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.
Eleven teenage cowboys saddled up to hit the trail. We broke from Turpin
Meadows, never thought this trip would fail.
We’d planned our trip, so many nights, I’d say dang near a year. My cousin was
the one in charge of all the food and gear.
We rode back in some twenty miles. The mules were all but spent. Then set up
camp and cooked the steaks inside our new cook tent.
The horses and the mules were firmly tied up for the night. ‘Twas time to sit next
to the fire. A well-deserved delight.
With bellies full of grub and sitting by the fire’s glow, Old Mother Nature made
her call. Said, “Time for you to go!”
I quizzed my cousin, “Toilet Paper?” Desperate in my plea. I won’t forget his wide
eyes if I live to ninety-three.
He said, “I plumb forgot about the toilet paper roll! Ya better start to gather
leaves and dig yourself a hole.”
The frightful news sure traveled fast out to the camping crew. They calculated
lynching but not a rope among the few.
So, we gathered leaves, then hurried off, the well-known, “Two Step Stride.” But
some leaves were too scratchy for our tender, young backside.
My cousin, in his genius, said, “Just head down to the lake. But don’t forget your
Ivory Soap and scrub for goodness sake!”
We were finally back to normal. No more scratchy, itchy seat. Compared to
leaves and grass the soap and water’s hard to beat.
That night, while sleeping in my bag, I heard the loudest splash. I rolled on out
then headed for the lake in one fast dash.
The sky was clear, the moon so bright, heard yodeling calls from Loons. But on
that fateful night, I swear, I witnessed two full moons.