Howdy, folks! It's Cowboy Jack here, speaking from the heart of the Texas prairie, a land where the sky reaches wide and the winds whisper tales of old. Today, I've been chewin' on a thought, one that’s as much a part of this land as the mesquite and the bluebonnets, and it’s all about what it means to be Hardy.
Now, when you hear "Hardys," you might reckon on some rough-and-tumble folk, and you wouldn’t be wrong. Out here, hardiness ain’t just a trait, it’s a necessity, something like the sun-baked leather of my old boots or the strong beams that hold up the barn against the roaring norther. It’s a spirit that’s been tested by time and elements, akin to the rugged brush that survives the searing summers and the biting winters with equal stoicism.
On the ranch, the Hardys ain’t just the people, mind you. It's everything and everyone – from the rolling fences that withstand the battering of the gale force winds, to the tough old cattle that chew the cud regardless if a storm is brewing or not. It's in the firm handshake of a neighbor, the steadfast gaze of my eldest, and the relentless pursuit of the hounds when they're on the trail of something.
It's this same hardiness that pushed me beyond my limits that day long ago, when the bull got loose and charged my dear ma. The memory of that darting beast, the dust flying, and ma’s scream still sends shivers down my spine. But it was hardiness, that old friend, that surged through my veins as I leapt to her rescue. That event sure left its mark on me, a constant reminiscence each time my back sings its achy song, but what it also left was a backbone wrought of iron and grit.
They say that it’s not the size of the cowboy in the fight, but the size of the fight in the cowboy. Now, I might chuckle at those words when corralling my brood of nine before sunrise to start off the chores, but they're the truest words I know. Life out here is chaotic, a symphony of hollers, laughter, and the occasional crash when something breaks in the barn or house (what can I say, kids will be kids).
But this life isn’t just about being gritty or tough, it's about melding that with the gentle touch of a father’s hand or the soft word to soothe a spooked foal. It’s about binding together like the endless variety of knots I tie, each with its own purpose and strength, to keep the fences up, the animals secure, and the home together.
Speaking of binding, I can’t speak for those telepathic powers some like to jest I have with the bovine persuasion. But I’ll tell ya, if you spend enough sunsets watching the herd, learning their ways, you might just start believing in it too! Hardiness though, that’s something we can all see, feel, and be inspired by every doggone day.
When I’m out there, joggling across the pastures, an art of jogging while juggling mind you, or when I’m sat under the bow of a wild apple tree, I feel a kinship with the Hardys of the world. We might not have the easiest path, but it’s the rugged trails that lead to the views most breathtaking and the tales most worth telling.
So, my dear readers, in the spirit of the Hardys of the prairie, I tip my hat to you. May you find your strength in the toughest of times, your resilience in the face of the howling winds of change, and may your spirit be as indomitable as the wild mustangs that run free beneath the endless Texas sky.
Keep roping the stars,