Featuring "THE OLD MAN WAS A COWBOY"...by Bette Wolf Duncan
 

        
       The painting featured below is by Kim McElroy- Spirit of Horse Gallery; PO Box 1250; Kingston, WA 98346. The artist, Kim McElroy, says this:  "The purpose of my art is to share the gifts that horses offer in images that invoke the wisdom our hearts remember". You can experience the horses of your dreams on her website. This web site features over 200 beautiful prints, unique gifts, posters, apparel, and free cards.
                                                                    http://www.spiritofhorse.com
 




"Spirits Takes Flight" by Kim McElroy.

 "Spirits Takes Flight" by Kim McElroy 

THE OLD MAN WAS A COWBOY


A hawk was riding downdrafts, and was gliding near a spot
in plain view of the couple; but the couple saw it not.
With him in his Italian suit and her in her spike heels,
the two a'  them were flashin' their brand new set a' wheels.
The bird was of no interest; and neither was this town
with boarded stores and empty streets and shacks all tumbled down.
What mattered...they were out of gas....and here there was a pump.
They'd fill up fast, then whiz on past this "drab, deserted dump".
They called the lone attendant  "a wrinkled up old coot"
with tattered jeans, oil-splattered hat, and beat-up, battered boots.
They wondered," How could anyone not deaf and dumb and blind
settle in this wasteland and leave it all behind....
bright city lights and culture and genteel folks ...refined,
the good life, all that mattered- just leave it all behind!
"How could- why would" anyone just leave all that behind?"

 
* * * * * * * *
The couple's eyes were lazy...and nothing much was seen;
some scraggly sage and here and there, a lonely patch of green...
with cactus growing everywhere, in every vacant space-
just sage and miles of cactus...and the old mans prickly face.
They didn't smell the scent of sage that kissed the desert air;
or see the blossoms that adorned a cactus here and there.
They didn't hear the meadowlark a singin' to its mate;
or hear the voices in the sage, their clucking tales relate.
The old man knew they didn't see the beauty all around them...
the golden nuggets on the ground, he knew they never found them.
The old man saw them sightless and as deaf as they could be.
With all their fancy clothes and car, not half as blessed as he.

A cowboy's one part  mustang; the other part is hawk.
He reads what nature's written; and he hears the prairie talk.
Clip the feathers from a hawk, and though the bird can't fly,
the hawk will struggle unto death to reach the open sky.
Once a cowboy, always one. He'll be one till he dies.
The hawk in him will ever yearn to glide through Western skies.
The other part is mustang, and it rears and bucks inside.
The old man was a cowboy, and his mustang never died.
It yearned to race unbridled.....no rein around its neck....
no pushin' pens for 40 hours to get some paltry check.

The couple eyed the old man and his weather beaten clothes;
and he in turn, studied them while toying with the hose.
The old man could've told them.... there's beauty in the sage!
There's beauty in the cactus and old faces scarred with age!
They speak about endurance....of surviving killer storms....
of lasting through the Arctic blasts when freezing is the norm.
Life's the grandest teacher; and with eyes well-schooled, he saw
shallow roots that wouldn't last to feel the warm spring thaw.
He didn't envy them their lot. In truth, he found it grim.
Trade places with them? Never! He thought life favored him.

With no one breathin' down his neck or yellin' in his face...
and not one minute being crammed in postage stamps for space,
The man soaked up the slower pace and  peaceful desert hush.
He vowed he'd nevermore endure the hectic city rush.
He pitied city folks their lot....their mad,  non-ending grind....
and glad he was he'd chucked it and left it far behind.
Their city "rat race"? Not for him! He thought it sucked men's soul,
stripped their "person", chaining them to someone's corporate goal.
Tethered to no time clock .....no cog in someone's wheel.....
his life here in the desert was vibrant, free, and real.

The old man was a cowboy......that's what he'd always be;
with spirit racing with the wind-
 unbridled,
 unbroken,
free.

Bette Wolf Duncan
ŠJune 29, 2005

 

About the author....Bette Wolf Duncan writes:

          " Who am I? I'm an old lady who hails from Montana; and  I would sum up what drives me, with a  poem of mine:
                                                                                                                               

 BIG SKY BLUE

Rocky Mountain memories
are painting on the air.
The painting's called Montana:
and memory paints me there.
 I'm Western born and Western bred;
Fed on elk and bannock bread.
My heart is home...back home, again
to haunts that I once knew;
and once again, my memory
paints me big sky blue.
I miss Montana's great expanse
of sage and rims and clouds;
and peaceful solitude of plains
unmarred by hectic crowds.
And when it  paints the Beartooths*,
it paints a living prayer,
whose sheer magnificence proclaims,
"There is a God. He's there".

* The Beartooth Mountain Range is west of Red Lodge, MT; and northeast of Yellowstone Park.

              While life took me out of the West, it did not take the West out of me. My maternal grandparents were among the very early settlers in the Dakota territory. They homesteaded near Wahpeton, North Dakota. Wahpeton was the second white settlement in what is now North Dakota. The first settler there was Morgan T. Rich in  1869.  Two years later, in 1871, he was followed by my ancestors- Albert (Alva) Chezik and my great grandfather, Mathias (Laurenc) Lawrence. A year after that, they  were followed by more ancestors of mine, the Formanek family. My  grandfather, Frank Lawrence, was born in Wahpeton in 1874, Currently, in a park in Wahpeton, there is a monument that commemorates the founding of the town by pioneers, Albert, Joseph and Frank Chezik and John, Joseph, and Frank Formanek. A second memorial commemorates the site where the first church service for a white congregation was held in the Dakota Territory other than at the U.S. Army post, Fort Abercrombie. It was conducted in the Albert Chezik "dug-out".

      My paternal grandparents, Herman and Emma Wolf, were among the second wave of farmers/ranchers who came to Montana. They took out a homestead in Huntley Project, MT in 1906. My grandfather raised draft horses. He sold most of them to the Northern Pacific RR. At that time, the railroad required a vast amount of timber for ties and for bridge construction; and he hauled logs for the railroad from the Bull Mountains. His wagon train traveled across the country at night until dawn. (This was Indian country; and there was always the fear that you would lose your animals...maybe more.) After my grandparents proved up on this homestead, they sold it and bought a nice ranch in Stillwater County, about 40 miles to the west. I was born on this ranch in 1930- the beginning of the Great Depression.

       I spent my childhood and completed all my undergraduate schooling in Billings, MT. I lived just below the rims; and used to spend days hiking, looking for arrowheads, and  exploring caves. Every summer was filled with rodeos. The Lindermans and Greenoughs of Rodeo fame, were more than names. My mother was  a high school acquaintance of both Alice and Marge Greenough.   And when there wasn't a rodeo, there was fishing, camping, hiking, exploring, and panning for gold outside of Yellowstone Park, around Cook City and Silver Gate. That was back in the days before all the campsites were overrun with people, and before the streams were all fished out.

        I married a cowboy from Roberts, Montana - Bill Duncan.   Bill was raised on the family ranch. It was situated about 10 miles out of Red Lodge , the gateway to Yellowstone Park and the Beartooth Mountains. It was also only about 12 or so miles away from the Linderman ranch. As a small boy, he and his brother Pete rode bareback on bucking calves with Bud Linderman, pretending to be rodeo stars.  (Bud later became a World Champion bareback rider.)  Bill was active on the family ranch.  In Spring, he helped drive cattle about 50 miles from the home base, to higher leased ranges on the Crow Indian Reservation. In Fall, he helped drive them back. He figured he'd been on about 20 such cattle drives. Bill was one of a six man group of students that during the 1950s, were instrumental in getting rodeo accepted as a collegiate sport at Montana State College in Bozeman. While Bill carved new trails after graduation, he was a "cowboy" until the day he died.

        Many of my poems are based on events in Bill's life. The poem "Rustler's Roost(featured  in my first book, "RUSSELL COUNTRY"), is about a band of rustlers that operated out of the Big Horn Mountains. As head of a nine member crew that surveyed the Big Horn Mountains prior to the construction of the Yellowtail Dam, Bill traveled through country that few white people have ever seen. In the five months they were there, they lived chiefly off of the abundant game to be found in the Bighorns. In a very remote section of the Big Horns, the crew came across a narrow pass into the canyon.  It had a heavy chain attached to a hook in the granite wall. It was stretched across the pass, and across the adjacent river.  Past the boulders, there was a pathway to a fertile plateau.  It had long been rumored that there was a band of rustlers that operated out of the Big Horn Mountains; and this apparently was the place. The entire area is now under water; and is part of the Yellowtail Dam Reservoir. Bill was fortunate to have seen this bit of Montana history and to have experienced the wild west in a way that few people living today have known. "Shaney Ridge" and "Empty Cradle Sad" are accounts of actual events in the lives of his grandparents, Emma and Caleb Duncan. They both came from Canada in the 1880s; and were among the first ranchers to settle in southeastern Montana. All three of the foregoing poems are featured on   CHARLIE RUSSELL'S STAGECOACH.


         After we were married,  Bill and I lived in Alaska for a short period; and then moved on to Texas, California and finally Iowa.  I have now lived in Iowa for over 30 years. Bill passed away two years short of our 50th wedding anniversary.  I have a daughter, son-in-law, 6 grandchildren, and 3 great grandchildren; and live on a rural acreage outside of Des Moines. It  is bordered on 3 sides by farm land planted with  soy beans or corn. South of the house, but still on my property, there is a fairly good sized orchard with over 25 fruit trees ( apples, cherries, pears, peaches). South of that are good hay fields. Go a bit further south beyond my place....there is a farmer/rancher who feeds out cattle; and much of the stock comes from Montana and its adjacent states. He usually feeds out between 50 and 150 head.  I enjoy walking with my dog past his fields. Right now there are a lot of calves. Deer come bounding through my yard every now and then. And there are a jillion birds... including an occasional eagle.

       
In my den is my computer.
The walls are filled with copies of paintings by Charles M. Russell and other Western artists.. To my left, on a special book case built for me by Bill, is a copy of Russell's last bronze sculpture, a stagecoach- plus 2 smaller bronze sculptures by Russell and Frederick Remington.  (These bronze sculptures were gifts that Bill and I gave to ourselves for retirement presents. The copies of the paintings are mostly mementos we picked up at the famous Wall Drug in South Dakota en route to Montana .) It is in this setting, that I while away a  great deal of my time writing cowboy western poetry.

       Many contemporary cowboy poets are also fine musicians; a handful are also artists; and most of them are entertainers that recite poetry at cowboy gatherings. I can't draw a straight line or sing a sweet note...and I've never yet had the honor of even attending a cowboy poetry gathering.  But I  write .... and I ride a mean horse down  internet trails with my four web sites ( all featuring cowboy western poetry):
 

        I have authored two books: "Russell Country" and "Rodeo Country".  "Rodeo Country" has just been named as a winner of the 2007 Will Rogers Medallion Award For Outstanding Achievement in the Publishing of Cowboy Poetry. I have framed the letter announcing this honor; and it now hangs on my wall along side the western art.
                                                                                                          
                         

                                                                            

Cover of "Russell Country"

Cover of "Rodeo Country".

 

 

 

and

Medallion Award.

                                                               

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