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.
I stood next to my father. Must have been near eight years old.
The auction yard was filled with cows just waiting to be sold.
The August sun bore heat on down. Turned cow manure to hot.
Steam rolling off the hot manure, put out a smell like rot.
I heard one cowboy say, ”Pew!” That caught my eye for sure.
He said, “I s’pose there’s nothin worse than smellin’ cow manure!”
The smell was nothing new to me, a normal farm boy’s way.
But the cowboy’s words convinced my nose, “Be sensitive today.”
My father said, “Let’s grab a bite. The sale will soon begin.”
Each café stool was set so low. The counter hit my chin.
The scent of frying burgers, topped with onions, filled the air.
The smell of fresh brewed coffee and tobacco smoke hung there.
But then a hint of cherry pie was teasing at my nose.
I heard the waitress say, “Eat fast before your father goes.”
My father gobbled down his food. I’d never ate so fast.
Then we climbed the stairs and there we were, the auction sale at last.
I’d heard him talk a hundred times about the auction ring.
But I don’t recall him mentioning the smells the auctions bring.
The first thing that I noticed was the smell of lodgepole pine.
Shavings covered most the floor and smelled like turpentine.
The benches sat up high, so we could look down at the sale.
One farmer’s wife brought chicken. Got a whiff with each inhale.
Then came a smell so thick and strong, it dang near made me choke.
The smell was overpowering from the clouds of cigar smoke.
There ain’t no doubt you’d pick up on the cigar smoke, just fine.
Your smeller didn’t have to be so tuned and keen as mine.
For me the smell’s nostalgic. Guess it wasn’t meant to last.
‘Cuz smoking at the cattle auction has become the past.
Yet when I smell that cigar smoke, psyche calls it Pavlov’s Dog.
My mind reflects to auction day; engrained in my brain’s log.
Make no mistake about the smells at the cattle auction sale.
They’re a combo of good memories that your brain will never fail.