A Thousand Hills

The Last Roundup

Last Sunday, we had the privilege of helping a rancher neighbour move his cattle from summer pastures to the home ranch for the winter.


I didn't ride along, but drove our truck and trailer behind the herd for 23 kilometers, following the rancher's wife and her truck full of grandchildren, who took turns riding behind the herd, doing their share.

Everyone gets a chance to help.

A spirit of bygone days, of camaraderie, and the day was topped off with a hearty ranch-style supper in thanksgiving to all the cowboys and friends and neighbours who came to help. And not to mention, gratitude that the herd was brought home safely, with no wrecks.



And there's that other Last Roundup to look forward to, when we'll put aside our hats and boots for the last time and the Big Boss will gather us in to the Home Ranch. Here, in the voice of a faithful horse and written almost 100 years ago . . . "The Last Roundup."

"I've been on my last big roundup,
I've finished the long day's work,
For the many men who have rode me,
And who know that I did not shirk.

This spring I'm not in the remuda,
For now I am useless to stride,
I've given the best that was in me
In many a long day's ride.

I once was the pride of the roundup,
Proud and polished and sleek;
Have served my time and I'm tired
And blemished and old and weak.

. . . And I'll be in another roundup,
That will lack the dust and the din,
And I'll go on with the trail herd,
When the Big Boss gathers me in."

Curley Fletcher, Rhymes of the Roundup, 1917.

Up the long hill.