perspective
never thought
we’d ever see
a defilement
of our democracy
by a racist felon
and sycophant ‘friends’
using our country
for their evil ends
they’ve trashed our ideals
spit on neighbors and friends
embarrassed our nation
now their chapter ends
take them away
by law, by soldier, by gun
the liar-in-chief and
his fascist minions are on the run
never thought
we’d ever see
this great perversion
of our presidency
© Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks 2026
an icy sidewalk
a beautiful path
to our temporary home
i slip along uphill
happily passing
by the river Mad
through this
snowglobe village
past windows aglow
families settle in
to an early dusk
dinner aromas
mix out here
each breath
blends with
smells of sweet pine
no one notices me
passing by
happily enjoying
this river Mad
they don’t know
i am walking away
pondering not
how my life’s
path brought me here
but the moving on
how brief the moments
my last time here
i walk happily
along this river Mad
have i finally
learned the lesson of
breathing deeply
smelling sweetly
listening intently
savoring each moment
with each precious soul
i met here
however briefly
happily i pass
along this river Mad
one last time
© Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks 2025
In tribute to the village of Warren, Vermont.
At first I was terrified at the thought of replacing any original body parts especially something as important as a knee. I had, after all, made it this far with the nearly complete ‘original set’ my Mom gave me short of only some minor dental adjustments. Little did I know, I would soon be joining the New Parts club.
Increasingly sharp pain in my left knee all-day and all-night made future surgery a rapidly approaching no-brainer. On the proverbial pain scale of 0 to 10, there were already way too many 10’s. So the date was set: November 30, 2023. Full left knee replacement.
Prior to surgery in his Chestertown, Maryland office Dr. Lohr handed me the latest model—the “Zimmer Biomet Cruciate Retaining” implant. He and his Elkton, Maryland Surgery team would skillfully install one of these beauties in an out-patient surgery operation. As I held the actual knee part in my hands, it felt like a well-machined titanium toy with a moving part and no obvious purpose. Prior to the big go-ahead decision we exhausted a regimen of cortisone injections, arthroscopic surgery, and some squishy injectable liquid that brought only fleeting relief. So that’s all there was to it: a new left knee was now a necessity.
Before we arrived in Chestertown, we were happily ensconced on the beautifully stark Laramie River Ranch in the dramatically wide-open river valley of the same name in north central Colorado. Susan and I had made the decision to leave these rural ranchlands of the great western U.S. that we loved (for now) and head to the beautifully rural eastern shore of Kent County, Maryland for one more chapter. Here, we signed on to help a dynamic family with the transformation of their newly acquired Chesapeake Bay estate from wedding venue to an upscale country house hotel.
We closed our post office box in Jelm, Wyoming and dropped the key at the Laramie Post Office. On a snowy day at -6F degrees we began our drive to Chestertown, Maryland in a 26’ U-Haul truck and trailer before heading trough Colorado’s eastern rangelands and then driving on through Kansas.
The buildup to the new left knee project was filled with lots of unnecessary anxiety. What if this goes wrong? What if this the end of a career (of all things)? What if I can’t walk anymore? What if??? I was a basket case as I faced my first surgical treatment, and in the end I had no reason to be one.
The new left knee project was a great experience thanks to Dr. Lohr, his talented team, the Upper Bay Surgery Center in Elkton, and the Centers for Advanced Orthopedics and Sports Medicine team back in Chestertown. I (and likely legions of other folks) are especially grateful to the dedicated, caring, and skilled team of physical therapists at the Centers. Thanks to them for quickly making my new left knee my strongest knee.
Fast forward to 2025, Susan and I were finishing a project in Warren, Vermont and although we loved the Mad River Valley and even had thoughts of retiring in that area we made the decision to return to the Chestertown area. I was now beginning to feel the familiar ramp-up of pain now in my right knee.
There were other compelling reasons we chose to return to Chestertown. Among these I include (in no particular order) horse care, healthcare, housing availability, and affordability of housing. This meant that Susan’s beautiful saddle rescue horse, Roxy, would return to Kent Equestrian Center and our three spirited puppies: Mr. Fluffy, Joey, and Gypsy would make yet another new home here in Kent, County this time in Worton, Maryland.
In reaching out to his office, we learned that Dr. Lohr made the decision to retire from surgery and was now recommending his colleague Dr. Cumiskey here in town for my right knee replacement. He would be installing the Microport Orthopedic Medial Pivot. It is a different “knee” but so far I am unable to perceive any difference between the two. Suffice it to say this has been an equally smooth transition, an uneventful day surgical procedure and a successful physical therapy regimen just as the previous one. I am grateful to everyone involved.
Today, almost a week after my right knee replacement I wistfully tried reaching for my smart purple “HurryCane” gathering dust in the corner. Susan bought it for me last time. It was obviously way too early to move from walker to cane and I quickly retreated to the comfort of my sturdy Made -in-China “Guardian” brand aluminum walker, Model G40Z. It’s a less-flashy tubular aluminum deal with the two rubber wheels in front and the two rubber cane feet in the back. It will be another week or so before I can reach for the cane. All things in time.
Now as a two time frequent-flyer of knee replacement surgery here is the wisdom I can impart to another whose knees may be fading: 1. You will be in pain for two weeks after the surgery. 2. Then you will make some progress but you will be in pain and discomfort for another four weeks. 3. Physical therapy is a painful necessity so it their way. 4. You will likely need pain meds but try to wean yourself from them as soon as possible. 5. I have nothing but gratitude for everyone who helped me—including the Nursing team in Elkton and even our neighbor, Kay, who was pressed into service to help Susan and me surmount the three steps up into our home.
If you are blessed by the tremendous support from your family such that I have received by my wife Susan, then you are very well-loved indeed. Susan has really carried the heavy load for me during my recovery (two times now!) so I can lie around in bed and try to stave off the pain. These days, I am counting all of our blessings, looking forward to taking walks again in our new neighborhood, with and without my HurryCane, and to enjoying our beautifully rural eastern shore.
© Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks 2025
“There is a quiet triumph in releasing the grip of a toxic employer—like exhaling after stifling silence. The act itself is both elegy and emancipation, making space for light and truth and integrity to return from under the shadows of misguided micromanagement. In that hush, you begin to reclaim your name, your future, and your peace.”
© Copyright 2025 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved.
left their old blue sofa
in Arizona
washers and dryers
strewn on the way
someone got
our bed, mower, and piano
in Carolina
there on their very last day
that long ladder they left out in Utah
with fuel tanks of gas and propane
a grill and a pile of hoses
moving nearly made them insane
’cause one door always closes
tho’ they always had good luck
there were moments of glory
out on the road
but some days there just wasn’t
room in the truck
they bought stuff
over and over
cuz they needed a new one
that day
already had extra copies
packed in boxes
stashed in storage units
miles away
they hired over
a hundred movers
who were pleasant
and strong
and kind
they loaded ’em here
unloaded ’em there
over and over,
didn’t care where
it wasn’t easy
but they didn’t mind
but oh every scratch,
every rip, nick, and chip
every split, break, and tear,
every missing piece
every new sign of wear
every dent and gouge,
new punctured holes
inflicted on furniture
poked through their souls
all the things lost
scraped and dragged
blemished and heaved
what is the cost?
they got dragged
and dropped,
slammed and
mashed,
piled high,
stepped on and
thrashed
pushed around
knocked on the ground
never knew why
shoved a bit
heaved and hoved
crushed and driven
it was daunting then
though they’re better now
for all of it
they’ve written
their story
over thousands
of miles
there were
special moments
tribulations
and trials
proving their vitality
in hospitality
across miles and miles
goodbyes to friends
the greatest cost
© Copyright 2025 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved.
As we were driving down the highway last week, I wondered if UHaul’s president Joe Schoen has ever driven one of his 26′ rental trucks with his family and three dogs in the cab, everything he owns loaded in the back, and a vehicle on their tow-behind-trailer driving 9 hours over 500 miles on I-87 and the Garden State Parkway? I must be crazy, but that was just one thought I had on this latest trip.
Now, don’t get me wrong. We are regular users of UHaul’s equipment, and we are generally grateful for what they do provide. We are also very knowledgeable about their service having moved 25 times in 25 years. So it’s time for some friendly feedback.
To begin, a forecast of 8-12 inches of snow is always daunting the day before loading the truck and making a move. Certainly UHaul doesn’t control the weather.
A slightly sloped, icy driveway made connecting the truck tow hitch to the trailer a shot (i mean many shots) in the dark on a good day even harder. What about putting a small camera above the back of the truck, or near the hitch, that shows someone when they are backing up and getting closer to the hitch? It is always seems way more complicated than it needs to be, sort of like connecting an approaching rocket to the international space station.
OK so if you have driven southbound on I-87, especially the 100 miles or so south to Harriman, NY in one of your trucks, Mr. President, you would return to your office and immediately email the manufacturer to begin installing shock absorbers, and I mean good ones(!) in each truck. Come on! Each crack in the road felt like we were crossing the grand canyon! Our teeth haven’t stopped chattering even days later. I call not acceptable to the lack of comfort, and the poor condition of that stretch of road.
Most times that we have made reservations for your trucks and trailers and equipment, we ask for the rental pick-up and drop-off near where we live. Logical right? Instead, your UHaul system is to tell your customer the night before(!) how far out of the way they have to drive to pick up your truck. This is usually a great inconvenience at an already stressful time. For us, this has been as long as a 4 hour drive one way! Sometimes we have faced having to drive to one city for the truck and a different city for the trailer. Come on! I call BS. I understand that the logistics of getting your assets in the right place must be a great challenge. What about using computers or A.I. or quantum computers and giving it a try to provide more service to your customer?
This time, after being on the road forever then unloading, we had to bring the rig back and were instructed to drive an hour away from our destination. When we arrived, the building was empty, hadn’t any paint on it, looked like the Addams Family was filmed there, and there was no one in sight. I walked to a neighbor’s house to ask if this was a legitimate UHaul facility. They thought maybe it was, and I should just back in and leave it. If they only knew what our last 10 hours were like, and that I have so little expertise in backing up a big truck and trailer. I drove the rig straight in their driveway figuring someone more experienced than me could do the precision backing into traffic. What about a circular driveway? Zero customer service here.
In any case, thanks for listening. If you plan to set up a UHaul Frequent Hauler Club, please let me know. We hope this was the end of our UHaul moves. Thank you for being there for us all those moves.
Sincerely,
Brooks Bradbury
© Copyright 2023 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved.
I N N S I D E / O U T
Brooks Bradbury
WARREN, VERMONT — There comes a time when even an Innkeeper gets to say what is on his mind. Though generally an unheard-from group of discreet, closed-mouthed individuals we end up knowing lots of odd secrets about our guests, team members, and neighbors. We keep these secrets to ourselves of course — sort of like a pastor in the ministry of serving others.
Recent occurrences in the Mad River Valley give this Innkeeper pause to reflect on the arrival of national politics onto our very doorstep in the fiercely guarded Vermont sanctuary known as the Mad River Valley. For outsiders, “mad” is not a reference to psychosis but the local term for the condition of the river in the spring, when it is especially turbulent and forceful.
Anyway, without giving away any national secrets, it seemed the entire world knew before we did that a certain someone and his family would be vacationing here. He later changed his plans. In short order, we were besieged by a million “how could you’s” and “well, I never” admonitions, along with creepy fake online reviews disparaging the cleanliness of our ordinarily immaculate sofas at the Warren Store (of all things).
Our wonderful front desk team, accustomed to attending to the details of each guest’s visit and welcoming individuals of all stripes and from all places to our gracious and intimate environment was beset with vitriolic, threatening, and cruel calls and emails. Here is a glimpse:
As people were dropping off gifts of beer and maple syrup for the guest who never was (really!), Wendy S. called over and over that weekend to shame the Inn and everyone in it, bringing a member of our hardworking front desk team to tears by telling her she wasn’t from Vermont and was therefore part of the problem. (!?)
We received scores of emails similar to this missive from Ms. B. Brown: “I spent my wedding night at the Pitcher Inn and celebrated many special occasions there over the years. I’ve recommended the hotel and restaurant to countless others. I’m appalled that you are hosting the Nazi-sympathizing VP
this weekend. He stands for everything this beautiful, special state fights against. But I guess billionaires have to stick together, right? I will never, ever enter your doors again. What an absolute disgrace.”
And a much beflustered Mr. A. Rifkin called days later to politely say he would never come here again because the Inn hosted a certain guest (who, as we know, never actually stayed here). There were hundreds of similar notes and calls detonated in a great blast of collective indignation.
Now that the clamor has died down, it’s important to set a few things straight. First, I’d like to reassure those folks that as the Inn is squarely in, and of, Vermont our politics and sympathies generally match up with those vigilant Vermonters. Second, the Inn and its predecessor boardinghouse have been welcoming guests to Warren since about 1860. There has never been a political or other qualification required of our guests except to pay for their lodging and meals and to otherwise function as decent people while here.
We take great pleasure in welcoming our guests to this extraordinary place we call home. We support Vermont’s reliance on tourism. And we encourage anyone considering a stay or a meal to visit our website. Our guest rooms and dining room may be booked online at any time.
We also stand with peaceful protesters and consider it a privilege to do so. As a matter of fact, we served complimentary and delicious 802 Coffee (our special blend) to one protester who carried a sign that read, “These quislings aid and comfort Nazi traitors.”
The real credit goes to our entire professional team of talented individuals (with their own political views and personal apprehensions) for holding to their higher calling of serving others well regardless of a guest’s political persuasion and amidst this national moment of furor and backlash.
These are interesting times.
May cooler heads and gracious hospitality prevail.
© Copyright 2025 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
The stars aligned and we came to run a lovely guest ranch in the Chiricahua mountains of southeastern Arizona some years ago.
No sooner had we completed our contract to open the luxury Lodge and Spa at Primland in Meadows of Dan, Virginia than my wife Susan said, “I’m ready for adventure!” It was then that the owner of Sunglow Ranch called to invite us to visit.
Flying into Tucson we set out in our rental car down I-10 east when about two hours later we passed the outpost towns of Sunsites and Pearce. Soon after, leaving the pavement behind we drove another 7 miles down Turkey Creek Road (think dirt, dust, and rocks) to reach Sunglow Ranch–a remote and beguiling setting in the ancient Turkey Creek caldera of a long extinct volcano. Here Mexican, Chokonen Apache, and finally Europeans fought over precious water, land, and stagecoach routes through native Apache homeland.
It was about then Susan uttered the memorable retort, “There had better be a miracle at the end of this road.” We had long ago passed the sign that said, “No Services beyond this point.”
In some ways it was a miracle, even more so today as we look back and recall this sublime adventure in our lives. Our mailbox was 28 miles away past the Border Control checkpoint at the post office in Sunsites. Evading diamondback and Mojave rattlesnakes required daily vigilance although we came to love this sky island country where the Chihuahuan and Sonoran deserts meet. It is a truly remote area that is surprisingly rich in wildlife. Even jaguars and mountain lions were at home here along with coatimundi, javelina, scorpions, and tarantulas.
When you live in places like this, you soon learn the importance of arranging for visiting musicians and performers for our guests–as they became our musical interludes as well. One such musician, Joel Eliot, would drive up from Sierra Vista, Arizona to play for us. It was here at Sunglow Ranch that Joel performed and introduced us to Cowboy Music.
Now whenever we tell someone we love Cowboy Music, they will invariably agree they enjoy country music too. We try to explain the difference only to have the other person glaze over. If you are interested, it might be best to begin by listening to some of the old timers like Stan Jones or enjoy the music of Ian Tyson to understand what this means.
Western music was influenced by the folk music traditions of England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland and cowboy songs sung around campfires in the 19th century such as Streets of Laredo. Otto Gray, an early Cowboy singer, felt that authentic western music had only three rhythms each derived from the gaits of the cow pony: walk, jog, and lope.
As a cowboy singer, Joel Eliot came to perform several times for us and each time he revealed new Cowboy songs and poetry. Through Joel, we came to know the music of other beloved Cowboy singers like Ian Tyson, Rex Allen, Stan Jones, Tom Russell, Corb Lund, and Dave Stamey. We came to know beloved Cowboy poets like Baxter Black, Charles Badger Clark, and Waddie Mitchell to name only a very few. We have listened to sweet performances by Michael Moon, Ben Alexander, and Gary McMahan at ranches in Colorado.
This past week we traveled back to Wickenburg, Arizona to hear Dave Stamey perform to a packed house at the impressive Desert Caballeros Western Museum. Dave is a favorite of ours (the museum too) and while there we delighted in reconnecting with Joel Eliot who was serendipitously in attendance that evening. Many of the beloved songs by Dave Stamey speak to his growing up on the family ranch in Montana most reflect his earlier lives as wrangler, dude string cowboy, and mule packer.
Dave performed songs both heartfelt and humorous for the faithful including Montana, a paean to his birthplace and growing up on a cattle ranch in Yellowstone County near Billings including his new 40 below, and The Truck Song about the challenges of life in Montana; a new song Too Many Crows, the humorous Fishin’ for Chicken, expressed thankfulness for one’s dog in Good Dog; sweet Sharon Littlehawk (a remembrance of a Native American girl from his childhood); and The Vaquero Song—perhaps becoming Dave’s most well-known song and a nostalgic look back at the rancho era of the 1840s when vaqueros and cowboys rode the range.
todavía estoy aquí I am still herе
todavía estoy aquí my soul is dancing in the moonlight
I mingle with each grain of sand in the land that is my birthright
Dave paid tribute to Stan Jones’ Cowpoke song written in 1951, the kind of songs from the TV western era that we grew up with back when we still thought places like Tombstone, Arizona were imaginary. Dave also performed sacred Cowboy music standards like El Paso written by Marty Robbins and Ghost Riders written by Stan Jones. He ended the evening with his inspiring Come Ride with Me (Susan’s favorite Dave Stamey song) followed by an encore of Night Riders Lament written by Jerry Jeff Walker.
Ah but they’ve never seen the Northern Lights
They’ve never seen a hawk on the wing
They’ve never spent spring on the Great Divide
And they’ve never heard ole’ camp cookie sing
Thanks to Dave Stamey and others, we have come to know there is magic in the air when you combine authentic Cowboy music performed live on a beautiful evening while singing along–especially around a campfire out west. It was magic that evening at the Desert Caballeros Western Museum in Wickenburg.
Todavia estoy a qui.
by Brooks Bradbury / March 2024 BrooksLooks
brooks.bradbury@gmail.com
under powder blue skies
a young arizona girl rides
on her pride and joy pony
their rare love abides
her mother’s final dying hope
a gift to her with a lariat rope
a leopard appaloosa colt
her daughter named him lightning bolt
she fights the pain every now & then
chiricahua cowgirl rides again
to reconnect with early days
with her mother’s love
and simple ways
in apache lands of chokonen
chiricahua cowgirl rides again
get up, get on your horse and tell me when
the chiricahua cowgirl rides again
they roamed the desert range forever
two young hearts rode together,
smells of piñon pine and leather
days go by and they would know
life’s suprising sudden blows
shattered bones and broken hearts
painful falls and lover’s woes
she fights the pain every now and then
chiricahua cowgirl rides again
to reconnect with earlier days
and her mother’s love and simple ways
in apache lands of chokonen
chiricahua cowgirl rides again
get up, get on your horse tell me when
chiricahua cowgirl rides again
a handsome cowboy raw and tall
brought her flowers, changed it all
her love grew stronger
then all fell through
ending some months later
because he was untrue
the wild west became wild then
unbridled anger and wild eyes,
she set off to outrun his lies
nothing could contain her rage
she tried hard to turn the page
rode her horse like a lion from a cage
the ride was fast and far and high,
tears from loss and cries of why
beyond the limits of horse and girl
a wild crazy dervish whirl
a scorpion surprised them
her horse reared up, she fell down
only hours later came around
her horse stayed by her
they stood their ground
she dragged herself up
from the ground to her stirrups
broken bones and an unyielding spirit
her last ride? she’ll never hear it
chiricahua cowgirl rides again
get up, get on your horse
and tell me when
the chiricahua cowgirl rides again
chiricahua cowgirl rides again
© Copyright 2023 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved.
Lyrics in search of a musician.
never thought
we’d ever see
a defilement
of our democracy
by a criminal president
and liars-in-wait
who light the fires
of racist hate
annoying the greatness
of America’s soul
these loud little voices
denied and insane
racist “men”
who fail at life’s game
ignore the rainbow of life
and rage at the sane
© Copyright 2023 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved.
never thought we’d ever say
thoughts and prayers became cliché
a great country watches
even its young people die
from a lack of reasonable measures
and congress gone awry
so-called leaders equivocate
dancing around as it gets late
so many lost now, whole communities vexed
a country in fear cries out, “who’s next?”
© Copyright 2023 Brooks Bradbury /
BrooksLooks / All rights Reserved
my heart has raced
on your leaf strewn trails
where nature thrives
sweet peace prevails
take me out
beyond the noise
to your deep coves
and soulful joys
on each fringed ridge
atop lofty bald
eagles fly
where i am called
through walls of rhododendra
clouds of gentle mist
close in on me, i breathe and ponder
at last why i exist
© Copyright 2023 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved
never thought
we’d ever see
a defilement
of our democracy
by a criminal president
and his liars in wait
who light the fire
of racist hate
looking into
America’s soul
a battle rages
over losing control
as racist “men”
cheat at life’s game
deny the rainbow
and rage at the rain
© Copyright 2022 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved.
never thought
we’d ever see
racism’s
resurgency
we’ve come so far
to face so late
the damage caused
by racist hate
if karmic forces
would rise above
grant our wish
transforming haters
into lives of love
if this can’t happen
at least deliver
our humble needs
turn racists into
harmless weeds
perhaps this happens
every year
which explains
weeds only purpose here
© Copyright 2021 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
brought 200 neckties
to the thrift shop today
secreted in plastic bags (they never knew)
accepting them anyway
we had carted them all over the country
in some strange hoarding way
KonMari’s final test
how unburdened i feel today
it wasn’t like i was going back
to days of decorum for management
but what if forced against my will
back to the eastern establishment?
big and bright–wide you’d say
long since out of style
i was sure they’d be back ‘in’ one day
if only we kept them another while
they were knots and cravats, bows and reps
my wife could have made quite a quilt
how relieved i was to leave them stealthily there
with no ounce of guilt
these western ways have soothed my soul
beyond ties to wild rag and western hat
never going back to neckties, that’s my goal
prit’ near had enough of that
OK Marie Kondo! Yes! I confess!
i kept a suit or two that ‘bring me joy’
(plus 1 or 2 ties my wife, I mean I, smartly matched with pride )
they’re for funerals and weddings you know
except for only these, ties and me–we’re now untied
© Copyright 2021 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
he was the greatest living hero
‘ever came out ta Appalachia
they all knew his name there
from Meada’s-a’-Dan
to downtown Galax
from Fancy Gap
‘ta right back at ya
a girl there she got his number
then she became his wife
she said i ain’t saying nothin’
but this’ll be one hard life
you ain’t got hardly a dollar
so’s it’s prit near clear to me
sure’s hell yer from down in
old chicken shit holler
no one there’s got one damn dollar
you just gotta be from
chicken shit holler
and his life ensued
he got a job
and he got screwed
he got a right real attitude
then he got plum downright rude
began to feud, came unglued
he tried to make his fortune
and he jest got all tripped up
knocked down
worn out, bashed in some
got lost on endless highways
let it all get under his skin
he had it up to here back then
but hey they had a few good days
then he would just move on
’cause he didn’t like the bosses
didn’t like the rules
couldn’t face the losses
didn’t want to deal
with all them damn fools
when his wife looked right at him
and told him it to him straight
she said i ain’t saying nothin’
i know you do it for the dollar
but it looks to me like
you’re headin’ back home ta
old chicken shit holler
i said i think you’re right
time to stand up and fight
i ain’t going back to old chicken shit holler
even if i’m down to my last dang dollar
and he looked in the mirror
said his boss was an f’in clown
things got a bit clearer
he wasn’t backin’ down
then he told it straight to his a-hole boss
that he was sick and tired
‘yer the worst damn boss i’d run across!’
his boss said, ‘well, anyway, you’re fired’
and our hero said, “Your Loss.”
when he got home
his wife looked right at him
and told him it to him straight
she said i ain’t saying nothin’
but screw the almighty dollar
it looks to me like
you’re fixin’ to git yerself out of
old chicken shit holler
you’re on your way out
of old chicken shit holler
i’ve done my time
i ain’t no damn scholar
gettin’ the hell out a’
old chicken shit holler
if i have to spend my last half-dollar
gettin’ the hell out a’
old chicken shit holler
leave it behind
i’m proud of my blue collar
ain’t a goin’ back ta
old chicken shit holler
© Copyright 2021 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
heavy rollers clank
on steel rails
overhead
recently slaughtered
carcasses
hung on hooks
swing past
by the half
and the quarter
heaved into place
a bandsaw whines
cut after cut
slicing through
muscle and bone
until bone dust
starts piling up
blood red slabs
slap down
on each stainless-steel table
as hyper-sharp knives
in a blur of fists
slice toss repeat
until a life once whole and alive
is neatly piled into buckets of each–
bone fat meat
a whoosh of the vacuum packer
as each steak, chuck, and round
is sealed in plastic bags
what’s left is
‘hamburger’ ground
the final path
on rolling racks
from open range
now piled
on shelves
in tidy stacks
amateur butchers
remove aprons of
thick yellow vinyl
covered in blood,
fat, and more
removing gloves
of black nitrile
sterilizing each table
and floor
the band saw
dismantled
until nothing remains
of this one life
hosed down the drain
and the grass-fed,
locally raised,
hormone-free,
grain-free,
well-cared-for-cow
has been neatly processed
in a stainless steel plant
near the field
that once was its home–
a freezer now
and the circle of life
on a ranch is on full display
when each cow’s life
ends this way
© Copyright 2021 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
an injured leg
a vicious break
inevitable steps
a vet must take
adrenaline runs wild
with anguish and stress
the only relief
is in her caress
a needle takes away his pain
uncertainty grows in wild eyes
then a final, fatal injection
Fuzzy’s strong heartbeat dies
two hearts lay broken
in the dust on the ground
after a raging storm
tears rain down
on Fuzzy’s neck
still warm
how she will miss him
and the sweet love they shared
their burdens and joys
how deeply she cared
there are hoofbeats in heaven
where Fuzzy runs free
down here a dark empty stall
a snip of mane, a memory
our herd is diminished
as sweet Fuzzy dies
his life sanctified
by the tears in her eyes
© Copyright 2020 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
i re-rēad your poems
at the end of my life
the ones you wrote at
the beginning of yours
at a tender age
you learned too well
about violence, evil and
the upheaval of world wars
your poems speak of death
as you knew it first-hand
your search for sanctuary
in war-torn land
i rēad your reminders
of how we must live
how much we have
how we must give
[i seek your wisdom
in hints you’d intersperse
as a grandson interprets his
grandfather’s verse]
© Copyright 2020 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
in thinking
about death
and lately, why
man-made things
and life itself
all seem to die
i think it’s best to leave
the dead things dead
to focus on living now
and what might lie ahead
but looking back
at the many ‘bridges’
that provided
us some security
in life’s rear view mirror
we clearly see,
they were all
quite temporary
in the face of death
we may try
to stand our ground
to resuscitate
to hang around
if there’s even a shred
of life left
but we should really leave
dead things dead
focus on living
carry on
if only bereft
what else in our lives
is at a last resort?
what do i behold
just this one time?
i cherish the moments
knowing life is sublime
knowing now that
time is short
i learn to let go
sanctifying the space
knowing something better
will take its place
one of life’s lessons
is to let dead things be
to savor life and each
sweet memory
© Copyright 2020 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
senseless acts
so many whys
under a heavy knee
a good man dies
and the haters hate
and the extremists seethe
and our country falters
when good men can’t breathe
vigilante killers
spread extremist lies
blood on racist hands
a good soul dies
lost, grieving families
are shattered
thoughts and prayers
hardly mattered
who did this?
why did he hate?
what was his name?
what were the motives?
on hallowed ground
flowers are laid
with flickering votives
why my beloved country
have we not resolved
inequality and hatefulness
why when we need them most
have our leaders dissolved?
tears pour out
from so many eyes
our own children afraid
when a good person dies
can’t hold back this flood
as another dies
in a river of blood
a great nation cries
too many are gone
too many whys
an ocean of tears
pours forth
from American eyes
© Brooks Bradbury 2020 | BrookLooks
sometimes a hat
jaunty and confident
when i feel like that
sometimes a ladle
pouring goodness
out onto our table
sometimes a question mark
compounding my doubt
written in stars
up there in the dark
sometimes a weapon
as to strike with a pan
as if holding it out
in defense of a man
one morphs to the other
as the weeks go by
and the stars re-align
i look for a sign
walking through
the grounds
of the old inn
here in town
sad to see the
shades were drawn
guests were gone
fast peeling paint
and a great old inn
is a bit less quaint
and a bit more old
it had bustled with life once
celebrations of love
were held in the dining room
and in guestrooms above
fine meals were savored
first dates were held
wedding parties danced
where happiness dwelled
now but a shell
of what it once was
an inn has died
perhaps because
of a focus lost
or changing winds
or foreboding times
for country inns
my soul still haunts these
authentic old inns
along winding back roads
where the country begins
kindly innholders
welcome each guest
on creaky floors
to a comfortable rest
generous spirits
where joy is expressed
forever, we will love
old inns the best
we would drive on for miles
past motels and chains
in search of a place
that still retains
the spirit of welcome
and human kindness
in full measure
we find it here
life’s real treasure
lies within
the best place to be
is at an old country inn
© Copyright 2020 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
life’s many moments
and all of its chapters
written in ledgers and tomes
kept for years
in the rafters
of so many homes
now that it’s late
it’s time to take a few down
to review, reconsider
what’s written
on ancient pages
turned yellowish brown
brushing away dust
in attempt to review
what transpired
back then
about when
and with whom
starting back when
we were brand new
what joy to re-think
all we beheld
moments savored
the places we dwelled
in halcyon days
the souls we’ve known
horizons forever
under our gaze
in re-pondering
our bridges
through oases in time
the treasures in
moments
the pleasures
of places
picturesque
and sublime
some chapters
could have gone on forever
glad some were a page or two
some a bit tragic
some were pure magic
still the best part
about being out here
is being out here
with you
life’s sweet moments
and all of its chapters
in ledgers and tomes
stored for years
in the rafters
of our many homes
© Copyright 2020 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
there is a
lovely wildness
that still lives
here within
a need to
discover
Nature’s spaces
as they’ve been
untouched places
left untrod
in shadowed canyons
out beyond
places not yet seen
nor pondered
places not yet
felt nor wandered
out here
in these sagebrushed lands
chaparall
and red rock sands
high lonesome
condors call
aloft on desert winds
above it all
the need to
make a living
always plays a role
may it never
interfere
with the more
intrinsic goal
to go
to seek and there to find
the deepest depths
of one’s true soul
it’s taken years
and miles
to know what
to leave behind
clearer now
the truth be told
as stillness
fills my mind
this place of
profound quiet
on a canvas
parched and painted
i savor every moment
lost in thoughts
at ease
elated
there is a
lovely wildness
that still lives
here within
a need to
go, discover
Nature’s spaces
as they’ve been
© Copyright 2019 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
Uncle Frank’s fruitcake!
it arrived in the mail today.
Christmas joy has finally come!
oh aromatic loaf of citron,
cherries and nuts
deliciously–the damn thing’s
three-quarters rum!
you see it’s not just any old fruitcake
it’s the ultimate version of one
they say Uncle Frank’s fruitcake.
He’s baked in a whole new rum-soaked level of fun
you can tell your loaf is coming
from over a mile away
Uncle Frank’s fruitcake.
because now the UPS truck
smells that way!
i open the box
tear open the foil,
remove cheesecloth,
rubber bands, foil and string
oh to renew my taste buds
on the sweet goodness
Uncle Frank’s fruitcake.
can bring
A slice or two is hardly enough
before i know it i’ve eaten it all
having to wait another year more
until Uncle Frank’s fruitcake
arrives at the door
you see, Uncle Frank’s Fruitcake.
from years in the diplomat corp
always seemed like he was having fun
i never realized before
it was all of the rum
see, not all of it
went into the cake
(Uncle Frank’s fruitcake.)
And boy can he bake!
now the holidays are finally over
and the fruitcake’s a sweet memory
Uncle Frank’s fruitcake.
will go down deep in history
and i heard him explain
as his last fruitcake bakes
More rum! for goodness sakes!
© Copyright 2019 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
Forty some years ago an odd paperback book, “Country Inns and Backroads” caught my attention in the college bookstore. It was a travel guide of sorts about authentic, independent inns being marketed by author Norman Simpson. How little did I know then how the book would influence my life’s trajectory leading to a career in independent hospitality.
After our college graduation, lifelong friend Dan Hopkins and I took off on adventure thanks to a Greyhound bus special, “Go Anywhere in the USA for $50”. We purchased two tickets and boarded in snow-covered Syracuse, NY and endured countless bus changes, strange characters and endless highway until 72 hours later we recovered at the home of our mutual friend Rob Marks in La Mesa, California.
Returning home a year later from our ‘working vacation’, it was long overdue time to find gainful employment. I finally read Simpson’s book and was intrigued by the inn and hotel properties Simpson wrote about. With a pile of rejection letters and zero job prospects I donned my best $99 suit, borrowed my parent’s car and drove two hours east down I-90 across New York state to the one property in the book nearest our upstate home, just over the line in Massachusetts.
Incidentally, I wore the same navy-blue suit with my red, white and blue tie weeks earlier in interviews with the Central Intelligence Agency. That is another story, a path untaken.
Crossing the threshold of an old inn that dated to 1773, I arrived at the venerable Red Lion Inn in Stockbridge, Massachusetts inquiring about a job–without any clue what a remarkable place this inn or the town would turn out to be. Centuries ago the Inn had been a remote stagecoach stop. It was and is now a bustling hostelry in this picturesque New England village.
Thanks to the inn’s manager and Red Lion Inn owners Senator Jack and Jane Fitzpatrick I was given a warm welcome. By the end of the day, I had passed muster. The Inn was very busy indeed and yes, they could use my help right away. Returning a few days later to begin work as a dining room host (whatever that meant!) I stayed for a while in a tiny staff room on the sultry, un-air-conditioned 4th floor of the inn. I promised the owners I would work very hard for my $4 per hour wage and thus began a career in hospitality on July 2, 1979 that continues today.
I would soon learn that both Norman Rockwell and Norman Simpson called the village of Stockbridge their home. Norman Rockwell died the year prior to my arrival, and over the years I delighted in befriending Norman Simpson as a bon vivant marketer who told the story of authentic old American inns until his untimely death in 1986. Today, Select Registry lives on as the latest evolution of Simpson’s vision. Mrs. Molly Rockwell still lived across the street from the inn back then and her husband Norman’s spirit is still celebrated in the Berkshires and beyond.
Stockbridge is a rare community in the Berkshires, rich in history and continuing to attract writers, artists and performers as it has from its earliest days as a mission community serving the native Mahican tribe. Today, a few miles up the road in Lenox, the Boston Symphony Orchestra performs each summer at Tanglewood Music Center as it has since 1937. Many of the BSO musicians lodge at the Inn with the hallways filled with the sweet sounds of practiced instrumentals.
Years later, I had begun to learn a few things and was by then well-versed in many aspects of the Inn’s operation. ‘Mrs. Fitz’ called me to her office one day in 1993 and offered me the Innkeeper & General Manager position. After working in every department of the inn, I felt as though I had pulled the sword from the stone. ‘Mrs. Fitz’ as we called her was an inspiration, a mentor and a powerful force.
While there, I had the pleasure of being a part of the management team that re-opened sister hotel, Blantyre, in the early 1980’s. Later, as GM of the Red Lion Inn I led our team effort to open the Porches Inn at Mass MoCA in North Adams, Massachusetts.
Leaving this Camelot experience years later, I felt as though I had ‘graduated’ and was ready for more of life’s lessons. My wife Susan and I embarked on a path that would lead us ever onward across the country. Before that, twenty-one exciting and wonderful years would pass there in Stockbridge until Jack and Jane retired.
We never looked back as our adventure in hospitality continued. Fast forward to today, and we happily call northern Colorado our home. This was preceded by a beautiful Kanab, Utah home and our other ‘homes’ in Stamford, Vermont; Stockbridge and Dalton, Massachusetts; Madison, Connecticut; Sheboygan, Wisconsin; Meadows of Dan, Virginia (where we opened the luxury Lodge and Spa at Primland); Pearce, Arizona; Waynesville, North Carolina and Clark, Colorado in about that order.
Iroquois, Mahican, Stockbridge, Hammonasset, Winnebago, the Eastern Band of Cherokee, Apache, Yampa Utes, Anasazi, Navajo and Paiute native peoples preceded us in all of these areas. Their spirits permeate the communities on our path.
Berkshire, Blue Ridge, Great Smokies, the Colorado Rockies and Chiracahua mountains have all served as the beautiful backdrop of our lives along the way. The dramatic vermillion cliffs of southern Utah surrounded us for a time.
This charming village of Kanab (our 10th such home, and 17th move since our October 2000 wedding in Stamford, Vermont) provided a warm welcome to a growing yet remote southern Utah community of 4,500 residents with thousands more U.S. and international visitors arriving in season to explore national parks, extensive BLM lands and extraordinary state parks such as Coral Pink Sand Dunes.
Kanab and Kane County are centered among Zion, Bryce, Grand Staircase Escalante and Grand Canyon National Parks. World-class challenging hiking trails traverse the area. Kanab was originally settled by Anasazi, Ute and Kaibab Paiute followed later in 1864 when ten Latter-Day Saint families moved into the area finally establishing Kanab in 1870.
Now a thriving small city, Kanab is growing with the arrivals of outliers like us and the discovery of Kanab as an up-and-coming destination. Kanab’s town fathers and commissioners work diligently to balance Kane County’s growing tourism business with residents’ quality of life all the while honoring Kanab’s history as Little Hollywood, once the setting of many classic western movies and television shows.
Our many moves have resulted from the vagaries of a career in independent hospitality and working for a range of owners from beloved to indifferent whom we discovered would unfortunately retire and die, sell their real estate holdings, change their minds, endure the great recession, suffer from dementia, etc. In short, we experienced life with all its uncertainties and changes.
Executive hospitality recruiters have played an important role in our lives, enticing us to consider new properties and explore wonderful new horizons. I learned early on that these were some of our most important business relationships.
Most of all I am grateful to my wife Susan and our petites Cotons de Tulears who have endured these many moves. Susan has faced the unenviable task of managing each move with all the resulting household changes and upheaval—all while re-inventing herself and finding a place in these new communities. This has been the most difficult aspect of moving, along with saying goodbye to new friends who have been so kind and helpful. We cherish our friends whom in spite of time and distance continue to keep in touch.
Above all, we found amazingly good and generous people wherever we went including our staff, our guests and our neighbors. We have discovered beautiful places, some that most American’s will never see. Out West, we have come to know what quiet really means. And we learned to count on each other through all of life’s vicissitudes. Susan is fond of saying that I seemed like a stable guy once, and ever since our first date at the grand opening of Mass MoCA on May 29, 1999 our lives together have been a wild and beautiful ride.
We had the pleasure of representing Best Friends Animal Society in Kanab. Its founders had a vision years ago of saving the lives of animals with a mission to bring about a time when there are no more homeless pets. It is a joy, and a responsibility that we support their work to end the suffering and killing of animals in shelters all across the country by the year 2025.
None of us ever gets where we are without the help of others. To explore this extraordinary country has been our great privilege and we remember all those who sacrificed for us, our parents who raised us, our families who have given so much to us, our neighbors who have sustained us, the communities who have welcomed us, and the owners who have challenged us.
We have made a career in the work of managing, opening, marketing and growing private clubs, guest ranches, lodges and inns since those precious first years in Stockbridge.
We treasure the vendors, suppliers and consultants who have supported our work, and the guests and colleagues whom we have come to know and serve. It is all of you and especially my parents who have taught me the lessons of graciousness and service.
Time flies when you’re having fun.
quantum quarks
in astral planes
dance above the hurricanes
lightning sparks
on earthly plains
over millennia
of man-made schemes
of man-made myths
the cost of dreams
what’s been lost
in our awesome toll
Nature finally on the run
species lost
damage done
and all we can do
is circle the sun
abiding in time
having our fun
another year
still alive
enjoying the ride
through time and tide
no reason to fear
we can’t even steer
who knows when
life ends as it must
and the ride continues
as one new layer
of human dust
and all we will do
is circle the sun
without a sail
year upon year
unaware of the scale
through time and tide
beyond forever
all we’ve got is fear
we can’t even steer
until that day
the end is near
the time is short
in reality
there’s never been
any guarantee
all we can do is
circle the sun
taking our time
having our fun
year upon year
enjoying the ride
enduring time and tide
we ride through the night
through darkness and light
all we’ve got is fear
we can’t even steer
mystic voices
foretold the day
ancient wisdom
would have no more to say
and all we can do
is circle the sun
abiding in time
having our fun
another year
still alive
enjoying the ride
through time and tide
no reason to fear
we can’t even steer
Colorado City Child
born into the maelstrom
where false prophets decreed
illegalities, debauchery
for their self-serving greed
pedophiliac demons enslaved
erased your personality
corrupted your soul
laid waste to your remote community
its beauty fenced, unhealthy, unwhole
Colorado City child!
your life’s moment is at hand
may you have the strength
to rise above
to fully understand
i pray you never settle
that you one day have enough
transcend such so-called religions
banish them from earth
collect your life’s precious pieces
reassemble your boundless worth
until then your mothers know
the price already paid
for lives on hold way too long
for stolen moments, for joy delayed
false leaders rightly arraigned
incarcerated and chained
Celebrate your new salvation!
a Creeker’s transformation
long may you fly
may your tears sanctify
their every wrong
their every lie
my soul still roams
through the woods back there
where every tree was a tower
every branch was a stair
a child’s discoveries
in each stone, leaf, and flower
the simplest of joys
came in climbing above
into the sanctuary of trees
these were precious days in time
oft’ recalled
well beloved
out there beyond
our small forest of pines
we’d run on forever
time would freeze
through fields of tall grass
we look back
at how far we’ve come
moments imprinted
remain ever still
a dinner bell rings
time for supper
Nature softens to gloam
as little actors
in a golden age
hurry home
to their place backstage
these red rock canyons
recall the forces
we face
experiencing our own
cataclysmic events
upheavals, changing times
uncontrolled quakes
and the tumbling down
the glacial pace of erosion
until the eventual arrival
at our very own
angle of repose
these red rock canyons
reveal the millennia past
sand grain by grain
layer on layer
in gravity’s fate
records cast in reddish-brown
then a layer of ashen gray
perhaps an epochal era
when the sun went away
violent tectonics
pushed up
what water wears down
these red rock canyons
once oasis, once desert, once ocean
now stacked stone mountains
of petrified lives
that were once in motion
pressed into time
surrounding us
shoulders of boulders
out beyond our companions
we’ve found
sanctuary here
in these red rock canyons
On Graciousness and Gratitude
The veneer of our cultural kindness has worn thin. In some places, it has long since worn off leaving an ugly rudeness that we all feel in our country these days. It doesn’t help that unacceptable and offensive behavior emanates from our highest offices, or that acts of great violence and injustice are reported to us each day.
Thankfully, graciousness and gratitude still flourish among people who choose to treat others with dignity and respect. After all, what we give to others we reap in return.
It is an important choice that we must make, one that is really neglected today. Why would we choose to be small-minded and smugly miserable? Or choose to do battle, rather to find a way to peace? To choose to divide because of differences rather than celebrate our common diversity? Or to be associated with a religion that means we can’t love someone, or can’t bake a cake for someone or one in which only one gender can advance?
Whether we know it or not too many of us have traded graciousness for speed and efficiency. We have traded generosity of spirit for more cell phone time and less family time and we have traded personal connections for digital ones. We accept religious affiliation at the exclusion of others.
In the process, we have also turned away from the needy of our society compounding global misery. We have watched in horror how each such neglected person becomes a time bomb who takes others with them in a final, agonizing and grand-standing death rage. We have simply stopped hearing their cries for help—locally, out on our borders and internationally. These souls have been backed into very dangerous corners.
Instead of looking out for everyone, especially the least among us or the most different among us, we have long since looked out for ourselves. This has left too many trapped and failing within our system, or even too many trapped and desperate fighting to get in.
If we were to measure the cost of what we have gained it would in no way compare with what has been lost. Most Americans will recognize “this isn’t us anymore,” knowing full well that we have fallen behind in kindness and courteousness as though offering the simple joy and kind words to another no longer matters.
My wife and I would take a private poll when walking down the beach near our home. We would purposely offer a warm hello to each person that walked by us, and then privately tally the results. There was never a night when everyone said hello in return, and there were plenty of times when our simple greeting was ignored, or we were simply stared at in surprise. A very few inspired souls would actually say hello in return, or in a more rare case someone might add, “have a wonderful evening.”
And yet, I know there is still graciousness in the hearts of many Americans, and some gratitude for this great country of wealth and the age we live in.
It takes so very little to make sure someone is heard, to add enthusiasm or kindness to your voice or to simply say hello. To always remember that someone is doing the best they can do just to be here, is the very lowest measure of empathy.
Just as it takes no additional effort in a fancy hotel to provide a guest with top service compared with a mediocre effort, life doesn’t require much of us except a little compassion, being generous and demonstrating gratitude to others.
This is after all, a miracle: that at this place and time we even exist at all–to ponder beauty, nature and goodness while looking out from the lonely universe we inhabit. There are challenges to be sure, but isn’t it an easy choice? Rather like when you get up in the morning and choose to live your life, or you choose to die.
I attended a recent meeting in my community and during a period of public comment, a resident got up and actually said, “We don’t want any more of your kind here,” referring to the county’s largest employer and its staff. It was quite a shock to think that anyone would say such a thing! How then are we to deal with the differences among people?
Goodness always seems to spiral upwards, and I therefore recommend we begin to choose graciousness and gratitude in our interactions with others, even those different from us. It is a subtle and powerful change, and without it, well, we are already beginning to see the results.
Since my first visit to Findhorn, a simple yet dynamic ecovillage in the north of Scotland, I have kept with me the strength of spirit and the resolute power of intentioned kindness that I found there in that rare place. There are other such places, centers of light and ecovillages around the world that are transforming people and consciousness.
I believe it is such feelings that inform graciousness in my life and the generous way we interact with others. What gratitude I feel in being able to write this to you!
a study of our family
and its genealogic scope
sheds light on how we got here
and who we are, i hope
hard to believe our forebears
birthed children through the ages
until down to me at last
begat of serfs and kings and sages
there were knights and lords and ladies
even earls, a marquess or two
viscounts, Indians, and sheriffs
worldly explorers through and through
some were un-wedded
some were beheaded
some drawn and quartered
some well-rewarded,
some died in the tower
some wielded great power
some lost now to time
some worked to death in factories
a few were the thriving kind
each one an accident of history
brief islands of DNA
passed on through sex unto the next
’til ‘poof’ here we are today
wouldn’t want to invite ’em all
to dinner on any one night
but i’d like to invite the notables
the notorious, the somewhat bright
then we’d drink to our common family
dance in life’s teeming streams
celebrate our ancestral gifts
born of stardust and ancient dreams
Sometimes we are lucky enough in our lives to run a Relais & Châteaux affiliated guest ranch along the continental divide in the Colorado Rockies. If so lucky, we live and work on one of Nature’s most beautiful stages with some of the most talented and dedicated employees one will ever meet.
Our staff is made of wonderful individuals who attend to amazingly specific details like repairing an in-room guest safe door lock at midnight and arriving at work before 5 a.m. to make specially requested menus and baked goods for breakfast.
Of course, clearing snow from guest vehicles, fixing flat tires, preparing meals, cleaning guest rooms every day, caring for 90 horses on 5,000 acres and leading horseback rides that can truly set the soul free are all de rigueur in this world.
It isn’t because it is an easy post, as there is certainly plenty of work and stress along with myriad moving parts among rapidly changing micro-priorities. The days can seem very short as the team arrives early each day and will leave after dinner only when the dining room has been set for breakfast.
At this level of hospitality, there is far more to remember than simply each guest’s name. Flight arrival times for transportation, pre-purchase of rare and specialty foods, beverages and amenities, knowledge of guest allergies (i.e., feathers, cleaning products, nuts, etc.) along with all manner of dining and amenity preferences are only the beginning of the list.
In short, every member of the team must anticipate, respond to and resolve each and every guest request–unless their responding could be considered illegal, immoral or unsafe. Consider then the breadth of possible requests that remain, such as organizing an impromptu helicopter tour or an all-day backcountry hike in the nearby Zirkel Wilderness.
There is without a doubt a very long list of joys concomitant with serving in such a unique place. When I consider the amazing people we’ve met, the finest foods, flavors and beverages we have enjoyed and the worldly perspectives and contacts we have made, our cup has certainly runneth over.
Running a guest ranch here is to actually live and breathe in the West’s wide-open spaces we have come to love. We will always consider it a great honor to get to know the rare individuals who come to the ranch and those who stayed on to make their homes in this remote and pristine ranching community. These neighbors, guests, and staff members have enriched our lives by their kindness, by their joy and friendship. They have forever imprinted themselves in our hearts.
Challenges out here are plenty though. How much I have appreciated the cheerful colleagues who handle them gracefully while retaining their wonderful senses of humor and focus after working 70 hours or more week after week. There were moments of anguish and tears to be sure, mostly the result of someone really caring about their responsibilities, and not wanting to let you down.
We saw first-hand the wonderful impact a guest ranch vacation has on a person, and on a family. There were occasional tears too from young guests who really hated saying goodbye after their weeklong stay. You see, they came to know their horse and wrangler, our kids’ counselors, guides and staff as their friends after so many wonderful shared moments together.
Some of the great joy we felt was in welcoming those former children now as adults, who returned to the ranch for the first time with their new young families. A wonderful cycle continues.
I suspect this may have been my life’s last opportunity to manage such a special guest ranch, but who knows? Maybe my friend, Gene Kilgore, the leading authority on western guest ranches has a different idea?
What an interesting chapter it has been, as we count our blessings and reflect back on this time in our lives.
Sometimes we are lucky indeed.
The West
there are places…
out west
where all there is
is quietness
where souls are healed
by letting go
of all that
never mattered
beyond the man-made din
of life’s raucous clatter
there are places…
here out west
of clarity
where you see every star
on a night’s display
however far
when wasted light
is left behind
along with blinding pointlessness
that once got in the way
there are places…
here out west
where people
are still simply true
who understand
the who that’s you
how to give and leave you space
share pain and joy
can mend a fence
most of all they still make sense
there are places…
here out west
like a Stegner dream
where bluebirds sing
to the lemonade spring
and rivers thrive and all is grand
way out here on Abbey’s land
where native spirits still survive
roaming on forever
in a perfect place
for a final stand
an injured leg
an ominous break
the inevitable steps
a vet must take
adrenaline runs wild
with anguish and stress
the only relief
in a wrangler’s caress
first needle, he falls
with wild, uncertain eyes
then a fatal, final injection
until his strong heartbeat dies
only broken hearts
after the quieted storm
tears fall down
on his neck still warm
we’ll miss his life
his life he shared with all
there are new hoofbeats in heaven
here an unused saddle,
an empty stall
the herd diminished
as Frino dies
and a ranch is sanctified
by the tears
from a wrangler’s eyes
all was right with the world today
i was where i wanted to be
at times it comes together like this
along life’s trajectory
i know it will change again one day
when this sweet tide goes out
for now, i treasure each moment
until that turnabout
such moments i know
will come and go
lives are lived
through high and low
though, all was right with the world today
i was where i wanted to be
i thank the Universe for days like this
and the gifts it gives to me
Jimmy Buffet wrote a song about a cheeseburger in paradise, but he never tasted the flavor of the beef from cows raised in an unincorporated ranching community in northwest Colorado, at least that anyone here knows of.
Sand Mountain Cattle Company is raising a growing herd of Red Angus cattle on 7,000 acres including the rich Elk River Valley bottom land. Owners Doug and Adele Carlson and their two sons Danny and Kelly and their families produce a range of beef products for Steamboat Springs area restaurants, including the centerpiece of the sought-after Sand Mountain Cattle hamburger.
Their premium cattle are lovingly raised the all-natural way in vast pastoral fields along County Road 129 here in Clark. They are “grass fed and finished” on native Colorado grasses and forages without any chemicals or animal by-products, the way it should be.
All of their cattle are ‘age and source verified’ (i.e., well bred) and Danny, Kelly and Doug take turns getting up every 4 hours during calving season to head out to the barn to make sure “everything is in order”. They are expecting almost 300 calves to arrive this spring which tells you something about the virility of their stock.
Clark, Colorado itself is worthy of mention as a proud outpost town, midway between Steamboat Springs and the Wyoming line. This alpine community thrives along the western slope of the continental divide way up in the Rockies at an elevation of 7,000 feet. These conditions provide a heavenly destination for tourists, and a home for SMCC’s well-loved, grass-fed cows.
The town’s only store, aptly the Clark Store, is an old-fashioned general store that serves as the nerve center and the community’s cultural heart. Here is one place where Sand Mountain Cattle’s heavenly hamburgers are served in a true paradise, from the grill at the back of the store. The ‘American Burger’ is only one of the options on the menu, but it is clearly the best one.
Incidentally, the Clark Store makes world class buns, baked from scratch with special flour. Really! Heck, the cows are raised right outside the window, and that’s picturesque Sand Mountain in the distance behind them, usually snow-covered into July.
Get the picture? Sort of an ideal farm-to-table deal with tables at the edge of the farm. The future beef cows themselves are part of the view from the Clark Store making them easy to inspect while you wait for your hamburger to be prepared by Jim the chef / manager of the store or his sidekick, Diego.
The Clark Store is also where locals come for mail, alcoholic beverages, coffee, news and gossip. If the store doesn’t carry it, it’s a 20-mile drive one way into town. People from out of town think it’s quaint. Norman Rockwell would surely see the potential here.
Until you taste a Sand Mountain Cattle Company / Clark Store hamburger, you just haven’t lived. With all of this fresh Colorado air and wholesomeness cooked right in, there isn’t a better one anywhere. Sure, you can take a motorboat to Cabbage Key in Florida (supposed home of ‘cheeseburger in paradise’) or get off I-95 in New Haven, Connecticut to dine at Louis’ Lunch for their vertically cooked hamburgers—but I can tell you from personal experience that none of these burgers compare in taste to what Sand Mountain Cattle Company produces.
To enjoy one of their hamburgers at The Clark Store is reason enough to make the trip to Clark, Colorado out on the road less traveled. There is also some dramatic scenery, a Relais & Chateaux affiliated guest ranch, Orvis-endorsed fly fishing, awesome skiing in wintertime–and some fascinating characters who all call Clark their home. Bon Apetit!
© Copyright 2017 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
As a young hospitality manager, you may have begun receiving calls from recruiters without knowing they could one day be instrumental in shaping your career. Perhaps you are very happy where you are and generally ignore their calls. I suggest that you appreciate every call as it is possible that you will one day count on them.
The following are points of wisdom, now shared with you that are the result of personal experiences. This is to emphasize how important Hospitality Recruiters can be in helping you to transition out of situations–such as when an owner dies, your property is sold, or the economy tanks–and into a new and satisfactory position. You and your family will really appreciate your network of recruiter relationships when that day arrives.
Unless you have a lifetime contract or you are independently wealthy I recommend you thank every recruiter who calls you and begin to establish a relationship with them.
If you are a young hospitality manager, I recommend staying in touch with those recruiters who show an interest in you. Make sure they have your most up-to-date information at all times and if asked, be sure to recommend other colleagues in your network that you feel may be interested and qualified. It works both ways.
Then you are indeed a lucky person! Each recruiter can present new opportunities. My advice is to get to know each one, and nurture each relationship. Make sure they know exactly what you are looking for. You never know when it will be critically important. Build relationships!
You will need to maintain a very high standard of discretion in working with recruiters, especially when you are working with multiple recruiters. You’ll need to make a judgement call in the event of a conflict and be the professional. Let the other recruiter know as soon as possible that you are considering other solid offers. You play games with recruiters at your own peril.
The professional recruiter is well qualified and eager to help you negotiate the best compensation package possible. In the event of multiple offers at the same time, be up front about this and follow your heart to the opportunity that is the best match for you. You may need to pursue each offer nearly to its conclusion until you are able to make the best decision for you and your family. These can be real moments of soul searching.
Give feedback to the recruiter, and speak up if something doesn’t feel right. In the end. it’s your deal. Remember that the sooner you can give regrets to the other recruiter, the better and kinder it is. Who knows when you’ll need to reach out to that same recruiter in the future? You will be amazed at what a small community of hospitality professionals this can be.
Word of mouth from your colleagues is important in getting to know the right hospitality recruiters. The Recruiter’s job is one of complete discretion, and they wouldn’t last long if they divulged information that jeopardized a candidate’s current position or future opportunities. Remember that they are generally on your side, are only paid when you are hired, and usually only when you are employed for a minimum period of time. In the event you don’t work out, they may be required to perform another search without additional compensation.
Honesty and integrity. A full disclosure of your skills and talents. Updated résumés and updated professional references. Referrals to strong candidates.
If you are personally in a search mode, regular contact shows that you are enthusiastically interested in working with them. The recruiter will let you know if you are overdoing it. Remember that your full time job is marketing yourself.
I have found that top recruiters are expert at this. They will help you assemble your minimum requirements for the job well in advance. Often, the recruiter will back away and let you handle the negotiation. Use the recruiter as a consultant and take your time. They know the market, and perhaps the history of the property. Much more goes into salary negotiations than just a few numbers.
Sometimes it doesn’t seem like the recruiter has a clear picture of your experience. You need to speak up, defend yourself, or better present yourself to him or her. The recruiter is only trying to present you and your skills to their client in the best possible way. The ball is in your court. You should also have a complete understanding of the process the recruiter will go through in representing you to their clients.
Don’t let a recruiter entice you with pie in the sky job opportunities or the fact that he/she will be blanketing your resume all over in order to gain greater visibility for you. This indicates the recruiter’s level of professionalism and how they go about their work.
Move on. Life is short. Be tenacious in introducing yourself to other recruiters that might be a better fit for you. You’ll find plenty of recruiters (and people) who aren’t interested in getting to know you, or who will make you feel like you don’t amount to much anyway. They simply need to weed you out from the pack as quickly as possible. Don’t take it personally. They have a job to do too. Be tenacious and move on.
Good luck!
© Copyright 2017 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
Tomorrow
if we knew how fragile
this all was
would we still do
what everyone does
if tomorrow came
and this was gone
would a change in behavior
suddenly dawn
will wonton acts
of careless extreme
compromise
this beautiful dream
oceans rise
a species dies
fires burn
Nature cries
when do we
(the smart ones)
realize?
© Copyright 2017 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved
Release
peaceful calm
in wild spaces
far beyond
culture’s storms
into the quiet places
where nature
transforms
on a
guiltless flight
to sanity
sanctuary
sets me free
all it took
was letting go
in nature’s current
life’s wild flow
brought me
here to be
renewed
how much i’ve found
in solitude
© Copyright 2017 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved
Inhospitable
the roadside motel
has gone to hell
storage units with beds
would serve as well
proud old brands that
once defined service
are staffed with people who
make us nervous
bleary eyed
we’re short on smiles
we see the sign
after all those miles
we pull in…
“reservations?”
[well yes, we had plenty
but we couldn’t admit…]
“just a room for night,
that would be it.”
“driver’s license
and credit card, room 334,
breakfast’s 6 to 10,
over there by the door”
underwhelmed…
i grab ahold of a bell cart
like a mule to a plow
push our bags up the ramp
into the elevator, somehow
in the morning
styrofoam greets us…
with fresh powdered eggs
and pork-ish sausage
in gravy dregs
liquefied syrup for coffee
is anything real?
selecting the banana
we drive off
in search of a human
to serve us a meal
© Copyright 2017
Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
All Rights Reserved

A Patchwork of People and Time
in a life of joyful moments
i recall those we shared now
your face reappears to me
recalling moments we shared somehow
i ponder too the great catalogue
of all the interesting souls
those like you who came my way
a few left the biggest holes
perhaps enough of time has passed
to stop and start to measure
one’s accomplishments
and the lifelong work we traded
in the end, for safety’s treasure
now at last i count them up
and wonder where they went
those who’ve come and gone at last
both hell- and heaven-sent
i wish the moments lasted longer
and i came to know you well
but time and tide were against us
in a life ‘tween storm and swell
my life is quieter, contemplative
with each person who now passes
i realize the moments are all jewels:
sweet memories one amasses
my life is made of all of these
a patchwork of people and time
i remember you now once again
forever part of mine
© Copyright 2017
Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks.
All Rights Reserved
One More Thing
when my time has come
and i fade from view
do what you will
with what’s left of me,
then do what’s best for you
and one more thing…
when i’ve gone–
after my last day
buy plenty of whisky
and find a piper
who’ll play
and if there is any
money left
spend more on the whisky
and no time
bereft
scatter my ashes
on a gentle breeze
in the woods
near a brook
or by some trees
take a sip
sit back and breathe
remember how it was,
how we used to be
then carry on
the best you can
here’s to you my friend
last drink’s on me
no religious jargon
nor prayerful words
just humor and jest
and singing birds
it was the life i was given
i did my best
to many too quiet,
out ridin’ fences
distant and odd
in tune with my senses
tho’ our earthly dance
has come to pass
i’ll smile down
(up, as the case may be)
so tip your glass
for a moment or two–
remember me
if you were among
the precious few
precious to me
and i to you,
i leave here
on the wings of your love
with all we shared
i rise above
and one more thing…
to those who think i’ve left
owing some debt
whether of the heart
or financial aid
please take a glass
my account is closed
your bill is paid
and one more thing…
if you still believe that
i owe you somehow
beyond one lifetime
after i’ve come to pass
it will be easier now
that i’m laid out
to bend over
and kiss my ass
© Copyright 2017 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
All Rights Reserved
In the Company of Dude Ranchers
We just hung up our hats at home after attending the 91st annual meeting of the Dude Ranchers Association in Tucson Arizona. Imagine a whole banquet-room full of America’s kindest people, a legion of fiercely independent and honest souls who through hard work and sheer grit run the great ranches of the West and welcome guests to a way of life and the rich American heritage that you always hoped still existed. It still does.
If you hadn’t noticed, a Renaissance of American guest ranches is underway judging by the DRA’s 100 plus members. Perhaps it is because we as a nation have never needed a digital detox and a real vacation more than right now.
And if you are looking for authentic experiences, you’ll find none better than right here on these ranches surrounded by open range and the safety of our own country. Out here there is a dude ranch ready to welcome you to some of the world’s most beautiful and jaw dropping locations right here at home, generally offering an all-inclusive price.
When you bring your family to a dude ranch, you’ll find a wealth of activities to participate in either individually or together. After dinner, you’ll turn in early every evening. Fresh air and wholesome fun has that effect on everyone.
Each ranch (and rancher) is unique in its own way, with home-grown traditions and style. All of them have horses to ride, trails to explore and a staff of characters you’ll enjoy getting to know from wranglers to housekeepers, to cooks and ranch hands–each provides genuine hospitality shared from the heart.
At the end of the conference, the DRA’s pioneering members, past presidents and Hall of Famers were warmly celebrated with standing ovations. An elder of the group, a cowboy poet took the podium to mark the end of the evening, reciting his poem about all the love he had for his ranch and ranching.
We left with a warm feeling knowing that the D.R.A. represents the very best of our country, and a hospitality force to be reckoned with. As new members of the group we now proudly ‘ride for the brand.’ Sure hope you’ll look us up and come rediscover today’s still Wild West. Bring your hat and boots.
See you at the Campfire.
© Copyright 2017 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks. All Rights Reserved
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOTHER
mom, the life you gave me
is a little older today
and in those decades now gone by
we’ve both come a long, long way
i’m still the same old person
you raised me up to be
those sacred days of childhood
now die cast in me
your lessons remain most precious
and resonate still today
your unceasing love above it all
helped a son to find his way
from my first taste of wildness
exploring the backyard wood
the joy i found in new frontiers
and knowing that I could
go way out there beyond the fields
and return to a nurturing home
gives me joy yet today
comfort wherever i roam
my heart still full of adventure
across trails trod far and wide
the love you given me since then
a most treasured gift inside
i know i’ve let you down some
even though still unavowed
i hope there were some moments
when you felt really proud
Mom, all these years gone by now
are a tribute to what you’ve done
the sacrifices you made for us
still reflect in the life of your son
when the day arrives and one of us
must tell the other goodbye
a heavenly adventure will unfold
in the tears of an endless cry
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
Alpenglow
new calves play
jumpin’ around
horses graze
in fields of green
columbine blooms
crimson and blue
wildflowers pop up
in between
river flows
too fast to fish
as the sun comes down
we’ve got our wish
Colorado
in the alpenglow of evening
each sweet sundown,
Colorado
farmin’ thrives
and ranchers strive
to make the livin’
their fathers did
a finer home
they’ve never known
lucky to grow up here a kid
as the sun comes down
i’m glad we did
find a place in Colorado
another sweet sundown
under alpenglow in
Colorado
thankfully
the wild west
is still the best
a perfect match
for wanderlust
and bravado
i think of the old days
now and then
as the sun comes down
i let it go and i rise again
grateful once to
call it home
Colorado
another sundown,
of sweet alpenglow in
Colorado
maybe this is it
and our lives’ end here
on these dirt roads
in each passing year
the sun comes down
on this small town
and we’re glad it’s so
Colorado
sweet alpenglow
in Colorado
here in the mountains
we left it behind
on the other side of
the great divide
saddled and tacked,
ready to ride
got ourselves
a brand-new motto
as the sun comes down
we lived it up
out West
in the sweet alpenglow
of Colorado
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
Moved to Tears
they moved from Vermont
and the Berkshires
south to Connecticut’s shore
moved to the land
of bratwurst and cheeses
to Sheboygan and back
to the Blue Ridge for more
moved to the land
where roadrunners race
where ocotillo grows
in wide open space
south and east
to the land of the pine
moved for a time to old Appalachia
moved to the Smokies
in North Caroline
at last they moved West
in hopes it would be
a move toward home,
and sanity
Utah, Arizona, Colorado
along the great divide
where the air is clear
and the views open wide
if you add up ‘em all up
all the beginnings and ends
the sad goodbyes
to new-made friends
and all those years
of unknown fears
moving trucks
and changing gears
you’ll know why now
they’re moved to tears
how many times
can furniture be stored
or tied on top
with bungee cord
how many moves
can they really make
how many cross-country drives
can anyone take?
how many towns
will they call home
how far can they go
how far will they roam?
oh the packing tape
on each cardboard box
new license plates
new primary docs
when home is
a rental
and a P.O. Box
through address changes
and open ranges
following their hearts all those years
if you asked why they did it
they can hardly say
they’re moved to tears
maybe it’s the new American way,
to follow work where it is today
paycheck gypsies out on the run
crossing the country in search of each one
for the pact is broken now
loyalty long gone somehow
businesses cutting every cost
without knowing all that’s lost
if you add up ‘em all up
all the beginnings and ends
the sad goodbyes
to new-made friends
and all those years
of unknown fears
you’ll know why
they were moved to tears
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
A Poet’s Prescription
thank you for sharing
these moments with me
for reading words
arranged
mindfully
a poem can convey
what a poet might say
how they think about life
how it all goes
peacefully pondering
it’s ebbs and flows
here in the present
where the real gifts
are received
true presence is ours
if only we
b r e a t h e
the randomness
of our connection
how you wandered by
perhaps seekers
of joy and wisdom
in time, coalesce
ally
if you’re still reading
in search of a clue
i sincerely hope
i’m getting through
if you’re here biding time
you’ll appreciate
the message and
that some of these words
actually rhyme
here is the thing
a poet might say
as each of us
wanders about on our own
learning and
searching
sometimes astray
poets
recommend
reading
a few poems
on the way
© COPYRIGHT 2016, Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
A Career in Independent Hospitality
Brooks Bradbury
1. It will bring you to places and present you with situations you have never imagined.
2. Whatever you give, it will ask even more of you–and challenge you each day.
3. The costs are high, and the rewards are too.
4. You will come to know amazing people from all walks of life, and you will realize that serving everyone well is your life’s work.
5. You will become very familiar with HVAC, refrigeration, plumbing, electricity, cleaning procedures, laundry chemicals and the world of maintenance while developing an intimate working knowledge of sewers and septic tanks. Your knowledge in these areas will be tested when you have a full house, often on a national holiday.
6. If you’re lucky, you will savor some of the world’s finest foods and beverages.
7. If your staff is happy and respected–you will be too. Make it your personal mission to compassionately help people to get where they are going.
8. At times, you may regret your career choice but you will get over it, realizing that your chosen field is the most dynamic and exciting career path you could have chosen.
9. Networking is your second full-time job. See #10.
10. Remember that hotel owners are like everyone else–they retire, get bored, decide to sell, and die–not necessarily in that order. See #9.
11. As soon as you get comfortable, expect change. Be ready. Be flexible.
12. Your life partner (if you are lucky enough to find one) will be challenged in extraordinary ways by your career choice.
© COPYRIGHT 2016, Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
Something Gave
red blood
on a white hot sidewalk
officers in blue
an outline in chalk
lost in the cracks
humanity cringes
at the unravelling lives
of souls on the fringes
disenfranchised
sanctuary lost
forgotten and hurting
the real human cost
here evil moves in
like an angry flood
a price is paid
in innocent blood
red blood
on a white hot sidewalk
officers in blue
an outline in chalk
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
When the Drones Flew Over at Night
bloodshed flows from countless hearts
in collisions of religious might
techno-precision response unleashed
and the drones flew over at night
human kindness threatened
an epic battle is on the rise
evil’s rampant rage now fully engaged
by madmen in islamic disguise
dressed in their very best suicide vests
believing their way is right
people die and the bombs rain down
and the drones flew over at night
i wonder if we will ever know
at the end of this senseless fight
what the jihadis thought looking up
when the drones flew over at night
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
On An Ancient Trail
where it leads from
and where it leads to
on an ancient trail
narrow and true
footprint on hoofprint
paths worn and clear
evidence of Appalachian souls
who once passed by here
compacted in the sunken earth
stones smoothed from hike and climb
why did this ancient trail survive
on a remote divide after so much time
perhaps it was what wasn’t here
found on these high trails
knowing souls come to find peace
far from their own travails
i keep moving forward
along fields and split rail fence
following my heart to joy
this path life’s recompense
out on the trail less traveled
finally nearing its end
nourished by nature’s magic spell
i turn to walk it again
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
These Words
these words are written
simply my own
a seeker on faraway trails
out here, a long way from home
these words i’ve written
could hardly convey
answers to questions
or even the way
if our paths cross
and we share a smile
i’ll be the better to know you
as we linger on a little while
and then we’ll be off
to our own dimensions of time
all that will remain
are these words
on a bridge of rhyme
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
Appalachian Soul
into these mountains
life is sacred and whole
i came in search of
Appalachia’s soul
into these mountains
hollers and coves
on native trails
in Nature’s groves
into these mountains
Appalachian folk
thrive as ever, adapting
sturdy as oak
into these mountains
lifetimes of courage
where The Smokies are home
on an endless Blue Ridge
into these mountains
life is sacred and whole
i came and discovered the depth
of Appalachia’s soul
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
Crash and Burn
maybe when
you crash and burn
you’ll come back again
and maybe you’ll learn
some lessons then
like life’s rewards
are what you earn
what your gifts afford
when you discern
it was never about you
what’ll you do,
when you crash and burn?
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
it took too long
to really see
time rushing
through the sieve
along life’s journey
there went me
but did I really live?
i vow to do much better
in the moments that remain
to live with gratitude
on purpose
while here i remain
still somewhat sane
i’ll suck life’s marrow
so to speak
while my own joints
have less to give
they may grind and creak some
but did i really live?
encourage me to do it all
while i really can
we’ll have a ball
share every gift
forget and forgive
so we don’t wake up
toward the end
and ask the other,
did I really live?
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
Little Lives
no one knows
how any soul
could live
by limiting their own
pushing exhausted
onward strives
life’s survivor alone
let us dream big
out on the edge
and let us not lead
little lives
and after striving there
upon life’s high summit
through its depths
and painful dives
will we sit back
with memories
while only living
little lives?
let us learn to
forgive ourselves
for wasted moments
and misspent days
in spite of what life
conjures and contrives
and all the ways
we lead little lives
this miracle of
spinning atop
a sphere
near a sun
just a moment of life
even one on the run
an incomprehensible gift
reason never to squander
moving a poet
to muse and ponder
how we must live on!
whatever the universe
provides or connives
reason enough
for us to avoid
ever leading
little lives
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
My Father’s Son
when you look at me
my father’s son
i hope you see
all he had done
to guide a kid
through his youth
over the years
long past his own
his name and face
passed on and how
his legacy is
his children now
he taught us
how to listen
never wasted
one single word
how to stay calm
in storms that raged
to best the ambiguous
avoid the absurd
in our battles waged
to bear the discomfort
with extra-effort tries
to aim for the hoop,
the goal, the mitt,
the bullseye, the cup
and to never, ever
ever give up
the value of sports
he who gives up, dies
for in winning well
other sportsmen
of honor
can always tell
until i rebelled
at his consistency
and i miss him now
him and me
and i try to be
more like him
strong and wise
quiet, of health
so to this day
he’d be proud of me
when you look at me
my father’s son
i hope you see
all he had done
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
arriving
in a digital dimension
neither of us
knowing the other
perhaps you wonder
what you’ll discover
me, i’m grateful for
your attention
for these simple
moments in time
as you consider
an unknown rhyme
for i, a bridge of poetry
to an unknown you
sweet and sublime
crossing over
to a human view
in time you’ll find
what i’ve revealed
and what’s been hidden
long since steeled
a poet conveys
in obscure ways
perhaps in time
or clad in rhyme
if your uninspired eyes
glaze and shift
all i desired,
before you go,
was to share
with you
my simple gift
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
.
Appalachian Eyes
trails of tears
on native face
amid the beauty
of their home place
for what they’ve left
by force, deceived
native souls
so long aggrieved
it’s over now
their joys unrightly mine
as i’ve come to know
a native peace, in time
their spirits linger on here
i feel them all around
when it rains in Cataloochee
Cherokee tears pour down
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
[Photo from Cataloochee Valley, near Waynesville, North Carolina]
Common Thread
the greatest gen
came along and next
begat the boomers
who begat gen x
gen x’ers begat gen y’ers
who in turn begat gen z
then alphas and betas
all mysteries to me
every gen thinks it’s better
and the next is never the same
gens never really see eye to eye
in life’s generational game
selfie sticks and sexting pics
and the like seem pretty lame
peace signs, beads and love-ins
perhaps more of the same
as long as we keep having new gens
there’s hope for our species ahead
the only common thread it seems
each gen is good in bed
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
Marketing to Millennials
wonder if my grandparents
had the sense of humor
to sign up for a seminar:
‘marketing to the boomer’
like the greatest gen and boomers,
gen x and now gen z
just another ‘gen’ in the pipeline,
or so it seems to me
in between selfies and sexting texts
who knows what they will buy
should we market to the boomers
or take our chances on gen y?
the old gen dies, it’s gone from view
boomers pass to millennial
does one gen ever welcome the new?
i wonder if, any will
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
The American Dream
i woke up
from my American dream
things no longer
what they seemed
what was right
and proper then
relics now
of way back when
human kindness
in short supply
people so
impoverished
why?
how did things turn
so far around
to a time of delight
as others fall down
there must be a place
like the ones
i once knew
sanctuary please
is a dreamscape view
i woke up
from the American dream
and if i couldn’t sleep
i’d surely scream
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
GRATITUDE’S LATE ARRIVAL
you’ll never know the price we paid
to get you where you are
you’ll never know what it took
to carry you along this far
so if your lack of gratitude
is some strange way of giving back
we’ll check the rear-view mirror
until your attitude’s on track
we will love you from a distance
as we have now all these years
in time you’ll learn life’s lessons
of pain and loss and tears
and when you finally know gratitude
for all that’s been done for you
may you know what real love means
before karmic bills comes due
farewell my child we let you go
it’s your life please–go ahead
may your dreams come sweetly true
in spite of all the horseshit you’ve been fed
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
ALL THAT’S LEFT
in time we sip the finest wines
meet the wisest souls
we linger in love’s sweet bouquet
avoid the rocky shoals
the tide will try to pull us under
life will wrack and gnaw and grind
until finally we discover
the battle waged was in the mind
mountains scaled; a life fulfilled
time adds up as memory scatters
i realize now it’s all distilled
into what really matters
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
i’ve thought a lot about death of late
how life and lives are so finite
it’s best to leave dead things dead
a focus on living seems only right
oh we can try to resuscitate
if there’s even a shred of life left
but i’d rather leave dead things dead
focus on living if for a time bereft
what else in our lives is at a last resort?
what do i behold just this one time?
i cherish each for i know time is short
karma’s glacial pace sublime
i let it go, sanctifying the space
knowing something better will take its place
perhaps i can really let dead things be
savoring each sweet memory
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
INNKEEPERS
when there’s “no room at the inn”
innkeepers are at their best
they have plenty of love within
and they never seem to rest
they put points on toilet paper
place parsley on plates just so
they learn a few things about us
more than we want them to know
they get up early and stay up late
seems like they schmooze all day
might want to be an innkeeper myself
if i thought it could ever pay…
they all seem so nice and smiley
like they live in some fairytale world
do they ever have unhappy moments?
does their bacon even get curled?
can’t imagine life without ’em
they sure seem to care about me
without their heartfelt service
what a different world it would be
© Copyright 2016 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
REDNECK STRONG
up to my ankles in horseshit
i’ got bills piled up to my ears
truck payment’s due tomorrow
jest drank m’ last six beers
but i git along
the repo man’s got my number
he’s already heard my sad tune
guess i’ll pawn me somethin’ tomorrow
long as he gits paid by noon
redneck strong
i can find ‘seng in these hollers
them choppers cain’t find my weed
i can turn corn into dollars
on land i work ‘til I bleed
and keep comin’ back at ye’
so raise a glass
kiss m’ confederate ass
we’ll be the ones survivin’
strongest souls i ever know’d
lives right here and they’s thrivin’
in Appalachia
got a year o’ deer meat in m’ freezer
got a yard full o’ cut ‘n split wood
i got a whole war’s worth of ammo
my survivin’ skills ‘r damn good
on this land my forefathers stood
it’s here in these hollers i belong
here i can live, redneck strong
you might not like our point of view
best proceed at yer own peril
redneck nation still stands strong
y’ain’t got us over some barrel
we understand work and makin’ our pay
we know if we don’t
then we aint eatin’ that day
and i can fix anything
that don’t work
least i’ll damn well try
so best think about what it means
when you call someone that name
cuz we damn well earned it
you’ll never know what we overcame
redneck my ass, right back at ye’
seems we got a whole country
that’s hell bent on dyin’
smartest souls i ever know’d
lives right here and they’s thrivin’
in Appalachia
i’ll never let ’em git me
never let ’em come for my gun
just biding my time
git’n along just fine
we don’t call 911
here in these hollers
is where i belong
livin’ the dream
redneck strong
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
RELIGION COLLISION
sparks fly
poor children cry
amid religion’s divisions
people die
doctrine seems to matter
more than lives
what if we disagree
so nobody dies?
what if we gave
just a smidgen
invoking
no religion?
keep faith
free of paradox
giving peace
to each other
instead of gored ox
sitting smug in our pews
intolerant of views
that are foreign
full of derision
beyond religion
intolerance’ off-spring
came home to roost
laser-guided reminders
evil is loosed
militant jihadists
dreams will come true
when death is the goal
the drones are on you
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All rights reserved.
SOFT AS SILVER
soft as silver’s
lustrous shine
quiet moments
i call mine
each a gift
here just in time
peace arrives
in an addled mind
let me stay here
my soul serene
jar me not
from micro-dream
in my temp-oasis
beyond life’s din
i realize now
the state i’m in
no doubt a place
i know little well
a fragile silence
a golden spell
in an instant snap
the spell is done
life returns
back on the run
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks All rights reserved.
Slàinte
there are matters in a lifetime
that never seem to mend
like broken hearts and let-downs
or when good things have to end
so we leave the hurts behind us
move further down the road
hearts grow stronger on the way
lifted up as each we unload
life goes on–it’s all you can say
new joys arrive in every day
lives are richer for those we’ve known
and the souls touched along the way
in the end we focus on good things
no regrets shall have their due
when we recollect only sweet things
as our old lives fade from view
and if you’re at the final service
raise some whisky in your glass
celebrate your life well-lived
the critics can kiss your ass
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All rights reserved.
Lame Poetry
Lord deliver me
from lame poetry
from cloying phrases
that are sickly sweet
don’t quite rhyme
miss the beat
Lord spare me from mediocrity
especially the over-wrought
terse trite holier than thou verse
what could be worse?
Lord deliver me
from lame poetry
from admonishing verses
that look down from on high
to us heathen souls
who live and die
Lord deliver me
from lame poetry
instead, give me poems
that move my soul
that shake my bones
that rock and roll
that ask the questions
i never frame
Lord delivery me
from poems
(including my own)
if they be lame
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
ME AND YOU
his step unslowed
his shoulders unbowed
his eyes still somewhat blue
he feels the passing years go by
as finite days come into view
a Sisyphus pushing
against time, defiant
he strains to move
the rock of age
his strength grows weaker
the rock more giant
her step unslowed
her back unbowed
her beauty still shines through
though she knows the toll
that life can take
and what’s been lost
in it’s swirling wake
two hearts beat on
against time’s tide
with scars incurred
from a wild ride
kindred souls
through time
and space
approach the golden stretch
of their human race
they know each other
forever true
all they have
invested
in their sacred trust
me and you
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
BLIND SPOTS
i get a sense of blind spots
or at least where i think they may be
and i realize there are dimensions
in life, many i’ll never see
blind spots beyond the senses
we neither taste nor touch nor feel
hidden places unclear to us
i’m certain they’re quite real
like dark matter and black holes
only scientists comprehend
perhaps these blind spots
are where our imperfections lie
just around the bend
imagine what we could all become
if all was clear and true
how much broader our existence
if our blind spots came into view
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury
January 1919
There’s a bit of bacon in the teeth
And the mud is squelchin’ soft beneath
A pullin’ out of Couddes in the rain.
The same stone street in the same damn way
With the same dead drill to do today,
A hikin’ outer Couddes in the rain.
It’s light packs, helmets and gas masks too,
With a drinkin’ Sarge to drive each of us through;
Soldierin’ outside Couddes in the rain
I’d give my shirt for a decent smoke,
I’m tired and I’m stinkin’, wet and broke,
A drillin’ outside Couddes in the rain.
There’s slum to-night and my feet are sore,
Why ain’t I gettin’ my mail no more?
Squad’s eastin’ beyond Couddes in the rain;
The poplar’s black agin the sky,
The Skipper’s cursin’. God knows why
I’m pluggin’ outside Couddes in the rain.
A long hike home when the day is done,
The mist may lift and we’ll see the sun,
A comin’ back to Couddes in the rain,
I’ll bum a bottle of rhum to-nite,
And a little brunette to treat me right,
A comin’ out of Couddes in the rain.
© Copyright 1921 Brooks Bradbury
[ Coudes is a commune in the Puy‑de‑Dôme department in Auvergne in central France. My grandfather, Brooks Bradbury, wrote this poem while stationed there during World War I.]
Precious You
beneath neon skis
of powder blue
precious you
two lifetimes yet
days too few
precious you
on darkest days
a beautiful view
precious you
fireflies dance
in evening’s dew
precious you
a crooked road
a waltz for two
precious you
through it all
i stand by you
precious you
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury
Red Quinoa
i could live without quinoa
i try to be gluten-free
but to confess i never eat wheat
is like Ukraine being Putin-free
it’s not that the distant Russians
are involved in my diet at all
once an occasional vodka
or black bread gluten-free-fall
i’d relish a little beluga
savor borscht when it’s good and cold
but the thing is about my diet
gluten-free is getting old
it’s not like those frozen products
are really hitting the spot
what if we discover red quinoa
was really a Russian plot?
so dosvydanya darling
carbs and fructose are my new friends
when I’m as large as the Tsar-kolokol
i’ll be gluten-free again
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury
Maple Road
there was a home that held all i wanted
a girl, two sons, one very human dog
i wonder if that house is ever haunted
by the great love i gave that catalogue
if a high heat my absent heart still throws there
be fixed and focused by time’s burning glass
a gentle fragrance should forever blow there
and flowers sparkle gaily in the grass
there is no need for flame or warmth of fire
no rosy hearth to cheer or snuggle by
there burns the sum of all my soul’s desire-
it was and is and will be till i die!
(An excerpt from the anthology “Backlash”, published by my grandfather, Brooks Bradbury, Copyright 1982, Southbury, Connecticut. Maple Road, in Pleasantville, New York.)
Dark Matter
they say this all started
with a rather big bang
fire and rain
begat yin and the yang
millennia passed
leaving plenty of clues
like how we crawled out
of a primordial ooze
we’ve come so far
to get to where we are
as we take another lap
around this old star
where are going?
will we ever arrive?
gravity bound
we live and die
still we fight
for border control
incivility takes a toll
hate for hate’s sake
how much more
can humanity take
religious divisions
deep and dark
as is the rising tyranny
of the oligarch
are we dumb as a box
of asteroid rocks?
after eons of years
dark matter appears
though much of it lies
between two human ears
blind-sided
will we ever find
a way around
the dark matter found
in a dangerous mind?
Precious You
beneath neon
skies of powder blue
precious you
two lifetimes yet
days too few
precious you
on darkest days
my beautiful view
precious you
fireflies danced
in evening’s dew
precious you
a crooked road
a waltz for two
precious you
through it all
i stand by you
precious you
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury
When All the Lights Turn Green
when the time
is right
and it’s time to go
to seize the day
you finally know
new horizons
calling
to places not seen
as the past
becomes a distant view
when all the lights
turn green
adventure lies
in moving forward
before they change
to caution’s glow
ride the wave,
be brave live on
face life’s
ebb and flow
new horizons
are calling you
to places
you’ve never seen
the past becomes
a distant view
when all the lights
turn green
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury
Being at Odds
i was at odds with the world today
and it was at odds with me
it didn’t go where i wanted it to
nor was i where i wanted to be
i’m going to call it an early night
to try and break the spell
out of sorts i can hardly think
please let tonight go well
so tomorrow we’re back in synch
i was at odds with the world today
and it was at odds with me
it didn’t go where i wanted it to
nor was i where i wanted to be
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
The Way the Wind Blows
tell me how
to read the signs
the subtle messages
amongst the tea leaves
and between the lines
give me time
to solve each riddle
feel the vibe
of each vague transmittal
including those
i can’t describe
when i listen
help me know
the rising tide
the wind’s direction
life’s ebb and flow
help me thank
distant admirers
for their support
when i’m out of touch
or cross my wires
we press on
against the odds
and try to see
around false facades
occasionally
i catch a glimpse
have a clue
when the view is clear
only then i’m certain
what’s really true
as the years move on
and our life together
geo-scatters
i realize now
what really matters
the winds may blow us
hither and yon
but it’s always you
i count on
© Copyright Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
Dark Matter
they say this all started
with a great big bang
fire and rain
yin and the yang
millenia passed
left plenty of clues
like how we crawled out
of a primordial ooze
we’ve come so far
to get to where we are
on another lap
around this old star
where are we headed,
will we ever arrive?
gravity bound
to live and die
still we fight
over border control
incivility takes a tragic toll
hate for hate’s sake
how much more can we take
religious divisions
deep and dark
and the rising tyranny
of the oligarch
are we dumb as a box
of asteroid rocks
after eons of years
dark matter appears
much of it lies
between two human ears
blind-sided
will we ever find
a way around
the dark matter found
in a dangerous mind
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
Inhospitable
if we put down the double latte
move away from our little screens
try to become human again
if we remember what it means
generous employers decades ago
provided commendable steady work
benefits, pensions, and raises earned
without armed workers gone berserk
honorable employees decades ago
gave a lifetime of blood and sweat
they earned each precious benefit
the ones we no longer get
the social contract fractured
when money became the goal
now we see where it’s all leading
as we face the social toll
we’re all out on the run today
searching for what it all means
thankful for our friends and family
for lattes and little screens
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
Snake in the Road
it started with a garter snake
flattened in the street
the harmless little garden kind
whilst squished, was rather neat
“they’re the good ones” people quip
“they couldn’t ever hurt”
like the big fat slithery black ones
down there in the dirt
let them go their merry way
in the herpetological code
but it’s open season on the highway
when they’re stretched across the road
in Appalachia
them copperheads can make someone think twice
the poison ones come at ‘ya
them timber rattlers ain’t half as nice
but out in Arizona
the snakes have all turned pro
so you better watch out, out there
if that’s where yer plannin’ to go
see there’s twenty kinds of diamondbacks
that stare out of those rocky cracks
and that lightnin’ fast Mojave kind
say your prayers when one attacks
sonoran racers and whip snakes
are colorful and mellow
but a coral snake bite is all it takes
‘cause “red and yellow kills a fellow”
it’s a queasy kind of feeling though
for even a ranch-worn drover
who sees a diamondback with tire tracks
when his pickup runs one over
there ain’t no moral to the tale
when it comes to deadly snakes
avoid ’em on the trail fer sure
on the road avoid them brakes
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury / BROOKS LOOKS
Insha’Allah
don’t tell me it’s about religion
all i see is evil on the rise
violent false bravado
in a madman’s mad disguise
so keep your eyes to Allah
so you’ll know when the time is right
to kiss your jihadi ass goodbye
when the drones fly over at night
die you radicalized league of fools
as you revel in your lies
tell them over and over again
until each suicide bomber dies
just try to threaten freedom’s reign
our free speech never lost in vain
if you choose to kill
because you think it’s Allah’s will
your religion so aggrieved
you’ll die a gruesome death deceived
so best keep your eyes to Allah
to know when the time is right
to kiss your jihadi ass goodbye
when the drones fly over at night
© Copyright 2015 Brooks Bradbury
Kaleidoscope
running away
beyond these walls
smashing the glass
i scream in sterile halls
at the end of my years
i’m full of fears
so many tears
each piece of my life
was once crystal clear
now like shards
of colored glass
that tumble together
in time’s impasse
endless shapes
roll round and round
bits of my memory
broken, lost
no longer found
unfamiliar patterns
as i move from the light
darker by the moment
my soul’s final fight
unsteady hands
the pieces keep
turning, moving
i no longer know
i’m no longer improving
[she walked to where
the circled chairs,
a familiar stranger,
her husband of 50 years–
was waiting there]
tell me who you are again?
will you help me see?
did i know you once?
were you kind to me?
won’t you sit a bit
and talk with me a while?
hold my hand
i think that once
i knew your lovely smile
my spirit shattered
i’ll escape today!
over the wall
beyond my fears
if i break this glass
i’ll get far away
leaving shards
of colored glass
to tumble together
in my last gasp
endless shapes
go round and round
bits of memory
lost, remaining now
forever un-found
wait for me
i’m still right here
all my heart
all my fears
uncertainty and tears
where is my home?
when can I go home?
Dedicated to Dot & Frank and to The Elms’ Chestnut Cottage, Memory Care Alzheimer’s Disease Unit, Westerly RI
© Copyright Brooks Bradbury 2015
innkeeper! innkeeper!
rent me a room!
find me a suite!
we’ll be there soon!
innkeeper! innkeeper!
can we check in at noon?
the best room you’ve got!
will our dreams come true?
innkeeper! innkeeper!
it’s all up to you!
we need a king bed!
and an ocean view too!
innkeeper! innkeeper!
we need a break!
you’re our only hope!
or how could we cope?
are you near a lake?
we need twelve extra towels!
and plenty of soap!
innkeeper! innkeeper!
we won’t ask for more!
1,200 count sheets?
oh, by the way i snore!
innkeeper! innkeeper!
when do YOU ever sleep?
is this all you do?
did you buy the inn cheap?
what a dream job you have!
to schmooze all day long!
and not do a thing!
hey, what could go wrong?
innkeeper! innkeeper!
if it’s not too much for you!
a morning wake up at 4!
and a late check-out too!
innkeeper! innkeeper!
thanks for a really great stay!
is this really my bill?
how could I ever pay?!
do you take trav’ler checks too?
innkeeper! innkeeper!
what a great room!
our stay was so sweet
we’ll be back again soon!
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury
Celebrating a History of Primland
Written for and Presented during the Grand Opening of the Lodge and Spa at Primland, August 2009
THIS WAS THE HOME OF NATIVE SONS AND DAUGHTERS
WHERE NATURE FLOURISHED BY CRYSTAL CLEAR WATERS
A BEAUTIFUL BLUE RIDGE OVERFLOWING WITH LIFE
EXPLORED CENTURIES AGO BY BOW AND ARROW, AND KNIFE
A DIVINE INSPIRATION OF EONS AGO
GOD SMILED AT HIS WORK FROM THE BLUE RIDGE BELOW
SETTLERS CAME AND STRUGGLED, STRONG WINDS WOULD BLOW
CROPS WERE HARVESTED, CORN LIQUOR WOULD FLOW
YOU MIGHT THINK IT A RANDOM, UNLIKELY CONNECTION
SUCH A WORLDLY SOUL WOULD ARRIVE FROM A DISTANT DIRECTION
THAT ONE DIDIER PRIMAT OF GENEVA WOULD FIND HIS WAY HERE
A GREAT CANVAS OF LAND AWAITED AS THE ARTIST APPEARED
AND IN ‘77, THIS GIANT OF A MAN SET TO WORK
HE PURCHASED THIS LAND COMMENCING SLOWLY AT FIRST
ABOVE ALL NATURE WAS CHERISHED—IT WOULD EVER REMAIN SO
AS KINDRED SOULS WILL DISCOVER UP ON BUSTED ROCK ROAD
IT BEGAN WITH AN IDEA—HIS REMARKABLE VISION TO UNFOLD
PRIMLAND WAS BORN, IT WAS BIG AND IT WAS BOLD
HE INTRODUCED PRIMAT’S TO VIRGINIA AS FAMILY STORIES WERE TOLD
A GLIMPSE OF THIS FUTURE WAS THEIRS TO BEHOLD
PRIMLUMBER WAS BORN IN 1977
BUNDLES OF ‘PRIMWOOD SOLD IN 7/11’S
A HUMBLE BEGINNING FOR A PLACE OF SUCH MEASURE
TIMBER CAREFULLY SELECTED, EACH TREE A TREASURE
TRAILS WERE BLAZED, A FEW ROADS WERE CARVED OUT
JOBS WERE CREATED TO ALLAY LOCAL DOUBT
HUNTING AND SHOOTING BECAME OUR FIRST SPORTS
THEN AS ONE THING LEADS TO ANOTHER, A RESORT
ROADS WERE BUILT AND TALENT WAS SOURCED
DONALD STEEL CAME ALONG, DESIGNING A COURSE
BECAUSE HUNTERS MIGHT LIKE TO PLAY A ROUND OR TWO
OF GOLF, DIFFICULT AND LONG WITH AN AMAZING VIEW
THE NAME PRIMLAND WAS INTRO’D IN LATE ‘86
THE FUTURE WAS BRIGHT WITH GOLF IN THE MIX
WE WOULD NEED WATER FOR FAIRWAYS AND GREENS
AND SEWERS AND TANKS AND IRRIGATION MACHINES
THEN THE GOLFERS AND HUNTERS NEEDED SOME PLACE TO STAY
AN IDEA FOR A LODGE SAW ITS FIRST LIGHT OF DAY
DIDIER PRIMAT DESIGNED IT TO FIT THESE SURROUNDINGS
A CATHEDRAL OF PRIMAT BUILT AMIDST NATURE ABOUNDING
ELEGANT STYLE AND A DESIGN TRULY RESPLENDENT
FOR TIME AWAY IN THE MOUNTAINS
A HEAVENLY SETTING TO SPEND IT
UP ON THE BLUE RIDGE IN STYLE EVEN TOURS OF THE SKY
FROM DIDIER’S TELESCOPE IN A DOME WAY UP HIGH
ON THE DAY OF MR. PRIMAT’S PREMATURE PASSING AWAY
BEGAN THUS A TIME OF MOURNING AND SADNESS
A CELEBRATION OF HIS GREATNESS, A NEW DAY
IN HIS CHILDRENS’ HANDS PRIMLAND REWORKED IN A NEW PRIMLAND WAY
A GIFT AND A CHALLENGE HIS BOLD LEGACY
REQUIRING THE SUDDEN ENGAGEMENT OF HIS PROGENY
THESE HILLS WILL REMEMBER WHAT HE BROUGHT TO THIS PLACE
TO THIS RIDGE ONCE JUST FARMLAND AND ACRES OF TREES
AND PEOPLE WILL COME IN SEARCH OF PEACEFULNESS HERE
INSPIRED BY NATURE, A LODGE RARE AND DEAR
HOSPITALITY WILL GROW, WE WILL WELCOME EACH GUEST
TO THIS REMARKABLE PLACE FOR RECREATION AND REST
© Copyright 2009 Brooks Bradbury, BrooksLooks
Writing Poetry with a Pencil
i once wrote a poem
with a pencil
right on a blank paper sheet
until a hand-me-down
Remington portable
made college life complete
clacking away on metal keys
that flew up square and neat
as a typed-out poem in parallel lines
appeared on my blank paper sheet
a spool of black and red ribbon
clicked along through a metal notch
it was as close as i had ever come
to the works of a fine Swiss watch
though clacking away faster and faster
‘til i over-clacked a little
it was at last too damned fast
and the keys got jammed in the middle
into the late pre-historic,
pre-techno age
things were still low-tech
and eclectic
when along came a thing
that became all the rage
high-tech and self-correctic
it was the best you could find
at last–the great one of a kind
IBM Selectric!
with its fancy silver alphabet ball
it turned every which way but loose
and my poem spilled out
on the blank paper sheet
my life, at last complete
alas now there was no excuse
i put the back-button into use
it would truly save the day
as mistakes were covered in little white tape
i kept on typing away
then at the dawn of our digital throes
beyond palm pilot stylus woes
behold the blackberry had finally come
soon we were addicted to typing
with each carpal sore thumb
and it now really truly grates
when my hip ‘ghost’ vibrates
still ‘crackberry’ numb
so i type out my poems
on the little white screen
and now i can email! my work
if you know what I mean
it’s quite a new perk
honestly i could just scream
it didn’t stop there
iPhones and tablets
have us all on the run
the digital arms race
had long since begun
sometimes i ponder
what progress has brung
a poet with an S4 Galaxy Samsung?
my monthly cell plan continues to rise
and my poetry production to taper
it’s time to go back
to writing each poem
with a pencil
right on a blank sheet of paper
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury, BrooksLooks
INTO THE AUTUMN
a wince too painful
not to notice
sudden stabs
of hidden hurt
presage one’s
reluctant arrival
in middle age
foretelling storms
an upside plus
bones pre-ache
reminding us
like an early warning
signal flare
to live it up
while you’re still there
a final fling
live earnestly and
honestly
forthrightly
we implore each other
and we allow
our time grows short
even now
hold onto me
the best is coming
yet to be
i hope
one day we will see
through autumn’s
arrival
auspiciously
we live forward
in a season new
life’s expectancy
comes into view
we’ll warm our hands
at life’s sweet fire
through autumn leaves
of red and gold
we’ll dance
and laugh
at getting old
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury, BROOKS LOOKS
Linger Here
linger here
in this moment
in this place
meant for you
a sacred space
a micro gift
for you alone
for your soul
a sunlit ray
synchronized
for you in time
here only now
along your way
fleeting moment
gone forever
if you miss it
you’ll not know
the very instant
joy presented
love and life
here all aglow
be ever ready
for little moments
that come along
arise to be
for life is seeking
your full attention
and little moments
will set you free
© COPYRIGHT 2014 Brooks Bradbury, BROOKS LOOKS
HOME IS WHERE YOU ARE
home was where my parents were
not exactly a home on the range
the range was where dinner was made
when eating out was rather strange
home since then has moved about
from dorm to apartment to room
it didn’t seem to matter back then
until life began to bloom
apartment life was a passing phase
before jobs and moving and ‘homes’
after those pesky ‘overdraft’ days
before mortgages, bills, and loans
a career would bring us hither and yon
to one house after another–oh my!
we lived in places we’d never dream up
a place or two we should have passed by…
years went by and Mother moved
retiring south for the winter
her home is in Carolina now
we are sadly seldom together
home passed long ago from mom to spouse
you know how wild life is
houses sometimes resembled homes
but home is where ever my wife is
our latest house is not quite home
but to me it’s crystal clear
my home is with you–it will always be so
whatever the place, whatever the year
time’s gone by and things sure change
never my place with you
now that we’ve live on the open range
eating out’s a lot less strange
my home is you
© COPYRIGHT 2014 Brooks Bradbury ǀ BROOKS LOOKS
Crumbling
sermons unheard
the unspoken good word
a song unsung
lessons unlearned
in an inhospitable place
where manners don’t matter
to an inhuman race
cruelty seeps
onto the world’s bloody streets
gunfire and grief
beyond our belief
shots fired
our frayed nerves hot-wired
dignity’s bridges burned
simple kindness spurned
if civility is lost
was compassion the cost?
beneath uneasy skies
too many why’s
morality decried
a teacher defied
a pastor sighs
and the poet cries
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury | BROOKS LOOKS
Vantage Point
we’ve come so far
beyond paradigm
to where the few
know a rare place
and time
complex new
dimensions
are misunderstood
yet seekers of truth
still seek the way
and the good
casting a glance
at the growing storm
faraway
fanatic rants
jeopardize
the safe and warm
will we make it
to the other side
will we rise above
the rising tide
can mankind cope
do we still hope
or is what we’ve achieved
threatened
on a slippery slope
it’s a race to the finish
to know how it ends
evil diminished
ill will portends
we build our walls higher
swarms of drones fire
evil’s armies on the run
a price will be paid
by daughter and son
- © Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
GOING AWAY
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury BROOKS LOOKS
AREA HEADLINES:
“SOUP CONTROVERSY BOILS OVER!”
“CLUB HULLABALOO OVER SOUP ON THE FRONT BURNER”
“STIRRING THE POT IN CLUB SOUP DEBACLE”
“SOUP BATTLE: A REAL BEEF!” “STOCK POT TEMPERS FLARE”
“AD HOC SOUP COMMISSION APPPOINTED”
“Q CLUB ‘SOUP-GATE’ REVEALS CANNED PRODUCTS WERE USED EXTENSIVELY…AND PREFERRED BY ITS MEMBERS!”
NEW HAVEN, CT — In an act of desperation, eleven Quinnipiack Club members from the club’s self-described O.F.& H.B.’S (old farts and has beens) presented a strongly worded request to the Board of Governors today. It seems the long-simmering issue regarding recent changes in the club soup recipe has bubbled to the surface at the venerable private club.
As a result, an ad hoc ‘Soup, Broth & Consommé’ Committee is now being formed to address the rather dicey club issue. A Soup Task Force commissioner has yet to be named. It was unknown at press time whether the club’s new soup is actually being dumped into the New Haven Harbor (a la the Boston Tea Party) however Club Q Soup loyalists are really stirring the pot and ladling out cries of fowl.
The heat is also rising in the club’s ancient kitchen as the new chef was unaware there were any old “recipes” as the soup rebels claim. It seems that the club’s vital soup secrets (and a rusty can opener) disappeared about the same time as the former chef.
It is rumored that the new chef (with twenty-five years of cooking experience) actually arrived with some of his own soup recipes. Chef Jack Hodes when asked if he knew how to make soup, replied, “Yes.” And, “My soups have always been made from scratch. I know they are being well-received by the other club members because they actually have taste now.” The chef reports that the usage of salt, pepper and crackers has shown similar gains concurrent with the new homemade soups.
Compounding matters, one of the new chef’s first acts was to bring all of the old canned soup, soup base, stock and canned vegetables that were in the club’s kitchen when he arrived over to the nearby New Haven Soup Kitchen. While not homemade, management was certain that less fortunate members of our local community would really enjoy the soup, canned or otherwise.
Uncannily, we’ve all been shocked to discover that the Soup Traditionalists actually preferred the canned soup over the new made-from-scratch soup! Temperatures are boiling over as vehemence and vitriol pour out! Meanwhile, soup sales at New Haven’s Broadway Soup Kitchen have soared ever since the delivery of the Q Club canned food products. This however seems to be related to unfortunate economic reasons rather than dissenting Q Club members actually dining over there now.
The entire unsavory issue may be brought to a referendum in order that common ground is forged among the group’s steamed-up members. The emeritus leader of the “Soup Party” claims that “with the hiring of the new chef, our revered club soups have disappeared from the menu!” Reports from other members label this as simply “hogwash.”
It seems a majority of members actually prefers the bold, new direction of having some taste in their soup! “I find the club-made stocks to make all of the difference, bravo to the chef!,” exclaimed one gushing chowder-head. The general manager has been bowled over by the controversy and has vowed to address the concerns of all ‘soup loyalists’ with compassion and sensitivity. The situation remains fluid.
The Great Q Club Soup Controversy Simmers On!
© COPYRIGHT 2014 Brooks Bradbury ǀ BROOKS LOOKS
Running a Remote Guest Ranch in Arizona
“There is a tarantula in my room!”
Thus began a three-year adventure and a unique hospitality repositioning assignment in the Chihuahuan Desert of the American southwest. More specifically, my wife Susan and I went to live in the remote southeast corner of Arizona an hour’s drive from the historic town of Tombstone. There in Cochise County, a single county the size of Connecticut and Rhode Island combined the west remains as wild as the cowboy TV images of our childhood.
The Arizona border with New Mexico was a just a few miles to the east beyond the 9,800-foot peak of the Chiricahua Mountains. The more active border with old Mexico was just 25 miles to the south. Sunglow Ranch lies at an elevation of 5,340 feet, well above the worst of Arizona’s summer’s heat and below the winter snows that come to the peaks above.
Adventurous American and European visitors still arrive here in search of the iconic Wild West. Germans in particular visit in large numbers to explore the land once made famous by beloved author Karl Friedrich May and the legendary characters of his novels such as Winnetou and Old Shatterhand.
This is a geographical location that rarely elicits a knowing response from worldly travelers. Old street signs there still reflect its remote location: signs like High Lonesome Road, Far Away Ranch and Double Buzzard Gulch. Cochise County is a corner of the United States few ever venture into except for avid birders and naturalists in search of the vast diversity of species there. Hikers, herpetologists and geologists also wander here for obvious reasons.
More recently, the area is emerging as an exceptional viticultural area. Perhaps one day you will recognize “Chiricahua Bench” as a new growing area on an Arizona wine label. It has been one of my life’s joys to get to know local winemaker friends there at the vineyards of Lawrence Dunham, Keeling-Schaefer, Pillsbury, Sand Reckoner, Aridus, Zarpara, Flying Leap, Kief Joshua and others. A remarkable development of Tasting Rooms is occurring today in Willcox, Arizona especially around Railroad Street. If you have yet to taste wine from southern Arizona, I am certain you will enjoy this distinct pleasure one day soon.
A dusty old airport that once welcomed Amelia Earhart to the area was just to our south toward the border towns of Douglas and Agua Prieta. We enjoyed visiting the old Hotel Gadsden in Douglas where Pancho Villa himself once charged in on his horse and rode right up the hotel’s main staircase. Bisbee to the west of Douglas is another fascinating Arizona border town in its own right with a rich copper mining history. We love exploring Bisbee’s picturesque streets and discovering its very special local shops.
As I arrived at the ranch a few months prior to Susan, there were moments when I felt exactly like Lieutenant Dunbar (Kevin Costner) must have felt in his assignment to that remote wilderness outpost in ‘Dances with Wolves’. In spite of feeling marooned, we both came to love the Chiricahua Mountains as a rough and untamed home for a while. (That’s “cheer-ih-cow’-a.”) We learned a whole lot about cowboy poetry and music, barbed wire fences and water rights, cattle brands and ourselves in the process.
We left our picture perfect Blue Ridge cabin atop the ridge itself in southern Virginia after opening the luxury Lodge and Spa at Primland in Meadows of Dan, Virginia for the late Didier Primat of Geneva, Switzerland. Mr. Primat sadly died before the project was completed and all too soon at the age of 64. After Primland opened and was well on its way to being named to Condé Nast Traveler’s “World’s Top 100 Hotels,” Susan exclaimed, “I’m ready for an adventure!” No sooner than the words been spoken than it seemed we were on a plane to Tucson.
From there we picked up our rental car and drove two hours into the high desert, deep into the Chiricahua Mountains. Turning off I-10 eastbound we took a few back roads that eventually turned onto long dirt roads as we ventured further into unknown territory. We continued for about 6 miles beyond the pavement on primitive dirt roads when Susan was famously quoted as saying, “There better be a miracle at the end of this road.”
It was the end of July in 2011 and in the next morning’s soft light we beheld the beautiful 500 acre ranch for the first time. We were pretty sure the ranch had never encountered the likes of us before. It wasn’t exactly a miracle. It was more of a very special new adventure.
The Horseshoe II forest fire that had raged for months in the mountains above the ranch was just about contained by then having burned over 200,000 acres of mountain ridge above us from the Chiricahua National Monument (a not-to-be-missed national park to our north) all the way south to Rucker Canyon. The fire destroyed houses on our nearby Turkey Creek Road as flames advanced to within one-half mile of the ranch. Thanks to amazing firefighters and Mother Nature the ranch narrowly averted a complete evacuation.
As is our nature, we set out to bring service excellence and quality to a place that had some pretty well-worn ruts of mediocrity. We also commenced an all out effort to polish the so called, “Jewel of the Chiricahuas.”
The oil in the old ranch truck had been unchanged for years and the landscape was thoroughly neglected. We faced failed septic fields overflowing with raw sewage, a grease trap long ago rusted through and a general malaise that had been oozing through the ranch for at least a decade. While still in business, the kitchen’s walk-in coolers were filled with more garbage than fresh produce.
Many changes were still ahead. In spite of plenty of issues, the property presented extremely well (and still does) as a peaceful destination nestled in the hollow of an ancient caldera, the ancestral home of the Chiricahua Apaches. It was the first time in our lives here that we experienced a place of truly profound silence. I mean there were nights when ALL we could hear was our own quiet breathing. The area’s dark skies provided a remarkable nighttime panorama of stars and constellations, most of which are completely invisible elsewhere. Meteor showers were uniquely spectacular, each like a scene from Star Wars.
An incredible diversity of wildlife exists in the mountains of southeast Arizona in what are known as ‘Sky Islands’—high mountain peaks separated by broad open ranges that contribute to isolated individual species. Even Jaguars still roam the ancient mountains of Cochise County, the northern extent of this large cat’s habitat. The Elegant Trogon and the Olive Warbler are two of the avian prizes to be glimpsed in the Chiricahuas especially if one is adventurous enough to drive over the mountain to the even more remote towns of Portal and Paradise, and the remote scenic beauty of Cave Creek along the New Mexico border.
The best we can really say about the ranch staff that we inherited was that they meant well. They hadn’t a clue about service levels or hospitality standards and we gathered there wasn’t much interest in learning. It was to their disadvantage that the new management team had previously learned from and trained some of the world’s finest hospitality employees. We had little tolerance for chronic whining and we insisted everyone move a whole lot faster and follow our lead on elements of precise guest service or prepare to get out of the way. Training commenced even though most of this original staff moved on within the first year when they realized we were still there and that we had no intention of running the ranch the old way.
There were plenty of perplexed looks as to why there were copies of “Who Moved My Cheese” in the kitchen and a new carved wooden sign placed over the employee entrance door that read, “Nils Satis Nisi Optimum.” We drove excellence and quality always insisting that every guest was properly welcomed, greeted and well served.
There in that lovely arid high desert we also encountered dangerous mojave and diamondback rattlesnakes, javelinas, mountain lions, scorpions and beautiful (yet huge and terrifying) cinnamon colored black bears. Free-range longhorn cattle from the open range grazed on into our guest areas making for some interesting moments. We faced drought conditions there and a few hungry and thirsty illegal aliens passing through occasionally from Mexico. Toward the end of our tenure, the drought grew worse, forcing the ranch to purchase truck loads of potable water—we hoped just a temporary condition until summer Monsoon Rains arrived.
Occasionally circling overhead were official helicopters, an indication of the intense battle between Border Patrol and syndicated Mexican “coyote” drug smugglers in the area. Southern Arizona’s omnipresent U.S. Border Patrol provided us with real comfort and peace of mind knowing they would be at the ranch in seconds if we needed help.
Taking over a ranch or even a country against its will has some parallels. Machiavelli (and Dr. Judith Best my college political theory professor) would agree that some of the tactics are by necessity similar. There were times we needed to be very heavy handed and times to be gentle and nurturing. We bit our tongues way more often than we were comfortable with and we chose to take on additional workload ourselves rather than put up with the indolent “I only do it my way” or “I quit so I can collect unemployment” type of employee. We strove to maintain a balance somewhere between these well-worn hospitality gems: “never cut off the branch when you’re sitting on it” and “never give in to terrorism.”
Running any kind of luxury business in a rural setting means that only a few people in the local community can or will afford your goods and services. In spite of this, it was always a pleasure to welcome our local guests especially those from Pearce and Sunsites and Willcox who came for dinner often and supported the ranch in so many ways. We will always be grateful for their friendship and encouragement. When the chips were down it was our regular guests who made us feel that our efforts were well appreciated.
To be honest, there were among our ranch team several diamond-in-the-rough heroes who stayed true to us and the ranch, working incredibly hard long days from beginning to end and making a real difference. Thank you to Mike, and Xiaoyan and Dan and others who helped Sunglow Ranch to achieve so much against all odds during our tenure. We will always be grateful to each of you.
There were long days and long nights to be sure in the running of the ranch and we were determined to prevent a lack of training and bad attitudes from undermining our guest service goals and our reputation. In the end we take a sense of accomplishment that we had actually led our team to reposition the ranch in anticipation of the real estate sale while achieving 6 TripAdvisor awards including two of the more coveted Traveler’s Choice awards in the process. We owe our thanks to amazingly loyal guests and the core of rock-solid employees who were as committed as we were.
We inherited a ranch that had undervalued itself for years—presenting itself in the marketplace as a deeply discounted venue to guests who really wanted to pay even less. For instance we heard a lot of, “What if we opt out of meals and housekeeping, can we get the room at half price?” Or, “We’d like to use the ranch for our wedding but we have our own catering.” Then there was the horde of discounted stays from the likes of misguided marketing initiatives like “Groupon.” There were those who tried to bring their own alcohol into the dining room in spite of the ranch’s liquor license. It felt good to move away from all of this.
We were as pleasant as we could be to this discount strata there when we arrived, and we worked to steadily increase the quality of our guest experience while pushing the average daily rate higher. Happily, the ranch came to provide needed sanctuary and real civility to discerning travelers who helped us to achieve new standards at the ranch. This in turn helped us to attract a new clientele better able and willing to support the emerging new Sunglow Ranch.
In spite of the forbearance required of us and some of the challenges outlined above, we were proud of the ranch we left behind. All along, we were well supported by the ranch’s owners and we enjoyed seeing a part of the country few others ever do. With grateful appreciation, we had the privilege of working for these two very special people who were always committed to making the ranch even better. Thank you Mitch and Chrissy for the opportunity to be a part of your team–for believing in us and for your patience and support. We will always be honored to know you and hope that our paths cross again one day. We wish you much success.
In the face of ownership’s renewed efforts to sell the ranch it was time at last for us to begin giving serious consideration to new opportunities. Early in 2014, an agreement was reached with a Chicago area real estate firm that was given the task of orchestrating the dispossession process. In the end, an auction was planned. This resulted in plenty of rumors by the uninformed who rumored that the ranch’s demise was caused by foreclosure and bankruptcy.
In fact, the time had been long overdue time for the owners to sell their ranch and a public auction was their last step in trying to move on. To their amazing credit, generous bonuses were paid to the loyal employees who stayed true to the end. No checks bounced, and no ranch debts were left unpaid.
After turning down other offers to run unique hotel properties around the country, I accepted a position at a very special luxury inn in western North Carolina. We packed up a rental truck and I left Sunglow Ranch behind for good at the end of February 2014. Susan decided the best thing for her was to manage the ranch a few more months on her own knowing my days would be immersed in a new post. She always knows better.
For me, it was disconcerting to imagine that Susan might have to face the wild west on her own. I took some measure of relief knowing she kept her .38 caliber, laser-sighted Ruger handy. She had already demonstrated that her aim was quite good. Out there, you quickly learn who is working for you and who is working against you and it’s always better to be prepared.
This time apart proved to be a great opportunity for Susan to shine on her own. On her first day as the ranch general manager she fired her first employee for performance reasons thereby setting the tone for the rest of her tenure. Thanks to Susan and the team’s continued efforts even more positive TripAdvisor reviews were posted.
Actually, there may have been no person better suited than Susan to help the ranch through this period. She presented the ranch in the most professional manner as she met with the real estate company agents, prospective buyers and eventually surveyors and appraisers. A new buyer had indeed come forward, and a contract was signed by the end of Susan’s term. We’ve kept our fingers crossed hoping the new buyer would come along and build on our efforts, keep a vital presence in the Sunglow community for our neighbors and help the ranch’s owners to move on.
Post Script
Special thanks to Baxter Black, famous cowboy poet and Western personality extraordinaire–and our wrangler the one and only Miles “Bucky” Buckley for teaching us the true ways of the west. Thank you too to our very own cowboy singer Joel Eliot for his great performances and for helping us to know what cowboy music really means. We have a great new appreciation for the lives and work of Ian Tyson, Dave Stamey, Rex Allen, Stan Jones and poet Charles Badger Clark among so many others. “Navajo Rug”, “Ghost Riders in The Sky” and “I Love You Arizona” will resonate in our hearts forever.
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury ׀ Brooks Looks
City on a Hill
HE’S GOT A THOUSAND DOLLAR SUIT
A MILLION DOLLAR SMILE
HE’S GOT HUNDRED DOLLAR SHOES
TIME TO SIT AND THINK A WHILE
AND HE THINKS ABOUT THE HAVES
AND THOSE WHO DO WITHOUT
AND HOW HE’D GOT SO LUCKY
AND WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT
HE KNOWS SOME QUESTIONS
HAVE NO ANSWERS
HE KNOWS THEY NEVER WILL
LIKE HOW HE CAME TO LIVE
IN A SHINING CITY UP THERE ON THE HILL
EVERYTHING ONE NEEDS AND MORE
CITIES RICH BEYOND BELIEF
THERE’S MONEY TREES IN FORESTS
DOLLAR BILLS ON EVERY LEAF
THEY’VE GOT IT ALL AND NOT A CLUE
OF POVERTY’S TRUE COST
NOW THE BILL IS COMING DUE
RAVAGED SOULS ARE LOST
OUR SHINING CITY ON THE HILL
ITS DISTANT VIEWS OBSCURE
THE SQUALOR FAR BELOW THEM
DESPERATE LIVES THE POOR ENDURE
THE CLOCK IS TICKING FOR THE HUNGRY
AND THOSE WHO DO WITHOUT
A TIME BOMB TICKING, TICKING
TO A RECKONING NO DOUBT
POLITICS WITHOUT COMPASSION
FAILURE TO SHARE OUR LOT
LEAVING BUT A MEASLEY RATION
IN ANGUISH THE POOR CRY OUT
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury ǀ BROOKS LOOKS
HALL OF FAME FATHER
Brooks Bradbury
Our father who art in heaven
he went there straight away
you see three golfers were waiting
for one more soul to play
they decided on a format
no mulligans gimmies or ties
they all put in a dollar and agreed
to play it where it lies
God took out his one iron
and teed his ball up high
he drove it down the middle
“Good shot God,” quipped the new guy
Chuck couldn’t have been any calmer
as he put his ball in play
he crushed his drive 350 out
God said, “You’re still away.”
As they walked God turned to him,
“Chuck you’ve lead a model life.
Your faith has been rewarded,
by your family and your wife.
You were a tireless coach and teacher,
helping others on their way
you held a straight and steady course
I’m glad you finally came to play
You never over did it
You wasted neither words nor tears
you never gave up you soldiered on
A devoted father all these years
there was Briarcliff and Beacon
those Hudson River towns
Fort Lee Virginia and Canton New York
and moving’s ups and downs
Springville’s Griffith Institute
you loved those years there’s no dispute
I moved you on to Syracuse
in your time there you paid your dues
from city schools and racial rage
to Hamilton College and a bigger stage
that little country school at O.C.S.
it was all a lot I must confess
retirement in the land of pines
ended your New York state of mind
moments shared at Pinecrest High
your final football gift goodbye.”
Chuck said, “God it was quite a ride,
and as I take a final talley
I really enjoyed every challenge
even the Mohawk Valley.”
God said, “Thanks for that Chuck,
I put you where I needed you
in one continual test
sometimes I have to leave folks where they are and move around the rest
Chuck said, “God, I’m grateful.
and let me thank you first
for all the golf I played down there
from Orchard Park to Pinehurst.”
God then realized while he spoke
Chuck moved two strokes up
and on the 17th Chuck drilled a birdie putt
to the bottom of the cup
God said, “How about double or nothing Chuck?
It seems you’ve beaten me today
Chuck said, “Happy to make it interesting.
God, you’re still away.”
As they hit their drives on eighteen
Chuck walked in a magic glow
back at the top of his golf game again
friends and family missing him so
Heaven’s gained a rare Sportsman
A true Hall of Fame husband and dad
Now that he’s playing golf with God
we feel only a little less sad
We’ll join you in heaven one day Dad
free from earthly cares
until then you’ll remain in our thoughts Dad,
forever in our prayers
© COPYRIGHT 2014 Brooks Bradbury ǀ BROOKS LOOKS
CRAZY AND CRUEL
HE WAS CRAZY AND COOL
THE TALK OF THE SCHOOL
HE WAS COMPLICATED
CONVOLUTED
CRAZY AND COOL
THOUGHT LIFE WOULD BE A BREEZE
UNTIL IT BROUGHT HIM TO HIS KNEES
HE GREW UP FAST TO HIS SURPRISE
LIFE HIT HIM BETWEEN THE EYES
HE WAS KNOCKED DOWN
DEVASTATED
LIKE A FOOL
DISCOVERED LIFE WAS COMPLICATED
CRAZY AND CRUEL
IT WAS COMPLICATED CONVOLUTED
CRAZY AND CRUEL
IT CHANGED AGAIN WHEN HE WAS FORTY-TWO
A COURT TOOK HIS SON
AND HIS DAUGHTERS TOO
LIFE REMOVED HIS DAD DISGUISE
DRAINED THE TEARS FROM THOSE BLUE EYES
HE WAS KNOCKED DOWN
DEVASTATED
LIKE A FOOL
HE DISCOVERED LIFE WAS COMPLICATED
CRAZY AND CRUEL
LIFE IS COMPLICATED CONVOLUTED
CRAZY AND CRUEL
THEN SHE CAME ALONG IN A BEAUTIFUL WAY
LIKE FIREWORKS ON A SUMMER’S DAY
ELEGANT STRONG, SAVVY AND WISE
ACROSS NIGHTTIME FIELDS OF FIREFLIES
THE SPARKLE CAME BACK IN THEIR LOVE STARVED EYES
TWO HEARTS SETTLED DOWN
DISCOVERED HOW LOVE CAN BE SO PROFOUND
BUILDING A LIFE ON SHIFTING GROUND
EVERY FIRE NEEDS PLENTY OF FUEL
IN SPITE OF IT ALL IT’S STILL THE RULE
THEIR LIVE’S ARE COMPLICATED
CRAZY AND COOL
SOMETIMES CONVOLUTED
CRAZY AND CRUEL
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury ǀ BROOKS LOOKS
Paradise
FROM DOS CABEZAS THROUGH THE WINTER
INTO A SMOKY MOUNTAIN SPRING
ON THESE CAROLINA BACK ROADS
SWORE HE’D NEVER TRADE FOR ANYTHING
ALWAYS HEADED TO SOME MAGIC PLACE OUT WHERE
THOSE CROOKED ROADS HE KNOWS WILL TAKE HIM THERE
TO A PLACE, A PARADISE OF WHICH HE’S FOND
OUT ON THE EDGE OF TOWN, ABOVE AND BEYOND
HE PASSED THROUGH OOSTBURG IN THE AUTUMN
STOCKBRIDGE IN THE SPRING
CAN’T REMEMBER WHERE HOME IS NOW
OR IF THAT STILL MEANS A THING
TAKE ME BACK WITHOUT A CARE
TO A PLACE LIKE HOME, I WONDER WHERE
LET ME CATCH MY BREATH AND STARE
STRAIGHT AHEAD INTO THE FOREST THERE
IN THIS HOME ON THE ROAD TO EVERYWHERE
ON THE ROAD HOME IS ANYWHERE
ONCE HE KNEW THE CHIRICAHUA LANDS,
ALGONQUIN, CHEROKEE
HE KNEW THE LAND OF IROQUOIS
APACHE SPIRITS SET HIM FREE
IT WAS ALLEGHENIES IN THE MORNING
BERKSHIRES THROUGH MIDDAY
BLUE RIDGE SUNSETS IN THE EVENING
SWEET SHEBOYGAN ON THE WAY
IT WAS A GOLDEN AGE IN TIME THEY SAY
MOST EVERYTHING WENT HIS WAY
AND ON HE WENT SWEPT AWAY
LIFE’S CURRENT TOOK HIM HIGHER, FURTHER ON EACH DAY
IT WAS UNIQUE A ONE-WAY TRIP IN TIME
MOMENTS SAVORED AND SUBLIME
UNTIL HE REACHED PARADISE ON HIS DYING DAY
NO REGRETS AT ALL THEY HEARD HIM SAY
TAKE ME BACK WITHOUT A CARE
TO A PLACE LIKE HOME I WONDER WHERE
LET ME CATCH MY BREATH AND STARE
STRAIGHT INTO THE FOREST THERE
IN THIS HOME ON THE ROAD TO EVERYWHERE
ON THE ROAD MY HOME COULD BE ANYWHERE
© COPYRIGHT 2014 BROOKS BRADBURY ǀ Brooks Looks
RISE ABOVE
Brooks Bradbury
© Copyright 2014 Brooks Bradbury ǀ Brooks Looks
One Life
© Copyright 2014 by Brooks Bradbury ǀ Brooks Looks
TURKEY CREEK CALDERA
a sweet, secret chaparral
forged long ago in a fiery hell
violent forces and seismic shock
created a bucolic bowl of molten rock
now a tranquil, remote caldera
sacred home to apache and vaquero
where blood was spilled on rhyolite
chokonen ways lost in every fight
down through the ages
despite the wisdom of sages
human turmoil rages
on nature’s sweet stages
may the peace we find here remain in our souls
its golden silence ever consoles
and may this rare beauty endeavor
to go on like this
beyond forever
© 2014 Brooks Bradbury | BROOKS LOOKS (Written at Sunglow Ranch, Pearce, Arizona)
I Tremble
I saw your face on Facebook today.
You died serving our country.
We’ve lost you at Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan.
I can hardly breathe in gratitude.
Your supreme sacrifice is overwhelming.
My heart breaks for your proud family.
And for each life you have touched.
You will forever be a part of our American Soul.
Your life is a reminder how precious
the freedom you have helped to provide.
I tremble to receive such an extraordinary gift.
© 2014 Brooks Bradbury | Brooks Looks
Quasi Gray and Fuzzy
life is quasi, gray, and fuzzy
while I hoped for more finite
i’ve received my share of nebulous
in search of black and white
perhaps approximate and nearly
is all we really get
instead of crystal clearly
our conditions almost met
doesn’t mean we give up trying
when the brass ring comes around
but to have a taste of everything
makes for life lived quite profound
would rather have a full slice
than to never know life’s breadth
to know but a little strife
provides dimension, perception, and depth
i’m getting kind of greyish too
approaching life’s final slope
my days seem much more finite now
as I’m learning how to cope
grey and dusky evenings
follow brilliant, hazy days
perhaps our palette’s full of color
and all that really matters
is how we spin our platter
and where we focus our life’s gaze
© 2014 Brooks Bradbury | Brooks Looks
DELIRIUM
YOU TRIED TO LEAVE
YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL
NOW IT’S YOU WHO’S IN THE HOLE
SEEMS YOU WERE JUST A BRIDGE FOR US
A HERE-TO-THERE WITH TOO MUCH FUSS
YOU TRIED TO GET THE SHIP TO SINK
NOW IT’S YOU WHO’S SUNK, ‘S WHAT PEOPLE THINK
YOUR MACHINATIONS WORE MIGHTY THIN
NOW YOU’RE OUTSIDE LOOKIN’ IN
LET ME GET MY VIOLIN
NOW YOU’RE OUTSIDE LOOKIN’ IN
WATER RISING IN A SHIVER
YOU HELPED US CROSS A LITTLE RIVER
YOU ROSE AND PEAKED A SHORT TIME LATER
WE SMILED AT EACH ALLIGATOR
AS WE REACHED THE OTHER SHORE
YOU TAPERED OFF TO BUT A SLIVER
OVER SUCH A SLOW AND GENTLE RIVER
BOTH SIDES OF YOU ARE NOW MUCH CLEARER
TAKE A LOOK INTO THE MIRROR
HOLD OFF ON YOUR FINAL BOW
YOU WERE BUT A PATH FROM THERE TO HERE
A BRIDGE ACROSS THEN AND NOW
YOU TRIED TO LEAVE
YOU SOLD YOUR SOUL
NOW IT’S YOU WHO’S IN THE HOLE
SEEMS YOU WERE JUST A BRIDGE FOR US
A HERE-TO-THERE WITH TOO MUCH FUSS
YOU TRIED TO GET THE SHIP TO SINK
IT’S YOU WHO’S SUNK, S’ WHAT PEOPLE THINK
YOUR MACHINATIONS ARE MIGHTY THIN
NOW YOU’RE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN
HOLD OFF ON THAT GREAT BIG GRIN
NOW YOU’RE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN
I’LL ROSIN UP MY VIOLIN
NOW YOU’RE OUTSIDE LOOKING IN
LIFE’S HARD ENOUGH WITHOUT TWO FACED LIARS
PERHAPS YOU SIMPLY CROSSED YOUR WIRES
BUT LIFE CAN BE A LOT MORE FUN
NOW THE BASTARDS ‘R ON THE RUN
CAN FINALLY SEE THE SHINING SUN
NOW THE BASTARDS ‘R ON THE RUN
TRAPPED IN THE SILKY WEB THEY’VE SPUN
BASTARDS ARE FINALLY ON THE RUN
AND OUR SPIRITS WON’T COME UNDONE
NOW THE BASTARDS ‘R ON THE RUN
© 2014 Brooks Bradbury | Brooks Looks
Additional Therapy Required
They were the matter-of-fact, high-wire requests every local innkeeper and inn-team fielded and responded to over the course of a frenetic summer in the Berkshires.
These were life’s serendipitous brushes with greatness in sweet and personal ways. People serving people. If we took too much time to think about each of these moments, we could have flirted with even higher levels of stress knowing that if we screw “this” up, the whole world would surely know!
On this day, Mary Tyler Moore might request a brownie sundae in the wee hours of the morning. Or Ann Jackson would require an impromptu ride back to NYC for husband Eli Wallach, who wasn’t feeling well.
Martha Argerich would require a well-tuned piano in her guest room. Such sweet sounds! Or Garrison Keillor could be stamping his feet because he was unhappy with his room.
Or Shimon Peres might prefer a bottle of Bordeaux this morning. No matter that his personal time zone was out of synch with Eastern Standard Time and local liquor laws.
Or Lyle Lovett and his band would prefer that our New England chef prepare huevos rancheros for breakfast at noon. Or Marlo Thomas might need some help setting up her off-premise suite this morning.
There was the moment James Taylor simply asked to purchase a newspaper. Or the night Ray Davies came to dinner. Or the time Buzz Aldrin required some technical help with his laptop.
The answer to such requests was always yes–of course–right away in the same way “How high do I jump?” was followed by “How long do I stay up there?”
There was that one day in particular when Marge Champion’s massage was the day’s top priority. That is, until Senator and Mrs. Ted Kennedy called from the road to request a massage therapist be ready on standby for their imminent arrival.
Oh, by the way “our limo is just passing through Worcester now.” This could be loosely translated as, “We need two massages the moment we arrive in order to make it to the grand opening in time.”
Yes. Of course.
It really was all very simple. Making it happen was what we always did. After all, a career in service is just that–a ministry of serving guests well and the daily dispensation of The Platinum Rule–serving guests the way they wanted to be treated.
It really isn’t WHAT you know at moments like this but WHO you know! In this case the Kennedy’s were well on their way and my loyal assistant Pam began the process of calling all the licensed, high quality massage therapists on our list.
All too soon, we arrived at the bottom of the list without success. Pam already knew it was time to bring out the big guns—for instance leveraging area massage therapy coordinators. I had to leave a message for my friend “LL”. She had her finger on the pulse of local massage therapy, although on this day she was busy like everyone else. I had to leave a message for her.
Minutes began passes like seconds as Pam had to resort to the “phone book”—we were approaching that desperate territory now somewhere between the rock and hard place. But at last, Pam found a therapist who WAS available right away.
About this point, I found myself taking a gulp of air—it was a male therapist who was available. Was he our only option? Yes. Did we know anything about him? Not enough.
In a moment of loneliness at the top, I gave the ‘go ahead’ not feeling quite settled with my decision. The therapist would arrive in 15 minutes and the Kennedy’s would arrive moments later. For better or worse, this die was cast.
Just then, the front desk reported the massage therapist and his portable massage table were arriving at the front door right now. I met him at the door and personally ushered him to the suite. It was show time.
I was cringing inside that the therapist’s appearance was not quite spa worthy as I walked him to the Fire House suite. There, I introduced him to the arriving Senator and Vicky Kennedy. It was a joy to see them as always, but now there were massages to attend to and their schedule was quite tight.
I left the three of them in the suite and I returned to my office still on pins and needles. Then the telephone rang. It was my friend LL. “Now you call!” I said, and she asked if I was able to find someone.
I told her who we found, and a deafening silence commenced on the other end. “What is it, I asked?”
“He was terminated for reports of improperly using his hands.”
More silence–as my entire career began passing before my eyes…
“What do you mean?!?”
“I can’t say anything more.”
As I hung up the phone, a feeling of dread cast its pall over my very life.
As happened frequently Kennedy family members would enjoy enjoyed a full and high profile stay and in this case, two days later they left before I could say goodbye. The uncertainty was unbearable!
At a chamber of commerce meeting a few days later, I had a chance meeting with a key Kennedy politico who provided my first chance to ask how the visit actually went. “Brooks, they had a wonderful stay as always!”
Not satisfied, I pressed for more feedback relative to the massage therapy. I was able to exhale when I heard: “The massage therapist was fabulous! Thank you for arranging this on such short notice! Ted and Vicky loved him because he was such a staunch democrat!”
A handwritten thank-you note followed from the Kennedy’s as it did after each family visit. I was breathing a little easier. A few days later, an article appeared in the local newspaper detailing the charges against the massage therapist. Somberly, I faxed it to LL. I don’t know about the massage therapist’s career, but mine would happily go on.
Somehow, a bullet was dodged! Joyful moments of service to others have always provided amazing dimension to life. Such is the pleasure of hospitality and a life spent serving others well.
© 2014 Brooks Bradbury | Brooks Looks
Copyright © 2013 Brooks Bradbury | Brooks Looks
Copyright 2013 © Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks
George Schuster
greeted my share of kings and queens
those who star on movie screens
dined with rock stars, heads of state
the notorious and the now quite late
but a face encountered eons ago
with steely eyes I didn’t know
has stuck with me, haunts me still
his rare achievement of iron will
just a kid, I crossed the road
met him there at the end of his life
kindly, willing to the garage he strode
of course he’d sharpen my kid jackknife
he stepped on the metal treadle
the big stone wheel would start to spin
sparks commenced from the metal
fascinated, i would stand and grin
he asked if it was sharp enough
as if i really knew
these fleeting moments our last
i think he probably knew
back across the road,
sharp shiny blade in hand
my mother had her doubts with me,
and the knife
not with the kindly old man
see, he was a master mechanic
in the automobile’s dawning age
and back in nineteen aught eight
he drove onto the world’s biggest stage
around the globe in his Thomas Flyer
he drove with grit and plenty of tires
to Paris–an American Victory
George Schuster set the winning pace
Champion of the World’s Great Race
that’s the story unabridged and whole
simple kindness from a once great soul
a moment in two lifetimes
a sliver of each life
memorable moments shared
with only a simple knife
Copyright © 2013 Brooks Bradbury | BrooksLooks
http://brooksbradbury.com
Photo Credit: Jenn Czapla, 44 East Avenue, Springville, NY
WHY MY BELOVED COUNTRY?
another mass shooting
one more tragic day
another lost soul
shocked lost grieving
the rest of us pray
the media drill
rolls out the same way
who did the shooting?
what was his name?
who died and was injured?
are his parents to blame?
what were his motives?
a shrine grows
on hallowed ground
flowers are laid
between flickering votives
symbols of each light lost
at a profoundly steep cost
the soul of our nation
is now firmly at stake
there is a battle ahead
national ideals at stake
why my beloved country
have we not resolved
the issue of guns
have our leaders dissolved
why my beloved country
with tears pouring out
from so many eyes
are guns more precious
than our own children’s lives?
too little action
too many lies
through rivers of blood
anxious and anguished
our great nation cries
we can’t hold back
the flood of tears
from American eyes
© Brooks Bradbury 2013 | BrookLooks
CRUCIBLE
on sanity’s last horizon
fiery flames began to rise
tender hearts begin to melt
tears pour from steely eyes
these are days of trial by fire
situations dark and dire
any spark could cause ignition
into final code-red condition
white-hot searing
danger threatens
the time has come
the hour nearing
forces pulling this way
forces pull against
human angst and heartache
emotions wild and incensed
in matters of the heart
betrayals and broken trust
traitors turn to leave us
old love turns to rust
promises once made
are now but ash and dust
in a crucible
we no longer feel
forged in fire
like tempered steel
caught between life’s forces
we boldly soldier on
vivid wild dreamscapes
portend a new age dawn
all we know reforms, reshapes
change is our new norm
we step out into the future
emotions overdrawn
bravely facing each new day
and every raging storm
with fire in the holes
of our chrome alloy souls
galvanized hearts
as times turn tragic
forged from metal parts
we keep from going insane
steering away from open flame
love’s alchemy works its magic
our blood turns molten gold
relationships turn tragic
end times turning cold
will this be our finest hour
or a time not once foretold
will we rise to new occasions
or will we refrain
bold enough to keep
our hearts and souls
from melting down the drain
if we cut the fuels
the crucible cools
poured out on life’s conveyor
molten emotions
oozing out sprayed
layer upon layer
solidified lives reveal
hearts are harder
and harder still
fully tempered
like gleaming steel
in a crucible
our hearts become fusible
in a crucible
they melt together
toward a final day
is it possible
such a price to pay
beyond the crucible
we find our way
facing life’s pyre
the flames rise higher
we come out stronger
eternally steeled
hearts fused forever
fire-annealed
© 2013 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks, 1 December 2013
http://BrooksBradbury.com
TEARS IN CHIRICAHUA
ancient chiricahua
sacred long ago
now called arizona
their ancestral home
their mountains and
their grasslands
the places
they roamed then
now only traces
of ‘nde chokonen
generations came before them
unknown apache heirs
native blood spilled often
defending what was theirs
who then one day atones
for all their broken hearts
and each apache broken bone
their bodies died yet sanctify
their chiricahuas still
unbroken native spirits
unbroken native will
their voices whisper in the silence
spirits roam now without fears
when it rains in chiricahua
it rains apache tears
© Brooks Bradbury | BrooksLooks
CHIRICAHUA COWBOY
Brooks Bradbury
September 2013
the cook reported longhorns
were coming in the gate
buckaroos at breakfast
some were in the bunk house
some were sleeping late
prit’ near eight mean corriente
ambled right up the old dirt road
pointy horns a glinting
they lumbered to and fro
they were free range beef with attitude
and in one by one they filed
danged if they didn’t git past the cattle grates
like a farside cartoon gone wild
chiricahua cowboy
he’s on his horse again
we never know why
we never know when
but he’s the hope of arizona
least from gleeson to portal
the chiricahua cowboy
he’s the one that gets the call
any time ‘r oyster’s are up against the wall
the chiricahua cowboy, he will save us all!
one was udderly female
it was plainly clear to see
queen of the rodeo heifers
another rather bullish one
he kept eyeing me
the chiricahua cowboy
he sauntered into view
he wore his leather jacket with fringe
smelled like beer and last night’s stew
boxer shorts and cowboy boots
his pants still in his room
he had spurs, a whip, two forty-fives
and he was itching for a feud
the chiricahua cowboy
lost big at poker and love last night
he was one big angry dude
he was ready to settle the score
and put those beeves back in the pen
a beefly duel was coming on, it seemed
while in the sage, fresh cowpies steamed
the heifer huddled the others then
weight was shifted
horns were pointed
the beeves they thundered in
all of a sudden the brawl commenced
bull whip cracked and bullets flying
eight corriente turned tail to run
in the end they met their bovine match
chiricahua cowboy was smilin’
as he blew smoke from the end of his gun
chiricahua cowboy rounded ‘em up right then
they were beaten like hamburger and locked in the pen
“next time you come round here
the butcher’ll make it cut and dried
and make little parts out of those carcasses
and wallets from yer hide!
chiricahua cowboy
he’s on his horse again
we never know why
we never know when
but he’s the hope of arizona
least from willcox to portal
the chiricahua cowboy
he’s the one that gets the call
any time ‘r oyster’s are up against the wall
the chiricahua cowboy, he done saved us all!
chiricahua cowboy–no one rides as tall!
© Brooks Bradbury / Innspired Hospitality
TRUE MEASURE OF A COMMUNITY
Sheboygan, Wisconsin
April 22 2007
To the Editor of the Sheboygan Press:
You kindly welcomed two New Englanders to these shores last summer and as first impressions are important, I thought I would share mine with you. Once we decided to follow opportunity to the Midwest, I confess to consulting a map to find Wisconsin in the first place.
From the New England perspective, Wisconsin lies somewhere near the Arctic Circle and the weather must be really horrible there. I can say now the weather is about the same as New England and there are plenty of other differences we have come to celebrate. Sad to say that Wisconsin rarely entered my young northeast consciousness. It did happen occasionally when the Packers were on TV. As a young Packer fan, I imagined Green Bay to be a remote ice-covered city with Bart Starr as its leading hero. I know I had some of this right.
Milwaukee remains pretty murky in the New England mind, although we share the same passion for beer. Beer dulled the pain of so many losing Red Sox seasons and is no doubt helpful here. New England must be a little murky in the Badger mind as well, someone asked us if Connecticut was on the east coast. OK. Fair is fair. Now happily situated here in Sheboygan and regularly getting the ‘blue bag’ out to the curb on the right day, we have endured our limit of conversations with those back home who over-reference “cheese heads” or who wonder why on earth we would come here. It seems I think it best at this point to keep them in the dark. Other than our family members, we left behind a diminishing sense of community values, baked beans, bad air (from cars), traffic, general indifference, lobster rolls, littleneck clams and hills.
And this is what we have already gained: genuinely kind neighbors with real honest-to-goodness values; an unreal work ethic; incredible artisanal cheeses; a very special Mead Library; sunrises over Lake Michigan; Leinies and brat frys; walleyes and fish fries. Removing our family members from the equation, we feel blessed to have traded up.
It has been humbling to discover foliage, cranberries, quaint towns and even a popular ‘cape’ (Door County) actually exist in the Midwest.
And it has been serendipitous to walk along the beautiful Lake Michigan beach here without having to pay the Connecticut shoreline’s $40-per-family-member-to-walk-here every summer fee. We amuse ourselves each time we discover any noticeable change in topography (OK it’s pretty flat here…) that reminds us of a real New England hill. We hope to hike in the Kettle Moraine one day, but to us hikes always mean some significant change in elevation.
All kidding aside, the real measure of our new community is block after block of well cared for properties, and kind people who have time for each other and who share their time and talents for the common good. There is much to love about New England and in a way, it will always resonate as home for us. I hope one day you experience its natural beauty in places like the Berkshires or on Block Island or in any of its myriad picturesque towns and villages. Back east though, hardly any of our neighbors knew each other. It is blissfully different here. One night, I was coming home from work dreading the time after dinner that would be necessary for me to repair the old snowblower in order to clear the driveway after a recent blizzard.
I turned the corner and to my wondering eyes the driveway had already been cleared of snow! My joy turned to guilt when I imagined my wife may have borrowed a snowblower and done it herself (gulp). I walked inside to learn she hadn’t — our wonderful new neighbors had! Incredibly, another neighbor had delivered some delicious homemade soup and to top it all off there was a welcoming gift of homemade cookies from yet another! How happy we felt to have arrived here.
So you see, it really isn’t a “horse apiece.” There is much good to celebrate in Sheboygan beginning with the Midwest’s firm grasp of values, of a community working together, and remembering that the simple things in life are really everything. There are many things we wish were different in our country today, however there is so much about Sheboygan that we hope will always stay the same.
BERKSHIRE DANCE
Brooks Bradbury
Stockbridge Massachusetts
29 May 1999
It is invisible at first. You can’t quite perceive what surrounds you–having arrived from points beyond with stress clearly visible in your eyes. The veins in your neck throb and protrude. They are surely the result of unhealthy dances you’ve been performing elsewhere. Only in time and by being still inside will the gentle rhythm and strong essence of the Berkshires be revealed to you, soothing you.
At first, you will be fooled. Your first pass through these Berkshire Hills, no doubt driving along and jumping to the conclusion that this Route 7 corridor is “all there is.” As if one paved road was the only dimension you could imagine.
So What? You think to yourself. (You can’t feel it yet.) But if you’re in search of, or you only have time for the superficial, you’re best continuing on. You will miss what’s here and the Berkshires will be lost on you.
To those of spirit and openness, a place of wonder will begin to unfold around you.
When you are ready to perceive with all of your senses (more than five) these Berkshires will begin to make sense. Further from the pavement, it may begin as you notice quietness–the joyful lack of mechanical intrusions, automobile horns and piercing sirens. And this will build within you, as you receive the kindness of a Berkshire resident, or you hear Nature begin to speak.
It will crescendo with a symphony and peak with an artist’s proof before your very eyes. Dazzle you from a stage, even leap at you from a “Pillow.” Or perhaps a genuine Berkshire essence will occur to you when you reflect on relics of the Berkshire past.
It is this Berkshire spirit that can transform your soul bringing you to a place you could be, inside. You will begin to ‘see’ what is here when you venture far beyond the roads into the corners to the quiet places—where solitude grows louder. Every idea is clearer here in these places–you’ll hear insects and breezes, brooks and trees.
Loudest of all, your thoughts emerge from the cacophonous static of a modern age onto a blank and tranquil new canvas in your mind where you might imagine more clearly all that is possible, where your life might lead you.
And then, your dance with the Berkshires has begun. And you’ll realize why we who live here move to an invisible rhythm, savor moments in time a little longer and treasure our lives more deeply.
Welcome to the Berkshires!
You’ve arrived.
© 2013 Brooks Bradbury / Innspired Hospitality
INNKEEPERS LIKE SLEEPERS
Brooks Bradbury
15 November 2013
IT’S NO SECRET
INNKEEPERS LIKE SLEEPERS
ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO RENT ROOMS
AND THOSE WHO DRINK WINE
AND THOSE WHO NEED TIME
FOR ROMANCE
LIKE BRIDES & GROOMS
AND THOSE OVERDUE FOR SOME VACATION
AND A LITTLE PRIVACY
ONE ASSUMES
THE DESPERATE FOR RELAXATION
AND RELIEF FROM CITY FUMES
THIS ABOUT COVERS
OUR WHOLE NATION
INNKEEPERS ITS TRUE
CAN REALLY VARY
BUT ALL GENUINELY OFFER
SANCTUARY
INNKEEPERS LOVE TO WELCOME EACH GUEST
THEY REALLY LOVE A FULL HOUSE
AND DREAM OF THE DAY
WHEN THEY CAN REST
IT’S THE GUESTS WHO COME BACK
FOR WHOM THEY ARE BLEST
INNKEEPERS OFFER ESCAPE
FROM LIFE’S TESTS
INNKEEPERS THOUGH
ARE A LITTLE OFF KILTER
PERHAPS ALWAYS BEING TOO NICE
MEANS THEY LACK SOME PERSONAL FILTER
OR THEIR UPBRINGING TAUGHT THEM
TO ALWAYS BE GIVING
OR THAT REAL JOY
COMES FROM HELPING OTHERS
WITH THEIR LIVING
THE WORLD’S INDEED A MUCH BETTER PLACE
BECAUSE INNKEEPERS WELCOME
THE WHOLE HUMAN RACE
THEN SEND PEOPLE BACK HUMAN AGAIN
TO THE PLACE THEY BELONG
AND BACK WITH THEIR FRIENDS
INNKEEPERS PERHAPS CONTRIBUTE
TO A LITTLE LESS TENSION
A LITTLE MORE LOVE
LESS APPREHENSION
MORE UNDERSTANDING
AND A REDUCTION IN STRESS
WITHOUT INNKEEPERS
THIS WOULD BE
A MUCH BIGGER MESS
HERE’S TO THE INNKEEPERS
A RATHER UNSUNG FOLK
MAY THEY SLIP INTO THEIR HOT TUBS
TONIGHT
FOR A WELL-DESERVED SOAK
IT’S NO SECRET
INNKEEPERS LIKE SLEEPERS
ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO RENT ROOMS
AND THOSE WHO DRINK WINE
AND THOSE WHO NEED TIME
FOR ROMANCE
LIKE BRIDES & GROOMS
AND THOSE IN NEED OF REAL VACATION
A LITTLE PRIVACY ONE ASSUMES
THOSE DESPERATE FOR RELAXATION
RELIEF FROM STRESS AND CITY FUMES
THIS JUST ABOUT COVERS OUR WHOLE NATION
INNKEEPERS IT’S TRUE
CAN REALLY VARY
BUT EACH OFFERS
A WELCOME TO SANCTUARY
© BROOKS BRADBURY / INNSPIRED HOSPITALITY
INNKEEPER NATION
Brooks Bradbury
WE BUILD OUR BUSINESS SERVING GUESTS FIRST
WE ATTEND TO COMFORT HUNGER AND THIRST
THE GO-TO PEOPLE FOR RELAXATION GETAWAYS AND CELEBRATIONS
SOMETIMES SPEECHLESS AT WHAT WE BEHOLD
AT WHAT WE SEE AND WHAT WE’RE TOLD
AT TIMES CLUELESS, AT TIMES AMAZINGLY WISE
AT TIMES SO QUIET WE HEAR THE OVERHEAD RISE
WE CHECK LEGIONS IN, CHECK LEGIONS OUT
WE’RE PLEASANT EVERY DAY, NO DOUBT
WE SERVE CANAPÉS AND WINE AND CHEESE
WORK ENDLESS DAYS AND AIM TO PLEASE
TRIP ADVISOR CAN MAKE OUR DAY OR TURN IT ROUND THE OTHER WAY
GOOD REVIEWS MAKE US SEEM BRILLIANT, THE BAD GIVE US HELL TO PAY
IT SURE BEATS LIFE IN A CUBBY OR THE TEDIOUS NINE TO FIVE DRAG
WITH MORE WEEKENDS OFF WE’D BE EVEN MORE CHUBBY
PROBABLY HALF IN THE BAG
ALL OF OUR GUESTS BRING JOY TO THE HEART, SURE:
MOST ALL AT ARRIVAL AND A FEW AT DEPARTURE
WE’VE GOT HOLES IN OUR ‘TAPE CHARTS’ WE’RE DESPERATE TO FILL
THIS AIN’T FOR THE FAINT-HEARTS NOR THE OVER-THE-HILL
WE’VE GOT PLENTY OF SECRETS WE COULD GET OFF OF OUR CHESTS
ALWAYS GRACIOUS UNDER STRESS, APPRECIATIVE OF RETURNING GUESTS
WE CARRY BAGS, SHOW THE WAY, POUR THE COFFEE, CLEAN THE LOO
OFFER ADVICE–RECEIVE OUR SHARE TOO
WE SEE OUR GUESTS NAKED WITHOUT INHIBITIONS
AT TIMES LOCKED OUT IN AWKWARD POSITIONS
IN-TUNE WITH OUR GREASE-TRAPS, WE BRAVE THE OCCASIONAL MOUSE
WE KNOW THE DOUBLE EDGE SWORD OF A COMPLETELY FULL-HOUSE
WE CLEAN UP MESSES AND SPILLS, WE PAY HEAVENLY BILLS
WE FLASH MILES OF SMILES, VACUUM HAIRS OFF TILES
WE SILENCE BEDSPRINGS, FORTIFY WALLS AGAINST SNORES
RETURN LOST AND FOUND THINGS, SETTLE CHECK-OUT TIME WARS
WE POINT TOILET PAPER FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON
IS THIS IN THE HANDBOOK? ARE WE OVER-REACHING?
WE STRATEGIZE ON RENTING BEDS–DIAMONDS AND STARS DANCE IN OUR HEADS
WE SPEND LONG HOURS AT LABOR AT OUR INN VOCATIONS
WE “LIVE WITH” OUR CUSTOMERS AND HAVE QUITE A FEW RESERVATIONS
PERPETUALLY IN NEED OF A LONGER VACATION
WE ARE THE FAITHFUL OF THE INNKEEPER NATION
WE’RE GIVEN ONE CHANCE TO MAKE FIRST IMPRESSIONS
WE LOOK ASKANCE AT INDISCRETIONS
BECOME AN INNKEEPER—AND YOU’LL LIVE LIFE EVEN DEEPER
AND FLY BY THE SEAT OF YOUR PANTS
IT’S OUR GUESTS THAT WE TREASURE AS FRAGILE AND RARE
OF COURSE! MY PLEASURE! WHY YES, BE RIGHT THERE!
IT’S UP-CLOSE AND PERSONAL–WE ATTEND TO SYBIL-LIKE ROLES
SOMETIMES WE COULD BITE OFF SOME HEADS JUST TO SPIT IN THE HOLES…
BUT WE SMILE THROUGH OUR ANGER RESISTING THE URGE
WHEN WE’RE OVER-THE-EDGE AND OUT ON THE VERGE
THIS IS OUR CALLING WE ARE DESTINED TO SERVE
WE’VE GOT THE MANNERS, THE BRASS AND THE NERVE
GUESTS RETURN JOY AND LOVE US IN TURN
THEY RESPOND TO OUR KINDNESS, THEIR LOYALTY WE EARN
SNOOZING AWAY, IN THOSE EARLY MORN HOURS
WHEN WE AWAKEN FROM DREAMS OF FRETTE AND FLOWERS
REMEMBER THERE’S ONLY ONE CHOICE WE NEED MAKE
IT’S NOT WHAT ROOM TO CLEAN FIRST NOR WHICH MUFFIN TO BAKE
NOT THE QUICHE OR FRITATTA NOR THE GLUTEN-FREE CAKE
NOR WHICH POTPOURRI YOU’VE DECIDED TO USE
OR IF YOU NEED PADDED HANGERS OR JUST PADDED ROOMS
FOR THE HEART OF THE MATTER, THE REAL CRUX OF THE THING
IS WHEN YOU WAKE UP TO AN ALARM BELL RING
A MOMENT OF TRUTH ARRIVES EACH DAY IN YOUR LIFE
A DECISION YOU MAKE THAT CUTS LIKE A KNIFE
YOUR ONLY CHOICE IS THIS ONE, TO GET BY:
ARE YOU GOING TO LIVE? OR ARE YOU GOING TO DIE?
IF YOU’VE DECIDED TO DIE, PLEASE — FALL DOWN QUICKLY
LET’S SPARE ALL THE OTHERS FROM THE NEGATIVE AND PRICKLY
BUT IF YOU’VE DECIDED TO LIVE: THEN BY ALL MEANS FLOURISH!
GROW JOY IN YOUR SOUL, LOVE AND BE NOURISHED
IN THE FINAL ANALYSIS, IT’S THE GIFTS WE GIVE
THE TIME WE SHARE, THE WAY WE LIVE
THE GIVING BACK, THE BEING THERE
THE FRIENDS WE MAKE, THE WAY WE CARE
TIME GETS SHORTER, NUMBERED DAYS WHIZ BY
PLENTY OF WORRIES, TO PONDER WHY
IT’S AN INNKEEPER’S LIFE, A STRIVING TO SERVE
IN SPITE OF THE GRIND AND THE OCCASIONAL CURVE
WE ARE THE GIFTS WE GIVE TO THE SOULS WHO ARRIVE
EACH AND EVERY DAY IN AN INN, WE KNOW WE’RE ALIVE
© BROOKS BRADBURY | INNSPIRED HOSPITALITY 2013
Slow Western Ballad – Key of G – 6/8 or slow 3/4 time (Intro – soft fingerpicked G – Em – C – D – G) [Verse 1]
G Em
beaten up by life itself,
C G
it’s finally run me down
G Em
time to get a cowboy fix,
C D G
leave this one-horse town
G Em
the chaparral is calling me,
C G Em
to find myself, redirect—
C G
heading out to the back of beyond,
Am D G
in perfect silence, resurrect
[Chorus]
Em C
feel like I’m falling,
G D G
i drive on and on and on
C G
way out here,
Am D G
to the back of beyond.
[Verse 2]
G Em
through diamondbacks, coyote packs,
C G
ocotillo, prickly pear
G Em
here I’ll savor stillness,
C D G
every sunrise, heaven’s glare
G Em
under the cottonwoods,
C G Em
i reset, regroup, reprise,
C G
taking first deep breaths
Am D G
of rare fresh air beneath open skies
[Verse 3]
G Em
i fire up the Farmall,
C G
leave my troubles far behind
G Em
out on the purple sage,
C D G
an Arizona state of mind
G Em
tell ’em anything you want to,
C G Em
tell ’em I absconded—
C G
to the great wide open,
Am D G
i drove on and on and on
to the back of beyond
[Chorus – variation]
Em C
i’ll fire up the Farmall,
G D G
leave my troubles far behind
C G
i’ll savor perfect stillness,
Am D G
in the morning sun I find
Em C
heaven can’t compare,
G D G
re
C G
i’m never leaving here
Am D G
till the end of my time
[Bridge – spoken or softly sung]
Em C
G D G
softened by the years—
Em C
in the quietness I hear them,
G D G
their sadness crystal clear
Em C
they fought for their freedom,
G D Em
knew a soul’s fiercest thirst,
C G
safe once in Cochise’ stronghold,
Am D G
where they walked the land first.
[Verse 4]
G Em
i love it way out here,
C G
borrowed land, still untamed.
G Em
i know its wild fragrance,
C D G
before the monsoon rain.
G Em
these days I spend out here,
C G Em
no longer dreams at all.
C G
sanity reappears,
Am D G
in the balance of the call.
[Outro / Refrain]
Em C
across the far horizon,
G D G
my heart rides in its sway.
C G
it’s the back country that holds me,
Am D G
in its wild western way
Em C
helps me carry on and on,
G D G
to return again and again,
C G
to the back of beyond—
Am D G
where silence is a friend
(Instrumental outro – G – Em – C – D – G … fade with soft steel or fiddle)
© 2025 Brooks Bradbury | BrooksLooks
CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL
Brooks Bradbury
UNDER POWDER BLUE SKIES
A YOUNG ARIZONA GIRL RIDES
ON HER PRIDE AND JOY PONY
THEIR RARE LOVE ABIDES
HER MOTHER’S FINAL DYING HOPE
A GIFT TO HER A LARIAT ROPE
AND A LEOPARD APPALOOSA COLT
HER DAUGHTER NAMED HIM LIGHTENING BOLT
SHE FIGHTS THE PAIN EVERY NOW AND THEN
CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL RIDES AGAIN
TO RECONNECT WITH EARLY DAYS
AND HER MOTHER’S LOVE AND SIMPLE WAYS
IN APACHE LAND OF CHOKONEN
CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL RIDES AGAIN
GET UP, GET ON YOUR HORSE AND TELL ME WHEN
CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL RIDES AGAIN
THEY ROAMED THE DESERT RANGE FOREVER
TWO YOUNG HEARTS TOGETHER,
SMELLS OF PIÑON PINE AND LEATHER
DAYS GO BY AND THEY WOULD KNOW
LIFE’S SUPRISING SUDDEN BLOWS
SHATTERED BONES AND BROKEN HEARTS
PAINFUL FALLS AND LOVER’S WOES
SHE FIGHTS THE PAIN EVERY NOW AND THEN
CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL RIDES AGAIN
TO RECONNECT WITH EARLIER DAYS
AND HER MOTHER’S LOVE AND SIMPLE WAYS
IN APACHE LAND OF CHOKONEN
CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL RIDES AGAIN
GET UP, GET ON YOUR HORSE TELL ME WHEN
CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL RIDES AGAIN
A HANDSOME COWBOY RAW AND TALL
BROUGHT HER FLOWERS, CHANGED IT ALL
HER LOVE GREW STRONGER
THEN ALL FELL THROUGH
ENDING SOME MONTHS LATER
BECAUSE HE WAS UNTRUE
THE WILD WEST BECAME WILD THEN
UNBRIDLED ANGER AND WILD EYES,
SHE SET OFF TO OUTRUN HIS LIES
NOTHING COULD CONTAIN HER RAGE
SHE TRIED HARD TO TURN THE PAGE
RODE HER HORSE LIKE A LION FROM A CAGE
THE RIDE WAS FAST AND FAR AND HIGH,
TEARS FROM LOSS AND CRIES OF WHY
BEYOND THE LIMITS OF HORSE AND GIRL
A WILD CRAZY DERVISH WHIRL
A SCORPION SURPRISED THEM
HER HORSE REARED UP, SHE FELL DOWN
ONLY HOURS LATER CAME AROUND
HER HORSE STAYED BY HER
THEY STOOD THEIR GROUND
SHE DRAGGED HERSELF UP
FROM THE GROUND TO HER STIRRUPS
BROKEN BONES AND AN UNYIELDING SPIRIT
HER LAST RIDE? SHE’LL NEVER HEAR IT
CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL RIDES AGAIN
GET UP, GET ON YOUR HORSE
AND TELL ME WHEN
THE CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL RIDES AGAIN
CHIRICAHUA COWGIRL RIDES AGAIN
Appalachia Rising
born in a holler
raised in a shack
learned to get by on
what the land gave back
never knew the world
of the great beyond
Appalachian man forever fond
of the sweet blue ridge land
he grew up on
he knows the ridge
like the back of his hand
pain, drought, and hunger
made a boy into a man
he’ll never break free
of his blue ridge bond
home is here on the land he’s on
living on a meager ration
put down, disparaged–
proudly Appalachian
it’s a simple life in time
where he feels the beat
of nature’s rhythm
and the ties that bind
born in a holler
raised in a shack
learned to get by
on what the land gave back
never knew the world
of the great beyond
Appalachian man’s sacred bond
he’ll never leave the land
he grew up on
this is where he hunted
high on the ridge
learned about family
learned about love
learned to make the most from a little, to rise above
Appalachian man knows what he’s made of
thankful for the privilege
when god made home
he made his blue ridge
he made our home like heaven
gave us blue grass and wine,
fox grapes and pintos,
sugar and ‘shine
everything needed
under the sun
when god made his blue ridge
he knew his work was done
life here’s a challenge
but no outsider knows
the peace of the mountains,
and the way the wind blows
real silence exists along
old country roads
the way it’s always been ain’t how the story goes
the trees begin to whisper,
we’re all realizing
the time’s has arrived Appalachia’s rising
the time’s has arrived for Appalachia rising
born in a holler
raised in a shack,
learned to get by
on what the land gave back
never knew the world
of the great beyond,
never left the land
he grew up on
Appalachian man fights
for the land he’s on
© Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks 2016
never understood the reason
why when you come near
all i want to do is
drink beer
all i need to do right now is to
drink beer
if you come by here more often
i’ll drink a lot more beer
i’m gonna start right now
am i the headlights or the deer?
just don’t try to stop me mister
i ain’t had that much beer
liquor liquor wine and beer
haven’t drunk enough it’s clear
because of you my world’s a blur
i’m out of synch BURB as it were
when you pass by my front gate
i head for the shelter
of an altered state
why can’t you get the message
i don’t live here any longer
i’m out buying kegs of beer
and even something stronger
liquor liquor wine and beer
haven’t drunk enough it’s clear
because of you my world’s a blur
i’m out of synch BURB as it were
go get a job and leave me alone
please throw me one single bone
with you i’ll never be alone
i run for the hills when you come near
all I want to do is drink beer
all I need right now is to drink beer
it’s such an amazing correlation
a crystal clear indication
between you and my intoxication
perhaps there’s a reason
or it’s simply out of fear
when i see you
all i want to do is
drink beer
when I see you i
drink beer
liquor liquor wine and beer
haven’t drunk enough it’s clear
because of you my world’s a blur
i’m out of synch BURB as it were
© Copyright 2011 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks / All Rights Reserved
deep in the corner
of a mind’s dark room
grow feelings
of uncertainty
doom and gloom
temperature
water
blood pressure
rising
flower’s strain to bloom
ice is melting
trees are crying
there’s poison in the water
poison in the womb
a status quo
to a one-way tomb
god only knows
and time will tell
take another cup
it sure tastes swell
we’re living in a house
with a poisoned well
ignoring the road signs
on the road to hell
as it all comes down
paths divide
among those who have,
those denied
random shootings
in the suburbs
in our schools
on our streets
indifference
brought us hatred
lone wolf shooters
moral defeats
caught in the middle
of earth’s rising tide
explanations
are really only lies
it’s crystal clear
in naysayers’ eyes
there’s really no telling
how far you fell
god only knows
and time will tell
living in a house
with a poisoned well
fellow travelers
on the road to hell
have another ladleful
sure tastes swell
mother nature’s crying
‘bout her poisoned well
the truth is clear
we’ll receive as we’ve given
it’s overdue now
to change the lives we’re living
the world’s problems lie at our feet
we’ve got trouble in our food,
trouble on the street
who will save us now?
it’s suddenly much clearer
there he is before us,
the man in the mirror
ride the status quo
at your own risk,
it’s just a one way tomb
poison in the water
poison in the womb
really no telling
how far we fell
god only knows
and time will tell
drinking from our poisoned well
take another cupful
sure tastes swell
enjoy the ride
on the road to hell
getting late
time tolls a time worn bell
have another ladle
from the poisoned well
try to read the road signs
on the road to hell
will the lights come on?
is anyone out there?
we’re so far beyond,
does anybody care?
too late to move
off the path we’re on
approaching days of reckoning
we will all stand accused
of nature’s last breath
our earth suffused
is anybody out there?
look in the mirror
we have to drink
in the place we dwell
we put the poison
in our own damn well
it’s all much clearer
we’re the ones
in the mirror
CHIRICAHUA COWBOY
Brooks Bradbury
1 September 2013
the cook reported longhorns
was coming in the gate
some buckaroos at breakfast
some were in the bunk house
they was sleepin’ late
prit’ near eight mean corriente
ambled up the old dirt road
pointy horns a glinting
they lumber to and fro
they were free-range beef with attitude
and in one-by-one they filed
somehow they got past the cattle grates
like a farside cartoon gone wild
chiricahua cowboy
he’s on his horse again
we never know why
we never know when
but he’s the hope of arizona
least from gleeson to portal
the chiricahua cowboy
he’s the one that gets the call
any time ‘r oyster’s are up against the wall
one was udderly female
it was plainly clear to see
queen of rodeo heifers
another rather bullish one,
he kept eyeing me
the chiricahua cowboy
he sauntered into view
wore his leather jacket with fancy fringe
smelled like beer and last night’s stew
boxer shorts and cowboy boots
his pants still in his room
he had spurs a whip and forty-fives
and was itching for a feud
the chiricahua cowboy
who lost big at love and poker last night
he was one big angry dude
he was ready to settle the score
and put those beeves back in the pen
the beefly duel was coming on it seemed
out in the sage, fresh cowpies steamed
the heifer huddled the others then
weight was shifted
horns were pointed
when they all thundered in
all of a sudden the brawl commenced
bullwhip cracked and bullets flew
eight corriente turned tail to run
in the end they met their bovine match
he blew smoke from the end of his gun
chiricahua cowboy rounded ‘em up right then
they were beaten as hamburger
as he locked them in the pen
“next time you come round here
some butcher’ll make it cut and dried
makin’ small parts out of your wholes
and wallets from yer hide!”
chiricahua cowboy
he’s on his horse again
we never know why
we never know when
but he’s the hope of arizona
least from gleeson to portal
the chiricahua cowboy
he’s the one that gets the call
any time ‘r oyster’s are up against the wall
FOR PAM
some people come into our lives
we are forever changed
then a day arrives, we move on
lives are rearranged
your life so rich and vibrant
too soon becomes the past
golden days we shared together
they’ve slipped away too fast
happily our lives in parallel
on a rare sweet Stockbridge high
enjoying life and living well
you’re there always in my mind’s eye
sadness reigns you’re gone forever
we see in our rear-view mirror
all the gifts you shared with us
never so much clearer
your sophistication
your calmness under pressure
your gentle ways and kindness
among your gifts that we will treasure
you helped us all in countless ways
though your life like ours at times a struggle
a mom a friend and kids to raise
much to handle much to juggle
your death is our reminder
that our days are all finite
we’ll hold on to your sweet smile
see you ever in the best of light
your friends now close and far away
appreciate your gentle way
for demonstrating how to live
how to love and how to give
our lives turned out a measure better
because you’ve come our way
we wish you stayed with us forever
alas god’s taken you away
good-bye dear pamela we bid farewell
we’ll carry on as time will tell
with you there above we visualize
heaven’s now more organized
life’s current floats us onward
to places we never know
why do people we care so much about
have to come and go?
Copyright Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks, 2 August 2012
Chiricahua Cowgirl
under powder blue skies a brave Arizona girl rides
on her pride and joy pony the last gift from her mother
upon her death they were left almost nearly alone
her mom’s final hope that they rescue each other
the girl and her pony took their hard lives in stride
from childhood and older they roamed Chiricahua forever
diamondbacks and prickly pear, piñon pine and leather
years went by and they would know troubles life sometimes throws
loss and sadness, all of life’s madness and the pain of poverty’s woes
they shared joys and heartaches, and struggled on these two
the girl and her lineback Dun lived and breathed and grew
good people watched over them, like occasional angels above
giving food and shelter and safety in lieu of a mother’s love
then one day it happened, a new love came to call
the cowgirl fell in love with love him, cowboy warts and all
it ended some months later when she found he was untrue
Chiricahua then erupted her true love was misconstrued
angry skies and wild eyes, nothing contained her rage
the Wild West became wilder then, and a cowgirl came of age
they lit out for Dos Cabezas, on beyond Apache Pass
beyond the limits of girl and horse, flat out on the open range
the ride near over, exhausted, she had cried her final tear
a scorpion spooked her lineback dun, it reacted out of fear
the cowgirl was thrown hard down on unyielding ground
she was left there forever to die, her body remains unfound
get up, get on your horse, come tell me when
the Chiricahua Cowgirl rides again
she drags herself from the ground to her stirrups
with broken bones and an unbent spirit
her last ride, she’ll never hear it
Chiricahua Cowgirl rides again
to reconnect with better days
of endless joys and simple ways
over Apache land of Chokonen
Chiricahua Cowgirl rides again
January 2013
Brooks and Susan Bradbury
Out on the crush pad at 7 a.m. on a cool and glorious Arizona morning, winemaker Curt Dunham of Lawrence Dunham Vineyards brings out a hot pot of coffee before the day begins. His thriving vineyards surround the winery against the backdrop of Chiricahua Mountains, with the peaks of Dos Cabezas and Mount Graham visible in the distance.
Along with affable assistant winemaker, Frank Price, the men are focused on organizing their well-sanitized equipment for a day of harvesting and de-stemming just as the process is about to begin. A crew of six have been harvesting beautifully ripe grenache grapes by hand since well before dawn, and now the first giant one-ton tub of grapes is brought in on the forks of a tractor.
It was a cool night at this mile-high elevation and the first picked grapes are bursting with sweet juicy flavor. Wielding a special pitch fork and a flat-bottomed shovel, each tub of thirteen in total is emptied into the mechanized de-stemmer as the clean-picked stems dump neatly out one side while the slightly mashed grapes (now referred to as “must”) make their way up a 4″ diameter clear tube rapidly filling a 300 gallon, slightly translucent industrial vat. “25 Brix,” is the first report of sugar content, about what Curt expected of Mother Nature’s produce.
Nine full-fledged wineries now operate in Cochise County alone. Five more are in the process of being planted as this very special terroir is being discovered. Rich volcanic soil, and the moderating influences of elevation and nightly temperature swing contribute to Arizona new status as ‘wine country.’ It is a joy to witness the surprised and pleasant reactions of our European and American visitors alike as they taste Arizona’s new craze crop–amazing wines!
Much of this corner of southern Arizona area is counter-intuitive, beginning with the quality of wine (and people!) one can already discover here. Talented wine makers such as Curt Dunham and Peggy Fiandaca; Rod Keeling and Jan Schaefer; Sam Pillsbury; Bob Carlson and his family; Rob and Sarah Hammelman; Mark and Rhona Jorve and many more are perfecting their wines for all of America to discover.
For the adventurous tourist, one might also think of southern Arizona as the wrong place to visit in summertime. After all, who hasn’t seen those extreme temperatures on the Tucson and Phoenix weather maps?
Think again! At over 5,000 feet in elevation, August and September are actually very enjoyable months of the year to visit. Largely gentle monsoon rains create verdant vistas, flowers bloom and grasses come alive, and first-time visitors are stunned to see flowing creeks and filled ponds–in Arizona! For both wine and visitors, the cool evening temperatures work their magic.
The giant vats are carefully loaded into Curt’s huge chilled storerooms–the winemaker’s craft well underway. Curt’s enthusiasm is overflowing, and his impeccable attention to detail is obvious. The future of Arizona wines is very bright indeed.
Here, the question, “You live here!?” is often followed up with, “I’m so jealous!”
You see, we happily called a small ranch in the southern Rockies our home, the place we welcomed guests to a beautiful hideaway. It is located in the mile high Chihuahuan Desert of southeast Arizona, in an ancient caldera. Bradford Angier, who with wife Vera wrote the inspiring, “We Like It Wild!” referred to locations like ours as the ‘back of beyond.’
When the pavement ends at Arizona Route 181, just as it bends north to the breathtaking Chiricahua National Monument, the six-mile drive on a primitive road to the ranch can build character–giving one pause to consider their travel decision. Once at the ranch a few miles later, guests breathe easier as they relax–easing into one of the most beautiful and tranquil settings surrounded by the Coronado National Forest.
It is a dramatic setting, a region of ‘Sky Islands’–mountains separated by high chaparral where an incredible multitude of species flourishes, both flora and fauna, segregated over eons by individual ranges.
The peacefulness of the area belies its violent history. This is the sacred land of the Chiricahua Apaches, final Native American holdout against the U.S. Military under the leadership of Cochise and Geronimo. There is an incredible sense of place here, wide open vistas where you can see forever down laser straight roads.
To the photographer, incredible light and colors of azure and cerulean blue make for very dramatic images both at dawn and at dusk when the shadows grow long and gentle. All manner of creatures become unique subjects.
As you might imagine, to live here requires some forbearance! The mailbox is 28 miles away through a Border Patrol check-point, “yes, I’m a citizen of this country.” The store is an hour’s drive away, and shopping excursions can be an all day affair. Rattlesnakes (especially the hair-trigger Mojave’s), tarantulas, cinnamon colored black bears and mountain lions require heightened awareness of one’s surroundings. Of course, the more mundane nuisance known as “goat heads” requires a bit of patience too. These severely sharp and pointy burrs attach themselves to everything, whether we like it or not!
For people leading complicated and stressful lives however, this setting provides a true antidote. Here one can find the balance needed to regain control of a complicated lifestyle. Savor unbelievable quietness, amazing fresh air and the long perspective of looking up to very old mountains.
Come. Ride a horse. Sit by the campfire. Swim. Walk along a very special nature trail–one that is full of nature. Remember what being still is like.
Come to the mountains. It will make all the difference.
Opening a Luxury Lodge and Spa in Southern Virginia
A few years ago, a New York City recruiter called to introduce me to a new project in a rural area of Virginia. I flew to Switzerland to meet the reclusive French billionaire, Didier Primat, who would offer me the opportunity and challenge of opening his new luxury Lodge and Spa in the Blue Ridge Mountains of southern Virginia. Knowing the family’s reputation for exceptional hospitality, I will always feel immense pride to have been selected for the challenge.
The grand ‘design and build’ project was completed at an investment of over $40 million for 26 exquisite guest rooms and gloriously opened to the public on August 31st, 2009. The cost of the hotel’s construction was much less than the nearly $1 billion required over three decades to improve the 12,000 acre ridge-top property, build its roads and infrastructure and to create a remarkable golf course designed by noted British architect Donald Steel.
Sadly, Mr. Primat never lived to attend the grand opening of his hotel, his first property in the United States. Little did we know that we would soon learn of Mr. Primat’s premature death at age 64 just one week after arriving on the property. This event coincided with the declining world economy as its free fall into recession beginning in 2008.
At the time of his death, Mr. Primat was the largest single land owner of real estate in France with family estates in Normandy, Alsace, Limoges and Paris. He also owned properties all over the world as well as 20% of the stock of Schlumberger Limited a multinational oil services company founded in 1926 by his grandfather and grandfather’s brother in 1926.
It was during my interview in Mr. Primat’s office at “Rouvrais,” beautiful estate of Didier’s mother Madame F. Schlumberger Primat in the pastoral outskirts of Geneva that I could sense Mr. Primat’s physical condition was in decline as he bravely faced the effects of esophageal cancer. I telephoned my wife Susan from Paris the next day, as we pondered whether to take on the project knowing the potential risk in the event of the loss of the owner. We decided to press on.
In spite of Mr. Primat’s death, the massive effort to open the luxury Lodge and Spa at Primland in Meadows of Dan, Virginia moved forward. As the project was launched, the pressure fell to Mr. Primat’s friend and confidant, asset manager Jean-Dominique Percevault of Paris, and to Mr. Primat’s children to continue advancing the huge sums needed for construction and to make the many split second decisions required on all manner of architectural and design issues. This was a tense time. A prolific stream of emails ensued between Virginia and the Geneva office, and the young Primat family members with lives of their own were now thrust into new roles.
It was a unique honor to work with so many very special people at Primland including Mr. Percevault and Mr. Primat’s eight children (Bérengère Primat Serval; Harold, Garance, Stanley, Kevin, Margaux, Flora and Justine Primat) their families and their mother Martine Primat. I consider it a gift to have known Mr. Primat and I am happy that our paths crossed for a time at Primland.
Driving for miles into the 12,000 acre Blue Ridge property on its then primitive dirt roads (now paved) across guardrail free precipices, I glimpsed the Lodge’s concrete decks and steel structure for the first time. The work site was in the midst of a pristine and wild Blue Ridge setting surrounded by a stunning golf course that was already open to play. The site would become a broad canvas on which hundreds of people would work together under time and budget constraints to create the perfect assemblage of people, furniture, fixtures, equipment and systems before we could welcome our first guests.
With little evidence of professional hospitality in place as I arrived, it was clear that the property would require significant change to become a credible hospitality venue. Few people understood the depth of the fundamental change that was required. As you might imagine, expectations were very high.
At the outset, it was the direction of the owner to create a five diamond standard. It would be a tall order to initiate the necessary change and evolve from that of a hunting and timber harvesting mentality to that of an extraordinary hotel/spa/golf complex. ‘Five diamond’ and ‘five star’ phrases were already beginning to appear in company press releases as I arrived. I cringed each time, knowing that there was a long way to go before the property could attain this standard.
As I look back, I wonder if this change is still evolving–the uneasy balance between the ‘way we were’ and the ‘way we’re going.’ It was a big change indeed for an operation heretofore designed for timber harvesting, wing-shooting and hunting native deer and turkeys to build the kind of culture necessary to welcome an upper echelon of travelers who expect a high standard of anticipative service—a tall order indeed.
Neighbors in the Blue Ridge Community took to referring to Mr. Primat as “the Frenchman”. More than a few were perturbed when early on, gates began to appear on his new Blue Ridge property—thereby shutting off a convenient and inspiring shortcut for mountain folk to get up, over and down the mountain.
That such a monumental hotel was being constructed in southern Virginia, in the county of Patrick, a largely rural and ruggedly beautiful wilderness area Primland seemed entirely incongruous. Perhaps Mr. Primat considered this a retreat, an American sanctuary away from his base of operations in Europe. At a minimum, the project was a substantial addition to the county’s economic development, providing jobs for over 150 employees and truly helping to put the little Blue Ridge town of Meadows of Dan squarely on the map.
“Up on the mountain” was how local folks described the county’s western half located atop the Blue Ridge escarpment. Here along the edge, was where Primland was created offering incredible distant views into the North Carolina piedmont. The lower half of Patrick county, to the east and south, comprised foothills and small towns the largest of which is the county seat of Stuart, named after locally born confederate hero Jeb Stuart.
I came to know many of Patrick County’s citizens as friends and enthusiastic supporters of Primland. I learned so much from them. They would share with me what was important about the area’s culture, and I worked to share with them all that was important in building a new hotel. Sometimes we were clearly at opposite ends of the spectrum trying to understand each other.
It is always an advantage to work with the local community rather than against it. This really helped create a first line of enthusiastic supporters who provide their enthusiasm and positive recommendations to visitors, even though they were a bit unsure of its mysterious European ownership. Local officials and business leaders were regular visitors and we were very proud to host all manner of community and chamber of commerce events, including open house celebrations for local guests.
There was above all in the community a spirit of sharing everything with everyone. I can tell you that “‘mater” sandwiches never tasted as good as those tomatoes grown on the mountain. An exotic can of sardines would occasionally appear out of a brown bag on the lunch table or even tins of Spam. Pinto beans are a local staple and were supplanted with the occasional can of ‘beanie weenies’ regularly washed down with a ‘Cheerwine’ soda or a caffeine-spiked ‘Sun Drop.’
Important lessons were learned about wing shooting, the ritual of deer hunting and the importance of turkey season. These animals (and others) provided subsistence for many employees year-round in the form of jerky and ‘deer meat’ lunches. In secret places in southern Virginia, wild ginseng still grows in the mountains and real moonshine is still distilled, tax-free of course. Apple butter is boiled down each fall and shared year round, chinquapins are still collected and ‘fried pies’ are ever popular.
These are the people of southern Virginia, underestimated and misunderstood by generations of Americans. I came to see in their Appalachian faces a strength and sophistication as great as any I’ve witnessed anywhere and to appreciate their unbelievable resilience. One underestimates these simple country folk at one’s own peril. If someone ‘fell off the mountain’ down into a ravine, got lost in the woods, broke an axle, got lost in the densely thick fog or faced timber rattlers and copperheads up close—I can tell you from experience these were the only people you could count on.
More than anything, the culture of the area was expressed in its soulful Bluegrass music. It seemed as if every family member here was taught to play and pick beginning at an early age. No one ever looked at sheet music! I am proud to say that Bluegrass Hall of Famer Sammy Shelor and his renowned Lonesome River Band performed for the grand opening of the Lodge adding a sweet local sound to the celebration.
Many heroic performances were required of Primland’s employees both tenured and new to open such a Lodge. The talents of a few very special consultants were also critical to success. I hope they always know how much their contributions meant to the success of Primland’s opening. We couldn’t have done it without Christine, John, Steven, Sylvie and others.
In the midst of enthusiasm and excitement as the opening drew near the usual pre-opening travail occurred–the luxury suite drain was clogged with cement left by the builders, improperly installed glass shower doors shattered upon dripping guests, and a hasty valet or two scratched up a luxury vehicle or two in the new parking garage below the Lodge entrance.
That first winter, un-insulated pipes froze and burst several times with water gushing forth into beautifully decorated rooms and living areas down through all four stories on freezing winter nights. In spite of all the challenges and difficulties a magnificent new Lodge and Spa opened and is waiting to welcome you to southern Virginia!
A world class golf course and spa, a one-of-a-kind telescope observatory (the likes of which you’ve never seen in a hotel environment) and even ‘tree houses’ perched on the edge of the ridge are only a few of the unbelievable aspects of the Primland experience.
In the observatory, the team created a wonderful “Tour of the Universe” program available most evenings after dinner in order that guests could see the celestial images coming through the 14 inch Celestron reflecting telescope. The 28 foot revolving, steel diameter dome was programmed to synchronize with the motorized telescope. Everything was digitally programmed to scan the heavens light years away.
I’m certain that Mr. Primat would be proud of his accomplishments today. Primland has gone on to achieve rare recognition as a L.E.E.D. certified hotel and to be included in the Condé Nast Travelers’ Top 25 Hotels of the World.
Thank you to everyone involved with this project, for working together to create a masterpiece. Thank you to each member of the Primat family, to Primland’s talented staff and to the many local Patrick County citizens who provided so much support, encouragement and timely insights.
I’ve enjoyed getting to know you all, and my life is richly blessed by you.
brooks.bradbury@gmail.com
© Copyright 2013 Brooks Bradbury | BrooksLooks
Photo Credit: Barry Towe
A year ago, a car was parked along the dirt road leading to the ranch and a man was on the other side of the barbed wire fence wandering in the field. This is quite a common sight here in southeastern Arizona, however I recognized neither the vehicle nor the occupants.
As soon as I heard the voice I recognized instantly that it was none other than cowboy poet Baxter Black standing there before me in all his cowboy glory, eyes twinkling out from under his wide-brimmed hat as he introduced himself and his wife the very delightful, CindyLou Baxter.
It seems Mr. Black was given the wrong date for the Southwest Pioneer Cowboy Association picnic to be held here in the Chiricahua Mountains, and he and CindyLou had arrived one week prematurely. Susan and I were just as happy to invite them for lunch, and while I welcomed our new friends and guests to Sunglow Ranch, Susan took to the kitchen making the finest lunch ever made under pressure. Baxter recited his poem, The West, phrases of which continue to this day to pop into my head such as, “the wind is the moan of the prairie” and “they don’t call it Death Valley for nuthin'”…
Today, over a year later was held this year’s SWPCA Cowboy Picnic. Over a hundred guests were in attendance just down the dirt road from the ranch, and a glorious steak dinner was cooked-out and beautifully served to all. More than one cowboy guest remarking to me that, “there are less and less of the real old-time cowboys left.”
Stackable plastic and metal folding chairs were ‘circled up’ after the meal, as raffle prizes and story-telling began. Cowboy poetry was recited. Stories were shared from the heart, and a celebration commenced for the real cowboys and cowgirls who were in attendance. Many sentences began with, “The Smith Ranch”, or “The Price Ranch”, or “The Riggs Ranch” and beautiful, time worn cowboy phrases like “prit’ near” and “howdy” were oft’ spoken.
A bit slowed by age, these were the originals–the ones who’s family tamed this very wild west from the 1870’s onward, and who continued in their parents’ footsteps ranching in this faraway land. Back then, this land had only recently been delivered up, wrested violently from the Chiricahua Apaches as their parents became the first white homesteaders here.
Now, a bit grizzled, thin and worn with age–it was clear that I was in the company of real cowboys and real cowgirls. Lord knows the hardships they faced. I couldn’t help but feel I was watching the passing of a way of life, and the end of an era. But I saw extraordinary character in these wrinkled faces, and simple lives.
Baxter and CindyLou never made it this year, but I’ll be looking down the road for them when next year’s cowboy picnic comes around. Heck, they prit’ near made it last year.
INNKEEPER NATION
we build our business by serving guests first
we attend to comfort
solve hunger and thirst
the go-to people for relaxation
getaways and celebrations
sometimes speechless at what we behold
at what we see, what we’re told
at times we’re smug, at times incredibly wise
at times it’s so quiet we hear the overhead rise
we check legions in, check legions out
we’re pleasant every day, no doubt
we serve canapés and wine and cheese
work endless days and aim to please
TripAdvisor can make good days, or turn them ‘round the other way
good reviews make us seem wiser, the bad give us hell to pay
it sure beats life in a cubby or the tedious nine to five drag
with more weekends off we’d be even more chubby
probably half in the bag
all of our guests bring joy to the heart, sure
most all at arrival and a few at departure
we’ve got holes in our tape charts we’re desperate to fill
this ain’t for the faint-hearts nor the over-the-hill
we’ve got plenty of secrets to get off of our chests
always gracious under stress, appreciative of returning guests
we carry bags, show the way, pour the coffee, clean the loo
offer advice–receive our share too
we see our guests naked without inhibitions
at times locked out in awkward positions
in-tune with our grease-traps, we brave the occasional mouse
we know the double edge sword of a completely full-house
we clean up messes and spills, we pay heavenly bills
we flash miles of smiles, vacuum hairs off tiles
we silence bedsprings, fortify walls against snores
return lost and found things, settle check-out time wars
we point toilet paper for some unknown reason
is this in the handbook or are we over-reaching?
we strategize on renting beds–stars and diamonds dance in our heads
we spend long hours at labor in our inn vocations
“live with” our customers and have more than a few reservations
perpetually in need of a longer vacation
we are the faithful of the innkeeper nation
we’re given one chance to make first impressions
we look askance at indiscretions
become an innkeeper—you’ll live life even deeper
and fly by the seat of your pants
it’s our guests we treasure as fragile and rare
of course! my pleasure! why yes, be right there
it’s up-close and personal–with changeable roles
sometimes we are tested by challenging souls
but we smile through anger resisting the urge
when we’re over-the-edge and out on the verge
this is our calling we are destined to serve
we’ve got the manners, the brass and the nerve
guests return joy and love us in turn
they respond to our kindness, their loyalty we earn
but snoozing away, in those early morn hours
we awaken from dreams of Frette and flowers
remembering there’s only one choice we need make
it’s not what room to clean first nor which muffin to bake
not the quiche or fritatta nor the gluten-free cake
nor which potpourri we’ve decided to use
or if we need padded hangers (or just padded rooms)
for the heart of the matter, the real crux of the thing
is when we wake up to an alarm bell ring
a moment of truth arrives each day in our life
a decision we make that cuts like a knife
our only choice is this one, to get by:
are we going to live? or are we going to die?
if you’ve decided to die, please — fall down quickly
and spare all the others from the negative and prick-ly
but if you’ve decided to live: then by all means flourish!
grow joy in your soul, love and be nourished
in the final analysis, it’s the gifts we give
the time we share, the way we live
the giving back, the being there
the friends we make, the way we care
time gets shorter, numbered days whiz by
plenty of worries, to stop and ask why
it’s an innkeeper’s life our living to serve
in spite of the grind and the occasional swerve
WE are the gifts we give to those who arrive
over our thresholds and up the drive
when it’s done and over,
we tally neither losses nor wins
we measure our success–by beloved guests
after all they’re the reason that we all keep inns!
© Copyright Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks 2012
