that when I put her new top on she resembled the Prairie Schooners of old. She looked so sporty that I decided to let her show off Old Glory!
If ever an inanimate object were awarded a philosophical degree The Schooner would be most deserving of that decree. The Schooner has glided along the breadth, length, and depth of Red River’s waters; thrusting her bow into bench mark floods without regard to the intrusions in her path. Red water and foamy scum have left their indelible imprint on her skin. She has crept down Red River, weaving around sandbars, logs and snags. The Schooner knows about Red River's dehydrated state during the dog days of summer.
Deer, bear, mink, beaver and river otter have submitted to her intrusion. The Bald Eagle has displayed, to her, its commanding presence and the magnificent little tern — its fight for existence. She has visited the watery world of the Red River mollusks. The Schooner understands the correlation between river, life and man, perhaps better than any philosopher ever can.
If she could only talk — but Oh — she has that covered too! She has appointed me her spokesman. Alas, The Schooner and I have reached a mutual agreement; I have learned to give in to
her every demand and she has learned, that I am always in command! The schooner and me are headed out for two weeks of seeing red. We're headed to Fulton, Arkansas and it's too late to turn back now.
