The Old West provides a platform for folk art

The Scotch-Irish immigrants are credited with bringing their story telling abilities to America and spreading them across the western range, especially after the Civil War. 

This time period found men moving west to pursue freedom and land. They become the cowboys that helped to tame the west. The Old West provides a platform for western folk art.  

It has evolved to what we have today, thus helping to preserve our Western Heritage. Gathering around the chuck wagons or cook shacks at the end of day, these cowboys entertained themselves and others by telling about the adventures of that day. Soon, the stories were put to music or maybe just to rhyme, thus cowboy poetry got its start.

Sometimes, one would be singled out as having a knack to “turn a phrase” or maybe being called “windy.” This very likely spawned the old saying, “The first liar doesn’t stand a chance!” 

Now, most of these ol’ boys possessed the “gift of gab” and probably had “kissed the blarney stone.” They also were very superstitious, which gave rise to their ability to embellish a good story and even sometimes change its direction. 

My ol’ Daddy always said, “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story!” The majority of these fellers followed that old adage to a “T.” And even before cowboy poetry became a popular venue for educating the world about the western way of life, those old hands were building a reputation that has stood the test of time and eventually  evolved into today’s entertaining world of “Cowboy Poetry.”

The Campfire an’ the Bard

Way back in the days of old, life’s story was sometimes told

by those around the old campfire.

Jest happenin’s of the day, quaint tales along the way,

pert near anything that might transpire.

Some stories seemed to share; some had their own flair,

most all of them were lots of fun.

While some would dip an’ dart, others tried to come apart.

Not many knew just how they had begun.

Whether right or whether wrong, some stories made a song,

because of the rhythm an’ the beat.

They danced an’ they swayed while the geetar picker played,

the end result was shore ‘nuff quite a treat.

So when chow time was done, with last rays of settin’sun,

the ol’ campfire gave a settled glow.

As cowhands began to mingle, the spurs with their jingle

seemed to always set the tempo.

Some would jest lite a smoke, listen as someone spoke,

or laugh at another feller’s claim.

Cowhands would tell a tale, sing a song, or just sit a spell

addin’ firewood to the flame.

Someone would strum a tune…on the horizon, a full moon

gave coyotes want to howl.

An’ the darkness of the night, was bathed in silver light,

startin’ night critters on the prowl.

.Around the firelight’s shimmer, hands often gave a glimmer

of what went on throughout the day.

The first liar stood no chance, ‘cuz the next feller would prance

right up and jump into the fray.

Soon, one was singled out for the stories he would spout,

he gained the reputation of a bard.

He embellished and he shined, no tale was left behind,

mostly about the doin’s of his pard.

Yet every man was fair game, all were treated just the same,

tho sometimes the facts were stretched a bit.

They were nurtured thru an’ thru, you never knowed which ones wuz true,

 sometimes they shore did seem to fit.

At last the flames grew lower, stories were no more,

purty soon light would show in the east.

The night hawk’s song was heard, as he crooned like a bird,

hopin’ to soothe the restless beast.

Well, that’s the way it seemed to be, there upon the lone prairie,

Sometimes, this life ain’t so hard to take.

Now, you had done the best you could, knowin’ the others shorely would,

you bed down jest waitin’ fer daybreak .

Night sounds lull you to sleep; you know your thoughts will keep,

an’ you dream of yore sweetheart, far away.

You hear the Jingler getting’ up, hear him pour himself a cup,

 Light in the east signals break o’ day.

So yore sleep is done, you think back upon the fun

You had ‘round the campfire last night.

This day’s work will soon unfold into late day’s sun of burnin’ gold,

 So… you best jump up an’ join the fight.

© Ol’ Jim Cathey   

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