S. E. (STANLEY) HUTCHISON
Deer Park, Washington
About S. E. (Stanley) Hutchison
A Lesson
Feeding cattle on Washtucna creek
In the winter of '62
My brother Ron and I were working there
Cause that is what we do
We were ridin' for the Snyder brand
A widow from Spokane City
The way that woman run that spread
Was sure a dad-gummed pity
The trucks broke down, the three of them
She said we could fix one from another
But one's a Ford, one's a Dodge
A Chevy was the other
The tools there to do the job
Of course we had galore
Screwdriver, Crescent Wrench and pliers
But not a durn thing more
The food we got weren't all that bad
Served-up hot and such
But with the hours that we worked
It just wasn't all that much
Now the boss lady had a gentleman friend
A Doctor from Spokane
He had dreams of being a big-shot rancher
Of being a Cattle-Man
He tells us sellin' beef I know
Is how a ranch makes its way
But I, he says, figured out just how
To really make it pay
We want to build up our cattle herd
As much as nature allows
And we'll just get a whole lot more
Leavin' the bulls in with the cows
Now I might not be an educated man
Or have a college degree
But havin' cows calf all year round
Just don't seem smart to me
But he got his way and we run them bulls
With the cows all year
Now I'm out here in a December storm
Duty over ridin' fear
Pullin calves out of two-year-olds
Hopin' they'll survive
Rubbing down with burlap sacks
Tryin' to keep'em alive
Tote'em to the bunkhouse
And put'em by the heat
Give'em a shot and warm them up
So that they can eat
That hard winter, with snow afalling
We lost two hundred head
And that doctor went back to Spokane town
His Profit-Margin dead
Miz Snyder she done sold that ranch
The week of her weddin' day
Brother Ron went off to another job
And I just went my way
But from that job a hard lesson of life
I really learned to heed
Ranchin' is done for the love of it
Not just simply for the greed© S. E. Hutchinson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
Line ShackIn the Pioneer Mountains of Montana
I came across an old line shack
With a collapsed roof and wall
A bubbling spring out back
As I contemplated this old cabin
I wondered what stories it could tell
Of times spent here in summer pleasure
Or spent in winter's hell
Real western men worked here in the past
Riding for the brand
Working hard, dusk to dawn
To settle this wild land
Many punchers camped out here
Cooked their beans upon that stove
Hung their hats upon that hook
Threw their bedrolls in that cove
Some blood spots there on the floor
An injured animal, or maybe man?
A blackened old coffee pot
Only dust left in the can
The lean-to off the back
Must have sheltered many a horse
With boards nailed to the corral fence
To blunt the winds harsh force
There's a busted spur in the corner
Under an empty flour sack
I can see where rats been chewing
On some old piece of tack
The cob webs move slowly
In the breeze coming through the walls
The dust drifts softly down
As the sun begins to fall
I'll not sleep in this cabin
I don't deserve that right
To throw down my old ratty gear
Where legends spent the night
So I'll drift on down the trail
And just leave this cabin be
It's not a place now for these times
It's a place for history© S. E. Hutchinson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
An Old Friend
It's old and tired, and broken down
It needs a new cinch strap
The fenders are getting really worn
And the horn needs a wrap
The rings are turning sorta green
Stirrup metal's showing through
The high-back cantles cracked and dried
The binding's turning blue
The fleece is almost worn away
There's a crack down in the tree
But I've got to really tell ya
This saddle means something to me
I've rode this saddle forty years
On both sides of the divide
And after all those many years
It fits my old backside
So I'll not buy a new one yet
Or throw this one away
Cuz' I think I can ride it still
At least for one more day.© 2003, S. E. Hutchinson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
We asked Stanley what inspired this poem and he said "I have an old Simco saddle I bought used back about 1959 or 1960 (getting old, the memory is fading a bit). I rode that saddle while cowboying until I went into the Army in '64. I only had the opportunity to use it a few times while I served, but I drug it around with me anyway. Of and on through the years I would be at a post with a riding stable nearby and I would rent a horse and ride that saddle if the wrangler would let me. I retired in '86. I purchased a couple of horses, pulled out the old saddle, oiled it up, and started riding it again. With the price of today's saddles, I'll just stay with this one. It still fits."
Only in a Cowboy's WorldWhere do you find the summer so hot
It will melt your very soul?
Where are the winters so blasted cold
They take a terrible toll?
Breakin' ice on frozen water holes
Hands wet, cold and numb
The herd covered in ice and snow
Ya can't wait for spring to come
The winter snows begin to melt
The spring has finally arrived
You wade through the mud and the muck
To see what has survived
The heat of summer hits you hard
With water holes gone dry
You recall when you cussed them durn spring rains
Now you can't remember why
Hauling hay is one of the easier chores
It's done most summer long.
Stringin' fence ya find ain't quite so nice
But ya build it tight and strong
Fall comes along and it's roundup time
Working from sun to sun
With all those calves to cut and brand
Ya wonder if it'll ever get done
So where do you find such a life as this?
Hard work, wet, cold and ache?
Were you get stomped, and prodded and bucked
Beyond what man can take?
You'll not find in a city or town
But out where the hard riders go
Doing the work of a cowboy
Through rain and sun and snow
Where do you have the room to ride
Under a sky of blue?
Living the kind of life you want
Lovin' the things you do?
The company of a good horse beneath you
As you set about your own pace
Across the great wide open land
The wind blowing in your face
Evenings by the campfire
The lonesome call of coyotes in the hills
As you sip your coffee, you push from your mind
Any thoughts of troubles or ills
Doing a job 'cuz it needs to be done
Not just because of pay
Giving your word, and keeping it
Meaning just what you say
Where do you find the wide-open spaces
Fresh air, clean water, and sky?
Snowcapped mountains and green fertile pasture
Tall trees with streams flowing by?
Where can a man find these rewards
His work so rightfully earns?
To work in Nature's great outdoors
And the freedom for which he yearns?
Where can you find this land and this life
In this panorama I just unfurled?
Only in one place, my friend
Only in a cowboy's world.© 2004, S. E. Hutchinson
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.
About S. E. (Stanley) Hutchison:
I started working horses about the time I started walking, I guess. I worked neighboring places in California as I grew up. I left home at 17 to be a "cowboy." I worked ranches up and down the west coast for about 4 years, then went into the Army. I spent 20 years there, then retired and moved back into the country, got a few acres, bought a few horses, and put my mind to writing. I also write about my time in Vietnam, as well as "love" poetry.
Stanley said that early encouragement and praise from Honored Guest Rudy Gonzales meant a lot to him.
Stanley told us he had a book, so we asked him how folks could get it. he said:
If anyone is so inclined, they can order a copy of Cowboy Prose, I Suppose from me. They can email me and I will quickly respond, or they can send a check or money order in the amount of $6.95 (book) or $9.95 (CD) to:
S.E. Hutchison
N. 30223 Mill Rd
Deer Park, WA 99006
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