My recent posts on the HBO series, Deadwood, generated some interesting comments. There was a discussion about the coarse language and the repeated use of the f-word. Most, however, commented how much they had enjoyed the series and hated to see it end after only three seasons.
I watched it when it first came out in the spring of 2004 and just stumbled onto it again several weeks ago and re-watched the whole series.
There is something authentic, truly American about those early pioneer days, and the importance of the frontier and the westward expansion in our incredible history.
I am drawn to the cowboy, the rancher, the farmer. I grew up in the city and had little contact with places outside of that environment. But there was a veterinarian in my parents’ circle of friends, Fred Ryon, who practiced in the Stock Yards in Fort Worth. He was a tall, thin man with striking features. Thick hair combed neatly back, a smooth face and a square jaw. He always wore a pressed western suit with a crisp shirt and dark tie. He smoked small, slim brown cigars. He was handsome and manly and had this wonderful aura of confidence and yet he loved children and old people and was a terrific husband and father. I admired him in a hundred different ways and wanted to be like him.
Years later, there were men in the churches where I was the minister, ranchers and farmers who I enjoyed being friends with. Men who taught me to hunt and fish and love the outdoors. One of my neighbors, Dan Haile, was a tall, lanky man who looked like the guy in the old Marlboro cigarette TV commercials. He wore his cowboy hat with natural ease and it looked perfect with his jeans and boots. He had a rough, raspy voice, smoked cigars, and drank beer. I loved being around Dan. His quiet strength and his love of the land always drew me into that western lore I have always been fascinated with.
Recently, after returning from Christmas with my son Luke who manages a large ranch in southern Oklahoma, Ingrid asked which I like the most, urban life or country life. Those were the words she used. Which sort of tickled me. I said, Well, I love living in the city. There is so much to see and do here. I mentioned that I enjoy living near downtown and that I like the energy of life there. But, I said, I also love going to the country and being in the wide-open spaces of the large fields and the distant fence rows. That I relish going with Luke to feed the cattle, ride in the gator up and down the narrow roads through the thick timber and brush. That it refreshes me to see the long vistas, to get a renewed perspective, to see the cattle and horses, to admire their beauty and their function on the ranch, to play with Luke’s dogs, Maggie and Gus and Trapper, and to enjoy getting to fish and swim on the place. I like being in my jeans and boots and cap. Having a cold one from the cooler in the cargo space. Watching the deer run through the trees.
There is something essential about the land, the grass, the animals, something earnest and fixed and tenacious about all of it that enlivens me and galvanizes in my humanity something real and fundamental and good. I can get out of my necktie and dress shoes, out of my pretenses and stressors, and feel somehow anchored in the good earth and sense the magnificence of it all.
I’m still shopping for a western hat, one that feels and looks just right. Once I find it, I may, at last, be home. Another urban cowboy.
© 2018 Timothy Moody
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