"Virginia City, NV, Sunday, April 21, 1996. Sawdust Corner Restaurant." Those words on a yellowing paper place mat and the poem scribbled below them caught my eye as they have so many times since that day.
I had met an old cowboy as he dismounted a bay horse and flipped the reins over a hitching post. His presence, the sweat on his crumpled hat, the weathered leather belt around his slim waist, his boots of an age impossible to guess, spoke to his profession and his time doing it.
Happily he didn't mind the intrusion when I spoke to him. His words flowed as a laconic poem of life on the eastern slopes of the Sierra. He hadn't had it easy, he said, but he considered himself a lucky man. Colors, textures, and attitudes were most important to him.
"Frank 'n open," he said, "I c'n be with souls like that."
His remark seemed to include all critters, especially the horses in his life. He treated them well, he told me, and they got him where he went. He rubbed the bay's neck as he said it, and the horse nickered. In response, he scratched the horse's ear with a hand that demanded a stare.
He saw what I stared at and told me "They's the marks a' struggle. My days begin in hope an' my hands carry out the work. Leastwise," he laughed, "I know I wern't lazy."
I laughed with him. "Would you like a beer?"
"Don't mind if I do. Thanks."
We had the beer, and the visit was over too soon.
"Gotta take care a' the bay," he said, "He's gotta get me home."
The old cowboy patted my shoulder with that same gnarly hand, and I feel it now as then, and want to tell his story. But when this muse envelopes me and I try to fill the gaps in the poem with the life he told me about, I'm left with what has been on paper all this time--and what seems to be most important to him . . .
Be They Buckskins, Bays, or Sorrels
He rides them with pride
This old cowboy astride
His buckskins, bays, and sorrels.
Throughout the long years
'Midst troubles and tears
His heart swells with pride
As he straddles their sides
The buckskins, bays, and sorrels
May they all get you there, pardner.
Copyright 2006 Jim Ross
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Comments: 14
there is a musical rhytm here that can not be denied, excellent choice of words!
love andlight
1. Ask no more, and give no less, than honesty, courage, loyalty, generosity, and fairness.
2. Talk low, talk slow, and don't say too much.
3. Never miss a chance to rest your horse.
Sounds like your old cowboy may have written the code.
Thanks for a great story and even greater poem.
It was always my intention as a girl child to be a cowboy when I grew up. I'd like to have met your cowboy.
This is a fine poem.
I don't know about writing the code, but he sure lived it.
You'd have enjoyed the visit.