"The glory of friendship. . ."

"The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand, Nor the kindly smile nor the joy of companionship; it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when they discover that someone else believes in them and is willing to trust them."

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

-Gussie

. . . 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
Baked 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.

♡♡♡
Luvs, Gussie

 

Carl and I sorting last summer

Reminiscing Summertime

Reminiscing Summertime

Like in summertime when skin is tan and lips are red.

When horses are shiny and sleek and silver bits are tarnished and rusty.

When the ground is dusty and soft and we forget our frozen worries.

When wild rags are loosely tied and big concho earrings dangle by our necks.

When tank tops leave flaxen shoulders and rope burned hands to show.

When everything isn't done with frozen fingers and sweat beads roll down our cheeks.

When boots aren't just frozen clods of mud and the trucks don't fight to start.

When bones get broken in the heat and coffee is still a necessity.

Like when bikinis and boots go together.

When white smiles shine beneath straw hats.

I miss the cock-hipped ponies standing at the rail.

When the smell of horse sweat is worn as often as my favorite perfume and when the sun yellows my braided hair.

When blood becomes the new favorite color and tears and sweat run like creek water.

When bright eyes meet each morning and coffee kisses the ponies good day.

Like in summertime when skin is tan and lips are red.

Gussie

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