Goodbye isn't the end

His were the spurs of the west coast cow horse world. You’d see the shank of a Gordon Hayes spur from twenty feet away and know that spur was marked with his GH stamp. If you walked into the tack room of any cow horse barn it was almost guaranteed one of his Argentine snaffles, either the elegant style with the concho on the cheek, and silver beading on the gracefully curved short shank, or the simple, pragmatic working model, made with sweet iron and just the right amount of copper inlaid on the mouthpiece would be hanging among the bridles with a headstall and split reins. It was the go-to for one of my horses more days than not.

Gordon Hayes made practical things. And he made them beautiful. He was the curmudgeon’s template for curmudgeon. He didn’t love everybody he met. And for people who weren’t liable to do the right thing, that was the given. I always figured if someone didn’t love Gordon, it was because they owed him money, or because he’d told them the truth without backing off. But for some of us, that trait made us love him more.

His wife and daughter asked if I’d sing a song for Gordon’s memorial service last weekend. I couldn’t have said no if an elephant had been standing on my ribcage. And quietly, before the service began, his daughter presented me with two boxes, tied in a burgundy ribbon. One contained an elegantly crafted ostrich skin watch band, with an engraved sterling buckle set Gordon had made. The other: one of the rawhide scarf slides he made. He made lots of them, carried some around in a bag, sometimes a few in his pocket. I have a couple he’d presented to me over the years, as a token of a nice visit. The rawhide slide in the box was on a blue paisley scarf his daughter told me was one of his favorites. And then, as I put that scarf on to wear for the service, I remembered when I’d seen Gordon wearing it at a horse show. I’d re-tied it for him that day. Told him it was the prettiest thing I'd seen.

That scarf. A final gift from a person whose friendship I have treasured. And so, I sang a song, because his family asked, and because Gordon had told them he wanted me to sing if I could be there.

You betcha, Gordon. My pleasure. My honor to be among your many friends. And thank you for the perfect rawhide scarf slide you made with gnarled fingers, and the scarf you picked to wear one day, and for making sure someone who’d treasure it got to have it. I’ll never forget you. And when I get to ride over that last ridge, I know what bit my horse will be wearing. And I'll bring your scarf back. Hope you’re there to take note and grin.