I know personally that cowboys are a breed known to be tougher than nails, stronger than steel but also tenderhearted when it comes to tending to His creation and loving their families. I know because I was raised by one tough cowboy, Ray Belyeu, along with my parents and siblings out in the country and I loved it.

In the late 1960s, my grandparents, Ray and Eloise Belyeu, decided they wanted to move from their farm in Yukon to another farm located in the Pierce area, approximately 22 miles as the crow flies, west of Checotah. They purchased two separate pieces of land. One was 80 acres with a tiny two-bedroom home and a large pond behind it. That property would become their homestead and it was literally at the foot of Tiger Mountain with the North Canadian River running behind it. A mountain range separated them from the hustle and bustle of city life that was beginning to crowd out their peace of mind as local farms were being bought out to build big developments in Oklahoma City.

The second piece of property they purchased was another 160 acres with two ponds, mature pecan trees and was about 1.5 miles from their home. This is where we grazed 90 percent of our cattle, though we did keep a few of our calves, most of our horses, some chickens and our country dogs on the 80-acre homestead. At one time we even had pigs which I loved to play with the baby ones when my grandpa would snatch one away from disgruntled mama sow.

I had just turned five years old when we moved to Tiger Mountain because my parents didn’t want us kids to grow up in the city. They wanted a slower paced life for us and for us to grow up on a farm in the country where we learned about raising livestock, sipping on sweet tea and loving the beautiful land our Maker had created.

I learned a lot growing up on a farm. I learned you had to get up early to tend to all your animals before the sun cooked you well done. I learned why my grandma always wore a hat and a thin, long-sleeved cotton white skirt to stay cool as she gardened. I learned how to plant and pick vegetables, how to cook for your family and how to even can some veggies for the winter. I learned to watch where you step, to never approach a horse from the rear or bull head on. I also learned that you might as well name your bull calf “T-Bone” or “Ribeye” because sooner or later he was going to end up on your plate.

I learned at age two that if you climb in the saddle, you better be ready for the ride of your life. I also learned from my grandpa that a real cowboy always kept his word, was devoted to his family and at the end of the day, went to bed exhausted but feeling accomplished and blessed. I learned there are many wonderful places in the world, but no place like home. I learned the beauty of watching the sunrise in the morning off your own front porch and watching the sunset in the evening off your back porch. I learned you can take a cowboy or cowgirl out of the country but you’ll never take the country out of them.

I learned real cowboys get dirty, enjoy cleaning up in a cool stream and aren’t afraid to say they’re sorry when they bring in too much mud on their boots. I also learned when cowboys get too old to saddle up, they start handing out advice instead, and hope that the youngsters will listen.

Last but not least, I learned that a cowboy never says goodbye, just “See ya later” as he rides off into the sunset. So I agree with Winston Churchill who once said, “No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle” and I can still see my grandpa riding across the pasture on his buckskin mare named “Buttermilk.” Oh how I missed them both when they went on but I still say “A life lived as a cowboy or cowgirl is a life well lived.” So when the cowboys in my life ride away, I can shed a tear and a smile and tip my hat to the legacies they left behind.