National Day of the Cowboy

Grandad's Boost

Oil, 9 x 12 inches
Dutch and David at the Criswell

Today is the National Day of the Cowboy. My father was one of the last "real" cowboys. He was a hired hand and always worked for someone else. He was born in 1900 and died in 1980. Everyone called him "Dutch". Boy, the things he saw and the things he did.

His first paying job was as a cook on a cattle drive. He was 18. I have a wonderful photo, but it is in Bastrop. Shucks. As a cowboy, he was a cook, windmill repairman (mechanic), auto mechanic, electrician, veterinarian, gardener, rodeo hand, race horse trainer and more. He worked in town as the water commissioner and justice of the peace. He worked in the mines for a short time. And, of course, he was a father. :) Sometimes a tough one. He had very strong moral and responsibility convictions. He did like to have fun. He would go to a bar or a dance and throw his hat in the door, if it didn't come back, he felt welcome. He would say, "I didn't come to stay, I came to play." He loved to dance the shotish and polka.

My Mom and Dad, at 62 he looked the same as he did at 18.

His cooking expertise was in Dutch ovens. He would make sour dough biscuits, steaks, fried potatoes and anything we wanted. At the Field ranch when I was in high school, we would leave to work the cattle in the morning after a breakfast of steak, biscuits and gravy. He would put on a big roast with green chile on it. We would come back to the house by way of the artesian well and pick asparagus. The two of us would eat a whole pot of asparagus and some of the roast and drink a couple of pitchers of iced tea.

Will continue this saga later, we are off to go to Cliff.