The other day Tasha asked where I would go if I could go back to any time period, any place. The answer, which shouldn't surprise anyone who knows me, is the southwest of the late 1800s. While the only things I have to show for my love of the southwest/cowboy/ranch ideal is a couple pairs of boots, a stetson, and some second hand cowboy shirts (which I'm too chubby to wear now, by the way), I would live that life in a heartbeat.
I wouldn't even have to go back in time. I drop everything to be a rancher/farmer (I know their is a big difference between the two) and never look back. Which is saying something because I really do love my job. I can easily see myself in just about any Marty Robbins song.
Anyway, that love was reaffirmed last week when I was scouring flickr for pictures of downtown Logan, Utah for a project a work. Amid the pictures of the Bluebird, Logan Canyon, Main Street, the tabernacle and the rest of the Logan landmarks I found this beautiful piece of cowboy poetry carved into the back of a headstone in the Logan cemetery.
I would have liked to know him in real life, I'm sure he had a wicked sense of humor.