Cowboy Mac ‘n Cheese

This belongs to my father– his way of whipping up something quick and easy when he’s settling in for the evening, when he’s got a slow pace to relax, watch a little TV before bed, read in a book or the newspaper– just by himself at home when it’s cold outside– when he doesn’t have soup or chili on the stove… 

I used to fall asleep at home, “back home” listening to the cold wind or the coyotes in the barren wheat field.  I remember hiding under layers of cotton-fill quilts and blankets, just in case the coyotes got too close to the house.  Was I a chicken?  Perhaps not, because in the warm months, I sometimes got up in the middle of the night, dressed in my nightgown at nine or ten years-old, barefoot, and I would go outdoors to walk in the yard under the moonlight.  I thought it was the most beautiful thing to see the trees’ limbs silhouetting in the moonlight, my parents’ flowers and garden reflections in the backyard– the way they even appeared at night under the moon along with the sounds of the night.  Nobody knew– I was a brave girl!  I loved the seclusion, the secret that only I had– that no one knew their little girl or sister was walking around outdoors, that extended unto four acres of land–in her nightgown!  I’d eventually walk through our small fruit orchard, my parents’ love for those trees kept them strong and coming back each year with apricots, apples, peaches…  We had nectarines… But my parents never knew I was outdoors admiring what they skillfully planted, not only for the sake of common interest that they shared in gardening and flowers– but I was a grateful child, admirable of what they did.  I still am.  

There were times during the warm spring or summer days when I’d sneak away– several miles on foot from our home, headed over to a creek where I’d go with my three older brothers once in a while, and with our little sister when she was big enough– but I knew where to go as a little one, alone– would only know by having three big brothers…  I went to a sandy road– barefoot, again– to feel the softened sand through my toes, and where there were Sand Hill plum trees growing wild, a few… the hardwood trees grew close to each other on up the road– mature from their years of growth and age, umbrelling the sandy road, that if you were going on a long walk in the heat, you could stop and cool off on that road where it was shaded by the trees’ branches and limbs of foilage.  There was a stream that flowed near those trees, a clear spring where I’d put my feet in and play with the water and the pebbles– Can you tell I had three big brothers?– 

I loved the tadpoles in another location near the house, but a bit far for a little girl on foot; but I played with minnows and tadpoles as often as I played with grasshoppers and butterflies; caterpillars, lightening bugs– as children love to do.  Funny– My father always thought I was bound to be grounded in the house, under my mother’s apron too much.  Partly, that is true– but a good thing; another thing is, I was out, out of the house on my own time, just not under the hood of a truck, a farm truck– not on a tractor, not under one…  No, I may not have been “daddy’s girl” but I was– AM, just as I was hers, my mother’s– and still am… 

So we grew up, and I was able to have my first little boy.  I’d take him back there to see my dad; and there was a time when we saw him much…  He’d make this– called it, “Cowboy Mac ‘n Cheese,” as he clowned and talked to my little boy; as he used to clown for my nephews and neice in the same way…  now my other two little ones when they get to see their Grandpa.  Those times are not often, now.  We live far, a bit…  I loved how my father would clown for all of us, from the time my siblings and I were small to now– for my own kids–And how he’d put something quick together and get us to believe it was such a fine meal!  Oh, it was– It was from him.  You don’t realize how good food is until after time’s gone– when it was so good because of the hands who made your food, who put that love, time and care into each step to give you a meal so all of you could be together that one time that stands out in your mind.

The last time he had this made, he made it with ham.  It was late in the evening.  A comfort about dropping in to see your folks or your grandparents– something warm on the stove left, or something that they pull out to feed you because that’s what they did your whole life— care for you.

…  while you boil salted water for 1 pound of pasta, any kind.