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 climbing out of bed, each morn, my joints are stiff and sore.  Some say it’s part of getting old, maybe settling up the score?

‘Cuz those aches and pains remind me of the crazy stunts I’ve done back when I was a youngster.  We were just plain having fun.  

But life back then weren’t all for fun and no one dared to shirk.  There wasn’t automation so our bodies did the work. 

Each morning we were up at five, then milked the cows by hand.  My grip was like a vice but did arthritis reprimand?

In summer after milking cows, we’d haul the bales of hay.  We bucked em high up on the truck.  There weren’t no better way.  

Our young arms ached from tossing all the hay bales in the stack.    That night we’d take a shower and dream of hay bales falling back.  

We always used a shovel and a pick to dig post holes.  We dug through rock and gravel, plant the post and spike the poles.  

Not one of us had even known what post hole augers were.  Our backs bore all the brunt from work.  It took its toll for sure.  

One day while helping Uncle Clarence lift a trailer hitch, my foot gave way and then I felt the sting of low back twitch. 

My uncle said, “You’re prob’ly gonna pay for that when old.”   But in my youth, I only thought, “I’ll stay young, fit and bold.”

 Now after fifty years I feel the sting and twitch all day.  My Uncle Clarence got it right.  Experience I’d say.

Am I sorry for the life we lived?  Work wore our bodies out.  I don’t make lame excuses ‘cuz hard work I brag about.

And ‘bout those aches each morning they’re a pain right in my rear, but always a reminder of the work from yesteryear. 

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