riding the cows on a cold early spring calving

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    Poem Commentary

    From experiences in Wyomng in the 60's on the 3 Circle Ranch. Riding with Del Esquibel. I usually rode Red when there was roping to do. Del usualyl rode his big brown horse from Texas. I also rode a buckskin named Buck, a pinto named Buck, a Morgan named Bill and a rank little gray horse that threw me a few times..and i never gave a name. We had several horse in our remuda. We rode every day. Sun up to sundown. From the start of calving in late February through summer.. Then branded then hayed.. In the Fall we shipped. In the winter we fed cattle and fixed things.

    riding the cows on a cold early spring calving
    slammed hard against a board fence
    by a cancer jawed cow dripping spit
    busted against the barn wall
    by a rank horse throwing a fit
    laid up for a month 
    old bones don't mend as easy
    as they used to
    up in the morning
    dark
    a hurtin' chill running through
    there's no one else to do it
    spring snow
    wet and cold
    Bright and chapped and raw
    and the cows feel the same
    long days riding
    cow's udders sun-burnt
    from reflecting snow
    rope her down balm her teats
    put down her calf
    balm his nose
    welcome the heat
    it all brings

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    Teardrops commented on riding the cows on a cold early spring calving

    02-02-2011

    Training a cutting horse and he decides to lay down with you on him . I feel your pain . Great poem a so true Marie
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    train64 commented on riding the cows on a cold early spring calving

    02-02-2011

    Thank you. Spent a few years in Wyoming on family ranches in my younger days..
    Reply to Comment

    Rhymer commented on riding the cows on a cold early spring calving

    02-02-2011

    You poem takes me back, long time since I have worked a farm, never to the extent you are writing about. A hard life with plenty of work. 10 from me
    Reply to Comment

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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