My Take Tuesday: Operation Santa Claus

Way out where the ponderosa pine lean to the sun,

Where the high desert wind and the bitterbrush run,

A herd once stood proud on that Oregon land—

A dream born from snow, guided gently by hand.

Sagebrush whispers on a crimson plain,


Where basalt cliffs bear wind and rain.


Snowcaps glint past juniper’s bend,


Redmond stands where earth won’t end.

It started with John Zumstein and a spark from the North,

A handful of reindeer he bravely brought forth.

From Alaska they came with their thick northern coats,

To Redmond they marched like a sleigh full of hopes.

They thrived in the dust where sleigh bells were heard,

Trading tundra for chaparral, western in word.

Then Mike and Cindy Gillaspie, with love in their grip,

Took hold of the reins for a decades-long trip.

They trained them for parades, for film and for show,

They taught them to prance, they taught joy to grow.

From Ernest Saves Christmas to Disneyland nights,

Their herd became magic in antlered delights.

But time, like snowfall, has ways of retreating—

And Mike and Cindy gave a final warm greeting.

Their herd found new homes, and two stayed with me—

Maximus strong, and sweet Yuki, carefree.

Now Maximus has passed, but he left us a sign.

That feels like a whisper of something divine.

A promise frozen in nitrogen, a new life begun—

Proof that their legacy still rides with the sun.

Yuki stood like a statue in snowfall and hush,

With frost on her lashes and velveted plush.

A crown of ice clings to each gentle tine—

The winter was hers, and the moment was mine.

You won’t find the ranch on a map anymore,

No boots by the gate, no wreath on the door.

But magic’s not housed in fences or stalls—

It lives in each hoofbeat when winter snow falls.

And when that new calf takes its first breath of air,

You’ll know Operation Santa Claus in still right here.

‘Cause legends ain’t buried—they roam, and they breathe,

In calves with a sparkle come each Christmas Eve.

DocBott