The Mountain Laurel
The Journal of Mountain Life

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from the
Heart of the Blue Ridge

The Ideal Woman

Cowboy poet, Carl "Skinny" Rowland.Cowboy poet, Carl "Skinny" Rowland.By Carl "Skinny" Rowland © 1990

Issue: July, 1990

Now I had always lived alone,
it was a drab and lonely life,
so I set out awhile back,
to find myself a wife.

I took off on foot,
across the miles of countryside,
in hopes that I'd get lucky,
and find myself a bride.

And after weeks of travel,
I stopped once to ask for water,
and this old feller in the hills,
introduced me to his daughter.

I knew this was my journey's end,
when I seen this mountain lass,
she far exceeded all my dreams,
this woman was first class.

So I stayed on about a week,
then I asked him for her hand,
and when I've finished with my story,
I'm sure you'll understand.

She had a big bald spot,
on top of her scaly head,
and her ears stuck out like fan blades,
and her nose was cherry red.

Her knees were big and bony,
with long and hairy legs,
and her calves were short and stubby,
and resembled nail kegs.

Now her eyes ain't really crossed,
as you might have heard it said,
actually only one is crossed,
and one looks straight ahead.

And her teeth ain't really bucked,
like you'll hear from everyone,
for as you can see each time she growls,
it's just every other one.

Now she has got the longest tongue,
that ever filled a face,
she don't pluck her bushy eyebrows,
she just licks them into place.

Her arms are like a wrestlers,
and her chest is round and full,
with a head just like a bulldog,
and a neck like a Jersey bull.

Now her check is always bulging,
it's clear filled up with snoose,
and she can nail a fly at fifteen feet,
when she spits tobacco juice.

I don't know where she buys her clothes,
I'm not up on that score,
but I know she gets her size twelve boots,
from an army surplus store.

I've watched her plow a field,
behind the plow of course,
now that is nothing really great,
except she didn't use a horse.

I asked directions to the town,
or the right road anyhow,
she didn't even speak a word,
she just pointed with the plow.

Now she split and stacked a cord of wood,
without stopping to relax,
and started on the second one,
while I sharpened up my axe.

So you can understand,
how she could be a rancher's dream,
when she hooks up the horses,
she pulls the wagon to the team.

I've watched her shoe the horses,
then fill the barn with hay,
then milk the cows and string a fence,
in a single twelve hour day.

So you can see that she's attractive,
and just a pure delight,
I just watched her do the chores,
and it was true love at first sight.

Dear Readers,

For those of you who have been enjoying the poetry of "Skinny" Rowland, we thought you might like to see what he looks like. He sent us this photograph of himself and a letter saying on July 28, 1990 he is being awarded a plaque at Bozeman, Montana, inducting him into the Montana Poet's Hall of Fame. We would all like to congratulate him on this fine accomplishment. He will have a busy summer, as he is also going to the Idaho Cowboy Poetry Gathering at Caldwell, August 8th [1990] and on August 17th [1990] he will be back at Big Timber Montana, for the Montana Gathering.

As always, Skinny welcomes readers to get in touch with him to discuss poetry. He has published a book of poetry and a line of greeting cards you might ask about also. His address is Skinny Rowland, 730 Hauser Boulevard, Helena, Montana 59601. He has just bought his own offset press and desktop publishing computer and hopes to help other writers publish their own works.