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Rancher, Ranch Hand, Cowboy, Cowhand Part 1
I have a name for my husband. One that can be repeated. I call him cowboy. But
he tells me I am wrong. He never redeoed, nor a Saturday night cowboy was he.
And he was way to young for the cattle drives of history. Born on his father’s
homestead in Nebraska sandhill land. He started working full time on a ranch as
a lad of fourteen. All of the work they did back then was done with horses and
teams. True cars were around in ‘45, but tractors were hard to be found. So for 8
years he proudly worked on the famous 101 Nebraska ranch. In l9 hundred and
57 I started teaching up there. When my teaching job was done the cowboy and
the teacher became as one. I moved up the beautiful valley to the ranch where he
did work and don’t laugh I then became the cook. And while we worked we kept
our eyes and ears open for a ranch of our own. At last we were blessed with the
ranch of our dreams on the Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota Land.
Copyright ©
Marycile Beer
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