Remembering Ruth Horner - Host of Green Berets and Longhorn Cattle Alike

 Rattlesnake Ridge: Remembering Ruth Horner 

Host of Green Berets and Longhorn Cattle Alike

It was spring of 1973. I stood in the middle of a beautiful field along the Pemigewasset River as veterinarian Paul Piche administered to a large longhorn steer prostrate in the middle of the field. She was suffering from dehydration, a secondary condition brought on by another that I don’t really recall in the fog of time. Dr Paul had treated her for the primary condition, but the fact that she could not stand, attributed to her weakness from dehydration, was now the primary danger to this massive old girl.

Looking over our shoulders that day was a scrappy 70+ year old woman named Ruth Horner. With an old scarf wrapped around her head and a tattered coat and staff to help her maintain her balance, Ruth fretted over her poor girl.

She was also muttering something about her “green berets”. It was so completely out of context that I wondered at the time if Ruth wasn’t a bit “dotty”, in the parlance of the day.

Doc Piche said that she was going to need another liter or two of glucose solution to replace her fluids but if we could just make sure that happened he was confident that she would be up and walking by morning. I was young and filled with the enthusiasm and vigor of youth so I volunteered to go home and get my sleeping bag and stay the night with the old girl.

And so I came to know Ruth Horner. Ruth was no slouch, though you would not know it from her dress when she was home on the farm. For many years she was secretary to one of Plymouth’s most prominent attorneys. George Ray, who was also Plymouth’s town moderator for many years. She knew where all the bodies were buried as it is sometimes said. Alas, she never told me because she was very serious about keeping the confidences of her old boss.

Her home, a modest old farmhouse nestled into the side of a hillside in Thornton had running water only because the gravity-fed spring that came from the hillside managed to deliver it - cold of course - year round unless there was a particularly cold spell, but she had to heat the water herself on her wood cookstove. Her “bathroom” was a “two-holer” privy built into the woodshed that was at the end of a narrow hallway, more inside the attached barn than the house itself. Having never had occasion to use it, I can’t personally attest to the fact that the annual Sears and Roebuck catalog served as her source of toilet paper, but that was common lore.

Ruth at her cookstove

Her cookstove was also her only source of heat.

For about five years after that fateful night, I would visit Ruth in the fall and cut up firewood to ensure she had sufficient wood to keep her warm for the winter.

But on that first night, I shared a cup of coffee with Ruth to warm up before I headed out for the night to keep my patient company. She told me that she had kept a small herd of longhorn herefords for many years. I assume now that she must have sold one or two a year to help make ends meet but she spoke of them and treated them like her beloved pets when she wandered around among them during the day.

Again that night, Ruth made mention of “my green berets” arriving the next day but I was too polite to press her for details about it, still thinking that she was rambling incoherently.

The next morning, at about 5 am, old “Mollie” stumbled to her feet. There was no TikTok moment when the old girl expressed her thanks by nuzzing me as I watched from my sleeping bag. For me, her survival was thanks enough. I watched her amble toward the barn where I am sure an extra helping of grain, along with her hay would be waiting.

Suddenly, the sky was filled with the thumping of rotor blades, and as I looked up, dozens of parachutes unfurled as Army Green Beret paratroopers descended onto the fields of Ruth Horner’s farm. Within an hour the camp had been established for several hundred Green Beret soldiers who, as it turned out, annually used Ruth’s secluded field as their White Mountain training base.

As I left that day I watched as Ruth walked across the field, her herd keeping a safe distance and a wary eye on the jamboree, her wooden staff steadying her progress.

No doubt she was headed off to share breakfast and company with her Green Berets.

Post script:

Sometimes my friends joke about my obsession with photographing washlines. It all began with this image I photographed at Ruth’s house. She was agast that I was taking a picture of her “undies” - so I promised her I would not reveal the source of the image, I hope she won’t haunt me now that I have - 50 years later.

“Washday at the Claus House”

For a signed original of this image, click here:

https://www.waynedking.com/collections/129533

For an unsigned open-edition print of this image, click here:

https://fineartamerica.com/featured/washday-at-the-claus-house-wayne-king.html

About Wayne D. King: Author, podcaster, artist, activist, social entrepreneur and recovering politician. A three-term State Senator, 1994 Democratic nominee for Governor. His art (WayneDKing.com) is exhibited nationally in galleries and he has published five books of his images, most recently, "New Hampshire - a Love Story”. His novel "Sacred Trust" a vicarious, high-voltage adventure to stop a private powerline as well as the photographic books are available at most local bookstores or on Amazon. He lives on the “Narrows” in Bath, NH at the confluence of the Connecticut and Ammonoosuc Rivers and proudly flies the American, Iroquois and Abenaki Flags. His publishing website is: Anamaki.com.