Remembering Art Foss

If you drive down Smith Rock Way, on the way to the internationally famed climbing destination, you will pass a small cemetery on your right. It was there that nearly 200 people gathered yesterday to remember a man who has influenced so many in his 80 years. As the beauty of the cliffs loomed before them, 11 young men dressed in jeans, white shirts, and cowboy hats, flanked their grandfather's casket. Art Foss, a world renowned steer wrestler, rancher, pilot, truck driver, husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, was being buried in the same plot of land his parents and siblings were, not even a mile from where he was born and raised. Cars lined the road as far as the eye can see, and people who couldn't make the walk to the grave site gathered in cars to do their own remembering. Just down the street stood the house Art's father built, commuting between Athena and Terrebonne by horseback to do so, installing the wiring himself by book.

"They say every rock pile out there he built by hand," Josh's cousin said to me as he saw me looking out at the property after the service.

As the people moved to the VWF Building in Redmond, the crowd seemed to increase. A slideshow of photos played as people laughed, compared stories, and ate together. The microphone was opened up to any who wished to share, and weathered cowboys approached the stage one by one. Every story started the same way. "I was 12 or 13 when I started going to the ranch." Art had a knack for Cowboy Discipleship. He reached out to troubled youngsters, opening his home, and inviting them to the ranch where he taught them how to work. How to ride bulls. How to get cows.

How to be men.

The first time I met Josh's grandpa was at a branding five years ago. I am, for all intents and purposes, a city girl. It was my first time on a ranch, and I probably had the fancy, pointy-toed boots on to prove it. He was a big man, had become hard of hearing, and his loud, booming voice intimidated me. I was surprised when Josh's mom told me a few years ago that this big, tough cowboy thought I didn't like him because I was too scared to talk to him. We just saw Art at the branding about four weeks ago. When we left, he told me three different times to take care of his boy--something he had never said to me before.

I love that I married into a ranching family that has left such a large wake of influence behind them. Art Foss will be missed. But his legacy won't be forgotten. Josh's brother proudly called his grandpa his best friend. He said yesterday "They just don't breed 'em like that anymore." And the sad part is, he's right.

But we can sure try.