Welcome to my humble home. I am so pleased you decided to come and visit.
Now, do you like that or would you rather hear, Howdy, you all! Good to see ya again!?
I guess I better stick to bein me, cause I do that pretty good. Last week, I went out to the George Ranch to set some things up and they were short two hands. You guessed it; I wound up ridin a horse all day, muggin cattle, dippin cattle and ropin. I enjoyed the time, but found out how out of shape I really am!
Dont forget the George Ranch Working Ranch Competition and Chuckwagon Cook-off May 3, 4. There will be great food, great rodeo, stick horse races for the kids, live cowboy poetry from your wrangler and friends and a whole lot of stuff for the whole family on both days. Admission is low and its close, just go south on 59; take the first exit after the Brazos River bridge and go left about eight miles. Youll have a ball!
We also have the Texas Foundation Quarter Horse Show at the Crosby Fairgrounds Arena on April 12 at 8:00 am. Its free and is back for the second year because they loved our Crosby hospitality, so mark your calendars. Ill tell you more next week. By the way, your wrangler will be announcing the show and Ill have books, CDs and stuff available. Id love to see all of you there!
I am goin to introduce you to one of my favorite cowboy poets, Badger Clark. Hes gone, but his work is still some of the best. Heres why:
Ridin
There is some that like the city-Grass thats curried smooth and green,
Theatres and stranglin collars, Wagons run by gasoline-
But for me its hawse and saddle, Every day without a change,
And a desert sun a blazin, On a hundred miles of range.
Just a ridin, a-ridin-
Desert ripplin in the sun,
Mountains blue along the skyline-
I dont envy anyone-When Im ridin
When my feet is in the stirrups, And my hawse is on the bust,
With his hoofs a-flashin lightin, From a cloud of golden dust,
And the bawlin of the cattle, Is a-comin down the wind,
Then a finer life than ridin, Would be mighty hard to find.
Just a ridin, a-ridin-
Splittin long cracks through the air,
Stirrin up a baby cyclone Rippin up the prickly pear, As Im ridin
I, dont need no art exhibits, When the sunset does her best,
Paintin everlastin glory, On the mountains to the west,
And your opery looks foolish, When the night-bird starts his tune,
And the deserts silver mounted, By the touches of the moon.
Just a ridin, a-ridin-
Who kin envy kings and czars,
When the coyotes down the valley
Are a-singin to the stars, If hes ridin?
When my earthly trails is ended, And my final bacon curled,
And the last great roundups finished, At the Home Ranch of the world,
I dont want no harps nor haloes, Robes or other dressed up things-
Let me ride the starry ranges, On a pinto hawse with wings!
Just a ridin, a-ridin
Nothin Id like half so well
As a-roundin up the sinners
That have wandered out of Hell, And a-ridin.
I guess that says it all! Gotta go feed again, so close the gate, and till we meet again,
Happy Trails,
Lloyd
