We wanted to ride in the ole Wild West,
To stay in our saddles we’d try our best,
So, to McBride’s Ranch by a winding trail
With signs so witty our hearts regale.
We came to the ranch, what a sight to behold,
Twas like looking back on the days of old.
There were rabbits, kittens, and chickens, too,
And a bowlegged cowboy to wait on you.
He mounted us each on a gentle beast
And we turned our horses and headed east,
With trembling hands to say the least.
But with Pearl riding point on a beautiful gray
And Mary wrangling on a green-broke bay,
In their capable hands we felt secure
As we started out on our guided tour.
Thru’ California’s Death Valley, without a care,
And on to the tree that swallowed a bear,
Then Sinbad’s Cave hove into sight
A delightful spot in the bright sunlight.
We check with the Medicine Man for rain
As on to the Musical Trail we came.
We visit London and Paris too
And Hiawatha’s bathtub comes into view.
Up Squirrel Avenue we softly stole
To watch the mysteries of the weird woods unfold.
Thru’ Smiling Pool we splash our way
And Gilligan’s Island is here to stay.
Next is the fascinating Trail of the Ants,
We’re thankful they’re not in the seat of our pants.
On we go to Picture Creek,
Our horses ever eager to drink.
Killarney Lake and Five Fingers Pond
Come into sight as we jog along.
Now it’s dinosaur tracks
And mid squeals of delight
We cross more water in our flight,
To the banks of the Mighty Magnificent Bow,
With all of its beautiful colors show.
Across the Sahara we quickly speed
To the depths of the blue Mediterranean Sea,
Then on to the “Cathedral in the Pines’
We enter and gaze at beauty sublime.
With spirits refreshed, we slowly ride on
Thru’ the silent woods and mossy trails,
Back to the ranch where the cowboy prevails.
And waiting us too, at the stable gates
is a grand old man who is 78.
With much groaning and laughter
We hit the ground all bowlegged
Like the cowboy who helps us down.
So with fond regrets we say goodbye,
But with memories of a ride that will never die.
California’s Death Valley was a dismal, damp bit of a swamp. I had gathered some bones (there were plenty around) and laid them beside the trail. The tree had a huge bole, the cave was an enclosure of trees. A scar on a tree looked exactly like a Native. Trees rubbing in the wind, leaning tower of Pisa leaning trees, a small creek with steep side, weird woods were weird, a dry wash in the Sahara, a back wash of the Bow – beautiful blue. Cathedral – a circle of pines with an entrance; the rest I think is plain. The pines were really spruce, but spruce wouldn’t rhyme.
Twas the busy summer of ’72, a foal was born to Sadie
Trails were calling, work to be done, no time off for baby.
With a party of 8, Mt. Assiniboine bound,
We packed in the early morning,
With little Pedro following along, his anxious Mama calling.
A little fishing trip to Wedgewood planned and Sadie’s presence needed,
Her pleading calls to “come with me,” fell on little ears unheeded.
Our baskets full, so once again, the steep trail we ascended,
And nearing camp, the joyous calls on waiting ears descended,
With squeals of joy and hunger pangs, little Pedro comes a running,
They meet, such bliss, such utter joy, we pause to watch the loving.
On tiny legs, he reaches up, her neck he does entwine,
They pet and kiss, and cry and talk; while we watch and put in time.
The heart fulfilled, now comes the tummy, the hunger pangs are growing,
He nuzzles the warm and swollen breast and starts the rich milk flowing.
His little tail stands straight outstretched, his tiny sides are heaving,
And with each long and noisy gulp, contentment findsfull meaning.
The heart and tummy now are full, he now rejoins the play,
As we humbly wend our way to camp,
a Mother’s Love has made our day.
When we went fishing, little Pedro was playing with two other colts we also had to take on the trail. He wouldn’t leave his little friends, but he sure was waiting when we returned. He quickly ran to meet his mom and he stood on his little hind legs and put his tiny front feet right around her neck. It was simply beautiful. The rest, I think, is quite plain.
In Canmore Seniors at the Summit, ed. Canmore Seniors Association, 2000, p.192-193.
