You know someone has been immersed in the Cattlemen’s Days culture for far too long when the stated name of the annual festival gets thoroughly slurred into a single word — as in “Kad-u-mun-stays.”
I’m not there yet, but I have worn the proud badge of attending all three nights of a single year’s rodeo — and awoke Sunday morning to seriously regret that decision. Like the bronc-ridin’ narrator in the George Strait classic “Amarillo by Morning,” I felt broken and abused, having lost all but the clothes on my back. On my way home from the honky tonk, most likely.
But too often lost in all the boots, spurs and cowboy hats of Cattlemen’s is the real meaning behind the festival — that ranching is still a viable practice in the Gunnison Country, today and, hopefully, into the future.
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