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.
When I was ten, the willows were the place for boys to camp. There was no scare
of spreading fires. The grass was always damp.
But late one fall, the grass turned dry just waiting for a fire. So, we tried to find an
old truck rim that didn’t have a tire.
We scavenged for a truck rim, not a single one around. So, we grabbed a worn-
out rubber tire just lying on the ground.
We figured that a tire would keep our campfire safe and sound. We had no clue
that rubber was the worst choice all around.
We dug the ground then placed the worn-out tire right in its spot. Then tossed
up dirt along the sides in case it burned too hot.
The time was right to build our fire, cook hot dogs, eat some chips. And we
brought mom’s homemade root beer that you only drank in sips.
We used some willow kindling, poured a bit of Boy Scout sass. It only took one
match the sass was really John Deere gas.
The flames were burning way too hot for tube steaks on a stick. And something
smelled Daytona like a burning rubber slick.
Our Oscar Meyer wienies were now turning shades of black. And the smoke
rolled out so doggone thick caused both of us to hack.
You didn’t have to be wide eyed to see our burning tire. Our danged ole safety
fire ring was a hell-bent ring of fire.
My cousin shot the look at me, “We’re in for trouble now!” But the night dew
was upon us. Saved us from the wrinkled brow.
That night was just plain scary for the two of us young men! And we never will
forget the burning thrill we felt back then!
So, we learned a frightful lesson. ‘Twas a simple, little thing. Don’t ever use a
rubber tire to make a fire ring.