| PKR PRIMAVERA BRIO | |
| GAB CREEK GOLDEN VAQUERO | |
| GAB CREEK JIM BUCK | |
| BROODMARES | |
| GELDINGS | |
| MORGANS FOR SALE | |
| IN MEMORY | |
| TRAINING AND BOARDING | |
| MORGANS AS STOCK HORSES | |
| NEWS ARCHIVE | |
| LINKS | |
| HOME | |
|
John Hutcheson
Gab Creek Farm, LLC 539 Gab Creek Farm Road Dahlonega, GA 30533 (706) 864-3690  gabcreekhutch@gmail.com |
Morgans influenced the American Quarter Horse. Click on any name below
to read articles by Morgan historian Gail Perlee that
chronicle that development.
I know this girl, named Lucy Ray, She called me just the other day. It struck me funny what she had to say, But from horses, she can’t stay away. “Hutch, I’m feeding nine, and that’s OK, Since what they eat is mostly hay. Can’t work all week and ride that many, So, nine is just a gracious plenty. But there’s a mare in Californi ‘A’ She’s been on cattle and likes to play. A buckskin, not a bay, Someone will haul her out this way. And then with me she can here stay. An even number now is ten, And that’s much better (Fungswhe, Karma, Zen) Plus counting mares in pairs is such a win! She’s a Morgan, don’t you know. I have seven ‘Justins’ in my pen. The quarter horses I can sell to cowboy friends. Then three more Morgans would put me back to ten!” You see her mind, it works this way: Horses, shoes and hay. Bull riders, farriers, clowns and 4H kids, In blue jeans she is bound to stay, my horsey friend, Lucy Ray. The following poem can also be found on John's page on cowboypoetry.com here. Ed Dabney survived seven winters as a cowboy in Wyoming. He told me this tale of fright over dinner one evening and the next day I wrote this poem sitting on my horse on the third day of a Buck Branaman Clinic. Buck probably thought I was trying to take down every word he said. But the muse had come on me and I had to get it down on paper. So this is a cowboy special literally written in the saddle. It is funny now. But a feller can easily get crippled for life if not killed out right in a situation like this. The Fast Elk Ed Dabney, for the freezer, shot 'im an elk one fall. He was living out near Dubois, working for the “Hole In the Wall.” It was gettin' late, so Ed, he thought, “I’ll quarter in the morn.” But that night come a snowfall, eighteen inches of fresh corn. Next morning Ed, he trailered up, with Penny and old Dan. Thinkin', “Quartering and packing is a lot of work, old man.” “With this fresh snow I could slide it down, and take it home intact.” “The shed would be much warmer, plumb dry and cozy in fact!” “It ought to be real easy. It’s downhill to my truck.” We'll have this done 'fore breakfast time, with any kind of luck. So, up the hill he rode his horse, Dan breaking through the snow. And found his cow elk ready, pointed downhill for the go! Ed dropped a loop right on her head and dallied up just right. He broke her free and turned his horse and felt it come up tight. There was a little bench up there. And the Elk it seemed to lodge. Ed says to Dan, "Come on ol' friend, we're getting’ outta Dodge!" He touched old Dan with his Texas rowels, the honda choked down tight. The rope, it sang like Dixie, Dan’s eyes they bulged out white. Have you ever had a premonition, a blinding flash of light? That elk came free like a NASA launch- it passed old Dan in flight! Now, the rope has snarled Ed’s dallies. The elk she run up tight. And that cow, again she passed them, this time, on the right! Ed and horse are leaping, twenty meters to the bound. Ed's fumblin' at his dallies- seemed like light years from the ground. Old Dan’s a Grand Prix jumping, logs and five foot spruce, Adrenalines a pumping, thoughts of morphine, pins and screws. Ed saw the purple mountains, he heard the siren song. He marveled at God’s creation and prayed his life be long. But now the slope, it levels out. The truck, it is in sight. Ed guessed he's dodged the bullet, it just might be all right. But he's too old, too wise in fact, his victory to boast. He thanks the gods of mercy, and that old cow-elk's ghost. The moral of the story, friends? Wrecks happen in a flash. Gravity can lead to problems, when you get all bold and rash. Corn snow is like ball bearings, slick as gravy on a fork. So keep you knife real handy, when you try to save on work! It was a few years back that my young farrier friend was into bull riding. He kept asking me to come watch him ride and he was ranked pretty high at the time so I went about 40 miles to where he was riding on a Friday night. He sure was dressed nice. I mean he had a flashy outfit....green chaps, new boots, expensive hat. Anyhow he rode the bull for about a second and a half and then the bull rode him for the next sixteen seconds. Even though I was over 50 by then, I managed to go from the nose bleed seats to the rail by which time 25 guys were in there trying to get him loose. Well, he wasn't hurt ....except for his pride. The next day I got to thinking about it and got tickled and the muse came on me to write this poem. Without A Rope Austin Tally took no dally, A rope he did despise, He'd ride that bull without a rope, (He's crazy, certified). "Like Davy, I'll just grin him down," Austin, he declared. So to the chute with brand-new boots, He sauntered with teeth bared. Old "Redeye" gave a baleful look, He'd seen them come and go. Another cowboy, "Hey, where's your rope?" (This one he must be slow). "Don't need no rope with this here grin," Austin, he replied. And he slipped down onto ol' Redye, Who rolled his evil eye. If grinning didn't work, Why he'd just grab both ears. "It's only for eight seconds," (And then he'd hear them cheer). So behind that hump he scooted, And yelled, "Let's let him out!" And when the gate was opened, The dust whirled all about. But Austin wasn't grinning, And over all the shouts, The cowboys sitting on the rail, Could hear him bellow out. "I thought I had him figured, My plan was all worked out; I started out a grinnin' Right now I'm plumb grinned out!" "Behind those horns I'm lookin' Does the hospital here serve beers? Next time I'll dang sure bring my rope-- Ol' Redeye's got no ears!" -John M. Hutcheson 
|
And Morgans can pack and they certainly don't mind a crupper after 100 years of carriage service.
This Morgan mare was unshod and stayed sound over a six day 54 mile cattle drive from 1,200 ft to over 8,000 ft. © 2003-2023 Gab Creek Farm, LLC. All contents of site is property of Gab Creek Farm, LLC unless otherwise indicated.