It would be easy to fill several pages as to why I think Jeff Streeby is a Master of the Craft of Cowboy Poetry. This coming week, Jeff will receive a Master of Fine Arts in Poetry from New England College. In true Cowboy fashion he worked long and hard to earn this degree. With his wife BJ he has raised an exceptional family, taught school, trained horses and stood by his many friends through countless life-changing situations. Before I let his work speak for itself, I will say this: Without a doubt Jeff Streeby is a Master Horseman, a Master Teacher, a Master Editor, a Master Cowboy Poet and a Master Friend.

Our friend Leroy is sometimes too nice for his own good and it plays against him. His efforts at being helpful sometimes bring on disaster. However, his last near-miss brought one thing to lightŠhe has a possible future in the circus.

Torn between the two I sat and contemplated what to write about, Flag Day or Father's Day. I have always loved Flag Day when proud Americans display the symbol of our country. It is a joy to see streets lined with flags, and to see them displayed in yards and on houses. There is something about an American Flag that fills my heart with joy and pride.

Grass is green and high and some folks around here are already starting to make a first cut of hay. But the rain has ruined several fields as it pours down and stands deep between the rows.

Dressed in our best clothes, our shoes shined and holding bundles of small flags in our hands, we sat quietly while he drove. He too, wore his best, including his Sunday Stetson. The silence was uncharacteristic; usually he was full of stories and jokes that kept us laughing and chattering. This day, however, was a reverent day and our first time to join him on this yearly trip.

The country is in a stir as the presidential election looms on the horizon and I have finally lost my sense of humor with those who yammer on and on about politics without the slightest idea what they are talking about. I have been repeatedly asked who I am going to support and though I believe it is a personal choice and no one's business but mine, I will share my decision making process. Today, readers, I am going to give you my personal political opinion minus names, political affiliations and fad status.

She gets herself up and ready for school, jumps in her one-ton flatbed dually and takes off. It is the same each morning. As she heads out we gloat a little that we have taught her to be self-reliant; to get herself up, make sure she has everything she needs for the day and to get where she is going on time. We have done a good job and we are proud of her and ourselves.

March comes in like a lion and out like a lambŠbut March is exceedingly late this year. The winds of March have drug into May and they seem to have no intention of slowing down any time soon. It makes chores a pain, whips things about the yard, spooks the animals, and I won¹t go into all the junk it swirls about in the air that makes our allergies flair up. But worse, it disturbs the muse and won¹t allow her words to reach my ear; so I am on my own.