Thoughts of yesteryear open the floodgates

Thoughts of yesteryear opens the floodgate to old memories sometimes causing us to ponder about how we can make things better. 

Often you can only improve things a little bit and sometimes you can take advantage of the opportunity for a fresh start to open new horizons. It is only human nature to make an effort to improve one’s lot in life. 

Papa Hop would say, “We need to thank the Good Lord for the blessings of yesterday and ask Him to guide our paths as we continue to seek His Way!” 

This poem is a tribute to my Granddad, Papa Hop. He was one of a special breed of old timers. 

A house fire many years ago took most of the old pictures, but there is a barn west of Gun Barrel City, Texas that is a close replica of Papa Hops old time weathered barn. 

My inspiration for this poem came from this old barn site and early childhood memories with Papa Hop and the many hours spent hearing his stories and “working” around that old barn. Mom and I lived with Mama Hop and Papa Hop when my Dad was a World War II Infantryman captured by the German army and held in Stalag 9 in Europe. 

We are given memories of the past while unknowingly building memories for future generations.

Old Timers an’ Good Years

The rickety ol’ barn stood stark an’ gray, 

a monument of days gone by.

The old gent loved this western way.

I shake my head an’ give a sigh.

His saddle sits empty, covered in dust,

had been new a long time ago.

Spurs hang from the horn in their coat of rust,

an’ leathers with their fancy sew.

That ol’ horse hair rope coiled neat by the horn,

had shore caught its share of rough stock.

An’ them ol’ leggin’s was what he had worn

workin’ brush around Chimney Rock.

An’ there’s that ol’ Stetson, rumpled an’ crushed,

had shore ‘nuff seen it’s better day.

It’s the first thing he put on, as he rushed

out to catch an’ saddle that bay.

That fine stitched shirt an’ that old leather vest

shore made him stand out in a crowd.

When he rode into town, he looked his best.

An icon, but he warn’t highbrowed.

I can just see him back in yesteryear,

sittin’ upon that salty hoss.

Ramrod straight, proud an’ strong, showin’ no fear.

He warn’t a feller you would cross.

A lotta years passed while he worked this range,

fightin’ heat an’ cold an’ dry years,

high winds an’ weather that often would change,

makin’ it hard to raise them ol’ steers.

But, he stood his ground an’ quietly fought back,

‘cuz that was what his breed would do.

They gave no quarter an’ shore cut no slack.

Love for their life an’ land held true.

Always thankful for what he had received,

life an’ home place here in the west,

his family, an’ things he had achieved.

Gave the Lord thanks, for he was blest.

Now he is old an’ gray, weathered an’ worn. 

The years have shore been tough on him,

Yet, his eyes still show the strength of the horn!

Tho, his resolve slowly grows dim. 

Time come when he went to be with the Lord

Its shore different now that he’s gone

Tho sometimes, the old ways you can’t discard

Days work will start at early dawn

I thought about the plight of these heroes

an’ realized their time was short.

Their way of life was coming to a close,

a final stop…a last resort. 

End of an era that was ever so dear

and times they held to great esteem.

So for these memories, we blink a tear,

but keep a promise to share their dream.

Yes, the old saddles sit covered in dust,

just symbols of life at it’s best.

The old timers are gone, but not their trust

in youthful love of the Old West.                                                  © Ol’ Jim Cathey

Oh for the memories!

Come help us make memories at First Baptist Church in Marlin, Texas!

God bless each of you and God Bless America!