These memories of my father, Rollo W. Woodward, are written to be read aloud in mixed groups. 'Mixed' means, as the narrative explains, women, children and men. Our local version of the western story-telling tradition - now faded away - was a clear and colorful backdrop to my youth in Cache Valley, a swath of Rocky Mountain beauty carved into northern Utah and southern Idaho. If not reading aloud, but only to yourself, you will be most comfortable if you bring along your story-listening frame of mind. The pace of my father's stories falls in with the cadence of rural western speech - slow and rhythmic. Colloquialisms are crusty; the voice soft and rusty; the humor understated and wry. Endings circle back with a gentle punch, sometimes just a nudge. Repetition is comforting. Nostalgia is more than it first seems. Irony is hesitant. Factual accuracy is optional.