A Cowboy's Wife

A Cowboy’s WifeChristine Reece, 1992

Many are the poems of an old-time cowboy’s life—This one tells of my life as an old-time cowboy’s wife.Lonely cow camps were our home, hawks soared overhead;We’d pack supplies on horses to wherever they were led.

Our smoky lights would flicker, trees would sway and moan.My cowboy rode away at dawn; I’d spend the days alone.I’d carry water from the spring; I’d chop a lot o’ wood.Clothes were washed on rub-boards, and ironed if I could.

I’d cook for many cowboys; I’d keep a cabin neat.They’d fill a plate and then sit on the floor to eat.Crew hands were very typical for that point in time—Some were of the best, and some weren’t worth a dime.

As the roundup days got longer and even harder fight,My supper dishes often done sometime around midnight.Some clouds have silver linings though, and one of my best:When the shipping days were over, I could get a little rest.

The cows’d stop bawlin’And head back to their range.The powdered dust’d settle,If and when we got some rain.

A working cowboy’s life was hard,But we’d get by somehow.When we could save a little,We’d just buy another cow.

If I could turn the time aroundAnd go back once again,I wouldn’t mind if it was just likeIt was back then.

Those days are only memories;Time improved my life.Many years have come and gone—I’m still that cowboy’s wife.

—Christine Reece, 1992