When I was in my early years, I’d say around fourteen.
We traveled to North Idaho for a Boy Scout jamboree.
Our troop was made of thirty boys plus four adult grown men.
‘Twas the first time that I’d ridden in an air-conditioned van.
Our final destination was at Farragut State Park.
We set up camp then heard the trumpeter play taps at dark.
Our group was full of farmers with some cowboys wearing boots.
Some might have called us rednecks, but we all had country roots.
Each troop was asked to build a project, one that they could share.
Ours could launch an unsuspecting boy up in the air.
The cowboys in our group built us a buckin’ barrel to ride.
The leaders gave approval. One said, “No scout has ever died.”
Four corner posts are planted. Wire and spring attached to each.
Then tied to a large barrel, barely tight enough to reach.
Jerking on each wire will send the barrel into a buck.
The object was to throw you off unless you had good luck.
My uncle was a rodeo producer in his day.
So my cousins chose the saddle broncs they rode for work and play.
Our leader, Mr. Jardine, while his kindness overflowed,
heard my name was Angell so assumed I rodeoed.
He asked me if I’d show ‘em how to ride the buckin’ barrel.
I told him right flat out that it would lead to my own peril.
He just would not believe that I weren’t rodeo for fact.
So I soon found myself sitting on the buckin’ barrel’s back.
He looked at me with confidence, I’d never seen before.
I wouldn’t let him down. I’d give it all I had and more.
I grabbed down on the rigging. Were they gonna get a show?
Then I looked square in a cowboy’s eyes and hollered, “Let her go!”
I was stuck in bucking frenzy with no justice to its fame.
But to let go of the rigging I’d have no one else to blame.
I guess I was too terrorized to count, by then too late.
That’s when I heard an angel’s voice. Times up he made the eight.
I do believe in miracles no matter big or small.
What kept me on the buckin’ barrel was bigger than them all.
I didn’t let my leader down. ‘Twas more than just good luck.
But I’ll leave it to my cousins who prefer a horse to buck.
