Life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness

Puritan arrival

He was a Puritan who came to New England to be free,

While trying to escape that English monarch’s tyranny.

On a ship called the Bevis from Southampton he did sail,

Settled in Hartford, Connecticut an’ there he would prevail.

Then one day he and 28 families to the wilderness did go

An’ they founded a town called Haddam so very long ago.

He was a farmer and stockman according to ancient history,

But where he lived in England to this day remains a mystery.

Fought Indians, endured hardships, an’ suffered great strife,

But it was he an’ his descendants that gave our country life,

He was John Bailey our first immigrant ancestor to arrive,

The patriarch of 14 generations that to this very day survive.

American Revolution

His forefathers had arrived in Connecticut 100 years before,

Came seeking religious freedom an’ faced hardships galore.

They lived peacefully, ploughing their fields an’ sowing seed,

Only seemed right from the English King they outta be freed.

For Liberty he vowed he would fight, still early in his life,

Fought the French War while at home stayed his pretty wife. 

An’ again in 1776 for Wadsworth's brigade he did enlist,

To help George Washington's army in New York resist.

He was in the battles of Long Island and White Plains,

An’ with a militia brigade at Kips Bay they made gains.

Finally they repelled the English King’s attack and won victory,

They established this nations Independence an’ made history.

He was the first in generations that was free to roam,

So off to Pennsylvania he went  an’ found a new home.

His name was Oliver Bailey an’ he was direct kin to me.

Thanks to men like him I am an American an’ live free.

© Jerry England 1999

3rd Iowa Cavalry

It was early spring during the year of 1864,

He was off to serve in America's Civil War.

He rode with Company G, 3rd Iowa Cavalry.

For you see he never did believe in slavery.

While at Brices Cross Roads his leg was lost,

He was wounded severely his life it almost cost.

An' late during that day it was a final twist of fate,

When a black man found him before it was too late.

He sure must have been a hail an' hearty soul,

For later that year to his family home he did go.

He was David Bailey, Great Great Grand Dad to me,

An' I know he was proud to have served for our Liberty.

© Jerry England 1998

Mariposa Trail

I'm gonna go a riding on that Mariposa trail

lookin' for a sign of the Yellow Swallowtail

Or maybe I'll sit under Black Oak trees

An' watch an orange Monarch on the breeze

While fluttering to and fro in sporadic flight

is a cabbage butterfly with his coat of white

An' I'll bet it was one of the Ol' Man's cleverest jokes 

When he created black and yellow mourning cloaks

Yes, I'm gonna go a riding on that Mariposa trail

An' watch colorful butterflies, delicate, and frail

© Jerry England 1999

The Scourge of the West

The natural world, they say, has been a source of inspiration for poets throughout history.

A lot of poetry is based on our life experiences and observations in nature.

My short lived summer as a cowboy inspired my first ever poem.

It was during the summer of 1958, I was still a teenager, and I had been hired to help a young rancher gather cattle, so he could run them through a dipping vat, vaccinate and deworm them.  

That was the year I discovered I was allergic to poison oak…

It was a hot summer in the Sierra foothills -- most days were near 100 degrees -- and where ever my body came in contact with my saddle, there wasn't a spot that didn't have a swollen itchy red rash.  

I spent every night sittin' in a tub full of watered-down bleach, but nothing helped and I had to quit my cowboy job because it was too painful to ride.

Later that year I got a series of shots and never again got a reaction to poison oak.

My hat’s off to working cowboys who have no choice other than to ‘cowboyup’ and work through it.

 The Scourge of the West

I am the scourge of the West

More outrageous than the rest

I will creep along the canyon floor

Till I come knocking at your cabin door

And then to you it will be no joke

For you see my name is poison oak

© Jerry England

Ol' Sunup

 

Ol' Sunup will be my pard through thick or thin,

And I know as a race horse he may never win,

But he's got a great big heart and his manner is bold,

And he's good for a buck or two if the weather is cold.

Yes, he's throwed me hard and stepped on my knee,

But we covered a few thousand miles that horse an' me,

So I tell him I love him and how pretty he is

While he nickers softly for those carrots of his.

Oh, I know he'll jig an' spin and won't pay me no heed

Because if we ride in a group he's jus got to be in the lead,

But every once in while when we're alone on our canyon trail,

He does all I ask of him and we've got the world by the tail.

Now I'm gettin' old and fat and I surely must buckle his knees

But give him a straight away an' he can still split the breeze.

I swear that cayuse is still a thousand pounds of dynamite

An' even after all these years with me it's still love at first sight.

© Jerry England 1997

Memories of Ol' Montana

I went for a visit to the family homestead about 1950.

Mom introduced me to ol’ Montana, it sure was nifty.

They had horses and cows and I met Uncle Lon there.

it's my memories of that trip that I’d like to share.

You see my Mom came from a hearty family branch,

That made their living on a sure enough stump ranch.

They hunted elk, logged timber, an’ raised a few cows,

Had a garden too, whatever put food in their mouths.

Lon had nearly a section of land covered with Lodgepole pine,

17 acres was pasture created removing one stump at a time.

An’ living 30 miles from Kalispell gave them room to roam.

To this very day I think of that ol’ ranch as my second home.

Uncle Lon put me on a horse when I was just seven years old

Said he was mine an’ he’d do what he was told.

The truth is he belonged to my aunt, Brownie was his name, 

But he was my first horse to ride, and I loved him all the same.

I was from the city, but with me Aunt Olive knew what to do, 

She gave me her wide-brimmed hat and cowboy boots too.

For the next several days ol’ Brownie an’ me grew to be pals,

We explored every inch of that pasture an’ herded some cows

I vowed I’d be a cowboy an’ move to Montana when I’m grown,

Now a lota years have passed but someday to Montana I’m goin’.

An’ thanks to Uncle Lon I’ve still got a little horse for a best friend.

Her name is Kasidy an’ we’re gonna ride in Montana before our end.

© 1996, Jerry England 

The Anomaly

Sunup in Mormon Canyon 1996.

Now ol' Sun Up holds his head up high,

Pretty little golden horse wants to be on the fly.

Ol’ long tapaderos swingin' from my Visalia tree,

Braided rawhide hackamore an’ a horse-hair mecate.

The Old Man's best display must surely be break of day.

When through oak leaves shines Sun's first golden ray,

And out on a limb a Steller's jay is ah-squawkin'

While cowboys sit around a camp fire ah-talkin'.

We're listenin' to the call of those valley quail,

Ridin' up that blue shadowed canyon trail.

Cottonwoods and sycamores, and a live oak tree,

Tall green grass and a babblin' brook beside me.

Just ridin' in that California sunshine,

Just ridin' that ol' palomino pal o' mine,

Rockin', Rollin', Ridin'. 

We're rockin' to the rhythm of a creakin' saddle,

Just gatherin' up them white-faced cattle.

Coyote slinkin' through the brush with his head hung low,

An’ a Redtailed hawk soarin' high above the valley below.

There's a bobcat in the willows ah-starin' at me

And a big old Mountain Lion we'll never see,

But my little pack horse Star is followin' behind,

And like old Sun Up and me, he's the happy kind.

While grazin' up on that ridge beyond

Is a mule deer doe and her little fawn.

An’ you'll see plenty of sign from brother raccoon

During what the ol' Indian calls berries ripe moon.

Old oak tree with limbs so gnarled and bold,

Please tell me a tale about vaqueros of old,

Of a time when the golden bear still roamed free

And Sun Up, Star and me weren't an anomaly.

Just ridin' in that California sunshine,

Just ridin' that ol' palomino pal o' mine,

Rockin', Rollin', Ridin'. 

Joyce and Star 1997