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The County
03:07
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I rolled up my bed and I loaded my horses
and I loaded my saddle and dog
it was slow rollin out and the long summer’s drought
hung the dust on the road like a fog
six summers in her mountains six autumns in her canyons six winters hardly eatin’ at all
six years slippin’ by like a rope on mulehide
and I’m turnin’ to write my epilogue
I was young, and the horses were too, I didn’t own much of my own
out in the county they call it The County, for a while there I called it home
They ride bridled up mustangs from the canyon to the brandin’ pen tack on sharp shoes in the fall
it’s snakey and it’s steep, it’s rocky and it’s deep
so bring all the dogs you can haul
it’s six months of winter, range rider for dinner,
square dancin’ at the hurricane hall
some call it God’s country but it’s more like Paul Bunyan struck the earth with an old splittin’ maul
I was young and the horses were too, I didn’t own much of my own
out in the county they call it the county, for a while there I called it home
I miss single-jack fences straight line ‘cross the canyon, mule-packed & split tamarack stays
I miss Hamm's Sandwich packers and wolverine trappers and rawhiders discussin’ braids
I miss sheepwagon cowcamp and rattlesnake switchbacks and the smell of ponderosa on a summer day
I miss single jack fences cuttin’ lines cross the canyon,
old mules and forgotten trades
I was young and the horses were too, I didn’t own much of my own
out in the county they call it the county, for a while there I called it home
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Forrest VanTuyl Goldendale, Washington
Forrest VanTuyl is a Western songwriter, poet, and working cowboy based in the Inland Northwest. His work has been featured in the New York Times, at The National Cowboy Poetry Gathering, and he has written music for the US Forest Service.
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