JOYCE BADGLEY HUNSAKER
Fairfax, Virginia
About Joyce Badgley Hunsaker
Joyce Badgley Hunsaker's "Fanny and Friends" web site
Old Cowboy's Lament
Bein’ a cowboy these days
Just ain’t what it used to be.
We gave up somethin’ important
When we traded horses for ATV’s
And all them big ol’ showy outfits,
Rigs with more style than guts.
Y’ask me, them swaggerin’ wannabes
Love a West that never was.
They’re searchin’ for the feelin’
They’re dressin’ the part to find.
But cowboyin’ ain’t no costume bash.
It’s more than a state of mind.
It has less to do with “Gunsmoke”
Or “Rawhide” or John Wayne
Than getting’ yourself out on the land,
Bein’ baptized by toil and pain
And tedium and judgment
That don’t always turn out right,
And learnin’ to do a job clean through
With all your know-how and your might.
It has less to do with lassos,
Your boots, your hat, your guns
Than the certainty when you’re ridin’
That you and the land are one.
It’s like you and your long-time pardner
Understandin’ without a word.
Well, the land and you communicate
But the heart is where it’s heard.
You get to know its valleys
Its slickrocks and its swells
You get to know where water is
And all the signs that tell
Its seasons, quirks, and moods.
You’re the lucky so-and-so
The land allows upon it.
That’s trust –as deep as it can go.
You don’t own the land, not really.
‘Tis the ‘tother way around.
In fact, you get to feelin’
You are that sky, that ground.
'Specially when you’re sittin’
In the saddle, lookin’ far
Cross any ol’ wide-opens
Where they ain’t no roads nor cars.
You can just about believe it then
That time is standin’ still
And breathin’ out….and breathin’ in….
Is the best there ever will
Be for you: this moment
When your heart is full and proud,
Yet humbled at the same time
That Creator would allow
Ol’ sorry you to live it
And know its worth, all right.
No king in his palace, no Donald Trump
Will sleep richer than you tonight.
See, that’s the West that used to be.
I’ve lived it, and I know
The honor is in the doin’
It ain’t all about the “show”.
So if you can really walk the talk,
Then, Friend, I’ll shake your hand.
And let’s saddle up, together,
And get us back out on the land.
© 2007, Joyce Badgley Hunsaker
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Joyce told us about her inspiration for this poem, "Overhearing a remark made to my son at a County Fair when he was wearing his good hat, good buckle, good boots, pearl-snapped western shirt, and clean levis: 'Boy, you look like a trucker!'"
The Whittler
I been workin’ this wood a long time, you see….
Whittlin’ off the places that’s rough
Till it looks like somethin’ else altogether.
I’ll keep goin’ till I know it’s enough
To free the real purpose of the wood,
To reveal the true shape inside
With blade and breath and a good scrape of sand;
Just my mind’s eye, my only guide.
Kinda like life did to me, you see,
Made me something I wasn’t, startin’ out.
Knocked off my edges, planed me deep
Till I fit to the land, toe to snout.
Now I heard about men matchin’ mountains
In their spirit and in their flesh
But I never knew the full measure of that
Till I seen a photo a’me, green and fresh,
Straight off the rails, with a swagger
That I knew all there was, fit to know.
The land’s whittled most’a that off’a me now
I ain’t nearly so quick to crow
‘Bout all I will do to change the ground,
To bend it to my dreams.
Nope, somethin’ the land taught me years ago
Is life ain’t hardly ever what it seems.
Man is just one creature in it, just one.
And the goal? That ain’t always in sight.
Sometimes you dig your dang heels in,
Just to discover your certainty ain’t right.
Then the land rasps you nekked and calls you a liar
Says, “It’s my way or nothin’. Which for you?”
You curse, or you pray…or you blister agin’ it
Till there ain’t nothing more you can do.
Then you gotta decide for yourself at last
Whether you’ve backbone enough to change
To fit yourself into the landscape.
Hang on, re-invent, re-arrange.
For if the earth finds you worthy,
If it whittles you out till you’re done
Your flesh may be gone, but in your soul is a song
Of muscle, and gristle, and bone
In service to somethin’ bigger’n you
That matters, regardless of time,
Intention or vision, stubbornness or hope.
The only thing true’s that last line
Of the blade, that last flashin’ slice
To reveal what was hidden deep down.
Who coulda’ guessed? Yep, passed the test.
The Whittler knew what He was doin’, all along.
© 2007, Joyce Badgley Hunsaker
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Joyce told us about the inspiration for her poem, "I never knew any working cowboy to be without a good pocket knife....and it occurred to me life itself is a process of whittling away. Maybe that's what the Big Trail Boss in the Sky had in mind in the first place."
About Joyce Badgley Hunsaker:
I am a Westerner by birth, by culture, and by choice. Though my husband's career has taken us all around the map (like now, in Washington, DC) our hearts remain in the high country...out on the land. My family has always been close to the land. We learned early on to listen to what it had to say -- to read the signs, learn the lessons, and respect the power of it. First...and always...there is the land.
Joyce Badgley Hunsaker is the author of a number of books, including Seeing The Elephant, Voices from the Oregon Trail, a 2004 Western Writers of America Spur Award finalist for Western literature and a finalist for History Book of the Year, and Sacagawea Speaks, Beyond The Shining Mountains With Lewis & Clark, which was named History Book of the Year in 2001 and was a finalist for the 2002 Benjamin Franklin Award.
Read more about Joyce Badgley Hunsaker, including more about her publications, at her "Fanny and Friends" web site.
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