I don't want to smoke a cigarette, I just want to smell it burn.

The 82nd Ute Stampede is now history, and most can prepare to go back to work tomorrow, which also means the Rodeo Committee and their volunteers will start to prepare for next year. Most of us don't know how much behind the scene work goes in doing that, but we acknowledge it with a heartfelt thanks. Although I probably won't attend as many as Mrs. Morgan or Ellen Garrett, I have been to several and this year was as good as ever, not only watching world champion Cody Wright, but supporting our Nephi kids as well. The problem was there was something missing at the rodeo, but I couldn't put my finger on it until midway through the second rodeo. I wandered aimlessly, even among the carny workers. As I was returning to my seat above the chutes, it hit me like a bolt of lightening. I could smell the aroma of freshly lit tobacco. I sought the source and found it coming from a cowboy who just finished his event. I hollered at him to move closer to me. Good thing he didn't want a boot fight, as it takes a long time to get mine off. I just wanted to smell his cigarette. Sometimes our senses are heighten when we smell something of fondness, as a fresh burning cigarette does for me. It was something I grew to love at the rodeo, as it was always present. The cowboy told me it had been outlawed on the Fairgrounds, so at least I feel better knowing what I was missing. Mr. Bracken, a local school teacher of the past, showed us kids the dangers of smoking so I didn't need the government telling me in over the top TV warnings. That teacher had an impact on the Class of 65, so most of us never took up the habit. Mr. Bracken placed a drop of tar or nicotine in the mouth of a sparrow and then let it fly. It was a matter of seconds when the bird dropped dead. Back in the 1950's and 60's there were a lot of enticing ads to smoke a stick and we bought candy cigarettes to think we were the Marlboro Man. Trouble was, those guys died pretty dang quick, and it wasn't from saddle sores. I still like to smell burning tobacco, so if you are smoking, don't punch me if I want to come up close and just want to sniff! In the 1960's, Juab County had a lot of smokers, and thinking back, they all seemed to be good family men; great neighbor's; excellent cops; hard workers and guys who would stop what they were doing to give a helping hand. I idolize our soldiers, many of which learned how to smoke-getting the cigs from the C-rations. If you spend much time in a foxhole or thinking about getting killed, a cigarette became a calmer. If a shepherd couldn't read the Good Book or play the harmonica, he would roll his own to pass the time. Now the rest of the story-and without a smoke screen. For the past sixty years, I have been collecting stuff from around the world, which include packs of cigarettes and just found my box of cancer. It is too hot to burn in a yard and the rising smoke may give cancer to migratory birds. I could take up smoking, but not really interested, so I interviewed a cowboy among us and he told me he was committed to continued smoking. Today, I presented my box of legal stash to the Amarillo Kid of Texas. He won his version of the Lottery.