Bryce Angell is a cowboy poet. Angell was raised on a farm/ranch in the St. Anthony, Idaho area with approximately 75 head of horses. Horses remain an important part of Angell’s life.
Angell shares his poetry with Cache Valley Daily every Friday.
Four cowboys lit out on the road, just out to have some fun. Their old and
weathered faces showed the years from summer’s sun.
But on that day the cowboys didn’t take a horse to ride. They chose the F150 and
the trail boss for their guide.
They drove for hours, then made their stop. Each cowboy longed to see, the Birch
Creek Stagecoach Station, now a part of history.
The buildings showed true character. The cowboys understood. They saw where
men and horses lived, but now all gone for good.
Each cowboy stood and pondered, now a part of this great show. ‘Cuz in their
minds they visioned ‘bout this station long ago.
The old Hotel and Eatery were sure a welcome sight. The passengers and drivers
would find rest throughout the night.
The barkeep poured his liquor, how that demon drink would bite. The stairs
climbed to the second floor. A drunkard’s fateful plight.
The cold icehouse, down by the creek, would be a guarantee that fresh hung meat
could last for weeks and folks would drink iced tea.
The livery had eight horse stalls with the loft filled up with hay. The cowboys
figured making hay was nothing like today.
And last of all the cowboys walked out to the blacksmith shop. Each cowboy soon
identified his role at this stage stop.
They heard the pounding of the hammer on a red-hot shoe. And watched the
blacksmith roll a wheel to keep it sound and true.
The cowboys came to realize just living then was rough. Each wondered if they’d
have the grit. Would they be up to snuff?
But one thing ‘bout those cowboys, they are what they want to be. And just like
Birch Creek Station they’ll be part of history.