Cowboy tunes at Di Luna's

We're in for an evening of good stuff, and it ain't just the yummy victuals at Di Luna's. Michael Martin Murphey is ridin' in to town today, and he'll be causing a stir at the Cedar Street eatery. I really don't know how he's getting here, but we can be assured he won't be hitching his horse to a parking meter while puttin' on his show inside the restaurant.

Michael Martin Murphey ranks as one of the family's favorite Country Western crooners. In fact, he's not far behind Willie Nelson and Marty Robbins, whom we've all listened to and loved forever, it seems. Mr. Murphey might be up a notch or so over Montana Slim aka Wilf Carter. We used to listen to Montana Slim more than we ever wanted to when the family resided at the old house on North Boyer.

I think my dad had gotten ahold of the 33 rpm album through one of those perennial Columbia Records promotions. The songs reminded him of his days spent as a ranch hand at the Millard Easter spread in McAlister, Montana. He went to the Madison Valley near Yellowstone in the 1930s after graduating from Bonners Ferry High School. Harold learned much of his horsemanship knowledge and cow sense and "cowboy logic" while working winters at the main ranch and summers in the mountains above McAlister, riding thousands of acres of range land and tending to the huge herd of cattle.

Until he died in late 2003, we heard stories about the ranch for nearly 50 years, stories about this horse and that horse. We all chuckled over the whopper he told our mother about it being so cold he had to wear his heavy-leather bat wing chaps to bed. She believed that for a long time.

We all did believe his story about making $5 a month and board while working for Millard. After all, it was the Depression Era. And, we loved the trips taken over to that beautiful Madison Valley during the summers when he'd show us where the ranch was located and then drive us up to the tiny cabin in the trees where he lived while riding the range.

Montana Slim's twangy, nasal cowboy tunes brought back memories of the good times for my dad. So much so that he even played that record when it had a crack running almost to its center. What's a skip here and there when you can return to a better time through music! I'm sure this is how it's going to be tonight when we listen to Michael Martin Murphey who offers a repertoire of pure cowboy color.

As we listen to this intimate concert, I'm confident we're going to think a lot about our dad and how we miss watching him load up a Bull Durham roll-yer-own, light up and start telling those wonderful stories of his cowboy past.