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‘Growing Up Rural’ : A Poem For Those Who Know

Growing Up Rural Poem. Cowboy Poetry. Farm. Ranch. Small Town.

Growing Up Rural

Growing up rural, means a lot of many things.
And for the people raised up by it, their gratitude it brings.

It meant you got looked after,
By neighbours, teacher, and coach.
Chances are you had extended family there,
And you spent time with them the most.

It meant you couldn’t get away with trouble,
Because chatter would get back to your parents.
It meant trips to the city were far between,
And always the reason was errands.

It meant class sizes were small,
And students not there were missed.
It meant gossip spread like grass-fires,
Especially by those you kissed.

It meant band members weren’t nerds,
But supported by a high student count.
Your school had a dress code,
Where respect for self abound.

It meant no swearing in public,
Town bylaws with curfews.
Sports teams were a way of life,
And filled the local news.

Growing Up Rural Poem. Cowboy Poetry. Field. Rodeo. Farm. Ranch. Small Town.

It meant you were probably labelled,
And as unfair as that was…
With fresh air and open spaces,
It forged peace to keep you tough.

It meant shops were closed on Sunday,
But church parking lots were full.
It represented a day of rest,
But you helped when calves needed pull.

It meant softball was a family tradition,
And the town showed up for games.
Gopher holes were in outfields,
And missed catches was their blame.

Growing Up Rural Poem. Cowboy Poetry. Football. Field. Rodeo. Farm. Ranch. Small Town.

It meant that graduation day,
Was a community affair;
Baby photos were showcased,
And the commencement lead with prayer.

It meant that crops and cattle,
Were built on generations in profession.
Work ethics and morals were common sense,
And marriage upon a father’s blessin’.

It meant gas stations were the local hot spot,
And slurpee machines a staple.
Everyone knew where the rodeo grounds was,
And ol’ timers told many a fable.

Growing Up Rural Poem. Cowboy Poetry. Rodeo. Farm. Ranch. Small Town.

It meant parades with tractors,
Horses, and candy too.
Manure and wrappers filled the streets,
But cleaned up that day by noon.

It meant that new comers were welcomed,
But took years to settle in.
Your address was always by so and so’s place,
And your reputation was your kin.

It meant pick up trucks with flat decks,
And stained up wrangler jeans.
Gravel dirt roads that crossed rail tracks,
And a helping of gram’s baked beans.

Growing Up Rural Poem. Cowboy Poetry. Outhouse. Rodeo. Farm. Ranch. Small Town.

It meant slow and simple,
But hard long hours of work.
Swinging bales and fixing fence;
Though hot, you kept your shirt.

It means you are not common,
But special in every way.
For to be raised in rural setting,
It’ll forever hold your fame.

The Cowgirl
(Julie Jensen)


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Growing Up Rural Poem. Cowboy Poetry. Rodeo. Farm. Ranch. Small Town. bales. Fixin Fence.



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The Daddy, The Cowboy

The Cowboy The Daddy. Meghan Holt Photography.

My husband, The Cowboy, is basically the best Daddy there could ever be to our Cowkids. Even though he does work long hard hours, our kids take priority when he’s home. He takes them out to help him with yardwork, garage organizing, vehicle maintenance… whatever it is on his docket, he almost always takes them with him. Which, with 2 little hands-on runners is no easy task. But they LOVE it. And they absolutely love him. My Dad too, would always take me with him whatever he was doing. And I think it was a pillar that helped mold me into who I am. So I’m especially greatful to have married a man who also knows how to be such a great Dad and spend time no matter what he’s doing, to bring them with him.

I must say I am a little jealous of how well recieved he is when he walks through the door. I keep telling myself it’s because I’m always with them, so they just don’t have time to miss me… but that’s just a lie I tell myself. You’d think he’d been gone for a 4 month overseas trip when he walks through that back garage door. They are so crazy excited to see him. They leap towards him and jump up for tight long hugs to the neck. Not wanting to let go, and heartbroken when he has to go to the bedroom to change his clothes. He’s also been the one that Cowkid 2 yells for lately when he wakes in the middle of the night. When I’m the one that shows up to snuggle him, he’s ticked. Like, TICKED. And of course, because my husband loves his babies so much, he’ll get up despite the early morning go to work time and rock and snuggle him back to sleep. Knowing full well how exhausted he’s going to be at work the next day. He’ll always come get them when they call out “Dadda!”

He’s the most considerate and patient man when I’m pregnant too. This pregnancy has probably given me a little more cranky hormones than most (read about that more here). But yet, he lets it roll off his back and drives to the local gas station to get me that coke slurpee, chips, and chocolate bar whenever that craving hits. I’m also a lot, like, a LOT less intelligent than I remember being with my other pregnancies. His patience with all my crazy ideas and asking him the same questions over and over again is defiinitely appreciated. He knows how to take care of his babies well before they are born and the instant they come out.

The Cowboy The Daddy.

There is a lot of experiences people share on how hard marriage becomes once children arrive. For us, that couldn’t be further from the truth. To see him in role of Daddy gives me the same butterflies  I had while we were dating, but with a love much deeper than I could have imagined it going even on our wedding day. The Cowboy takes his husband and Daddy role as top priority. And we couldn’t love him more for it.

So, happy Father’s Day to all those great Dads out there who are masculine enough to snuggle babies and stoic enough to dry another’s tears.

The Cowgirl


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