then cleaned all the bottles, it was time to start all over again for the afternoon feeding! Back then, Big Port would often bellow in his huge bigger-than-life voice, "well, hello there, child of the sun!" It was kind of a 'hippy name', so I thought it was appropriate for the time. I assumed that he coined it because of my sunny disposition. It was many, many years later, however, that he shared with one of my friends that I was rather a "fair weather cowgirl" and the only time he'd see me on horseback was when the sun was shining! DANG!!! I don't remember THAT?

But the memories that are the very clearest for me and most meaningful were all the ways the Willis' took Lindsay and I in as FAMILY. Lindsay and I were both southern California born and raised city brats. Lindsay knew a whole lot more about sheep than he did about cattle when we came to the CRA that first year out of college. And the only horse'n around that I'd ever done was my four years of barrel racing, goat tying and my poor attempts at break-away roping at the college rodeos. A "HAND" I clearly was not!!!

Porter Lynn reminded me not too long ago, as I became frustrated over my nephew's first fumblings around a round pen, that it use to drive him crazy that I couldn't seem to understand why the cattle wouldn't run through the hole I was determined to stand in?? I honestly don't remember that much either, cause the Willis' never really made a big deal about it. They never insisted I just stay home and not come, or never really put me down or outright told me how dumb I was. Sure they all, especially Big Port, would bellow their directions. But everyone seemed to get Big Port's wrath at one time or another. So I never took it personally. Dude-ess or not, I ALWAYS felt at home in the Willis house.

I can't count the number of times that everyone on the ranch, from the Willis boys to the farmhands, stomped through Averyel's kitchen on the way to an afternoon feast following some branding or harvest venture. Muddy boots, smelly jeans, soaking wet jackets and chaps, it never seemed to matter to Averyel or Big Port that we were in the 'bosses' home. We were all, always welcome at their table. And their table was always FULL of Averyel's awesome ranch cooking. Whenever I think of Big Port and dinner, I picture T-bone steaks with that special Willis sauce (catsup, dill pickle juice and brown sugar and lemon) broiled into it. It was true that Lindsay was just one of the ranch hands, as I mentioned at the beginning of all of this. And I was just a tag-along. But, we never felt like "just hired help". We were treated as FAMILY.

Even years after leaving the feedlot, moving on to our own little ranch, then into the cutting horse world, and eventually on to divorce, the Willis' seemed determined to keep track of me, popping in at my home in Galt, CA; with Big Port's promise that if I ever wanted to be horseback again he'd make sure I was mounted! Then tracking me down again six or seven years later and inviting me out to the Buckeye to gather cattle. They never lost track of me throughout all these many, many years! How honored and loved that makes me feel!

For sure I can say that Big Port saved my life on more than one occasion; sometimes intervening when I was tangled up in my lass-rope about to get my fingers cut off or pulled off my horse; or just making sure I was ALWAYS mounted on some big, stout, super-safe horse (like Kahlua) who was never going to sell out on me in a pinch.

But the rescue I'm most grateful for was in the spring of 1990, a few years after my divorce. I'd been living alone, totally abandoning my cowgirl roots and living on and off in the Bay area. Confused and totally lost about what I wanted to do when I grew up (I was, by then, almost 40), I was talking to Big Port on the phone one evening and shared that I really didn't know which way to turn. In his calm, seemingly unaffected way, he suggested that I "go to the mountains" and let the wind blow through my hair for a summer. Encouragingly, he told me to call his friends the Roser's (sorry, I've forgotten how to spell their name!). They have a pack station in Mammoth, he said, and he was sure, with my riding skills and people skills, that they'd hire me to take day rides out from the pack station. "You need to get horseback again, child-of-the-sun" he said. "Get out of that city and get some fresh air in your lungs… you'll find your way home." So I called the Roser's and on Big Port's name and recommendation alone, they hired me for the summer. I spent the first three days taking day-rides out, then spent the rest of the summer leading packers out into the John Muir wilderness and making pineapple upside-down cake in a cast-iron pot over an open fire! I'd NEVER camped out a day in my life! But that summer I became a camp cook, part-time wrangler, and even learned how to pack my own mules and balance my pack boxes. I slept alone under the stars, fourteen miles into the wilderness, over shale pathways not much wider than I was --- which was a WHOLE LOT less wide than I am today! I can't describe all the fears I over came that summer and how much I grew from the experience.

Big Port's advise and wisdom worked. I ended up going back to college after that summer, got my Master's degree in Marriage and Family Counseling, and found my way into the world of foster care. I guess after that summer, I figured out there wasn't much I couldn't do if I set my mind to it. I am now the administrator of a fast growing Foster Family agency, working with abused and neglected children. I still ride, start my own colts (now with a little help from my nieces), live in the mountains just above Sacramento, and still dream of the times that I roped and branded, and slopped through the mud with Big Port looking after me. Thank you, pops! I still hear myself, as I'm coaching my nieces with their horses, saying things like, "Big Port use to say…"; making sure that they know how important a teacher you were for me.

You did a grand job looking out for all of us who seemed drawn to you and your BIG ways. I will miss you more than you know. But will always think of you in the fondest of ways and still continuing to look after me!

You were truly my FRIEND, my FAMILY, and my MENTOR!

Love and blessings to all of your family. Mardi (Motley) Juhl.

Rest in Peace Porter Willis, We love you

By Cyndy Coleman Marshall

Empty boots

The Eubanks Grove, surrounded by stately old Redwoods, was a perfect setting for Porter's Service. The pictures do not do justice to the natural beauty we were surrounded by.

Hearts filled with good memories to share

Rest in Peace Porter Willis, we love you

Sigh.... I'm writing this as I'm sitting in the Oakland Airport waiting for my flight back to Oregon.

Averyel and family put together most fitting send off for Big Port, he was such a dynamic man. The service was in Booneville, CA, it is the place of Porter's birth, he was raised there, and then he and Averyel lived there for the first two years of their marriage giving birth to their first born Porter Lynn.

This beautiful serene stately grove of CA Redwoods just up a little draw, was the place of early family reunions, so what a natural and fitting place to gather and honor the life of Big Port. The pioneer cemetery where Porter's parents are buried was a short walk up thru the grove to the top of hill that has a beautiful view of Anderson Valley. It took me back in time to simpler life... wishing the trees could talk. It was serene listening to the birds singing, the wonderful acoustic guitar music... the happy children's gurgles and laughter... and the tears we shared for the love of a wonderful man that binds us all together. The visual serenity among those giant redwoods is beyond description, surrounding the flag draped casket, with his "last" favorite silver belly hat on top, and his empty cowboy boots beside.

The service honored every part of his life... his being a "larger than life", "one of kind" gentleman, an honest, STRAIGHT forward man of integrity, a first class horseman and cattleman, his being one of our military hero's, and being full of his own brand of unique humor, being noble and honorable in the company of women, especially his beloved Averyel. He was a lover of the outdoors, of his family, grandchildren and friends and good horses.

Sigh... this little blurb just doesn't do it justice... but I wanted to give you a little glimpse of Porter's sendoff before boarding my flight back to Oregon. Wish I taken some cell phone pics, I could have sent them to the blog... You'll see pics and eventually some video clips here.

Please please... write down your memories and stories and send to the blog... when you use the email link, it goes directly to the blog and then I can paginate and move pictures around. I suggest CCing your email to me in case it gets lost in cyberville... I'll have a copy for.

My personal direct email is cowhorse777@netscape.com

We love you Porter Willis... thank you for being such a dynamic "in your own special style" kind of man, husband, father, uncle, son, nephew, grand dad, great grand dad, friend, brother. I am truly a better person for having had you in my life. I thank God for you and your family. I love you.

Love Cyndy

Tougher than John Wayne

by Larryann Willis

Son Porter Lynn and wife Larryann

Real cowboys eat pistachios shell'n all. When Porter Lynn Willis and I were first married and moved to Clatskanie, OR to help Porter A Willis run Columbia River Associates, I remember how awed I was by my father-in-law. It was just like having John Wayne as your father-in-law, except that Porter A. Willis was for real...not some make believe movie star cowboy. He had the same effect on everyone. Especially the neighbor boys Steve, Mike and Ricky James who used to hang around and help, Steve, in particular.

One night we were shipping cattle off of Tenasillahe Island in the middle of the Columbia River. We started before daylight and had to gather the cattle off of the 1200 acre island, then barge them across the river and drive them up the road a ways to some makeshift corrals where we loaded them onto cattle trucks for the trip to the CRA feedlot in Payette, ID.

It was late at night and raining. We were drenched and trying to load cattle by car headlights into dark cattle trucks. Needless to say, the cattle didn't want to load. Everybody was exhausted and hungry because we had not been able to stop for dinner. The James brothers had come down to watch the excitement and 10 year old Ricky James was sitting on the fence eating some red pistachio nuts that were still in the hard shells. My father-in-law saw that Ricky was eating something and jumped his horse out to where Ricky was sitting. Slid to a stop and side passed over. He held out his hand and said, "Hey kid, give me some of those peanuts." Ricky said, "But, Mr. Willis, they're not...." Port cut him off and growled, "Come on kid I'm in a hurry. " So rather than argue with his hero, Ricky just pours him a handful of hard shelled pistachio nuts. Port stuffed them all in his mouth and Ricky finally got out, "But MR. WILLIS! They're NOT peanuts. They're pistachios!" Port sat there on his horse, looked Ricky right in the eye and crunched up the pistachios shells and all. You could hear the crunching clear across the corral. Ricky was awe struck. Port leaned over to him and said, "Kid, if you wanna be a cowboy, you gotta learn to be TOUGH!" Then he turned his horse and rode over to me. He was sure it was out of the light and dark enough where the boys couldn't see him and he spit out all those pistachio shells and said, "Damn, I thought those were peanuts." The James boys never got over the show. Pretty soon it was all over town that Porter Willis was so tough, why he even ate pistachio nuts shells and all!

That was my father-in-law.

Rank Stud horse, steals saddled mare - Dean and all One of the scariest things I ever saw was when we were moving about 600 head of cattle at the Emmett Lynch Ranch near Walla Walla, WA. My father-in-law always preferred to ride stallions. They suited his personality better and were tougher than mares and geldings.

He had been using his stallion Drifting Sands and had worn the stud horse out, so he switched horses with his wife Averyel, and gave her the stud to ride and he switched to a nice, fresh gelding. His youngest son, Dean, had come along for the cattle drive. He was about 8 years old and was riding a dark chestnut mare called Winema. I was on a young 3 year old stud colt that was out for one of his first rides. We had to take the cattle through a field where an unbroke and undisciplined older stallion lived with a few mares. That particular stallion didn't think he had enough mares and was on the prowl for more to ad to his harem. The greedy stallion spotted little Dean riding along on a very attractive mare that he wanted. The stud horse swooped down the mountain ,cut Dean and Winema out and started driving them up the mountain to his little band of mares. Dean couldn't stop the mare because she was more afraid of the stallion than she was of a little boy. Winema was going to go where that big, rank stud horse told her to go. Averyel saw what was happening and was instantly in "save my son mode". She was closest and went charging after Dean and Winema whom the rank stallion was herding away... not realizing that she was also now mounted on a stallion. I yelled at Averyel that she was on a stallion and to keep away. I don't think she ever heard me. All she cared about was getting Dean back. That big, rank stud horse whirled around and saw Averyel and Drifting Sands coming after the mare he had just stolen, so he attacked Drifting Sands. (two mature stallions will fight to the death)

Big Port had been on the far side of the cattle when the wreck started. He came whipping and spurring across straight through the herd of cattle with that gelding flat scatting and jumping cattle to get there. Big Port rammed that gelding at high speed right in between those two stud horses as they came together. The big, rank mare thieving stallion reared and came right up over the saddle horn spinning Port in the saddle as he tried to crawl over gelding. Port had a buggy whip he always carried. He reversed it and with the handle end beat that stud horse off, knocking him kind of silly. Which was fortunate because it gave Averyel time to get away.

Dean had managed to turn Winema around and get back to the rest of us while the thieving stallion's attention was on Drifting Sands and Big Port. The rest of the hands got their ropes down and finally chased the thieving stallion off. Talk about "high adrenalin" !!!

That was one of the most western, scariest things I ever saw in my life and I don't know of any body but my father-in-law who could have got there in time to save his wife. It was really something to see.

Porter Alexander Willis was the kind of hero they make up in the movies, but he was for real. There will never be another like him. We love you Port! And we will miss you.

Love, Larryann

Addendum:

After we were finished moving the cattle around on Emmett Lynche's Nine Mile Ranch that year, we hired Dick Gibford to stay up there and look after the cows we left. We had warned him about the rank old ranch stallion in the 600 acre field that he would have to ride through to check the cows. A few months later we came back to gather and ship and asked Dick how he got along with that rank stallion. Dick said, "Hmmmm, I never even saw him." We said, "Really? He was so bad when we were here we thought for sure you'd have trouble with him."Dick thought for a minute and said, "Oh, I guess I maybe I did see him one time. I was just riding along twirling my loop and darned if that ole stud horse didn't come along and stick both front feet right in it. After that, I never did see him again."

At home on the Buckeye

by Cyndy Coleman Marshall

Larryann's brother Kent sent this great picture of Port sitting at the kitchen table of Port and Averyel's Buckeye Ranch home. Porter was a voracious reader and always had a book handy... And my guess is that while Kent was snapping this picture, Averyel was probably over at the cookstove, making Port a cup of tea with just the right amount of sugar... or was it honey? and fresh lemon to go with it.

Home to Port and Averyel was to be surrounded by the legacy of family. Every where they traveled, they always had gobs of fresh photos of children, grandchildren, great grandchildren and the latest events of sports activities, graduations, weddings or family reunions. The photo below of the living room bookcase shows what was most important to them; "their family".

My Memory of Encouragement from Big Port

by Cindi Jones

Laurie, Cyndy and Cindi in front of Chubby at Kelly Flat Trap

My first trip to the Buckeye Ranch was on Memorial Weekend 2002. This was the start of many annual Memorial Day Weekend trips to help with the cattle and visit with friends. Big Port rode with us that year and it was also my first trip down "Snowy River". For all of you that have had the chance to ride it, you know the feeling, for those of you that haven't, the name says it all. I had heard a lot of stories about Big Port, and I knew I had better "cowgirl up" and get the job done. The Willis' had put me on one of their good horses and Big Port rode over to me and said, "that horse knows what to do, but that doesn't mean you don't have to ride him". Needless to say, I knew the eyes of Big Port where upon me! I think I sat up a little taller that day and when we started down "Snowy River", I could see Big Port a head of me and off to my left side, looking back to see how I was doing. And when we got to the bottom and the cattle were finally all through the gate, he came over and said "well you made it, didn't ya"!

On May 6th, 2004 while at home in Oregon, I had had a serious riding accident and was unable to make the annual Memorial Weekend trip. It took a year for the broken bones to mend, but the mental part of the accident was still fresh. I left for the 2005 Buckeye trip, not knowing if I would be able to ride or not. Thinking I could go for the visiting and just stay around camp and maybe do the cooking for everybody that year. Well, that was not the plans of the Willis'. Everyone works at the Buckeye!

The first day we did some shipping and that went good. The next day it was up to Willow Springs to gather the cattle and start them down to the main ranch for shipping. That only meant one thing to me - - "Snowy River". Big Port was not riding any more and so it was decided to put me on his horse "Chubby". Ok, now I am really nervous, not only am I going to have to do the "Snowy River" ride, but on Big Port's horse and I know he's going to watching me, Ugh! The afternoon before, I had a long talk with Big Port about my accident and how it had really shaken my confidence. He listened and told me that "Chubby" had done that ride many times, and she would take good care of me. But that didn't mean "I didn't have to ride her". The morning of the ride, we hauled up to Willow Springs and unloaded the horses. Big Port came over and re-chinched my saddle, bridled her and then told me to "get on her and trot up the road and back". Then he also gave me instructions on how to ride her down "Snowy River". He added that "Chubby" knew how to do gates and to not let her get away with not side passing over to the gate and standing still while you work the gate.

Me (Cindi) on Big Port's mare "Chubby"

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So off we went. Cyndy and Laurie went one way and I was sent with Porter Lynn another direction. I was so busy gathering and pushing cattle that I was not even thinking about coming off at the top of "Snowy River" when Porter Lynn rode over to me and said, "are you ok with this"? Thinking he was talking about where we were at the moment I said "sure". The next thing I knew, "Snowy River" loomed before me and there was no turning back. So I didn't even have time to think about it, I just got in there and rode.

Snowy River, straight down. You can see the lead of the cattle in the clearing to the top right of the photo, there is a rider beside them. It's so steep you can't see the cattle in between. The reservoir at the bottom is Willow Springs.

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The ride went so well and I felt so good, that I even took my camera out and took pictures. At the bottom, I was the last one to the gate and so it was my job to shut it. "Chubby" slowly side passed up to the gate, but didn't quit get all the way over, so I leaned way over to latch it. Feeling pretty good about the ride, I rode in to Willow Springs with the rest of the crew. And waiting there was Big Port. The first thing he said was "well you made it." And the very next thing was, "but you didn't make "Chubby" do the gate, did ya"? I don't know where he had been watching from, but the Eyes of Big Port were upon me. I just had to smile, hang my head and say "no I didn't". I don't know if he ever knew how much that day meant to me, but his encouragement and stern words, gave me back the confidence that I had missed for the last year.

If I ever get the chance to ride "Snowy River" again, I know the Eye's of Big Port" will be upon me and I'll be sure to do that gate right.

Thank you Port, I am gonna miss you, Cindi Jones

Cindi Jones and Chubby

Plaid Shirts & Butterfly Kisses

by Laurie Kemp

Hello Family & Friends, today is Thursday and you are probably packing up for the trip to Booneville. I don't envy you the heat, and watch out for the smoke. My firefighter brother-in-law who lives in Chico says being outside is like looking thru rose colored dark glasses. So, have you all noticed that in almost every picture Big Port is wearing a blue checked shirt...so how many did he own?? I'm assuming it was his favorite color & shirt! Well here's my best memory: When I was saying good-by to Big Port in the hospital last Memorial weekend on a whim I gave him butterfly kisses on his cheek, they were my daughter, Katy's favorite kind. And I will leave it at that. Much love & prayers to all, Laurie Kemp

Farewell Big Port, we'll miss you

by Cyndy Coleman Marshall

Timmy and Big Port, 1983 Washoe - Payette, ID
~~~~~~~~~~~
Reunited again July 3, 2008, "in Heaven"

Timothy R Smith 8-2-75 / 8-31-01 ~ Porter A Willis 2-26-23 / 7-3-08

Porter A. Willis, Sr. aka Big Port, Port Sr, Port, Porter passed away yesterday, July 3rd after a valiant 5-6 week fight to recover from a quadruple bypass heart surgery and complications. He was a dear friend and mentor, and the only grandfather my sons, Tim and Eric "really knew". He is the one person in my life most responsible for my foundation in cowhorse - cowboy - cow knowledge.

Seeing this pic of Tim and Big Port after I uploaded it was kind of surreal...

Here I was - happy go lucky sorting through pics of Big Port that were already in digital format on my computer, putting them in folder, uploading them... and then started to write my thoughts. I had just written the title Farewell Big Port and then scrolled down to the first picture... which was the pic of Tim, Big Port and the tractor and I had the realization and visualization for the first time that for Tim, it wasn't Farewell, but "Hello Big Port" and of him greeting Big Port in Heaven...

Thinking of you with love, cyndy coleman marshall

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