Cowboys

One of the greatest blessing of my life is that I am married to a modern day cowboy. What better way could I explain the man that had me branding and vaccinating cattle before we were even engaged. He looks a little different than the fictional image. Except for "fancy" events he doesn't wear a cowboy hat or boots, but instead has on coveralls and red wings. (He keeps a pair of Crocs under his desk for when he works inside.) As the business has grown, he spends more times in meetings and his phone is always at his side. He hasn't lost his drawl or his do what needs doing no matter how dirty or disgusting philosophy, but he is always on the cutting edge. He is looking for ways to capture methane from deceased cattle to be able to produce electricity. He is a first choice of pharmaceutical companies to run tests on drugs because he does such an amazing job. He can ride a four wheeler through mud and muck to capture lost calves and just a few short hours later be in discussions with college professors and consultants.

He is also a renaissance man. One of my greatest frustrations are people that some how or another believe living on a farm means we don't know about or appreciate culture beyond our back door. Brian has escorted me to CATS and the Russian ballet as well as a few George Strait concerts. He has a more developed palate than I do and I have the culinary experience.

But perhaps my favorite blending of old and new cowboy is the genre of cowboy poetry. We were first introduced to this art form a few years ago when Brian attended a reading by Baxter Black. Inspired and delighted by his writings, Brian came home with a book that he read from after supper for many nights. Listening to him dramatically read the carefully crafted pieces that so mimicked our own life, I fell in love all over again. This year I was unable to attend the NCBA with him, but Brian brought me home a wonderful gift- a collection of poems written not by a cowboy or a rancher, but a farm wife. Oh, how I have savored this prose whenever I have a few minutes to snatch. I am not sure this lives up to Emily Dickinson or Robert Frost, both of whom I enjoy, but for this moment in my life reading cowboy poetry feels a little like having a good friend to tea and for a moment I am not so alone, and my cowboy is a prince.

Outside Circle

by Audrey Hankins

In my youth I envied my cowboy

Riding out, decisive at dawn,

While my fetters of babies and bottles

And cooking and cleaning dragged on.

I wished for a careless, ready laugh

For loops that sped straight and fit.

I could have picked replacement heifers

And done a good job of it.

I longed for that outside circle

And sharing at end of day

As I told my tales of triumph

Over cattle that didn't get away

I was a misfit female wallflower

Watching an all male dance.

Long, long I poised on the sidelines

Waiting, hoping for my chance.

I wasn't invited to his party.

I tagged along against advice

Like an unwanted pup who follows

After you've rocked her homeward twice.

But even a pup who's being ignored

Can pick up quite a bit

And eventually time rolls around

To where the man depends on it.

I'll never make a top hand

Or tie wild cow to gentle tree,

But now as he takes the outside circle

Cowboy calls my name and whistles to me.