Each Empty Saddle

I have often been bemused by the romanticized version of rural life set forth by professional folklorists, wanna-be cowboy poets and other sundry observers of ranch and farm work. These people remind me of the line of Bruce Kiskaddon's poem "The Old Night Hawk" - Just like the people that make a flash, they don't stand much of a run, Come bustin' in with a sweep and dash when most of the work is done. The fact is that ranch and farm life is hard work. Not everyone wants to be a part of it, even those born to it.

I am thinking of my boyhood friend Mike - oldest son of a prominent farmer and rancher in the Idaho Falls area. Before drifting apart in our later teen years, Mike and I were the best of friends. We rode together, hunted together, worked together. And then, Mike wanted nothing more than to go to college - but couldn't because he was needed on the ranch. His father didn't see the need since the plan was that he would just take over the family operation. Mike managed to squeeze in a semester or two and then was called back to work the cattle late in November. As his horse was crossing a frozen creek, it slipped and fell on his leg, breaking it with a compound fracture. It was only then that his father allowed him to go back to school - since he wasn't much use anymore on horseback. His younger brother Jess eventually took over the family ranch. The rest of the kids (six) had to move on.

This poem reflects the reality of ranch kids. the names mentioned are actual first names and the situations come from real life.

Each Empty Saddle
by Paul Kern

Work don’t stop for ranch kids,
Some love the life - you know.
But some don’t and can’t wait,
To get up, get out and go.

Dads get stuck in the daily grind,
And worry ‘bout prices of cattle.
Mothers see their children grow,
Worried ‘bout each empty saddle.

What becomes of cowboy kids,
When they’re big enough to roam?
Do they cling to the old corral,
Or do they drift away from home?

One ranch ain’t big enough,
For a bunch of kids to own.
Some have to pack their bags,
When they’re big enough and grown.

Some can’t wait to up and leave,
Still others wonder why,
Siblings so easily put behind,
The range, the wind, the sky.
*
Work don’t stop for ranch kids,
Not all like the life – you know.
Cody was born on the back of a horse,
Horses though were way too slow.

He now shuns the cowboy way,
Though that’s what gave him life.
He shuns his bowlegged daddy too,
And so does his citified wife.

They call him a hick-from-the-sticks.
What he does now Dad couldn’t do.
He sells for a living and drives a sedan.
No more manure in the morning dew!

When they went and sold their place,
Hopes and fears and old heartaches,
Work and worry and all big dreams,
Were sold in boxes, barrels and crates.

They kept the branding irons though,
And a few pieces of leather and tack.
The irons stand for the family pride,
On which the kids now turn their back.
*
Work don’t stop for ranch kids,
But he loved this life he’d known.
Jess was not the favored son,
But he made the ranch his own.

Jess now has a worry-worn wife,
And horses and kids and cattle,
She sees her kids grow up too fast,
Worried ‘bout each empty saddle.

What’ll come of their cowboy kids?
They’re getting big enough to roam.
Will they cling to the old corral,
Or will they drift away from home?

Their ranch ain’t big enough,
For a bunch of kids to own,
Some’ll have to pack their bags,
When they’re big enough and grown.

Some can’t wait to up and leave,
Still others wonder why,
Siblings so easily put behind,
The range, the wind, the sky.