June 14, 2005
Coral Castle in Miami, the sole work of a penniless immigrant, demonstrates how it is possible to accomplish something worthwhile, beautiful, astonishing, and lasting.
Via the semi-hibernating Anchoress and more images from Michael Jones.
Part of the always-expanding enterprise is the synchrony or even miracle of eyes opening to idle means and rich resources. One of our mentors, standing at one or another bar in the Fort Worth stockyards, likes to tell the story of ragged veterans in the nineteenth century straggling home from the War Between the States. Old furrows in neglected fields were unplowed and thick with weeds, rural folk close to starving. At the same time, Northern cities were growing, and those new urbanites needed and wanted meat. Do we even know exactly who, exactly when, noticed the wild longhorn cattle, like a ram in a thicket?
The rest is the history of the cowboy, and cattle drives, and the code of the West, and more.
From today's Wall Street Journal, excerpt from subscription:
Cowboy as a Career? It Ranks Low among Jobs, With Bad Pay, Few Benefits -- For Mr. Link, It's a Great Gig
"I can't believe I get paid for this, actually," says the lanky 43-year-old, who sports a large handlebar mustache. "You see scenery you would never see behind a desk, you don't worry about your weight or your cholesterol, and you don't have time for petty stuff or to be involved in bad things, like drugs."
Although Mr. Link disagrees, being a cowboy is considered one of the worst jobs, according to the review of jobs published today on CareerJournal.com. The report cited the hardships involved in being a cowboy, the low pay and poor career prospects, among other things. At best, Mr. Link says he earns about $12,000 a year.
Mr. Link isn't just a cowboy. He's a buckaroo, a cowboy descended from the Spanish tradition who has expert horse skills and works the livestock gently. He and Ms. Arthur are in the saddle of their purebred quarter horses at 7 a.m. because cows move better in the morning. The four herd dogs also are on the job. On a good day, they're done at dark, which comes at about 10 p.m. during Idaho summers.
Rick Link never met a cow he didn't like. Good thing, because Mr. Link is a cowboy in the purest sense of the word. He spends as much time as possible outdoors with the creatures in a job that he thinks is the best in America.In winter, he tends cows and does chores for ranch owners near his home in Sweet, Idaho, about 40 miles north of Boise. In summer, he grazes 750 head of cows in Idaho's high country for a local grazing association. The job is his work, his hobby and his entertainment. When he and his companion, Joyce Arthur, have any free time, they're at the weekly cow sale in nearby Emmett, Idaho, or at a local branding.
The cows are moved from pasture to pasture, a process which is a bit like "pushing a rope," says Mr. Link. "We rest them along the way so they don't lose weight and the calves don't get tired. I like to make our employers some money."...
Mr. Link and Ms. Arthur say their biggest sorrow is that their lifestyle appears to be ending because of environmental restrictions on grazing, loss of open land to development and the growth of large commercial operations.
"It's a passing way of life," says Mr. Link. But he expects to remain a cowboy as long as he can ride a horse. "I figure that if I have two cows and I'm taking care of them, I will always be a cowboy, even if I have to run some of them on a golf course."
Wearing a fine hat and gleaming conchas, too, we'll bet.
"When I die, take my saddle from the wall
Put it onto my pony, lead him out of the stall
Tie my bones to the saddle, turn his face toward the West
And we'll ride the prairie that we love the best
Ride around, little dogies, ride around slow
The fiery and the snuffy are a-rarin' to go ..."
I Ride an Old Paint, traditional.
Posted by: Jeff Hull | June 14, 2005 at 06:34 PM
I never met a real cowboy. Thanks for introducing me to one, and making me stop and ponder his life for a moment.
Posted by: patry Francis | June 14, 2005 at 10:58 PM
Thanks Jeff and Patry. Jeff, do you have any source for the music?
And Patry, I just bought a pair of silver platform shoes. I'll do a digital shot, and link to your poem. At accident scenes, a cast-off shoe. Very poignant.
It pleases us here -- Good&Happy, where poets stop to comment!
--Second thought, I'm not going to connect my silver shoes with Patry's image. Just go read his poem.
Posted by: dilys | June 15, 2005 at 07:52 AM
I Ride an Old Paint is a traditional 3-chord cowboy song. I learned it 45 years or so ago off a Burl Ives album. It has been recorded by a number of "folk" singers. It is slow, sad lament. The second verse (I quoted the last one above) goes:
"Old Bill Jones had two daughters and a song
One went to Denver, the other went wrong
His wife, she died in a poolroom fight
But still he keeps on singin', from morning til night -
Ride around, little dogies, ride around slow
The fiery and the snuffy are a-rarin' to go."
Cowboy poetry.
The startling thing about the Old West to me was the compressed timeframe. A way of life sprang up, had its heyday, spawned its legends, and died in the space of 50-60 years or so. The conquest of the West really did not take very long - once it got rolling. My family came to the colonies in 1635, two full centuries before Texas declared its independence. Then, poof! Half the continent was subdued, settled, and civilized.
Posted by: Jeff Hull | June 15, 2005 at 09:40 AM