Got a Question? Ask A COWBOY POET!
April 2026
The first markers of spring are meaningful when you work close to the land. As grass grows green and buds burst into bloom, pleasant days full of new life seem within reach. But, there’s another side of spring—raging rain, blinding blizzards—that coincides with the warmer weather. This month, as we inch closer to greener pastures and longer days, the cowboy poets provide poems as varied as the spring weather in response to this question:
“What’s a spring moment on the ranch that has stayed with you long enough to become a poem?”
~ Sensing Spring
Dw Groethe:
I've got more than a few poems inspired by Spring. In fact, all of the seasons have their fair share of poetry. Comes with the lifestyle I guess.
When Spring Breaks on the Prairie
When spring breaks on the prairie
When calves start comin’ ‘round
When crocus fill the hillsides
From the draws up to the crowns.
When you get that lonesome yearnin’
For a drift of new-mowed hay
Can the first warm breeze of summer
Really be that far away?
You’ve gone through forty winters
An’ you plan on forty more
But they never get no shorter
Though some are easier that’s for sure.
Still the deep time of the freezin’
Can steel your heart away
To the point of your forgettin’
Songs of meadowlarks in May.
But as the days reach longer
Your spirit starts to grow.
The sun beats down the snowbanks
The cricks begin to flow.
Your thoughts’ll drift to brandin’
Then maybe mowin’ hay.
That first warm breeze of summer
Really ain’t so far away.
Ta daa,
d dub
Doris daley:
In 1967, April 26 fell on a Wednesday.
I know because I was at home fretting over the grade seven math exam that would come two days later on Friday. I was slow to catch on to fractions and had no hope of getting out of the test.
Then it started snowing.
It didn’t let up until 38 inches and three days later on April 29.
Even for Alberta spring snowstorms, this was a whopper, and it came only one week after the record-breaking blizzard of April 17-20, which dumped 30 inches on the level. That made for a total of 5’8” of snow in two weeks.
What I remember most about the second storm was a U.S. army helicopter from Great Falls, Montana, landing in the yard. Both the Canadian and the U.S. armies sent helicopters to ranches all over the hills and prairies stretching down to the border. Ranchers like my dad were desperate to find cows and calves left stranded and drifted in by the snow and the only way to do that was by air.
What followed for days after the blizzard were heroic rescues by neighbours, emergency hotlines set up by radio stations, ski-doos taking expectant mothers to the hospital, hay drops by more helicopters, power outages, and eventually flooding. School buses didn’t run for a week; I can’t remember what happened with the math test.
Not every spring is as dramatic as that one. I didn’t write about the epic snowstorm, but I wrote about spring in my poem, “Shades of the West.” I go through all the colours (rhymes with colors) of the rainbow and give each one a western image. April got these lines:
Violet is crocus and lupins,
Violet tastes saskatoon-sweet.
Violet is royally riding the range with a kingdom of grass at your feet.
Green is the sweet smell of April,
Green runs the frost out of ground.
Green is the jingle and jig in your step when beef brings a good price a pound.
- Doris Daley
bill lowman:
I don’t know if this was late spring or early summer, but we were still moving pairs out to summer range. It was definitely impressionable.
The Great Wannagan Creek Flood
It was June fifteenth in nineteen eighty four.
The alfalfa on the bottoms was comin’ in kinda poor
It clouded up fast, then turned plumb black,
So we dropped off them cows and hustled on back.
There was seven or eight inches, I can’t say what it’d been,
But it all came down in an hour, short of ten.
It’s known today as the Great Wannagan Creek Flood,
A rollin’ and rippin’ and boil’n with mud.
That hail was ah steam’n in the hot summer air,
Like fresh mornin’ fog, I’m witness to bear.
My dad had a wild sort of look in his eyes,
He’d never seen Wannagan a third that size.
Amazed by its strength and flash of surprise,
My Ma stood there watching into darkness disguise.
Early the next morning we could finally forge,
Nine fence crossings were gone that passed through its gorge.
There was wire in tree tops down by the mouth,
And I guess some posts went clear on down south.
With a stroke of good luck, we found no cows float’n dead,
It could have well been bankers ink flow’n red.
Now there’s cattle scattered like sixty years no change,
Because for a while now it’ll be all open range.
P.S. I published it in my first book, “Riders of the Leafy Spurge”
darrell holden:
We look forward all winter to the signs of spring. Little moments of hope like the arrival of a robin, the grass starting to come, buds on the black willow trees…
But one event reigns supreme and that would be branding season.
In our country neighboring is still a big deal. When the calls come we put 'em on the calendar with glee. Fresh horses, new shoes, limbering up the roping arm and more smiles than an orthodontist convention. All of those special mornings begin the same way. Up early to feed horses. Then we saddle up and jump the ponies in the trailer. A short plan-making meeting and we all go gather the cows and calves to the branding pen. Some places use propane to heat the irons. Others are old school and use wood. But it’s amazing how much fun we all have working our guts out working calves. Lunches are spread out on tailgates and would rival any five star restaurant for fine dining. It’s like Christmas for cowboys. Dang it’s a blast. And when ya have that much fun, a feller who happens to also be a poet has to write…
Tracks in the Dust
And we ride out with the morning,
Like relics from the past.
Proof, here in this modern age,
That the legacy will last.
We do not look for fanfare,
Or crave urban understanding.
We’re just cowboys with a job to do,
As we gather for a branding.
Cattle all are scattered out,
Over fifteen thousand acres.
It heals my soul to be here,
Land gifted to us, by our makers.
And we disperse, cross universe,
Of grass and sand and sage.
Leave a symphony of horse tracks,
Across this desert’s page.
The cattle see us coming,
On our errand of the spring.
We knock them off the ridges,
And every wayward pair, we’ll bring.
There’s a lonely, ancient well there,
Where they built the branding trap.
Cows head naturally for water,
And in just a fingers snap,
We will have them bunched up,
And the sorting will begin.
Cows and calves feel consternation,
But every cowboy bears a grin.
There’s a raucous, noisy chorus,
As calves call for their mother.
The irons hot, knives are sharp,
For this chore unlike any other.
And when the day is over,
And each calf wears a brand.
We will load our horses,
And disappear across the land.
But I will hold this memory,
In a solemn sacred trust.
Until springtime calls, to come again,
And leave our tracks across the dust.
Darrell Ekker Holden
April 24th, 2025
Every single branding is a little piece of the West that keeps the legacy of ranching families burning bright. It’s a gathering of friends who honor this way of life. It’s a celebration that winter has retreated and spring has brought its promise of renewal. Oh, how I pray that burning hair will be a smell I get to experience for many more spring days to come.
Annie Mackenzie:
Flowers in the spring will forever have a special place in my heart. Especially the ones in the meadows just below Mahogany Mountain. Every spring, I marvel at their beauty and always regret whenever we have to drive either vehicles or cattle over the top of them. I don't know that I could ever write a poem that would fully capture how pretty I think they are, or how many memories they bring back every time I see them.
Flowers of my Youth
I wonder if I'll forget the flowers from my youth,
Will they wilt in my memories pulled up by the root,
Will I remember their beauty and sweet scent,
Little drops of sunshine, must be heaven sent,
Will not wanting to crush them underfoot be recalled,
Will I remember any of my careful steps at all?
Perhaps they'll be another thing my mind lets go,
Like so many memories I lost from years ago,
Heart ache and loss are the only ones that seem to survive,
A poor coping mechanism my heart has, keeps past hurt alive,
A small wall of protection built within,
Unwilling to let go, lest I get hurt again,
Yes my mind is truly a fickle thing,
But I hope it will remember the flowers in the spring.
dick gibford:
Timeless Moments
I don’t use no drugs stronger than coffee
And I don’t indulge no more in drink
But I sure find peace in a healthy way
When I sit around and think
But sometimes even thinking
Is a plumb waste of time
So I kick my mind into neutral
Just to see what I can find
Like right now I am a sittin’
Leanin’ against this tree
The afternoon is making long shadows
As pretty as can be
My horse is standing sort of snoozing
Resting one hind leg and he don’t care
What time it is or where he’s at
As long as I am close by somewhere
And for the cowboy life we’re grateful
Both him and me
And right now I could go on forever
Sittin’, leaning against this tree
For I ask you what is forever
We might catch it if we try
It is here and now this beautiful moment
Somewhere between the earth and sky
I can hear those quail a callin’
I can smell the green grass too
As I’m looking up through the oak leaves
At a sky of navy blue
Yes, right now is our forever
This one peaceful, timeless breath
Where there’s no beginning or no ending
No birth or no death
So I try to put time aside
As often as I can
So I can get high on timeless moments
For they are a balm to the soul of man
