Yesterday, while my son and I explored the wide open spaces nestled under the Alaskan mountains my uncle passed away. My adventurous heart is grateful for the chance to soak in these spaces, but another part of me sometimes feels the space a different way. During times of crises and loss it can be hard to sit so far from home.

As I cannot return to pay my respects in person, I thought I would honor him with the words turning in my heart.

My Uncle the Cowboy

I know not everyone is blessed enough to have a true cowboy for an uncle, but I was.

There is a lot a person can learn from an uncle such as this. My Uncle Tommy always had a story in his back pocket. He could entertain a crowd with an easy smile. When we visited his ranch, he made it our playground. As we collected rocks, he gave us a tale for every one. We fed the cattle and learned about the land. He knew all the daring feats that had been accomplished or attempted at each ridge. He knew the history of every corner and every dip.

He gave the Malý Ranč a strong-willed compassionate mother. For her he named the oasis in their acreage. Together, they cared for their kin, which included anyone who entered their gates. Together, they entertained folks at the shores of dammed-up waters, around campfires and at card tables.

His humble wisdom peaked out in his quick wit. Such knowledge tends to linger longer as will his memory, for true cowboys never really die. They live on in the stories told by all who walked their land. Their thread enters into the yarn of tales spun by those who do not fear the dirt. While their hands can no longer shape that rough terrain they sowed with sweat and tears, their spirit continues to shape the hearts of all who draw near.

I know not everyone is blessed enough to have a cowboy for an uncle, but thanks to God I was.