I wish I knew all the miles these chinks have ridden. My dad found them for me at a flea market, so I’ll never know their whole story…so let me share a story of their life with.

These chinks kept me warm and protected through the two summers I spent working at Waunita Hot Springs Ranch in Colorado during my college years.

Through early morning round ups…

Through random snow storms in June…

Through getting lost on trails I should have known my way around by then…

But the best part of these chinks? They have POCKETS!

Yeah, yeah… I know I sound like such a girl, but hear me out.

Back in those days, I loved to write poetry. In fact, I recited a few of my poems many a Tuesday morning on the breakfast ride. Poetry, for me, wasn’t something I could force, but it would come to me in the middle of a trail ride…which led to me always keeping paper and pencil in the pocket of my chinks.

A few weeks ago, on a super windy weekend, I had to hop on Dottie to go check fences in the woods where a neighbors cattle were getting out. Once again, for the first time in several years, I donned my chinks for warmth and protection. As I was riding through the pasture, I slid my hand in the pocket, only to be surprised when I felt paper. When I pulled it out, I found a poem I wrote…on a trail ride in Colorado over a decade ago.

If I’m being honest, I can’t remember writing a single poem since my last summer on the ranch. Is it because I lack the everyday inspiration of the mountains? Does my job take all my creativity, so there’s nothing leftover? Or was it just a phase in my life? Who knows.

A Cowboy’s Saddle

©2021 Sara Beth Johnson

I’m made with the finest of leather,
by a cowboy with hands to match.
Throughout my time, more leather I’ll see
with every strap, latigo, and patch.

I’ve been beaten up, rubbed, and cut,
and more than once I’ve been torn.
From riding in me for days and nights,
many a cowboy butt have been sore.

I’ve been used on a horse by most,
and used as a pillow by few.
I’ve weathered the snow of a Colorado winter,
and awakened with the Arkansas dew.

I’ve hauled barbed wire, pilers, and stretchers
for long days out fixing fence.
I’ve been the listening side to many conversations,
some that didn’t make much sense.

You see, my place on Earth is in between heavens:
Cowboys and horses, the same.
I’ve seen excitement and I’ve seen frustration,
and I’ve seen both, as horses are tamed.

My cowboy, he depends on me.
As equipment, I must be his best.
There’s been many times out on the trail
my loyalty’s been put to the test.

I’ve seen cinches and breast collars aplenty,
buckles and d-rings, galore.
My cowboys knows he’ll always find me
on that dusty tack room floor.

When the time comes and my cowboy passes,
six foot in the ground he’ll go.
Where else would I be, but right there with him
being used as his final pillow.