It was a bittersweet party. Valentine has hosted the annual Nebraska Cowboy Poetry Gathering for thirty-two years, but everyone is tired, no new volunteers have stepped up to help with the work, and people seem more interested in sports and other events now, so this was the last year. Like so many things, when the end is looming, people come out in droves and wish it wouldn’t. As a founding member of that committee, I well know how much work it is, and deeply appreciate the people who kept keeping on when I stepped down. But attendance has become small, even for free performances. This year improved from the recent past but, like the end of a marriage, sometimes it’s too late to go back and fix things. And I guess everything has a shelf life.
When I began my journey in Cowboy Poetry, old timers told me it was like a family, and they were right. I learned a lot about me, watched other performers grow their talents, met my husband, and a performance partner who challenged me to improve my own work. She and I wrote about pioneer women and traveled their trails to Oregon, as well as many back roads in several other states. We met wonderful people, heard their stories, and wrote more poems and songs about those family histories, while exploring secrets hidden away in our own ancestries.
My husband bought home a plaque recently that says, “Sometimes you win, sometimes you learn.” We came away from Valentine having learned how much we are loved, and that our adopted family will continue on faith and hope. And we won, knowing that as we grieve, there are people around us who refuse to give up. Folks from the community, and our family of performers, expressed hope that the traditions we have tried to preserve will find a way to survive. A number of them have begun looking for another town to pick up the reins, and maybe that will happen.
We learned that cowboys do sometimes cry, especially at farewell parties. We learned the strength of faith, in God, in marriage and family, and in one another, and that hope springs eternal. We learned to laugh together, even in our sadness.
Some folks who have reason to know of our personal struggles took the time to tell us they stand firm in support, and prayer.
Hardened ranchers and performers stood on stage choked up, as they expressed pride in their children, appreciation for spouses of many years, and their faith in God and country. They hugged, shook hands for a long moment, and paused to gather their composure before continuing the set. A young bull rider from North Dakota shared his desire to excel, not only in his sport, but in life, and his hope to carry on the family legacy. A pair of darling little girls, ages three and five, stood up in a session to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, then danced in their seats as grandma played Arkansas Traveler.
Paul Larson said, as he hugged me goodbye on Saturday night, “I believe that Old West Days will find a new home. We can’t let this die.” I know he wasn’t talking just about the music, poems and stories; but about the values and traditions we share, the desire to do right, to love one another in this sometimes sad and scary world, to have hope and keep the faith.
Meet me here next week and meanwhile do your best to keep the faith. Somebody might like it. We’ll all be better for it.