Rite of Spring

Under the dark sky of an early spring night. Lying in a bedroll inside a teepee miles from any semblance of modern civilization, the sounds around camp begin to get softer, quieter, fewer, until eventually in the darkness there is complete silence. At least that's the way it seems until the cowboy tries to sleep at which time he is keenly aware of all the noises indigenous to the prairie at night. Crickets, small birds, the lonely call of a dove in the darkness, an owl, and faintly off in the distance are the yelps of the coyote. First one, then his compadres, join in sounding like ten times the actual three or four they are. The stuffy air inside the canvas teepee persuades him to retreat outside. Grabbing the edges of his bedroll, he pulls it out onto the carpet of prairie grass that already smells damp from the dew and he crawls back into the layers, lying on his back and looking up at the sky overhead. There is no moon tonight and the blackness is dotted with millions of stars making an over abundance of nightlights to the cowcamp. The last light, a coal oil lantern under the cook's wagon fly is snuffed out to complete the end of the day and the beginning of several hours of complete quiet and darkness. It was a long warm day beginning before sunlight with Charlie the cook waking sometime after three a.m. to put the coffee on to boil over the cook fire where a breakfast of eggs, bacon, biscuits, and gravy, was prepared for a crew of as many as twenty cowboys at the wagon. Slowly, one by one, they crawl out of there temporary dwellings on the prairie after awakening to the sounds of movement around the wagon and the clinking of pots and pans. They emerge and pull on clothes, boots, and hats then congregate at the wagon. At first they are quiet and few words are said but after most of the crew are awake and stirring about, the stories, teasing, and laughter pick up just where they left off from the night before. After breakfast, they jingled in the remuda, caught mounts for the day and made a big circle gathering the herd to be worked for the morning. Dinner was served a little after noon and then after a short "siesta" new mounts were caught and another pasture gathered. They were herded to a trap near the pens to be worked tomorrow. Tomorrow will come soon enough and sleep is truly the order of the moment, but sleep doesn't come as easily as one would think even as tired as he is. No, right now he is thinking. Thinking of the day passed, and the day to come. The current crew and where all they have gathered from makes him think of crews he's ridden with in the past and he wonders, "Where are they tonight?" It may seem strange to those who don't know but the crew at the wagon is never exactly the same from one big works to another. Some move on, some take jobs in town, some marry into another business altogether, and sadly some are no longer with us. Their memory will forever be a part of the works, the crew, the wagon, and a world that exists for just a short while in the spring and fall. There was a day when ranches would have a wagon out year around to gather, doctor, and brand strays. Now it is relegated to those spring branding and fall shipping times, and the ranches that use a wagon at those times are few and far between. So as he looks to the sky and watches the bright flickering stars against the backdrop so dark of a blue it looks more like black, he thinks. He mulls over the memories and though he is not really trying to, he slips off to sleep. He dreams of crews of young, bold, hard riding cowboys. Cowboys he hasn't seen in years are in the crew of his dreams. Some of them are old now and many are dead, but in his dream they are all at their best and in their youth. They ride hard, gather and work the herd and go back for more. They ride wild and free and just as his dream begins to feel as if it's not a dream at all, he begins to wake. There is a light on at the wagon again and he can hear old Charlie stirring a fire and before long he hears the coffee pot coming alive with bubbling sounds of fresh brew and he smells it's aroma as it drags him from the covers and to the wagon as one by one the crew gathers there as they did yesterday and will again and again. After the breakfast is eaten the routine starts all over. Horses caught, pasture gathered, the herd from yesterday's afternoon gather will be worked as will those gathered this morning and they will be sorted and turned back out to pastures as assigned by the cow boss.

The last day will be bitter sweet as they will all be tired and ready to go back home but anyone whose been at the wagon can attest, you never know when it's the last time. The last for yourself, or the last time for anyone, forever. It is sure that there will come a day when there are no more wagons and ranches are run differently and cowboys as we know them now are a thing of the past. But though times have changed over the last hundred years, they have changed slowly and fairly little in the parts of the country where the big ranches lie and cowboy crews still ride out with the wagon. So, for now, at least for the time being, I for one am thankful for this most special of times. A cowboy's rite of spring.