"Uniquely American"? No, not quite

Since neither of my papers came on time this morning, I grabbed the Express from the guy at the Metro station. Page 2 has a would-be humorous piece called "Cowboy Skills, Eh?" featuring a picture of a guy being bucked off a bronc "during the annual bucking horse demonstration near Innisfall, Alberta, Canada... After all, it's not a real day at the rodeo unless someone has a concussion at the end of it." The uncredited writer finishes up by saying, "One wonders why another country would choose to adopt not only such a uniquely American sport, but also one so dangerous."

Well, passing aside the "dangerous" comment, and the faux ingenuous wondering why another country might want to adopt an American sport (football in Europe, anyone?), let's face it: Cowboys have been in Canada very nearly as long as they have been here - since 1876. And Alberta has been major cowboy country for well over a century.

Sure, we may think cowboys are ours, our iconic symbol of the West, but they just aren't. In point of fact, the whole "cowboy" way of life started in Spain, in open-range cattle ranching on haciendas in Iberia. It was imported into New Spain - Mexico and the American Southwest - and carried on by the vaqueros of northern Mexico and the charros of the Jalisco and Michoacán regions, reaching the USA only in the 19th century. And Canada just a couple of decades later.

Here's a nice Canadian song that points out the whole continuum.

THE SHORT GRASS by Ian Tyson

The sun burns the snow high on the mountains.
It runs and it flows as it falls.
Silt and soil, down it boils;
Down through the valleys the gold river rolls
To the plains.

The range land lies high up from the river;
The coulees are dry where the short grass grows.
Fields of hay, cottonwood shade:
Green patch of home in the high dusty lands,
The river flows.

Early evening light, boys practice roping.
The day fades away, the night rolls on.
Lives of pride; men who ride
They keep the old skills that came up the trail
From Mexico.

The long river winds through green years and dry years;
Brand 'em in the spring, ship 'em in the fall.
A new colt foaled; the mare grows old:
Cycle of changes in this changeless land
Where the short grass grows.