They Are The Legend

They Are The Legend

They are the legend that haunts buckaroo's dreams.

They are the visions that on plain deserts are seen.

They are the laughter dancing on the range wind.

Their eyes are drawn to God, for they know they've sinned.

Running lonesome you may see them.

Though lonesome they haven't always been.

It is their legend that little girls hear.

It is they whom those little girls work to be near.

It is their saddened hearts that draw teardrops from the sky.

Their mommas and daddies taught them never to lie.

Their symphony that they've sung through years past.

It's something that forever will last. 

They are the dancing braids,

the untamed manes that fly over horses' backs.

You can see the humble wisdom and the wittiness in the way that each of their kind acts.

They have learned the buckaroo's way from their daddies.

They can pitch a rope and throw a saddle as good as the old time waddies.

They are hell bent for leather in the shadow and forbearing example of Bertha, Mabel, Vivian and Hazel.

They will be found on the backs of horses for as long as they are able.

They are the vaquero's progeny.

They are the heirs to a throne sought after by many.

In character they are infamously fearless and something to be feared of.

Their kind as queens of the desert and horses they've been dubbed. 

They are the fierce, sharp yet kind hearted gasp that lets out its breathe unto the earth.

God fashioned them this way from birth. 

So rest easy my dear darlings because this life hasn't yet died.

They won't lay down their guns until they've bled, sweat and won with pride. 

They are fearfully and wonderfully made,

and they will thrive throughout their days.

They are the legend that haunts buckaroo's dreams.

They are the visions that on plain deserts are seen.

They are something most treasured to the world.

They are simply and elegantly named; Buckaroogirls.
~Gussie Keetch

xoxo Gussie 

Here's To The Ones Who Came Before Us

Here's to the ones who came before us.
The ones that taught our daddies to rope and ride the rough off rank ones.
Cowboys that saw the West in its raw.
The ones who wore six-guns in their belts.
Here's to Tom and Bill, the vaqueros and their canny knowledge of the horse.
The ones that took in the rook and taught him the ways.
The ones that took me in and taught me the ways when I was just a rook.
Here's to the ones who never thought they were as handy as they could be.
The ones who were always green in their own minds and wisdom hungry.
To the ones who never quit.
The ones that cried and bled and sweat.
Here's to the ones that held the baby's hand.
The ones who made careful that their honey's horse was broke.
The ones that wouldn't let the child encounter harm.
Here's to the legends that set the standard for the cowboy.
The legends with soft eyes and gentle spirits.
The ones who gave us a respectable reputation to uphold.
And last of all, here's to the horses.
The buckers, the gentle giants, the sneaky, canny souls and the ones who stole and hold our hearts. Here's to the ones who came before us.


Luvs, Gussie Lou

Sassy Horses and Wild Cattle

The ground breathes an aching sigh from its frozen, icy heart and spring awaits.
The sun will come around and greet the new lives with warmth and beauty .
The foals will buck and snort and breathe the cool spring air and the calves will bawl and blow snot when something moves just wrong.
Their bodies, thick, stout and strong from their mammy's milk.
The clouds will float airy and bright and rain showers shoot the grass vibrant green out of the ground.
Branding season eagerly awaited by cowboys and cowboygirls.
Their ropes will be greased and ready, their cowponies fresh and sassy and the world smiles.
Everything new and pristine and full of life.
A warm fire in the brisk air, branding irons steam and the horses get excited and the cowboys' hearts jump.
The calves come bucking into the trap and the young horses watch intently their first branding.
Their eyes big and bright and their nostrils flare as they suck in the smell of burning hair.
Fancy shots and cowboys scoop up heels.
Big bridle horses lean into the pull and they handle the husky, wild calves with precision, care and habit and they are the awe of the branding.
The little ponies try their hand first with the dopy, small calves and their minds reel.
Hackamores, engraved bridle bits and hand braided reins hang over saddle horns and horses graze hobbled in a little meadow...
But, the ground is frozen hard, won't thaw for a couple months.
So close your eyes and let yourself float back to a dream about springtime..the beauty it promises.

Here's to ranker horses, sassier cattle, bigger hats and shinier shades!
Have a good one!

Gussie

Winter Chill

Winter Chill

The sleek coats have haired up, the lush green grass is left a stub and the sage’s fresh scent doesn’t float through the breeze anymore.

Dusty meadows have turned to plains of white and the vibrant trees are now gray skeletons shadowed by a milky sky. 

The cool clear water is now a frozen stream and the warm rays of the sun shine no more.

A coyote howls a lonesome call and the empty world lets it echo back to him.

Fires burn hot, deep into the night and lovers hold each other tight.

The new born foals are now part grown and these old fence posts hide behind layers of snow.

The barn creaks a sorrowful moan.

Wooden heeled boots crush sharp snow and wool caps frame shivering, red faces.

Chinks slap stiffly in the cold air and the rawness in the wind is haunting.

Frozen ornaments hang off the barbed wire and the winter chill can cut to the bone.

The sun now sinks low before supper time and on the cold, frozen ground of the morning, colts try to shed the bone-chilled saddle and cowboy.

The rodeos are over and the round ups are done.

The calves now stand shivering in the moonlight and the horses off to their sides.

Fire burns away the cold and coffee thaws the cowboy.

The winter gray is lurking and clouds coat the sky tonight, life cycles through and winter time opens the soul.

Winter has made it's way to us!!

Have a good one all!!!

Gussie

Just 3 Silver Rings Smiling From Sun and Wind Burnt Skin

They watched me say goodbye to so many pieces of my life.
They reflected the sun as well as my tears.
They've been worn so roughly by rawhide, horsehair and pain.
Blood has coated their edges, they've never been let to tarnish.
They've been heated and frozen and seen all manner of weather.
They've been watching as romance unfolds.
They've witnessed wounds dressed, they've weaved braids into cowboygirls' hair.
They've held hands with a sister, a brother and a friend.
But they are just silver.
They smile through the dust of the branding trap.
They've held close to cotton gloves, athletic tape, nylon, poly and grass.
They are the accomplice to nail polish, and they find no fear in the life I love.
They've covered country far and wide.
They've weaved in the manes of horses all over the west.
They kissed this country goodnight time and time again.
They know more than I can ever tell.
They and their secrets are are drifting off with me again.
They're just 3 silver rings smiling from sun and wind burnt skin.

Have a fantastic Sunday all!!! 

~Wooden Heeled Boots On Hospital Tile~

Wooden Heeled Boots On Hospital Tile

It's only a matter of time before wooden heeled boots ring on hospital tile,
before a cowboy lays in a bed with white sheets.
A love for the life and the horses is worth the pain,
the sacrifice and and the tears.
God's light shines through the eyes of children,
in the eyes of those who ride the rank ones
and all who dance with loops a horseback.
A cowboy lacks the ability to quit,
to give up, give in or pull out behind the chutes.
He has too much grit,
too much pride,
too much responsibility, honesty and heart.
Though covered in white clothe bandages and blood,
he lies an example of God's creation,
of God's cowboy.
None could ever count the times he cried for a horse,
his child or his love.
None could ever count the unknown favors he's done,
nor the times that he rode the rough one,
so his little girl and her momma were safely set on his pride and joy.
He is the smile in the branding trap.
But just the same,
it's only a matter of time before pain comes calling
or something goes wrong.
It's only a matter of time before bones and hearts break alike.
But there is a brute strength about a cowboy,
a will to live that is as strong as any medication.
There is hope in the Lord.
Pain cannot stop love,
tears may make rivers but horses can swim.
There's more to live for than dust.
There's smiling blue eyes and happy little curls,
there's buckin horses and long manes,
there's calves and poly ropes to be thrown.
There's babies smiling at daddy
and a big hand holding a little girl upon the backs of horses.
There's more to live for cowboy.
It's only a matter of time before wooden heeled boots ring on hospital tile,
before a cowboy rises from a bed with white sheets
because of the cowboy hats praying in the lobby.

Gussie

Dry and Scarred and Littered With Silver Rings. . . .

They're callused and cracked and left unmanicured.

They are hang nail ridden and the polish is half worn off.

They've doctored calves, cut calves and played nurse on horses' legs.

They've been burned and they have been painted up red and pink and spritzed with glitter.

They are and have been bloodied and beaten and they take a rest tonight with cuts and tears where skin should be tied.

They've been gloved with cotton and taped with any assortment to keep skin in place.

Pinkies have been broke, have been ripped clean to the muscle.

Golden skin has been burnt red and shivering in the cold.

They're dry and scarred and littered with silver rings.

They've been licked by cowdog pups, oiled saddles old and new alike and sharpened knives for  the branding trap.

They hold poly and nylon coils, they dally in the heat and cold, wind and pain.

They've held the hand of a love and wiped the tears from reddened cheeks.

They are tough and possibly not approved of, but they are the hands of a cowboygirl.

Hugs, Gussie

The Old Time Ones

Our window into the past, our remembrance of the old time ones and the vaquero way.

Their bridle bits, their Nevada cheek spades.

Where have they all gone?

I know they are here, I have seen them on the hilltops.

I have seen their horses dancing, their manes in witch knots.

I have seen them smiling beneath a mustache and palm leaf.

So where are they now?

Why can't I see them?

Where do their horses graze?

Where has their bridles and romals been laid?

Where do their saddles set?

The stars whisper a hint of them.

Of where they lay in the deep of night; though none can ever tell.

Forever a wanderer, never let to stay.

The range is their only home, their only way of staying sane.

The solace they find is their greatest dream.

For they are always setting a horse, always with an unbroken soul.

Their hearts are gone to a long lost love and her whispering is the prairie's lull.

They mumble 'good morning' through grains of chew and coffee grinds.

Uttering to the ponies they call theirs for the time.

They laugh and cough and then simply ride away.

~ Gussie

I'm Proud of my Calluses, Cuts, Burns, Bruises and Scars. . .

I'm proud of my calluses,
rope burns and cuts.
I'm proud of my scars
that scream their name from my skin.
I'm proud of my life.
Of my horses.
I'm proud of my loops thrown,
my wild dreams and wild stories
and all that enthralls this life I ride.
Sometimes it seems as though I'm comin loose
or blown a stirrup.
Others I feel like I'm fanning him as he jumps over the moon.
But I am never willing to be told who or what to be.
To be mishapen by the opinions of others
and told what profession they believe a girl should follow.
There is perfection in the me that I am
and I was given talents and abilities by the dear Lord.
I was set upon this earth to be what I am
and to grow like the promising colt run off the mountain this morning.
So as my beaten fingers grip the poly strand and horsehair
that is my livelihood,
I am proud of being a cowboygirl.
I am proud of the life I have rode.
And I just hope to be gazed up to by the little girls
whose hearts run on the backs of horses
much as mine did when I was short and hard-headed.
I just hope that I am the best example of a cowboygirl,
and that I carry the name
with the pride and grace that which it was delivered
by hand from the bronc stomptresses of the past.
Mommas, let your little girls grow up to be cowboygirls.

This is the result of a bad cough, a late night and colorful pens! Hope you enjoyed :)
Loves!

~Gussie Lou

I'll see you in my heart...on my hands and in the mane of horses.....

I quit trying to wipe the mascara runs from my eyes.
I quit trying to pretend that I don't cry.
I quit trying not to sniff my nose when I think about her.
Cause I just miss her.
I know she loves being a horseback and my heart smiles to see her face and her hands holding mecates and ropes.
But my lonesome heart misses her.
Every time I throw my saddle on one I can't help but feel like she should be there, that she should be throwin her saddle over a horse tied just right there
Every time I put a ropin glove on, I will remember her rope burned hands and every time I run my fingers over the grooves of my saddle horn I'll remember her and all the horn wraps she's worn.
When that song comes on the radio.
When I want to say something I shouldn't.
When I need a mentor, she won't be right there.
She followed her dreams and I'm followin mine.
I'll see you.
I'll see you in my heart, on my hands, in the mane of my horse, in the reflection of my mirror.
Because someone once said "Are you girls twins?"

Missing my sissy!!!!



Have a great day all!!! <3


~Gussie Lou

When The Cold Rolls Around Again

Summertime breathes the issue of neglecting our blog, our facebook pages and well most other things.
But! When winter rolls around, you can bet we'll be right back here with the story we're living right now to tell you!
This summer has consisted of a lot of giggling girls in old trucks, many rope burns, calluses, excessive smiling, lipstick, skipping beats of hearts and laughter but most of all, horses.
There's no such thing as too much fun, music too loud or horses too fast!
<3 Summer is still here even though school is as well, so enjoy every second of the heat we've all been cussing ;)
Can't wait to hear about it when the cold rolls around again :)

Luvs, Keetch Girls

Range Horse

Range Horse

He believes in the Kinghood of a young boy and his legs hold the key to all travel.

He's a guardian angel and the occasional test run bronc.

He's a little cowboy's dream horse.

A range pony deluxe.

He stands with his ears set forward as the youngster flails aboard his back.

His mane is sparse and his gait is none of a western pleasure horse.

He's handled bulls, cows and calves and seen most ev'rything a horse can see.

To horse this boy is King.

To the boy, he rides a dream.

He was built to cover country, the boy was built to set upon his back.

There is no bluffing the pair.

Nor is there an interchangeable match. 

For God made horse for child and child for horse.

And The Lord bestowed trust in each of each other.

He's just an old range horse.

To him this boy is King.

xoxo Gussie Lou

When God Made The Cowboy

When God Made The Cowboy

I think that when the Lord made the cowboy He knew that He must give him a guardian angel. 

Thus the horse, God's most precious gift to the true cowboy.

He made the horse with watchful eyes, keen ears and instincts guided by God Himself.

He gave him sound hooves and unbelievable athletic ability.

He left the horse somewhat of a mystery to man.

Something with divinity and power. 

The Lord put a pure heart in his chest and mane flowing from his neck.

He whispered in each horse's ear, He told each one their duty to uphold.

One horse shall be a lesson the man, another an example of true love.

And I imagine the Lord said to them "Ride hard kids. Ride hard." 

And bid the buckin ponies good day, the ranch ponies and every horse a child would touch and blew a kiss to them as they loped into the life of an unexpectant cowboy. 

Off to a rodeo tonight and I hope ya'll are havin a wonderful day!!!

Hugs, 

           Gussie Lou!

Boots and Spurs

Boots and spurs tapping to "Run Boys Run" 

Horses whispering to me and a breeze whipping through my windows.

Shades and a flat hat, a smile and lipstick.

Manes and braids flowing with the wind,

Flying away for the king of broken hearts to mend.

Highway and dust and the mountains smiling in their spring.

The wind that calls my name and the horses that dance in the wind's making dust,

They all run.

Running forever in my heart.

Where they will reign and keep calling me out to the desert.

Freedom's song sings to me, 

And there is no freedom like that of a horse.

Sweat band wet from the day before,

My body stiff and worn.

A pounding in my bones and blood rushing through my veins.

Meadows like old memories,

Horses like love at first sight.

God's hand in a cowboy's life.

My braid unravels in this wind like the roads that sprawl this map.

Boots and spurs tapping to "Run Boys Run" 

Gussie

Fairy Tales

 Just a little something!

Luvs,

G

Branding Trap

Branding Trap

It's an essence, a feeling.

Of happiness, of love.

Of belonging.

It's like going home.

It's the gathering place of the Lord,

The gathering place of friends.

Where love is found,

And where love never ends.

We ride the sulky ponies,

We ride the rank ones too.

We ride the old broke bridle horses, 

Our smiles shimmer in the happiness of our hearts.

We kiss in this dust,

We cuss in this dust, 

And we rope the soggy calves.

It's where you know you're meant.

Where God intended you, 

Where when He made you He said "Set them there. Among the sagebrush and the horses. There, in the dusty branding trap. Coughing in the branding iron smoke and the dusty desert dirt with giddy souls."

Then God smiled upon the cowboys and the cowboygirls.

And our hearts still long for the branding trap.

xoxo Gussie and Kricket

. . . .Cowboys and Cattle Land, A Little Old Bunkhouse. . . .

Cowboys and cattle land
A little old bunkhouse.
Dust in the summer
Blizzard scar in the winter
Wind through the pines.
A creek littered with laughing children in wet denim
Unraveled braids
Mischievous smiles masking pure hearts.
Horse hair and sweat.
Perfected biscuit recipe
Golden like the horse that shares its name.
Wiry strands of creamy mane lace my fingers.
Conchos show the sun to itself.
Broncs have run these corrals
Their hooves have acquainted with the cedar.
Black and white cow dogs trot beside a young boy on a big sorrel.
Cow-calf pairs drift on.
Bulls butt heads, throwing 2000 pounds one way then the next.
83 years of experience, memories and heart sit atop a paint
And grandma cusses in the kitchen.
Fresh air tastes better spiced with freedom
And we bounce in our innocence and happiness.
Silk and slides smile beneath smiles.
Metal rattles at the gravel.
Shiners beneath felt laugh at the world from their black and blue.
Fresh horses shake out in steep country.
God smiles upon the land
The horses
The buckaroos and buckaroogirls.


<3 <3


Have a phenomenal day all!!
Luvs, Gussie

Gypsy Drifters

The Gypsy Drifters

Yellow lines run, just like me, from mountains to the desert.

My heart throws itself at the land and at the horses.

Snow paints over the dust, the rabbit brush stands like islands and The Eagles sing me on down the road.

Old cedar fences strung with the barbed wire curse bear big Angus bulls.

Time seems to slip away in my parts, but the fresh country rings wild and adventurous.

The sage and the scent of horses drift across this cold breeze. 

I wonder what Texas is like.

I wonder how far I could run, how far I could ride across that range.

Coffee, hot and bitter, and I can feel horse hide on my skin always and I dream of grays and blacks, sorrels, roans and bays.

Like an artist with his canvas, me with my map and I splash some paint across the West. 

The barns that sweep through my fingers remind me of the ranch, of grandpa, of the old days.

The cedars staring at the gypsies as they pass remind me of a bird dog’s grave. 

The sage brush covers country like a grouse pup across the desert mountain's ridge.

The cliffs and the rocks are the only things that fence me in.

I don’t know where all I’ll go, all I know is right now, I’m driftin’ through old Idaho.

Gussie 

A crazy weekend and a little Bertha

So thanks to me postponing getting a bunch of cinches ready to take and sell next weekend, it is now 10:38 p.m. on Sunday night and I haven't posted a word about Bertha Kaepernik Blancett! But it IS still the weekend!

So I am going to make it short and sweet and come back to fill in all the details in the next post...

Basically, Bertha did it all and she IS an ALL-AMERICAN BAD A!

She was born on September 4, 1883.

She worked for several different shows; including Pawnee Bill's Historic Wild West Show, Miller Brothers 101 Ranch Show, and the Atkinson Show.

In 1909, Bertha Kaepernik married Del Blancett, they had no children over the course of their marriage.

She competed and is known for several appearances at both the Pendleton Round-Up and Cheyenne Frontier days.

Bertha rode bucking horses 'slick', 

performed in shows and Hollywood productions, 

competed in the Roman Race, 

hazed steers for her husband, 

worked as a pickup rider, 

and in her later years ran a pack string!

She lived to be 95 years old!

So until later, here is a little bit to prepare you for what is to come.

I knew you couldn't handle all of it with the details at one time, it is an overwhelming amount of awesomeness!

<3 Kricket

God, I'm Just A Cowboy...

I'm Just A Cowboy

It’s a cover, a guard which I let no one nor animal break through. 

They say I’m rough and heartless, mean and unforgiving. 

I’ve been starched stiff by fate, the past and the world.

I’ve rode the rank ones and they’ve soured me to most everything gentle, the wild stuff is all I want, horses, cattle and women alike.

 I’ve gained an invincible mentality and I run at danger, a sickening grin on my face, just to see if I’ll survive. 

I’ve been torn by love and my body beaten, so the barbed wire curse I’ve strung around my heart and soul. 

Emotion and feeling I’ve left for the weak to dwell and stone is the likeness I’ve taken on. 

Broken ribs don’t cause pain, for pain is just a state of mind.

 Everything ill that falls upon me I believe I deserve and if God wanted me dead he’d get me that way. 

Those who come close to melting this metal I’ve made of myself, my instinct is to break their hearts because of fear. 

I live life as if I’m careless only for dread of loss.

 I try to shield myself from love for betrayal will torment my heart. 

I don’t want to be victim to emotion, to love. 

For I am a man and God has made me to be tough, but I do not grasp that God made me with tears as well. 

Any who come close, who’ve ridden my wild and threatening trail, who’ve clawed at my heart strings, I tear them down and batter them in worry that they may break me open and I fall apart, or in love.

I think not much of tenderness and the girl I love, her heart I’ll break, Lord help me for that girl’s sake.

 God, I’m just a cowboy, prone to many a mistake.

Happy day friends.

Gussie

Coffee and Horses

This morning I was supposed to be an ambitious little child, bouncing around and doing chores, riding horses, etc.

I got up late.

So 7:30 I get up, refresh yesterday's make up (I'm horrible, I know) and start prodding mom out of her pajamas, which is hard because this woman is perfectly content with coffee, jammies and movies :) 
Driving up to the barn, mom in the passenger seat holding to her coffee cup like it's a small child, is stomping the 'brake pedal' which she doesn't have while I drive us there ;) hehe she thinks I'm a bad driver, no, no, no, I'm just so good, I can do it all fast! Ride a horse and drop miss momma off at work.

All days should start with coffee and horses, all days like so will be good ones. 

"I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles."

~Audrey Hepburn

And I believe I like this quote!!

Luvs! Have a wonderful day all!!!

Gussie 

Dorothy Morrell, World's Champion Cowgirl Bronc Rider

Hello friends...

I know I said I was going to do this on Wednesday and I was being a horrible liar, things got a little crazy, but here we are on Friday and I really am going to tell you about Miss Dorothy Morrell! 

Dorothy Morrell on Skuball

(Photo Credit: flickr)

This photo was taken by photographer Doubleday during Cheyenne Frontier Days in 1926.

I had a really hard time finding any information on her besides in the book Cowgirls by Judy Crandall.

So here is what I did find...

Nothing about when she was born, some of the photos I have looked at are dated around 1920, so I am guessing she was born sometime around 1900, probably a few years earlier.

She was not a only a bronc rider, but a trick rider as well.

She won her first prize money at the Clayton New Mexico Rodeo.

In 1914 at the Pendleton Roundup, she received her lifelong title of World's Champion Cowgirl Bronc Rider

Other accomplishments;

She was elected Queen of the Panama Pacific International Exposition in San Francisco where she was awarded with a golden watch.

She received a medal for World's Champion All-Around Cowgirl.

Won the title World's Best Cowgirl Bronk (sic) Rider.

In 1917, she received medals on Movie Day during the New York Guy Weadlick Rodeo.

She later married a man named Skeeter Bill Robbins.

I wish I could have found more information, but that is about all I know about Dorothy!

There is a photo of her where she has literally fallen off of a donkey and is landing on her head. It seems to be quite a joke that she could ride a bucking horse as well as she could but she fell off a donkey. This is where my special interest in her began. Because I have fallen off a donkey! It is quite a good story really, I rode it while it bucked, but those little things can bring things to a stop quite quickly! This may or my not be how I separated my shoulder a couple summers ago... hehe oh dear

She gives me hope that maybe if I am lucky I might be able to ride a bucking horse too, I guess we will find out!

Anyways, the first time Gussie and I were perusing photos and reading about miss Dorothy, Gussie busted up after reading that and told me she was going to start calling me Dorothy! Luckily that one didn't stick, I really don't need another nickname, I have plenty! 

I hope you guys enjoyed this, let me know if there is any certain special cowgirls you would like to hear about next!

I'm off to gather my things and sharpen my knife... because tomorrow is BRANDING DAY! First one of the year and I am so excited I can hardly stand it!!!!

I hope you all have a more than wonderful weekend and enjoy your Easter holiday celebrating in the Lord :)

Much Love,

<3 Kricket

Palomino and Dust

So this past weekend, I was lucky enough to go to a Justin Lawrence clinic, and it was awesome!

I got there, pulled lil' pally out of the trailer, brushed mud out of his long winter fur and threw a slick fork saddle over. 

I put on my chinks, slipped a hackamore over his ears and stepped on.  

Then is about when I started looking around.  

Sleeked off show horses and girls in ball caps with swell fork saddles. . . hehe is was pretty entertaining.  

But dang it!  

My lil ranch horse did good!! 

G

Lost In A Fantasy

Lost In A Fantasy

It's a memory

It's a life

It doesn't exist but in my dreams

Sometimes this is what the best answer seems;

To be lost in a world of belly deep grass

Glossy horse hair

Frisky black calves

The refined silhouettes of colts

Old cedar corrals

A rickety old barn

Fields of green

Some of the most beautiful things ever seen.

Riatas hangin on adobe walls

Hackamores, mecates, spade bits and all

Remuda flowin in

The whisper of the prairie wind

The howl of a lonesome coyote and the stomp of a stud 

The nicker of a tot foal and the bawl of a calf

Riding through the days

The clear and the haze

A dusty road

A vibrant meadow

Racing swiftly through the green

It seems only to be a dream 

A fantasy 

A life unseen

A trance that overpowers your mind

If you don't keep up you'll be left behind

Spurs jangling

Faded sun lingering over the mountains tops

Thundering hooves

Vigor in my heart

Rope in hand

A good ol' horse

And lots of open land.

Luvs, Gussie

A Bronco Twister's Prayer

Bronco Twister's Prayer

It was a little grave yard
  on the rolling foot hill plains:
That was bleached by the sun in summer,
  swept by winter’s snows and rains;
There a little bunch of settlers
  gathered on an autumn day
‘Round a home made lumber coffin,
  with their last respects to pay.

Weary men that wrung their living
  from that hard and arid land,
And beside them stood their women;
  faded wives with toil worn hands.
But among us stood one figure
  that was wiry, straight and trim.
Every one among us know him.
  ‘Twas the broncho twister, Jim.

Just a bunch of hardened muscle
  tempered with a savage grit,
And he had the reputation
  of a man that never quit.
He had helped to build the coffin,
  he had helped to dig the grave;
And his instinct seemed to teach him
  how he really should behave.

Well, we didn’t have a preacher,
  and the crowd was mighty slim.
Just two women with weak voices
  sang an old time funeral hymn.
That was all we had for service.
  The old wife was sobbing there.
For her husband of a life time,
  laid away without prayer.

She looked at the broncho twister,
  then she walked right up to him.
Put one trembling arm around him and said,
  "Pray. Please won’t you Jim?"
You could see his figure straighten,
  and a look of quick surprise
Flashed across his swarthy features,
  and his hard dare devil eyes.

He could handle any broncho,
  and he never dodged a fight.
‘Twas the first time any body ever saw
  his face turn white.
But he took his big sombrero
  off his rough and shaggy head,
How I wish I could remember what
  that broncho peeler said.

No, he wasn’t educated.
  On the range his youth was spent.
But the maker of creation
  know exactly what he meant.
He looked over toward the mountains
  where the driftin’ shadows played.
Silence must have reined in heaven
  when they heard the way Jim prayed.

Years have passed since that small funeral
  in that lonely grave yard lot.
But it gave us all a memory, and a lot
  of food for thought.
As we stood beside the coffin,
  and the freshly broken sod,
With that reckless broncho breaker
  talkin’ heart to heart with God.

When the prayer at last was over,
  and the grave had all been filled,
On his rough, half broken pony,
  he rode off toward the hills.
Yes, we stood there in amazement
  as we watched him ride away,
For no words could ever thank him.
  There was nothing we could say.
Since we gathered in that grave yard,
  it’s been nearly fifty years.
With their joys and with their sorrows,
  with their hopes and with their fears.
But I hope when I have finished,
  and they lay me with the dead,
Some one says a prayer above me,
  like that broncho twister said.



This is one of my favorite poems/songs to listen to.
Don Edwards and Waddie Mitchell did a rendition of it with Don Edwards playing Amazing grace in the background, it is truly beautiful!

Amazing Grace/Bronco Twister's Prayer -- check it out. It is lovely!


Hugs, 
Kricket and Gussie

"sagebrush and speed limit signs"

Border Signs

The smog that lurks just beyond the sign

The love and the land that we're leavin behind

The border line.

The Elko town casinos

The Elko town bars

The rearview mirror scene of ours.

The horses, the hats, the cowboys and ropes

They stand behind us with bowed heads and our hopes.

Mountains and white lines

Sagebrush and speed limit signs.

With dreary hearts and lingering souls we drift on out of old Elko.

Coffee still on our breathe

And like a traitor to my own heart

I find us driftin farther apart. 

A haunting feelin dances in the air

And it just don't seem quite fair.

So with Nevada in our hearts

And Utah on our minds

We'll be wherever our road finds

Forever haunted by these border signs.

A little something I wrote on our way home from Elko!!

-Gussie