SATURDAY NIGHT AT THE WESTERNER

Know the cowgirl by the swish of her fringe and the jingle of her spur

By Julie Carter

Much of the reputation of a cowboy or cowgirl relies on perception. It’s a sad commentary to the world of high top boots but it’s a fact.

Let me explain.

Set the scene in the panhandle of Texas where it snows sideways and the top soil relocates daily with every norther that blows through to freeze the buns off the man and beast.

It is the land of wheat fields and millions of miles of electric hot wire strung as “fencing”. Operators who lease wheat pasture for cattle are checker boarded across the plains of Texas with other misguided souls who want to run cattle in the worst weather this side of polar bear country.

Misery and hard work make strong friendships among those foolish enough to think that is an honorable way to make a living. The wives are often fully half of the entire hired hand crew and take at least their fair share of the head count to ride through and check daily.

Depending on who is telling the story, from his perspective he is sure he has bigger circles to ride, sicker cattle to doctor, fences are worse and longer drives to get it all done.

As happens in the small close community of 100,000 square miles, one wife will sometimes meet up with another wife in their daily ride through the cattle and decide to have lunch at the local Ptomaine palace aka café.

When Billie Jo and Lynn walked into the café, everyone there knew them. On entering Billie Jo would develop a slight limp and rub her shoulder. In casual conversation she would tell her stories that all began with “that Eddie Griego colt” or “that Hank Wiescamp condemned colt” –either of which had bucked her down and she was a little sore.

She always filled in the story with details of how he had “grabbed aholt of himself, swallowed his head, sunfished, jumped every which way” and finally got the best of her after an Etbauer style ride. (Etbauer’s are world champion saddle bronc riders.)

No body every witnessed these rides, but nobody ever questioned those lash batting blue eyes.

Lynn, on the other hand, regularly rode a Pasamonte Paul-Blondie’s Dude horse, with justifiably reputed breeding for bucking. She admittedly was bucked off as soon as the horse pinned his ears back and as you might figure, there was always a witness.

“I saw you get bucked down the other day, but I came back by that place about an hour later and you were gone, so I figured you were all right.”

There were two reasons why people always took Billie Jo at her word. She had story telling down to an art and she always wore the correct costume.

The women both wore the same basic functional clothing just with different style. Lynn’s scarf (rag) to protect her neck from the cold was always cotton, large and wrinkled. Billie Jo’s was bright colored silk and always looked clean.

Both wore chinks (a short version of regular chaps) but Lynn’s were decorated with manure and orange marker chalk while Billie Jo’s had silver conchos and long swishy fringe. Lynn’s spurs had regular length shanks with adequate rowels while Billie Jo sported long shanks with pizza cutter rowels that jingled when she walked.

Lynn always had a piggin’ string (small rope) in her belt in case she needed to tie up a gate or the muffler on the pickup to keep it from dragging. Billie Jo had two in her belt and two more bandolier style across her shoulder.

Bottom line is Billie Jo was regarded as a real deal, turkey feather in her hat, britches in her boots puncher. Lynn was labeled as her husband’s little helper.

Never underestimate the power of good story telling or dressing for success.

Julie can be reached for comment at jcarter@tularosa.net

© Julie Carter

I welcome submissions for this feature of The Westerner.

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