Coffee Break with Liz and Kate

Last night I made my annual trek down the road  to the Spanish Fork rodeo. I live in a city full of real honest-to-goodness authentic cowboys and once a year I get brave and pull out my cowboy attire and become a cowboy wannabe.

I’m pretty sure the “real” cowboys can spot a cowboy wannabe from miles away. Perhaps it’s because my cowboy hat came from Pac Sun in the mall. You know the ones… made to look bent and worn and well used.  Perhaps it’s because my jeans aren’t quite tight enough and don’t say Wrangler on the butt (oh and my legs aren’t bowed.) Maybe it’s because I wear sandals instead of cowboy boots. Or just possibly it’s because I don’t quite have the famous Spanish Fork drawl down. But whatever the giveaway is, I don’t care, because for one night a year I get to pretend I am a cowboy.

You see, I was born in Utah but moved away to the “outside world” when I was a young child. Every other year my family would make the trip back to Utah for vacation. On those trips I found that I was entranced by the cowboy mystique…the clothes, the accent, the music, the rodeos.

I remember sitting in front of my grandma’s house dangling my legs in the irrigation ditch running full of icy cold mountain run-off, and listening to my cousins singing in a twang about “My d-i-v-o-r-c-e becomes final today”, and wondering if that could possibly be a real song.

Now here I am living right smack dab in the center of cowboy country…Spanish Fork, Utah. It’s a city so extreme in it’s cowboy accent that people from other cities in Utah  make jokes about it. In fact, just for your entertainment I’m going toss out some typical Spanish Fork pronunciations for you.
First of all I should tell you it’s not Spanish Fork…it’s Spahneesh Fark.

Okay here’s a sentence crammed  full of Spahneesh Fark talk…

Oh myee heck, we wuz at the star with Cheltsie the uther day hwhen we found a ril gud sel on these gargeus mou-un peechurs.

At this point any sane English speaking person would think I’m joking.  I assure you I am not.

Translation…

Oh my heck, we were at the store with Chelsie the other day when we found a real good  sale on these gorgeous mountain pictures.

Take a look at this totally hilarious clip of  comedian, Dave Nibley  making fun of Spanish Fork speak and attire…

Here’s the thing, I have plenty of “real cowboys” in my family: a bull riding uncle, a barrel-racing aunt and her rodeo clown husband, a team roping father-in-law, and even my own bare back bronc riding dad has a scar of a hoof print that some horse rudely left there years ago. And here I am, a once-a-year, rodeo-going wannabe who can’t even get most of her children to step foot inside the rodeo grounds.  One daughter’s response to the rodeo invite was, “I’d rather jump off a bridge and lick tar.”

Another said,  “Why would I go somewhere on purpose where that many men are wearing tight Wrangler jeans and cowboy boots?  I see enough of that at school.”

Another is morally opposed to the treatment of rodeo animals. And yet another, just rolled her eyes and laughed at me like I had lost my mind.

I guess it’s safe to say that they are not entranced with the cowboy mystique like I was when I was a kid.  It’s okay though, I don’t even care because for a day, even if it was only in my mind, I was a cowboy.

~Kate

Enjoy your Coffee Break!

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