GROWING UP COWBOY

Life at the roundup and otherwise

 

GROWING UP COWBOY (1)

 

This old house had seen  some bad

weather, she had never known paint

and she was banked up four feet on

every side to shut out the cold of

winter.

 

Summer came and she was still banked

against the cold.

There was a lean too built on to the back

of her and it was there the pickled meat

barrel stood full of pig`s feet, hams and

brine.

The front room was also the kitchen and

I guess you would say the 'living room'.

Most of the time somebody slept there'

also , on a cot.

 

The back room of the house was the

bed room.   There were three or four beds

in there and a big pot belly stove.

That`s where my brother Thomas died,

over there in the corner .   He was 17. 

He reached

down from his horse to pick up a stray

calf and tore his insides loose.  We all

thought he was coming down with the

flu, but he was`nt , he died.

 

There were two other brothers, both

hero`s.  Joe was a little older of the two.

He was reduced to ashes and is scattered

out around the Farralon Islands out in

the Pacific Ocean West of San Francisco.

 

Neal, the other brother is buried in a plot

near Presho, South Dakota.  His grave is

covered with a slab of red South Dakota

granite 10 inches thick and 4 feet by 8 feet

in lengh.   The slab is polished to a sheen

and engraved on the surface are these

words.

                   A COWBOY`S PRAYER

                        (by   Badger Clark )

Oh Lord, I`ve never lived where churches grow.

I love creation better as it stood

That day you finished it so long ago

And looked upon your work and called it good.

I know that others find you in the light

That`s sifted down through tinted window panes,

And yet I seem to feel you near tonight

In this dim, quiet starlight on the plains.

 

I thank you, Lord, that I am placed so well.

That you have made my freedom so complete;

That i`m no slave of whistle, clock or bell

Nor weak eyed prisoner of wall and street.

Just let me live my life as I`ve begun

And give me work that`s open to the sky

Make me a partner of the wind and sun,

And I won`t ask a life that`s soft or high.

 

Let me be easy on the man that`s down;

Let me be square and generous with all.

I`m careless sometimes, Lord, when I`m in town,

But never let `em say I`m mean or small !

Make me as big and open as the plains,

As honest as the hawse between my knees.

Clean as the wind that blows behind the rains,

Free as the hawk that circles down the breeze!

 

Forgive me, Lord, if sometimes I forget.

You know about the reasons that are hid.

You understand the things that gall and fret;

You know me better than my mother did.

Just keep an eye on all that`s done and said

And right me, sometimes, when I turn aside,

And guide me on the long, dim trail ahead

That stretches upward toward the Great Divide.

 

end (1)                     cont. to (2)

-----John Crowley

Reviews

[Sora]

wow very descriptive :) I admire your writing.

[Neg]

Very good writing. I like your choice of words.

[Fairy Tales]

very nice. i see what you mean.

[Butterflymom]

The imagery paints an interesting and beautiful picture. I can smell the smoke from the stove.........Well done.

[Tracie Skarbo]

there the pickled meat ---there they pickled meat :) going onto the next one.

Tigra

[Tracie Skarbo]

I thought this was a great description of the old homestead. I am assuming that what you meant about the brothers coming home heros was that they died in the war. I liked the poem that was on the gravestone.

Who is John Crowley?

Tigra

[JC]

This is great John

I love the description of the house, it draws up some great imagery.

JC