They say it’s a dying breed, but if you look around the Cowboy Capital they litter the roads and the streets.
As I sit in McDonalds typing there’s a man in his boots, jeans, and his straw hat working away on a Mac.
I look out the window and a big white truck drives by with hay bales stacked in the back.
Yesterday, I climbed through a field and looked at cow calf pairs.
Regardless if these men and women that we see dressed for the part own a horse or a tractor, they open the door for people. They say “yes ma’am” and “no sir” they work hard and they don’t take hand-outs.
Even if we all went completely vegan and we didn’t need cattle, the culture of the Cowboy would stay alive. It has to stay alive. It’s a grab at the old and a chase after the modern.
We see the western styles in Vogue and the polite hard working styles in the lives of other people.
The culture is a beautiful and symbolic representation of what America is and should be.
We need more people who walk with the kind of confidence that can be felt, but not seen. Their hands should tell a story. People need to know the gentleness of a first born calf, but the meanness of that momma cow coming after you.
We need more sunsets and silence. We need to be able to hear the whispers of the world around us.
The importance of the Cowboy is not something that is seen, but it is something that is felt. Soft hands, but a firm grip.
“The world may be changing, but cowboys still exist.”
