Frank
Guntley's old place is a winery now but it is well kept. It must have
been about a thousand acres when it was the Guntley Ranch.I don't know
how big it is now but it is still a beautiful piece of property. It seems
like if you didn't have at least one thousand acres in the old days you
weren't any kind of real rancher. Now most of these old ranches are all
broken up.
When
I stopped into the tasting room of Pacific Echo in downtown Philo (which
used to be the Guntley farm house) there was only one person on the whole
place and I asked if I could walk around. "Enjoy your walk", he said.
I remember
that Frank Guntley, like a lot of old farmers, drove a green International
Harvester pickup. He drove it on his ranch and he drove it to town. He
once brought a bull down to my uncle's resort to mate with our cow and
he used this pick-up to lead the bull down what is now Ray's Road. He
didn't load the bull up, he just tied it to the back of the truck. Seems
the bull was stubborn and didn't want to go, so the bull just sat down.
That was not a good tactic to take with Frank, because he just drove off.
I guess the bull must have gotten his legs under him at some point because
he got to the resort in one piece.
In later years
Frank was near blind and had been close to deaf for a long time. None
of this stopped him from going to Philo to get the mail though. Frank
always drove about maybe one mile an hour. My cousin Mike used to say
that Frank put,"that old corn binder in compound and headed for Philo,
and God help anyone who got in the way". Well, that was just about the
size of it. Hell, Frank Guntley was Philo.
Why we called
these trucks,"corn binders" I can't remember (if I ever knew, which I
doubt). But they did have a gear, well below 1st gear or "low", called
compound. Maybe it was a substitute for 4-wheel drive; in any event, you
crawled in compound but nothing could stop you.
Guntley's
old green pick-up could be seen daily heading for Philo, its engine roaring
as he crept along the roadway. Everyone knew it was Frank going to Philo,
and steered clear of him.
One of the
things that those of us on rural mail routes still have is this process
of going to get the mail. To me it is perhaps the one Zen like thing I
do. It is so ceremonial, in a way. Rigid structure to small purpose.
I hop in the
pick-up, drive down the dirt road, turn onto 128 and drive to receive
whatever messages the outside world cares to send me. Not caring for the
messages,I throw them in the trash. However, I do like the process. The
process is the message.
I had
a wonderful walk on the old Guntley place and I took several pictures
and even some video. It is a majestic setting with Valley mountains jutting
up from it's edges and lots of wild flowers spread out in unexpected places.
The old barn
is worth a look, especially it's northeastern side that has a splash of
yellow moss set on a ruby red background. It is a wonder of some biological
phenomenon that I must have missed in Mr. Rapp's science classes at Boonville
High.
