patriotism

THE COWBOY’S LAST RODEO (AND A GIVEAWAY!) — by Louise M. Gouge

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Thank you for inviting me back to Petticoats and Pistols. I was here last January to promote my Love Inspired book Feuding with the Cowboy. Today, I want to introduce you to my brand new sequel, The Cowboy’s Last Rodeo. This story continues my series about the Mattson family of New Mexico cattle ranchers. As always with Love Inspired, my heroine and hero work through their unique conflicts and adversities on the way to earning their happily-ever-after.

 

Before I get into the specifics about the book, I want to jump on the bandwagon with other on P&P writers in celebrating the United States’ 250 anniversary. Quick question you don’t have to answer: How much did you have to practice to say “Semi-Quincentennial”? In May, I gave a patriotic talk to a ladies’ meeting, and I sure did have to pause and think each time I said the word. LOL! Also, to celebrate this remarkable anniversary, I brought a colorful ornament, some cute juice glasses, two tee shirts, a welcome mat, a yard flag, and a brand new Stars and Stripes flag to fly by our front porch. There was so much more I wanted to buy, but I had to stop someplace. BTW, I took all of these pictures with my iPhone, so they’re mine.

 

I’ve always been very patriotic. When I was in high school in 1962, I was honored to be chosen as the soloist when my choir introduced a new song titled “I’m just a flag-waving American.” Back then, everybody in this country would have made that same proclamation. If you click on the link, you won’t see me singing because, sad to say, my performance wasn’t recorded. Instead, you’ll hear a wonderful high school group singing the song in a 1976 celebration of our Bicentennial. Now, as we are about to celebrate the Semi-Quincentennial, it’s so inspiring to listen to the words of this song. Let me know what you think.

Thinking of patriotic people, I’m always impressed by the patriotism of the cowboy and rodeo community. These hardworking, down-to-earth folks get it. This is the greatest country in the world, and they are thankful to be here where we’re free to be whoever God wants us to be. Knowing The Cowboy’s Last Rodeo would be released in July, I made sure to include a scene in which my hero and heroine attend a community Independence Day celebration, complete with patriotic music, hot dogs, and fireworks. Rodeo cowboys and cowgirls are especially faith-filled and patriotic folks. You can always count on hearing an opening prayer and singing the National Anthem before every rodeo. And if the event happens on Sunday, they always attend Cowboy Church right there in the rodeo arena.

Here’s the story:

He’s risking it all for one last ride…After a near-fatal fall, former bull rider Raeder Westfall is determined to prove he’s no quitter, especially to his five-year-old son, Peanut. But rodeo queen June Mattson knows the price of chasing glory, and as Peanut’s Sunday school teacher, she worries Raeder is risking too much. Yet when the Riverton Stampede loses its star, June surprises them both by tossing Raeder’s name into the ring. As they work to save the town’s biggest event, friendship turns to something deeper. Can they overcome fear and pride to build the family they both long for?

So, what did you do to celebrate our Semi-Quincentennial? I’m partial to barbecue pork, baked beans, coleslaw, and corn on the cob for my July Fourth menu. Leave comments to enter my drawing for one print copy of The Cowboy’s Last Rodeo to a U. S. resident.

 

 

South Carolina author Louise M. Gouge writes contemporary and historical romance fiction, winning the prestigious IRCA in 2006 and placing as a finalist in 2011, 2015, 2016, and 2017. She was also a finalist in the American Christian Fiction Writers Carol Awards in 2005, 2007, and 2008, and placed in the Laurel Wreath contest in 2012. Most recently, she was a finalist in the 2023 and 2024 Selah Awards. A former college English and humanities professor, Louise is a 25 year member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Faith, Hope, and Love Christian Writers. Married for fifty-four happy years to her beloved husband, David, Louise is now widowed and spends her days researching and writing her next novel.

 

You can find her complete Booklist and more info about her writing at her website: https://louisemgougeauthor.blogspot.com/ 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LouiseMGougeAuthor

Follow me on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/louise-m-gouge

Love of Country Ingrained…

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Hey, it’s Ruthy here, and I love being part of Stars & Spurs week here at the hoppin-est Western group of cowboy-lovin’ gals there is…

What is it about Western images and culture and determination that makes us think of flag and country?

Well, it could be that flag flyin’ high at ranches all across the West/Midwest.

Or those small town celebrations that make us remove our hats, put a hand over our hearts and feel a prayer even if not one cotton-pickin’ word comes out of our mouths.

Or it could be at the graveside of a young man, the sharp knife of a short life, gone too soon in defense of his country. According to Wikipedia, over 80,000 soldiers, marines, sailors and airmen/women never plowed another field or husked another ear of corn following World War II, the Korean conflict and the Viet Nam War…

From some of the least-populated states came tens of thousands of Homeland Heroes.

From the “fly-over” states came the sound– and the cost– of freedom.

The sound of “Taps” being played on that single horn.

Bagpipes toning the tear-jerking chords of “Amazing Grace”

And the sight of a cowboy, on horseback, hunting that last calf as the sun dips down behind him.

The reminder of Christ and that shepherd we all love so much, leaving the 99 safe and sound to go after the one lost sheep.

When I think of Stars and Stripes and Spurs, that’s what comes to mind.

That in an amazing country that had been so divided 85 years before, shedding the blood of so many in a Civil War that tore us apart and bound us together, so many stood strong in the face of international terror when faced with the scourge of Hilter and Mussolini and Stalin, heartless men whose selfishness and greed dictated the loss of millions…

The image of a cowboy, standing guard at the gate or delivering a calf or a lamb or rocking his own baby floods our hearts with the goodness of the American West. This thought-provoking photo comes from Priscilla Du Preez over at Unsplash.

Because in the West it doesn’t matter how tall you are…

But how tall you stand.

And may God bless America….

Tobias Keller, Unsplash

Ruthy is giving away two copies of her newest Love Inspired Western “Healing the Cowboy’s Heart” to a couple of lucky cowgirls or boys but you’ve got to carry on the conversation below because when it comes to faith, hope and love, the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom stands strong, doesn’t it? And don’t get your knickers in a twist if you haven’t gotten your books from last month… you know our Ruthy lives on a farm and the grumpy farmer has been fighting rain, rain, and more rain so every little job doesn’t get done once… or twice… but three, four or five times. But they know they’re blessed to have jobs and lives beyond the farm, so there’s no lamentation… just a time-drain, folks. And one of these days our Ruthy will get to the Post Office and send out the last few weeks of books…. Sure as shootin’! 

Feel free to shout out the folks you know who have served… they have blessed every one of us by that sacrifice of time and safety!

 

 

December 7, 1941–A Day That Will Live in Infamy

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Driving down one of the busiest streets of Oklahoma City today, I noticed a flag at a local business flying at half-staff.  It was the only one on that block.  I’m sure many people wondered about it. 

But I remembered. 

December 7, 1941…the day the U.S. was brought into World War II with the bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese. 

Through the years, my mother recounted tales brought home from “over there” by her relatives who enlisted.  She talked also about the rationing here at home—how difficult it was to get needed items, and how impossible it was to get luxuries.  She was 19 when the U.S. entered the war—just the very age of so many of the young men who were killed in the surprise attack on December 7, 1941.  Was there a man of that age who didn’t rush down to sign up for duty after that fateful day?  Many of her fellow students and co-workers did just that, and during the course of the next four years of war, many of them were lost. 

My father tried to sign up, but his lungs were bad.  He was turned away.  I think he was always ashamed of that, because until the day he died, he had one of the most patriotic hearts I’ve ever known.  Secretly, when I was old enough to realize what that might have meant, I was glad that he had not had to go to war.  I knew that would have changed everything in my world. 

Being as close as it was to Christmas made the deaths of the men at Pearl Harbor even more poignant.  Just done with Thanksgiving, looking forward to the Christmas holidays to come, so many young lives snuffed out in the space of minutes. Watching the documentaries, hearing the old soldiers that are left from that time talk about the horror of that day, and of war in general, brings tears to my eyes. 

 

I’m always amazed by the generations that have gone before us, and how they stood up and faced adversity when it was required of them.  Being human, as we all are, the unknown was just as frightening to them as it is to us.  We tend to forget it, somehow, because of the luxury and comforts of our modern lives that we have become used to.  We have let ourselves become numb, in a way, and what’s worse—we have forgotten.

 

We have forgotten what the generations before us sacrificed for us, their future.  We have forgotten how to honor the memory of those men and women, and what they did, individually and collectively.  

I counted flagpoles the rest of the way home from that one, lonely half-staff flag—about a mile and a half to my house.  There was only one other pole along that route that flew their flag half-staff in memory of that day seventy years ago.  A day that ended in smoke, and fire, drowning and death…and war. 

Something peculiar occurs to me.  I have been alive during the time when the last surviving widow of a veteran of The War Between The States died.  I have been alive during the time that the last survivor of World War I died.  There are not that many survivors left of World War II.  Yet, our schools pass over these huge, world-altering events as if they are nothing, devoting a page or less to them in the history texts.  Think of it.  A page or less, to tell of the suffering, the economic impact, the technological discoveries, and the loss of humanity of each of these wars. 

No wonder our society has forgotten the price paid by those who laid down their lives.  When we don’t teach our children, and learn from the past, history is bound to repeat itself.  

President Franklin Roosevelt declared December 7, 1941 as “a day that will live in infamy.”  That statement, spoken so boldly, believed so strongly, held so close to the hearts of that generation, is only true as long as the next generation, and the one beyond that, remembers.

 

Well, many years have passed since those brave men are gone

And those cold ocean waters now are still and they’re calm.

Well, many years have passed, but still I wonder why,

The worst of men must fight and the best of men must die.

(From REUBEN JAMES, by WOODY GUTHRIE) 

 

 

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