From Bellvue, Colorado:
Gary McMahan.
These songs are like your kids, ya know?
You love 'em all, but most of 'em stay at home
and never do nothin'
But every once in a while you have one
that gets up, runs out the door and before you know it,
and he's out there making you proud
and sending checks back to dear old dad.
And this song was, it's a true story
about a ranch in Wyoming, and it was first recorded
by Chris LeDoux, back in the early '70s,
and it's been recorded about 300 times now,
by a bunch of good cowboy and cowgirl singers.
The Old Double Diamond.
X Now the old Double Diamond, X.
X lay out east of Dubois, X.
Min the land of the buffalo. X.
X And the auctioneer's gavel rapped and it rattled, X.
X as I watched the old Double Diamond go X.
X And won't you listen to the wind X.
X mother nature's violin. X.
X Now she's selling out, and I'm moving on, X.
X but I'm leaving with more than I came X.
X 'Cause I got this saddle, and it ain't for sale, X.
X And I got this song to sing X.
X Got a new range to find, and new knots to tie, X.
X In a country where cowboys are kings X.
X I turn my tail to the wind, X.
X and the old Double Diamond, X.
K disappeared into the sage. X
Nice. Nice, Belle.
There's nothing like a yodel to convey blue
or happy, and the reason I put yodeling in my songs
is the old Western songs had 'em,
and a yodel is constructed of mainly vowels.
A lot of people have a real weak falsetto, ya know?
And can't do a yodel with a weak falsetto.
You gotta have a real falsetto, like Mickey Mouse.
Come here, Pluto, come on boy.
Down, Pluto, down, boy!
Anyway, you develop your falsetto by singing falsetto,
like The Cattle Call.
And then you learn to switch in and out of it.
Now, a trained singer can't yodel.
Their voice goes ;
They've lost the break in their voice.
They actually have to retrain
a break in their voice to yodel.
And then if you practice it long enough, you can do it fast.
Jeff Nourse is probably the cowboy's cowboy.
And I admire Jeff for his artistic abilities.
The guy can do probably anything he sets his mind to,
but he was just a hardscrabble kid from New Mexico,
ya know. Neither one of us have ever been rich
or anything near it, and we kinda get along on that level.
Yeah, I grew up north of Magdalena, on a ranch
that my granddad started, along with my uncle,
way back in the teens.
So I'm basically fourth generation doing this.
It's what I've always loved to do.
There's a line in a song that Jeff and I wrote
about his Uncle Fred, where it says,
"A good cowboy knows what to do,
but a good cowman knows why"
Jeff first learned from Fred,
who was kind of a PhD in cowboy-ology.
As a result, Jeff not only knows the what's,
but the whys, and it was sure a great way to start
if you're gonna make your living running cows.
Show's over.
The ranch north of Magdalena was about 50 miles from town.
And back then, the roads were terrible
and trucks were not very good back in those days.
This was in the '50s.
There's a livestock driveway between the Arizona
state line and Magdalena.
It was a big shipping point for cattle,
for years and years, it's one of the biggest ones.
So each ranch would just drive their cattle
into the driveway, and they'd drilled a well every 10 miles,
so you'd just move them into town,
hold 'em at the edge of town until the rail cars
were ready and you'd made the deal with the buyer,
and then take them on in to the stockyards,
and strip the calves and weigh 'em,
and load 'em on a train.
And then drive those cows back home.
And they didn't wanna go.
They wouldn't leave their calves, you know,
after, you know, if a cow and a calf get separated,
they wanna go back to the spot that they last seen that calf
so those cows just wanna come back over the top of you.
The Uncle Fred song is about this very thing,
driving those cattle to town.
I learned a lot from him, and there's a line in there
about stories around the campfire,
and he was a great storyteller and a great teacher,
and he'd ridden with Poncho Villa,
I mean, he'd done a lot of stuff.
Not by choice; He was in jail in Mexico,
and Poncho Villa came through town and
said, "Alright, here's the deal, guys."
You can go with me, or we'll just blast you right here.
So he says it was a real easy choice.
So yeah, he rode with him for a while.
Everything in the song is true.
It all really happened to him.
I'll do you one Gary and I wrote together.
I started writing it, and then Gary came along,
stayed a few days, and we worked on it for a year or so.
Then we finally finished it,
finally finished it on the telephone.
But anyway, it's a true story,
where I grew up, in Magdalena, New Mexico.
And it's about my Uncle Fred.
X From the spurs Ed Blanchard Made, X.
X To the trademark felt, that circled his head X.
X a cowboy from the old school, X.
X Whose amigos lay dyin' or dead, X.
X the old man from Magdalena. X.
X I was his button, he said. X.
X And the hungry roots of my cowboy soul, X.
X were fed by my Uncle Fred X.
X recall cattle bawling in the blowing sand, X.
X and riding night herd in the rain X.
X We'd drive our cattle into town, X.
X and load 'em on a train. X.
X The kids would keep the herd bunched X.
X out on the holding ground, X.
X while Uncle Fred would close the deal, X.
X at every bar in town. X
Jeff and I have been friends for probably 30 years.
We met on the Bell Ranch, down in Solano, New Mexico.
And they don't do any rides on the Bell anymore,
but Jeff's got his own ride up on the Indian Head Ranch
over by Las Vegas, New Mexico.
At a trail ride, these guys usually get there,
and you get your duffel stowed, and you get camp made
and your tent, there, and then you ride out in the mornings,
get on a horse and ride for a day,
and these are gentlemen's trail rides, you know?
Where it takes like two mules just to pack the whiskey.
And then everybody gets back to camp that evening,
and usually a nap is in order.
And then the music starts.
And it isn't a formal show.
You're just sittin' around the campfire with a guitar,
and it comes your turn and you play 'em a song,
and then somebody else plays 'em another song,
or does a poem, or tells a story.
You're just out there with your buddies.
X Well, this is a song about some friends of mine, X.
X We all get together from time to time X.
X and talk about things we've done and things to do. X.
Music's a big part of the trail ride.
It started out years ago with just me and a couple of guys.
And it's turned into a, kind of a music festival, really.
There's great players from a lot of different places
show up, and a talented bunch of guys.
It is an event that a lot of people look forward to,
and hopefully we can keep it going for years to come.
X I got a friend there, too, X.
X She's a waiting up for me. X.
X She can do anything that she has to do; X.
X she can love me; She can kiss me; X.
X she can cuss me, too X.
X That's the way it is with old friends X.
X Good friends are hard to find X.
And another thing that happened to me along the way
was I met Brice Chapman, and we was talking
around the campfire, at the Indian Head ride,
Somebody had hired Brice to do a little
trick-roping down there.
And the first time I came up to Brice and I said,
"Well, I see you got some of them cheap-ass rope tricks
you're sellin, huh?".
X That's the way it is with old friends. XX
But you might wanna take a look
at some of them cheap-ass rope tricks.
I need a quad iced vente, three-pump vanilla latte.
Yeah, and I'll take a white chocolate mocha.
I cannot pronounce some of the things
that we're supposed to order, anymore.
There's a new language out there.
Who would ever have thought a cowboy would say,
"Google it; Look it up on the internet;" right?
X Out in Montana, where the sky is blue, X.
X lives a feller named Slim, an old buckaroo, X.
X wears a big black hat, X.
X rides a horse that won't quit. X.
X He ain't no alloy; He's plum cowboy, X.
X and he can yodel, you bet. X
A round bale of wheat hay,
and my truck's right there in the front.
What you doing, man?
Just solid work, that's it.
I love it; I don't know what else I'd do if I didn't.
Alright, off to something different.
You can catch anything in the world
if you can get it to depend on you for a free handout.
You set a snare for a pig or a possum
or a raccoon, he's gonna go in there
and he's gonna eat the free food.
People nowadays, they don't know how to work.
I mean, that's just being honest.
And it's up to you, you need to get your ambition bone
and whittle on it a little bit,
and make your own life in your own way,
and that's the American dream.
That's what cowboys, they wanted the American dream,
they wanted to go work on a ranch
and then eventually save 'em some money
and buy their own herd and buy 'em some land.
Well, that dreams not, it's not lost,
it's just the person with the ambition
picks it up and runs with it.
Get on this deal here, c'mon.
Brice Chapman, he's a strong guy.
I guess he gets it from shoeing horses.
You know, he's horse-shoeing royalty.
His dad used to shoe the Queen of England's horses,
and the Saudi Arabia, they used to fly him over
to shoe those horses, and Brice came right out of that.
And then he's carrying on the tradition.
Shoeing horses is a lost art, because a lot of cowboys
can still shoe horses, and there are a lot of guys
that go to farrier schools and learn how to shoe horses,
but just doing it for a living, every day,
a lot of guys, they'll find out that it's harder
than they thought, and they'll just go ahead
and pay somebody else to do it,
and that's a blessing for our business,
because we've been doing it for so long.
You know, horseshoein' is the hardest job
on the ranch, and you're right down under 'em,
where they can stop you.
So you have to get your bluff in on 'em,
and command some respect.
You have to know what you're doing, technically,
and be plenty horse-savvy.
And if you do it right, you take good care of their feet,
and nobody gets hurt.
You know, a cowboy's hands, they'll have battle scars,
and when you're always messing and playing with horses,
anything you touch can pretty much either cut you,
or step on you, or bite you,
and you'll always have some pains,
and when you're using those rasps, they're extra sharp.
And you can cut your fingers, really, really easy,
and that's what, hey!
What are you doin"?
And that's what some of these scars are.
And you know, of course, you're fingernails
are always breaking off, or they're cracking,
and in the winter, I use a lot of white tape,
and lots of Super Glue.
You like your shoe job?
You wanna smile for 'em?
Smile; Smile for 'em.
Good boy.
Not bad for a bronc, huh?
I threw a guitar over my back in 1971 and set off
to become a song-writer, much to the dismay of my dad.
And I went to Nashville and spent the next five years
in abject poverty, learning how to write songs.
And I went from New York City to LA,
and we got into every ARR office there was.
Warner Brothers did sign me,
but then they signed Larry Mahan,
and so they kicked all the other cowboys off the label,
because they figured they had the ultimate singing cowboy.
There was just one problem with that:
Larry Mahan sings like I ride bulls.
You know, they took such a lickin' on that,
they decided never to sign another cowboy.
And after that, I couldn't find anybody that wanted
to sigh me, so I came back home.
And kicked around, you know, tried to sing
for a livin' at these windy little Naugahyde
bars out in the middle of Wyoming,
and you know, living hand to mouth.
And I was gonna go back to cowboying,
and they needed a guy to run the stables
Well, I'd never duded a horse out before,
but I figured, what could it possibly hurt?
Other than the dudes.
And so I took on that job,
and I grew that stable from 13 horses to 185.
because Tomato Records - it was a New York City label
they called me up and wanted to sign me,
and then we headed for New York and cut the album.
And there were four artists on this label.
There was me, Dick Gregory,
Townes Van Zandt,
and Phillip Glass.
Anyway, all of a sudden, they wanted to do a big time album
on me, and we cut that album in New York City.
The vocals on it were the Jordanaires,
Elvis' old vocal group.
The strings on it were the New York Philharmonic,
with Harry Lookofsky conducting.
It was called Colorado Blue.
And it got picked as a hit album in all three trades.
It was just on its way straight up.
And this was in about 1980.
Tomato Records had me on this tour of radio stations,
and I was to go to Memphis and play a gig
at St. Jude's hospital, and the only room they could find
for me was a suite, and I didn't know
that I was staying right next to Gerald Ford.
And all of a sudden, the other elevator doors open,
and it was Gerald Ford.
And he had two Secret Service guys with him,
and they looked straight at me, and they said, "Get him."
And all these cops just jumped on top of me,
pinned me to the floor, and they got Gerald past me
without risk to his person, I guess.
So, I got up to my room, and I thought,
"Whew, this has been a hell of a day"
The next morning, at six o'clock, the phone rang.
And it's Kevin Eggers' secretary,
and she's saying, "Gary, get out of there."
The record company went broke; We're bankrupt.
We can't even pay for that room.
So, I snuck out of the hotel.
Snuck out of this suite, and I mean, it was a suite.
There were like seven different sets of furniture.
I mean, I was living as high on the hog as I ever had.
And then six hours later, it's all over.
And I'm no longer a star; I'm nothing'
I'm just a fugitive.
That was it, man.
We met in seventh grade, at a high school sock-hop.
And got married young.
I was 16; We've been together ever since.
You know, you're a little immature at 16.
People don't take you very serious,
but we was ready to get started.
And from there, we basically came to this ranch
and started running our own cattle
and working for ourselves.
That's kind of where we're at right now.
I think poor men has poor ways.
2D and I got started young.
We didn't have anything, so we learned to make it ourself.
That's just part of the deal, being on these ranches,
is being able to weld a little bit.
But, I think, you know, if you get a little creative,
you can do a lot of stuff with it.
One of the partners in the ranch across the road
had built a new house, and she'd bought
this really cool chandelier, and I thought,
"You know what, I can make one of those."
And so I did.
And had it hanging in the house.
It looked pretty cool.
Guy came by and said, "God, I'll buy that".
So I just, you know, I took it down, "Here you go."
He traded me an old pickup for it,
and I was needing an old pickup.
So there's 2D with no lights in the dining room,
and ah, so one night she goes out
and she gets this old pickup I'd traded for,
she drives up and parks it and shines the lights
through the window, and she says,
"That's what we're gonna use for lights in here
until you build me another one.
So I built her another one...
Let's see, I think there's six, there's six arms
on the bottom, and then they're split at the top,
with some more arms.
There's little lights out on the end of each
of the big arms, with the shades on them.
And some cut-outs of horses.
Some cattle and stuff like that.
A lot of pieces, there must be a couple hundred pieces
in each one of them.
So, I came back home and was struggling, again,
and said, "I bought a couple of stagecoaches",
and I'd like you to run 'em in town.
And we gave 'em with these big draft horses,
and I drove those guys, I betcha, 10,000 miles
before it was over, and one of the challenges
to drivin' that stagecoach was stayin' warm.
So I had this guy make me this fur-lined cowboy hat.
Throw me that hat, would you?
This thing.
And to begin with, it was flat.
And that was my idea.
I was gonna wear a flat, fur-lined hat like that.
But what happens to these things is they get snowed on,
and then they dry and then they curl up,
so you look more like a Cossack when you put this on.
But I'm telling ya, this is the warmest hat.
And in Aspen, it don't just snow a couple inches.
Some nights, we'd get a foot and a half of snow.
So, one night, I got a fare out to the Aspen Club,
and as I got out there, I started realizing:
I'm in a little bit of trouble here.
Because the roads were just getting narrower
and narrower, and I remember this taxi,
he was sittin' out there, smokin' dope,
because I could smell it.
So I went over to this hopped up hippy in the taxi,
and I asked him if he'd help me.
And, "Sure, man, I'll help you," you know,
so we both got on the back wheels of the stagecoach
and we slid it around, and I was threatening that team:
"George, you son of a bitch, you stay there now.
Don't you dare move, I'm telling you, I'll kill ya!"
And we'd slide it back around,
and on the second turn, I felt them start to go.
And this job was starting to pay real well,
and everything was starting to work real well,
and if those horses would have run off,
they would have wrecked that stagecoach.
They would have just totally wrecked my life.
And I knew it in a flash.
And I jumped in front of 'em,
and the tongue went right between my legs,
and this hat went down like that.
All of a sudden, I was on the middle of a team
of runaway horses, you know, with, ah,
stone-blind, I was down there like that.
I could feel their feet, and I was sittin' on that tongue,
and I just started hollerin', "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"
And just trying to jerk their damn heads off.
And I got 'em shut down probably 150 yards
from where they took off.
This guy in the taxi, he turns it around
and comes back and he says, "Whoa, man.
That was really somethin".
And I can only imagine what that looked like to him,
but I did get 'em shut down.
But you know, when you,
when you do something like that, you know,
you see you could have been killed.
By just one foot, on a foot down there,
dragging you down, and the horse and the coach
running right over the top of you, you know?
But desperate times call for desperate things, I guess.
This is a big loop; It's called the Texas Twister.
It's basically a flat loop that you get in.
And then you spin it out to the tail,
so it doesn't twist.
Easier to do with a spot-cord rope.
Out of the wind.
And then you spin the other one, which is,
you know, obviously
I've been trick-roping for about 35 years.
I started trick-roping at the age of 5.
Next thing you know, I kept adding to my show,
and as time progressed, I mean, it's added to
even these big mares like this right here.
I don't know what they're doing.
They're loving on my today, for some reason,
but anyway, time gets to going,
and I've added things to my show with a dog,
other trick horses.
You know, I kinda wanna still keep some old
cowboy traditions with it,
because we're pretty much losing a lot
of the Western tradition to new, modern entertainment.
And I just don't wanna let that get away from us.
Grace, you be okay with Sparky?
Ropin' is a real skill.
You don't believe it, just pick up a rope and try to use it.
Knowing how to use a rope is a big part of cowboyin,
and this country's history.
When these kids see a guy that really knows how to use
a rope in the flesh, they have this little seed
of firsthand knowledge that they'll carry with 'em
the rest of their lives.
I do a performance on the New Mexico Junior College Campus
in Hobbs, New Mexico, and there are anywhere
from two to 4,000 kids come through there,
and I've been performing over there for about 22 years.
I have a rope trick that I perform,
and [ sit flat on the ground,
with my feet straight out in front of me,
and I'll get a rope and I'll throw it in front of me,
and spin it, and then I skip up, off the ground,
and I skip that rope through me,
and I keep it spinning.
Laying down on the job.
It's the innocence of a kid looking at what you're doing,
and they're just, it's just something
that a lot of kids have never seen before,
and to have a horse come into your school,
and be gentle and be amongst the kids,
and you can just pack in and pet 'em,
and they're not gonna hurt you.
You know, you can't trust all those horses out there,
but the horses that I have, that's the way
I want them to be, so that you personify that animal
to have some human characteristics,
you know, that we all, that are innate.
Kindness, and that's my goal is to make them
actually look like, Holy smokes,
that those animals are working with him.
They're almost like they're human.
X Well, he picks up his saddle, X.
X when he gets to the barn, X.
X n the cold of first morning's light X.
I really feel blessed.
You know, to be a part of this lifestyle.
Growing up in it, and spending my life doing it.
Today, for me was a terrific day.
We met up with all of our neighbors,
before sunup, and unloaded our horses,
and gathered the pasture and penned the cattle,
then uh, a great cowboy crew,
neighbors are such an important part of it,
the way we do it, because we help each other.
They help us, we help them.
X He's got a new, red bandana, X.
X an old pair of spurs. X.
X He buttons his duster down tight X.
X With frost on his breath X.
X and the wind at his back X.
X He saddles his pony with care X.
X There's a fence that needs mendin', X.
X way down by the highway. He longs for a time X.
X when that road wasn't there. X.
X He's just an old cowboy, adjusting to change, X.
X to the freeways and the fences of fate. X.
X He longs for the freedom of home on the range. X.
X He's down in the valley, 100 years late. X.
Jeffy knows a ton of good, New Mexico cowboys.
And of course, branding is always a hell
of a lot more fun a-horseback.
We still do it the old way.
We branded a bunch of calves.
We roped calves and dragged them to the fire,
used a hot iron.
I try to get the kids involved in it.
But you don't have to try to.
I mean, they're champing at the bit to do it.
And ah, the kids grow up doing it,
and they're learning from some of the best
in the business, and I'm sure they'll carry it on.
They may drift away from it, but often times,
they'll make a full circle and come right back,
at some point, and carry it on and show it to their kids.
X As we drag 'em to the fire. X.
X It's a good day at the office, X.
X When you limp in, dirty, and tired X.
Things are changin'.
You know, I can see big changes from the time
I could remember up until today.
But as far as the cowboy etiquette,
and the legacy of this, for another generation,
it'll be there.
I don't think it'll ever change, as long as there's a West,
and as long as there's cattle and horses.
There's so many parts of the West that you can't see it
from a pickup or a four wheeler.
And working cattle horseback is still
the most efficient way to do it.
The easiest way; Easiest on the cattle.
Easiest on the people.
There's always gonna be folks that don't use horses,
and they still run cattle, but for the most part,
the real deals, it's always gonna be there.
After the branding, you know, that's kind
of a fun part of the day, too,
because the cooler opens up and the lunch is ready,
and people look forward to that,
because really, at the end of the day,
all these cowboys get for helping you
is a cold beer and a good meal.
And that's their pay for the day.
So we do our best to make it good for them.
Not a better way in the world to spend a Saturday.
In 1985, when the cowboy poetry gatherings came along,
my boss knew that I was pretty well burned out
on the stagecoach; I was fried, man.
I'd done that for five years.
And he said, "Why don't you go to the poetry gathering?
And take a week off!"
Well, I went to the poetry gathering,
and I discovered that there were lots of people there,
doing my songs, and what's more than that,
I saw the stairstep Ranch kids, you know,
there's Ma and Pa and all their kids,
sitting there in the front row,
mouthing the words to my songs.
I had no idea they were getting out.
I was stuck up there in Aspen in a dude ranch operation.
I thought I would do a Colorado cowboy love song.
And I wrote this about a little hairy-legged hippy chick
that I picked up, going up Berthoud Pass one time.
She was hitchhikin, and she was going to Vernal, Utah,
and I was goin' to the ranch that day,
and hell, I wasn't doing that much, so I took her there.
I fell madly in love with her in the process,
and I guess we were happy for over three weeks.
And then she dumped me and I wrote her this song.
And I always thought it was a pretty good song,
and I figured Kenny Chesney or Garth Brooks
or one of them guys would do this song
and she'd hear it coming out of some lonesome jukebox
some place, and uh, it would rip her little heart out.
Anyway, it's a Colorado cowboy love song.
X It was out west of Denver, X.
X near the Great Divide, X.
X along the side of the road, hitchin' a ride, X.
X was a pretty little girl by the name of Dena Rose X.
X Dena Rose X.
X Yeah, I says whoa, when I saw Dena Rose X.
X I was a cowboy all boogered and bent. X.
X She was strong medicine, and heaven-sent, X.
X and together we shared the mountains, X.
X rivers and miles X
I used to pal around with a guy
by the name of Dick Spencer.
He was the grand old man at Western Horseman magazine.
He was the publisher there for over 40 years,
and we'd be playing, uh, some,
like the Wyoming Beef Cattle Improvement Association's
annual banquet, and Dick would be the speaker,
and I'd be the entertainer.
And so we became pretty good friends,
and they had a poetry gathering in his honor
in Colorado Springs, and I was featured
on that gathering one year, and Dick asked me
if I'd stay at his house, during the gathering.
So I agreed to that and I got there about two o'clock
in the morning, and I didn't know it,
but Dick's daughter, she kind of had a little crush on me.
So I got there about two in the morning,
and she's in her tight jeans, baking cookies.
And I said, "My, do you usually bake cookies"
at two in the morning?”
She said, "Oh, yes."
Well, Candace later became my wife.
And I'm just here to tell ya, I ain't seen e'er other
cookie baked at two in the morning, since that night.
But after Dick died, ya know,
this was Mr. Western Horseman, he just had stacks
and stacks of letters that had, correspondence
that he'd written back and forth.
And one thing that really burned his toast
was when Ralph Lauren came out with his men's cologne,
Chaps.
And I found a letter that Dick wrote on Western Horseman
stationery, and I didn't change it much,
I just set it into poem.
So this is to Mr. Ralph Lauren,
505 Fifth Avenue, New York City.
I seen on the TV, Mr. Lauren, that you have
Chaps.
And it's probably a manly scent,
or you wouldn't have called it that.
Myself, I never use the stuff,
and this may sound a little harsh,
but I think men use cologne to hide
the fact they haven't washed.
So I can't really comment on the product,
though I'm sure it smells just fine.
It's the way you say the name Chaps
that chaps my cowboy behind.
You see, the name is derived from the Spanish word:
Chaparajos.
Which, in turn, gets its name from the word,
chaparral, which again, in Spanish,
A dense thicket of thorny brush and trees,
which all manner of cowboys have
ridden through for centuries.
Thus, needing protection for their legs,
these chaparajos were fashioned from cowhide,
and are the leather leggings cowboys wear
that come without the backside.
Then us gringos got a hold of the word
and shortened chaparajos to "chaps".
Much the same way we took the word "tapadero"
and condensed it to "taps."
So the CH sound is really pronounced with an SH sound,
you see, and to an old cowboy that's worn chaps
all his life, it seems a travesty that you would use
the cowboy's manly image to sell your fancy smell
to the herd, and never even take the time
to learn how to say the word.
Because the truth is, Mr. Lauren,
even though I'd like to console ya,
anyone who says "chaps" for chaps,
don't know chit from Chinola.
Oh, for heaven's sakes.
Yvonne Hollenbeck, she's uh, just a sweetheart of a gal,
and writes her own poetry.
She's got insights into the way
our little Western world works
that I've never heard come out of anybody else's mouth.
Yvonne Hollenbeck, from South Dakota.
I was commissioned one day,
because I was the only one home,
to go help the neighbors that had a prairie fire.
And it was about 102 degrees that day,
and I come home and I had spent seven hours
on the gunnysack crew, and I was totally exhausted.
I was just black with smoke.
I went over and I turned on the TV to see
if there was any chance of rain in the forecast,
and guess who was on TV?
Martha Stewart.
She was showing how to properly iron table linens.
And as tired as I was, I wrote a poem about her,
before I went to bed that night:
"What Would Martha Do?"
Martha's making millions showing people how to cook,
with her syndicated TV show,
her magazines and books,
but she don't know a darn bit more
than gals like me and you, but we don't get a nickel
for the many things we do.
It never seems to bother, when her hair gets in her eyes;
She just pulls it back and then commences
making cakes and pies.
She licks the batter off her fingers, right there on TV.
And why she's getting paid for it,
sure beats the likes of me.
I wonder if she'd fare so well, if she lived on a ranch.
And what she'd use to get manure off of boots and pants.
And when she's plum exhausted, and she has to feed a crew,
don't you ever wonder, what would Martha do?
When hubby hollers that he's stuck, and he could use a tow,
would she know how to find the gears
and let that clutch out slow?
I wonder how she'd do sortin' cattle through a gate.
Now, that would test her many skills.
It just might be her fate.
Would she know how to fix a fence?
Put a splice in wire?
Or use a soaked-up gunnysack to fight a prairie fire?
And when she's usin' cream and eggs,
do you suppose that she'd know how to clean a hen house,
separate, or milk a kickin' cow?
Her fancy TV oven, I doubt would fill the bill,
when in the house, he brings a calf
that's taken on a chill.
Would she know how to do the chores,
when hubby has the flu?
What would Martha do?
Well, last week I helped with fencin',
and we'd gone for quite a ways,
and I hadn't done no housework in more than several days.
I come home sore and tired, and much to my surprise,
was a couple cattle buyers.
I had to feed those guys.
And then I set another plate,
because guess who next arrived?
The banker, with his briefcase, come pulling in our drive.
He said that he was passing by,
and he thought he'd stop and look at our cattle
and our horses, and he'd like to check my books.
Folks, I'd been real busy,
my books were way behind,
but I told him he could check 'em; I didn't really mind.
Because the records that I showed him
were far from being true.
After all, I got to thinkin...
Thank you.
We're approaching Clearfield from the south.
And this is where the bar was.
And the bartender got caught serving minors,
so he got closed up and he lived back there,
in that little house, and then there's the cemetery.
A lot of the neighbors are resting there.
And every year it dwindled,
until there's hardly anyone living around here now.
When I got out of high school, I became a rodeo organist.
I played for big fairs.
I was what they called a "show organist"
I matched the circus acts and rodeos.
And I met Glen at a rodeo.
He was a pickup man, and then he also calf-roped
and often bulldogged and hazed for other bulldoggers.
Glen is, actually, he's my best friend,
and he's my best supporter.
He really supports my poetry,
and he's a real good sport about it.
Glen has his hobbies, too.
And his biggest hobby, of course, is calf-roping.
And ever since he was a little boy, he's roped calves.
And that's his passion.
He's 70 years old and still roping.
And he was the US. Calf-roping champion,
and he won $16,000 and a horse trailer,
and so I thought, "Well, I should make him a quilt"
So I took one of his roping pictures and appliqued
that in the center of a star quilt I made.
And I entered it in the Rapid City Quilt Guild Show
last year, which is a big show.
And it won first prize.
So.
You can find the most talented people
in the darnedest places.
I met John Moore decades ago on a trail ride,
and we've been friends ever since.
I used to work at the Old Time Pickin' Parlor
in Nashville, and I've heard a lot of pickers,
but John is the best flat-picker I ever heard.
Brice and I find ourselves, more often than not,
out in the far-flung, dusty west.
That's where the real cowboys live.
You go to a rodeo or such and you see a guy like Brice,
and you know you're watching the real deal,
not some computer-generated, gas-powered illusion.
Those cow folks love to see their arts
and skills performed live, and we love them
that knows a good roper or cowboy pull up when they see one.
Alright, watch this kid. C'mon, get with him!
Now watch as he builds the big loop.
And this is called a Texas Skip.
It was made famous by the late, great Will Rodgers,
and he does it moving down the arena.
What do you think about that?
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Brice Chapman.
Get down.
Now watch as he lays his horse down,
in the middle of the arena.
That's a good dog.
No biscuit.
Yeah, that's pretty easy.
My ole Peanut.
Good thing I don't weigh a whole lot.
Somebody might think I was mean to him.
You know, you can pull on 'em and talk to 'em,
you know, just to make 'em simply get up,
you gotta give 'em a place where you want them to get up,
by touching 'em, touching 'em somewhere.
Oh, Peanut said, "That's enough."
Get up, all the way up.
Come on.
Make 'em your friend, first.
Once you get that down,
you can pretty much conquer anything.
Well, I bought Crossfire when he was 14 months old.
He's a 1991 model.
I've had him, well, he's 21.
And I've been the only one that's ever, basically,
taught him anything.
He and I, we have an understanding.
He does what I want him to do,
and then I go feed him right after that.
There's a lot of work involved in getting these animals
to get them where they like you enough
to where they're just gonna hang out with you, like this.
Once they become a performer or an entertainer,
they understand that, and they know that
that's their job, and they love it.
And when you get a horse or an animal,
that they know that's what they're supposed to do,
if you're not working 'em, or you don't have jobs,
then you might as well be shootin' bullets at them.
Because they're dyin; Because they love to perform
and love to be going somewhere, just like a person.
And so, you know, once you show 'em that life,
they can't do without it.
It's done something really good for my life,
and it helps me with people, because if they don't
understand me, then they'll understand my animals.
The Chama ride came right out of the old.
Bell Ranch rides. When the Bell sold,
and they didn't have a ride there anymore,
a lot of guys wanted to continue that tradition.
So a bunch of 'em persevered and moved over to the Chama.
And it's a heck of a ride.
I do a little horseback poetry sometimes,
and Brice is my favorite audience.
Grandpa was a rancher,
come from the old school.
The earlier, the better, was his cardinal rule.
He'd roust us kids up, in the middle of the night.
"Rise and shine, girls,"
he'd yell, as he blinded us with the light.
And if you didn't want your bed tipped over on your head,
you'd get your tail movin, and do exactly what he said.
He'd pour a pot of strong coffee down us,
even though we was only sprouts.
Then kick us out in the dark to try to find our mounts.
We'd stumble around his frozen corral, the
stars a shining bright. To tell whose horse was which,
you had to have a flashlight.
With jokes and quips,
he'd try to quell our early morning ire.
Then he'd haul us out to some distant pasture,
and light a sagebrush fire.
We'd huddle round that fire and shake until our bones
would rattle, not sure if it was the coffee,
or the cold, or dreading grandpa's raunchy cattle.
We'd wait around there for what seemed like a week,
until it was light enough to ride
for these cows we was to seek.
I've never been so miserable, my entire life combined, as
I was out there with Grandpa, on them early morning rides.
And whether he was right or wrong, ain't for me to say,
but mornin's been plum tolerable,
since Grandpa passed away.
Ah, that's funny.
Hell, I'll probably go face down in my beans
with a death yodel.
I won't' have a death rattle.
It'll be a death yodel.
I'll go face-down in my beans
at the Wyoming Beef Cattle Improvement Association.
The trail rides are great for lots of reasons.
The guys all have such busy lives,
and for a few days, you all get to be boys again.
You ride all day in gorgeous country,
and then after you brush the dust off
and have a great meal and a little drink
around the campfire, the guitars come out and you hear
real-deal cowboys, singing unvarnished songs,
and reeling off cowboy poetry underneath the moon.
As you come every year, to me,
it's nice that we're here again.
And we've spent, we spent the first night, you know,
kind of catching up on old times.
My name is Sugar Britches.
Hi, Sugar!
Sugar Pants!
And I'm sure we'll get to know each other,
over the next few days, if we don't already.
This is a Jeff Nourse song.
It's the anthem of the trail ride.
We had been at the Bell Ranch back before cellphones,
along time ago, and I promised 2D that I would be home
in three days, and I got home a week late.
And so I wrote this song down
on a paper sack, on the way home.
X Well, this is a song about some friends of mine. X.
X We all get together from time to time, X.
X talk about things we've done and things to do. X.
X We all work hard at the jobs we do, so when X.
X the cattle are shipped and the fall work's, through, X.
X We all get together for a cowboy rendezvous. X.
X Good friends are hard to find, X.
X and I wouldn't trade any of mine X.
X They're the kind that'll be there till the end X.
X Wife says, "Go have some fun; X."
X I'll see you boys when you get home!"X.
X That's the way it is, X.
X with old friends. X.
X Well, it's good to see these guys every now and then, X.
X sure was good to get home again. X.
X I got a friend there, too, she's a waiting up for me. X.
X She can do anything that she has to do. X.
X She can love me, she can kiss me; X.
X she can cuss me, too. X.
X That's the way it is, with old friends. X.
X Good friends are hard to find. X.
X I wouldn't trade any of mine. X.
X They're the kind that'll be there till the end. X.
X Wife says, "Go have some fun; X."
X I'll see you boys when you get home!"X.
X That's the way it is, X.
X with old friends. X.
X That's the way it is, X.
X with old friends X
Yesterday, we had to move one bunch of cattle.
We're bringin' all our cattle home for the winter range,
so we brought one bunch home yesterday,
and I followed along in the pickup,
and they had to be so observant, to make sure
that gates weren't open, and other cattle weren't coming,
and semis weren't coming down the road and what have you.
And it's a common joke around the neighborhood
that Glen does not level with his wife,
when it comes to the number of horses we have.
I'm not the smartest person in the world, but I can count.
And he always tells me he's got 20.
But I don't know how many bunches of 20 he has.
And those horses eat a lot of grass and hay.
I'll say, "Now, how many horses are
in that pasture over there?"
And he'll say, "Well, how much quilt fabric"
do you have in the basement?”
I have an arsenal of fabric.
It's kind of embarrassing.
I collect fabric.
And my car, it just has this uncontrollable,
mechanical defect; It just veers into quilt shops.
I can't control it.
And I like to pick up these earth tones,
in, uh, what they call fat quarters.
You just buy these little, fat quarters,
and you stick 'em in your purse and kinda.
Oh, us quilters all have a little problem with that.
One lady told about buying some fabric
and puttin' it in the grocery sack,
and then puttin' the bread and potato chips
on top of it and carryin' it in the house.
And her husband thought she just got groceries.
Didn't know there was 50 bucks worth of fabric
in the bottom of that sack.
That was not me.
Whenever my husband says anything about
my habit of collective fabric, I just mention
all his saddles and tack and ropes, and horses.
I might mention something about how the fabric
does not eat oats and hay, and,
die.
I think the quality of life of being a rancher is,
it's probably as good as it gets.
You know, you don't make a lot of money,
but every day is something new.
There's a lot of outstanding people in this business.
It's a great way of life.
It's a great way to raise your kids.
Somebody asked me one time when I was gonna retire,
and I said, "You know, I may be retired now.
Isn't that kind of when you do what you want
and you don't make much money?"
So, you know, I'm never gonna change.
It's, I'm gonna be here as long as I can be here.
Hey, Jack.
Okay, go get my other boot.
Come here.
That's a good boy.
Good boy.
Well, you know, my horses and my dogs,
and of course, all of my animals,
they make me a living, and I get hired
because of my animals, to perform.
From Lubbock, Texas:
Mr. Brice Chapman, along with Peanut,
Jackpot, and Crossfire.
And my animals and I, we have a working relationship,
and also a friendship.
And you know, when you lose one of 'em,
it's like losing a family member, you know?
And I lost Crossfire the 21st of January.
It was a normal day, just like any other day,
and I went out that morning to feed him,
and I looked out there, and I could see,
his left shoulder didn't look, it was abnormal.
And all I could see was it was red.
And he's stark-white, he's just one of those horses
who just always stayed clean, you know,
and I'd had him for 21 years.
And I looked out there, and I thought,
"Maybe he just cut hisself."
And the further I got out there, I knew
that something really, really bad was happening.
And he had an oblique break on that left leg,
above the knee, and it was one of those things,
when you see it, you just cannot believe it.
Because I had some shows coming up,
and I had a show in Houston, on the fourth floor
of the Hilton Hotel, I mean, he went with me
places that, you know, people don't hardly go.
And I could remember him, the week before,
I had a show on him, and he was vibrant and rearin' up,
and he was bowin', and you know, he was just a performer.
And when I saw that it was a compound fracture,
it had actually gone through the skin,
and I knew at that point that there was no way
I could salvage what had happened.
You know, I think he thought,
"Well, he's gonna take me to fix me.'
You know, because he'd been hurt before, you know,
and he just always knew that I was gonna be there for him.
And I brought him out here to my place,
and he backed out of that trailer three-legged.
And uh, he looked around,
and the thing that I thought that he was thinking,
when he went, that went through his mind was,
"Man, I must've played too much."
And we put him down back there,
and I asked Grace, "Well, let's pick out a pretty spot."
She said, "Right here is great, Daddy".
You know, I've always heard that, uh,
in life, a man gets one good dog,
one good horse, and one good wife.
I feel for Brice, losing that horse.
I know exactly what he's going through.
I lost the best horse I ever had in my life
a couple of years ago, and it was just
I got him when he was 3 years old,
and he just, he never did anything wrong.
He just never did anything wrong.
Just was so good and big and strong
and athletic and just wonderful.
And a lion killed him right out here in the horse pasture,
about two years ago, and I've never got over it.
Never will.
So I know Brice, he's not gonna get over it.
He's just not, it's just always gonna be there.
So what I said, I think it's really true.
You get one really good one, in a lifetime.
Like Crossfire was to Brice.
That's, man, it's hard to lose 'em.
But, it's part of the deal; It's gonna happen.
I shoe horses down there, and I guess I put him up here
so he'd be above me, every time I'd work.
You know, half of everything I own,
I owe to that horse, and he was my friend.
X With someone like you, X.
X a pal good and true, X.
X I would like to leave it all behind, to go and find, X.
X a place that's known, X.
X to God alone, X.
X just a spot to call our own. X.
You know, eventually, we're all gonna die.
All you're gonna be is just an old, cracked,
faded photograph that somebody carts off to the dump,
because they don't know who it is.
That's just a fact, right there.
So, what are you gonna leave when you die?
We've kind of inherited a heritage out here,
in the West, we all like who we are and what we do,
They ducked
We wanna hand it to our kids.
We want to leave the West in at least as good a shape
as we found it in.
Mornin's just a thin line to the east,
as you steps in the corral and captures a beast.
Cold saddle blankets, hey, cockadoodle-doo,
don't buck now, you booger, you'll break me in two.
And your head starts workin' on the last pass around;
Saddle horses are wrangled, draft horses cut out.
You shuts the gate and he steps to the ground.
It's hot, black coffee you're thinkin' about now.
And biscuits and gravy, and eggs over light,
and the foreman's wife is a beautiful sight.
Jokes and jabs and the cow boss's orders,
a chew an' a toothpick, and you're out the door.
To saddle the horse you'll use for the day,
making sure your rigging's got no extra play,
You steps aboard light, with him all gathered up.
Because you know firsthand, this critter can buck.
Ease him out at a walk, and head north, towards the dump.
You'll be asking to trot when he loses his hump.
He hits a slow lope on the badger highway;
It's a cool mornin; Blue sky, cowboyin' day.
And the brook's a babbling, down through the holes,
and the meadowlark sings the songs in your soul,
and the wildflowers blaze any color you s'pose,
as the smell of the sagebrush and pine fill your nose.
Now, the horse that you're on is big and he's lean,
quick, tough, smart, and a little bit mean.
This saddle's no place for the meek or the green,
he's a sure-'nough rip-snortin, cowboyin' machine.
And the place that you're headed is pretty intense.
The Continental Divide is the back fence.
There's 10,000 acres of mountain and rock there,
and 1,200 head to check and to doctor.
- And to make matters worse. - Or better, you think
they're all yearlin' heifers, unpredictable dinks.
They'll run and they'll hide, till hell freezes twice,
then kick up their heels as you skate on the ice.
But this ain't no colt,
and you ain't no kid.
So you jerks out your rope and you pulls down your lid,
and you climbs and you cruises the sagebrush and aspen,
till you find you a cow brute what's droopyand raspin'
And you'll tag her just before she gets to the brush
and trip her and tie her in a big rush,
and pack her with sulfur and penicillin.
She'll turn for the better, good Lord a-willing.
Lots of foot rot and pinkeye today,
but that don't mean the boogers can't play.
They've ducked and they've dodged,
But you managed to capture a pretty good hunk.
Your horse rolls in the dirt while you put up your tack,
then savors his grain while you scratch his back.
It's an evening ritual you both enjoy.
You don't covet nothin' when you ride this old boy.
He heads for the timothy, down by the lake,
and you saunters towards the house for soup and steak,
to mix it up with compadres and finish your pie,
like folks do when they're satisfied.
When supper's done, there's little time for play
you sleep hard all night if you work hard all day,
And 'fore you fall of your log to float in the air.
You may have time for a little prayer:
Lord, I thank you for this cowboyin' day.
I sure had me some fun earning my pay,
and I like to think you keep meat on the table,
for a country that needs to keep fit and able.
But a cow with no horse, Lord, is borin' as hell,
and a horse with no cows don't ring my bells.
It's a good life you gave me, these horses and cattle,
and I just wanted to say thanks, Lord,
for a day in the saddle.
Amen.
X There will be peace in the valley for me, someday. X.
X There will be peace in the valley for me, X.
X oh Lord, I pray. X.
X There'll be no sadness, no sorrow, no trouble, X.
X trouble I see, X.
X There will be peace in the valley for me. X
X When you hear a cowboy yodelin' X.
X the song of open range, X.
X your heart leaps up to hear his stirring tale. X.
X But did you even wonder, at the end of his refrain, X.
X why his voice leaps in a mournful wail? X.
X The story as it's told to me, X.
X was handed down through history, X.
X of a singing cowboy brave enough to try X.
X to ride the meanest old cayuse X.
X that bucked him off right at the chute, X.
X and left him sitting way up in the sky. X.
X The bronco jumped up, and the cowboy came down. X.
X They met at the old saddle horn. X.
X It made a deep impression; You could say X.
X it changed his life, and that's how the yodel was born X