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The following link will lead you to a 24 minute video highlighting the 150th birthday celebration of St. George reenacting the pioneer trek to settle the area. You will see the Paul Bliss family participate and may also recognize faces of others who are involved in Utah's cowboy poetry.
http://voddov.com/video/view/St-George-city-150th-Birthday-Pioneer-trek-Documentary-2012-01-17
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RIP Don 1-1-2015
http://www.standard.net/Obituaries/2015/01/03/Donald-Kennington.html
The Last Nail
(Don Kennington)
There's pain a throbbing in my back.
Sometimes my knees are stiff and sore.
Guess I'd better see the doctor
Don't get around good any more.
But, I know just what he's going to say,
"You've got to quit that shoeing Don.
I know it's something you enjoy
But you've been doing it too long.
But he just doesn't understand
That it's the center of my life.
I love it more than anything
Except the kids and my dear wife.
'Cause when I'm under that ol' hoss,
I'm just as good as any one.
Those folks think that I'm important
We laugh and joke a-having fun.
I've been out there shoeing horses
And making friends o'er thirty years.
And when Doc says, I ought to quit
I start a fighting back the tears.
'Cause I love a shoeing horses.
Yeah, I suppose that sounds kind of dumb
But then I feel good inside
That's when I really am someone.
My shoeing friends don't laugh at me
And they don't call me stupid names.
They treat me like I'm one of them.
They act like we're all just the same.
And when I see them somewhere else
They usually honk and wave at me.
And so I grin and wave them back
Then I feel good inside you see?
We're supposed to tend God's creatures.
But some folks get a little rough.
That's when some of God's creatures
Live a life that's pretty tough.
Like when you walk up to a pony
And he's a-shaking like a leaf.
You whisper and you scratch him,
Ain't hard to tell he's had some grief.
And you keep scratching and a-whispering
'Cause you're trying to be a friend
And that pony starts to relax
And he starts to comprehend.
Finally that pony licks his lips
And you can feel him settle down.
Then you won't have any trouble
Working his feet up off the ground.
And when that pony walks away
His legs are swinging straight and true.
And it really is amazing
At what a little love can do.
Oh, it hasn't been all roses,
But for the most part it's been fun.
I've met a lot of real, nice folks
And come to love near everyone.
Yeah, I've been kicked and knocked around
By horses been abused a lot.
That's when you've gotta keep yer cool,
Use all the patience that you've got.
So let me drive just one more nail
And snug that shoe down good and tight.
My back is hurtin some
But I've just got to do it right.
"There now. That's a little better.
That pony's ready for the trail.
But I won't be coming back
'Cause I've just driven my last nail."
http://www.standard.net/Obituaries/2015/01/03/Donald-Kennington.html
The Last Nail
(Don Kennington)
There's pain a throbbing in my back.
Sometimes my knees are stiff and sore.
Guess I'd better see the doctor
Don't get around good any more.
But, I know just what he's going to say,
"You've got to quit that shoeing Don.
I know it's something you enjoy
But you've been doing it too long.
But he just doesn't understand
That it's the center of my life.
I love it more than anything
Except the kids and my dear wife.
'Cause when I'm under that ol' hoss,
I'm just as good as any one.
Those folks think that I'm important
We laugh and joke a-having fun.
I've been out there shoeing horses
And making friends o'er thirty years.
And when Doc says, I ought to quit
I start a fighting back the tears.
'Cause I love a shoeing horses.
Yeah, I suppose that sounds kind of dumb
But then I feel good inside
That's when I really am someone.
My shoeing friends don't laugh at me
And they don't call me stupid names.
They treat me like I'm one of them.
They act like we're all just the same.
And when I see them somewhere else
They usually honk and wave at me.
And so I grin and wave them back
Then I feel good inside you see?
We're supposed to tend God's creatures.
But some folks get a little rough.
That's when some of God's creatures
Live a life that's pretty tough.
Like when you walk up to a pony
And he's a-shaking like a leaf.
You whisper and you scratch him,
Ain't hard to tell he's had some grief.
And you keep scratching and a-whispering
'Cause you're trying to be a friend
And that pony starts to relax
And he starts to comprehend.
Finally that pony licks his lips
And you can feel him settle down.
Then you won't have any trouble
Working his feet up off the ground.
And when that pony walks away
His legs are swinging straight and true.
And it really is amazing
At what a little love can do.
Oh, it hasn't been all roses,
But for the most part it's been fun.
I've met a lot of real, nice folks
And come to love near everyone.
Yeah, I've been kicked and knocked around
By horses been abused a lot.
That's when you've gotta keep yer cool,
Use all the patience that you've got.
So let me drive just one more nail
And snug that shoe down good and tight.
My back is hurtin some
But I've just got to do it right.
"There now. That's a little better.
That pony's ready for the trail.
But I won't be coming back
'Cause I've just driven my last nail."
Rod Miller adds articles to his blog spot frequently. He has recently posted a tribute to Dusty Richards, our departed friend. Keep up with Rod and include his blog to your favorites. http://writerrodmiller.blogspot.com
Stan Tixier
It is with great sorrow we note the recent passing our of dear friend and mentor, Stan Tixier.
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EVENING AT THE RANCH
I Watch The sun set on the rugged West mountains Thin grey clouds turn red and gold Dark shadows fall across rocky ledges A beautiful sight that one can behold I Feel A lazy cool evening breeze Whistling softly in the old elm trees. I Hear Nesting birds chatter suddenly fades away But will return again at the break of day I Smell The aroma of the new mown hay Created by the summer's hot humid day I Hear Humming sounds the tractor makes The clattering of the old hay rake Turning, rolling the hay at twilight Stopping suddenly at the darkness of night I Feel A warm breeze moving across the open plain Making rustling sounds in the golden ripe grain I See Trees swaying in the gentle breeze Owls hooting in the moonlit trees I Hear Bawling calves having strayed out of the mother's sight A cow's bellowing call penetrates the stillness of the night I Hear Frogs croaking and splashing in the rocky bog A far way bark of a lonely dog I Hear Crickets chirping their mating call A rotted branch break off and fall As the mysteries of nature begin to unfold Only at the ranch can these things be told. Terrill Staples (Terrill says: Things I have observed while at the ranch.) |
Song of the Canyon Wren
Copyright Rob Rowley As I go through my life in this work-a-day world There's a sound that I'm longing to hear It opens my mind to my memories of All the beautiful places that I hold so dear My heart and my soul are made up of the things That abound in the places I mean Ponderosa and slickrock and streams of bright water That bring to the desert the cool shades of green Just what is this sound that can take me away To this ideal grotto or glen That can bring me to tears when I think of the years It may be 'till I get back and hear it again If you've heard it, you'll know. If you haven't, you can't But give ear, and I'll tell you my friend The wonderous sound that can do all of this Is the song of the Canyon Wren (It's the tiny, petite...that bird-song so sweet...it's the song of the Canyon Wren) The joy in the voice of this non-descript bird Is the joy that I feel in my heart When I'm wading along in my boots and my pack In the sweet, cool air and the best of God's art This is Heaven...Utopia...Shangri-La too. (Or if not, it's a pretty good start) And this little brown bird with the twittering throat Is in charge...He's the King of the musical part In this region of canyons, of slots and defiles And the streams and the floods that bring life There exists such a pallette of colorful sounds That many won't know in the length of their lives Like the roar of the flash-flood after a downpour The howls from the coyote's den But the one little sound that can put them to shame Is the song of the Canyon Wren (It's the little, the pretty...not heard in the city...it's the song of the Canyon Wren) This started out as a poem, but because of the name I gave it, I couldn't stand myself until I actually put it to music. |
