As the real nature of what was happening in the late 70s to early 80s hit us and many, many others in what still is, this ongoing transitional time in the new "Lean and Mean Capitalism", though Mrs. Coyote and I managed to hold it all more or less together until 1982, when it all unravelled. Then in our early 40s, the Mrs and I, "BOOM!", found ourselves suddenly farming on the historic Douglas Lake Ranch for then owner Chunky Woodward. (There were those down in the mud, the blood and the beer events that led to there, of course, but that's another story... not for here.)
(Chunky, the Lord of Douglas Lake, many of you will know, now deceased, was the owner of then Woodward's Stores. Which too eventually became a victim of "The Recession" and the collapse of retail consumption that was part of it, as the Recession went on and on. Then, as now, "Recovery" just around the next corner.)
Which poem I wrote the second winter after arriving at Douglas Lake. But, I think, gives a feel for the place.
My Brother, The Coyote