BrooksLooks @ Innkeepers

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

BrooksLooks @ Innkeeper Nation

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

BrooksLooks@ Back of Beyond

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

BrooksLooks @ Chiricahua Cowgirl

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

BrooksLooks@ Appalachia Rising

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

BrooksLooks@ Beer

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

BrooksLooks@ The Poisoned Well

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

 
2013

BrooksLooks@ The Chiricahua Cowboy

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

BrooksLooks@ Saying Goodbye to Pam Torres

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

BrooksLooks@ Chiricahua Cowgirl

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

© Copyright 2013 Brooks Bradbury / BrooksLooks

BrooksLooks@ The Gift of Goodbye

January 2013

At that moment, it never quite sinks in. Perhaps only later are we able to understand the magnitude of the gifts we’ve received, as a door closes and a chapter of our lives abruptly ends. Little do we know that our lives are only beginning anew.. The next chapter is already being written. In time, one chapter morphs into another…and then one day, yet another, in the grand pattern of our unfolding lives.
“Ride the wave” is a common refrain among today’s wayfaring professionals. It is the case today of so many lives on the move. I’m think of those of us in hospitality leadership roles. Invariably, we leave what we know to advance our careers accepting a new position in a new community far away. In spite of seeking long-term commitments and a place we can call home for a while, employers change, owners die and the boss we loved decides to leave.
We anticipate a long-term commitment and a new community we can call home for a time. Instead, recessions occur, someone changes their mind, and the boss who’s hired us decides to move on. “Living forward” is important, we tell ourselves, knowing that with each new move there is always an inherent cost to our friendships, our families and even our psyches.
Occasionally we allow ourselves a furtive backward glance, before the current of life snaps our focus back forward again. Such is the case for me, when my time in the Berkshires came to a close, after calling this beautiful part of the world my home for over twenty years. “Twenty years!?” the recruiters would say incredulously, shocked that a tenure of such duration could actually happen in this day and age of shattered loyalty between employer and employee.
My career began and blossomed in New England. My family was raised here, I felt great pride, knew real pain and sorrow and at last, then I truly fell in love here and felt great joy. I lived here! I came to love those Berkshire hills and peaks, ponds and people and the generally agreeable tapestry of life woven here. As I passed two decades of living in the Berkshires even local writer Milton Bass referred to me as a ‘local kid making good’ in one of his columns. He doesn’t know it, but it was as close as I’ve ever been to being thought of as a ‘local’.
The Berkshire Hills are far away now, so many memories receding in the rear-view mirror. It was magical time to be a part of the Berkshire scene, an honor to be included among those residents and visitors for so long. It was an experience that has continued to age and mellow in my mind. Celebrations of hard work and accomplishment still resonate. So many friendly Berkshire faces still pop into my mind, moments I remember and the times our paths crossed. My time there was cocoon-like, as though a nurturing incubator prepared me for what was to come. When it was time to leave, it felt as though I were moving on, a graduation–bringing with it both excitement and some uncertainty along with the good wishes of so many.
Over the years, I had the rare privilege of earning my way up from an entry-level job to become The Red Lion Inn’s general manager, all in one very special place–Stockbridge, Massachusetts. Much was expected, much was given and much was gained there. I thank the Fitzpatricks for the wealth of opportunities they provided me, and for seeing some real potential in me. “Everything is Important” is the pearl of wisdom that has remained meaningful and relevent to me all these years. Thank you, Jane Fitzpatrick, for believing in me and for your nurturing and inspiration.
It was time to move on from Stockbridge. Real lessons of life were only just beginning, as I eventually accepted the gift of goodbye. Then, a private club in New Haven, Connecticut needed rescuing. Years prior, legislation passed eliminating the deduction of membership and two-martini lunches from one’s taxes. Private Clubs began to founder, and in this denouement, I entered the world of private luxury clubs for the first time–bringing a Fitzpatrick style of hospitality to a struggling city club.
Participation was paramount to my Berkshire experience, and I worked to introduce this private, largely male bastion to prospective new members and to a community generally unaware of the high-level, private conversations that transpired within its walls. There were difficult moments here including struggling to make the payroll each week, renovating unused guest rooms, even issuing bonds among members to replace the club’s ancient infrastructure.
I encountered genuine malfeasance among the club’s former managers and worked to move them all along–building a new team in the process. I also discovered an employee shooting-up heroin in a rest room there; guests who’s vehicles were stolen from the street during club events; employee thefts; panhandlers and street crime. Oh my. I had truly been thrust from Norman Rockwell’s world into a new one.
In spite of these occasional challenges, I enjoyed this urban experience, the amazing people I met and the real sense of community that flourished in New Haven.
New opportunity knocked, this time a call from Wisconsin. The Kohler Company needed a manager for their luxe private club known as Riverbend. A little hospitality and club experience made the difference. It was time to say goodbye to the Connecticut shoreline. Susan and I found ourselves looking at a map to pinpoint exactly where Wisconsin was, then making our intrepid move to the city of Sheboygan along the shores of Lake Michigan. Riverbend members were very gracious captains of Midwest industry, and they paid an initiation fee of at $75,000 or more for the privilege being a member.
This was a big company experience, a very successful organization that remains independently owned by the descendents of the original founding family. At Kohler, many things came into focus as personalities and performances were probed and analyzed through psychometrics and the assessment of such tests as Caliper, Myers Briggs, Wonderlic and FIRO-B testing. This was also a wonderful introduction to the Midwest perspective. Go green and gold! I still think of your kind people, and artisanal cheeses. And Leinenkugel’s. I discovered an incredible work ethic here in Wisconsin and among my talented team of employees. It is unrivalled anywhere.
Opportunity then came knocking, this time from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. It was time to say goodbye to Kohler. A mysterious and reclusive billionaire was creating his first U.S. sanctuary in southern Appalachia. Meetings were held in Paris and Geneva and I was given the privilege and responsibility of opening a $40 million luxury Lodge and Spa atop a 12,000 acre Blue Ridge setting, in one of Virginia’s most rural and beautiful counties. It was my second such hotel opening, and a wonderful challenge.
Susan and I found genuinely interesting and sophisticated people in southern Virginia along the Blue Ridge Parkway. We also discovered a breadth of new experiences in this unspoiled setting. Locally made moonshine appeared one day on my desk as a different kind of welcome gift–the real deal. Wild ginseng still grows on the mountain sides there, and mountain lions prowl the ridges. Hunting and fishing are a life-style–more necessity than sport. Music, sweet, joyful Blue Grass, was a gift passed on down to each new generation. No one ever played with sheet music either. We felt we were listening to the roots of American music in Floyd, Virginia.
Resilience, adaptability and ‘making-do’ all come to mind when I think of the great people of Patrick County, Virginia.
It took two years to build and open the lodge and spa as it opened in August of 2010 to a planned five diamond standard. Upon the death of the owner, his eight children were instantly thrust into key decision-making roles. Standards changed. Directions changed. My contract was over and it was time to say goodbye.
No sooner had the words left Susan’s mouth that she was “ready for adventure,” then the call came about a guest ranch in southeastern Arizona. The owner needed a manager, and the ranch needed some attention to detail. Out came the atlas and off we went! We can now say we have lived the real southwest experience, there in the true wild west dreams of our childhood. Think Johnny Ringo, horses, barbed wire, water rights and silver mining. The very real town of Tombstone, Arizona was nearby and the old copper mining town of Bisbee well worth a visit.
Here, the Chiricahua Mountains in the extreme southern Rockies, was the ancestral land of the Chokonen Apache. Cochise and Geronimo walked these very trails, defending their ancestral homeland. The last Native American holdouts battled valiantly against America’s military until they were forcibly removed. We have found real strength of character here among the people of southern Arizona, along with profound quietness and a rare proximity to nature’s extraordinary diversity in what are known as ‘Sky Islands.’ Precious little remained of the Apache culture, except for shards of pottery found on our hikes. Here, I also removed my share of rattlesnakes and tarantulas from guest areas. Our guests were generally appreciative and we survived too.
Since living in the Berkshires, we’ve bought and sold six homes and lived in nine different states. We ‘let go of the proverbial rock at the bottom of the river’ allowing the current of life to take us higher and farther. We’ve had the privilege of living in very special pristine places beyond where the pavement ends, where the air is still sweet and clean and infinite stars sparkle in dark skies.
Addenda to be added:
Leaving Arizona, hello Great Smokies
Home at last, Colorado
Southern Utah
Oregon Colorado Maryland
Next?
There are things and people we miss about each place we’ve lived, with plenty of pleasant memories all piled up. We are grateful for the gift of goodbye and the rich experiences that life has brought us since our time in the Berkshires out on the road to adventure in hospitality.Thanks for reading this unfinished tome, for checking in from time to time and following along.

Brooks and Susan Bradbury

BrooksLooks @ Arizona’s Promising Wine Future

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.

BrooksLooks @ Being Home on the Range


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.

BrooksLooks@ The Opening of Primland, Luxury Lodge and Spa in Southern Virginia

An Introduction

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

BrooksLooks @ In the Company of Cowboys

A Picnic of Cowboys and Cowgirls

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.

BrooksLooks @ Innkeepers

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