Willie Nelson could have been telling my story when he wrote, "My heroes have always been cowboys."

I grew up with Roy Rogers, the Lone Ranger and Hopalong Cassidy as my role models, but I didn't meet my first real cowboy until I got married and visited my wife's family ranch on the high plains of Wyoming.

It was there that I met her great uncle, Armand Laduke Picard — Uncle Duke for short. I'll be thinking about him on Saturday as the nation celebrates the National Day of the American Cowboy.

The campaign for a day to honor cowboys began in 2004 with an effort by American Cowboy magazine. It culminated in July 2005 when Senate Resolution 138 was signed by President Bush proclaiming the fourth Saturday in July as the National Day of the American Cowboy. A further effort is now under way to make it an official holiday (www.cowboyday.com), and that's really not such a bad idea.

Cowboys played an important role in the westward expansion and development of our nation, and the legacy of the Wild West is a part of our culture. And, even though I idolized Roy Rogers, it wasn't until I met Uncle Duke that I really understood what being a cowboy was all about.

When I met him, he was stooped with age and hobbled by years in the saddle. Parkinson's disease was beginning to take a toll on his body but had done nothing to dim the gleam in eyes that were as blue as the Wyoming sky.

I had come to the ranch "all hat and no cattle," but he didn't make fun of my brand-new Stetson. He just saddled up Chief, a huge Appaloosa, for me and took me for a ride down the fence line. Our pace was slow, for his benefit or mine I'm not sure, but we talked about pastures, cows and life on the ranch as we rode among the Herefords he loved.

I don't know why he accepted me so readily, but I always tried to make him proud of me, and that was no easy task because, truthfully, I wasn't a very good cowboy. I could rope a little, and I could ride a little, but I couldn't do them at the same time.

And when he sent me out to wrangle horses in the cold, dark predawn, he didn't bother to mention it when the horse I picked was known to buck a bit to get the day started. But once I "rode the rough off him," Duke would usually ride up alongside of me and tell me stories while we watched the younger, and better, hands work the cattle.

We tried to look busy, but his cowboy days were coming to an end, and it seemed like he wanted me to know about cattle ranching.

The truth is, it's hard, dirty work and there's not much money in it, but it helps feed our nation and the world.

And for all the drama of cattle drives on the silver screen, Uncle Duke used to tell me about the reality of countless hours and endless miles he spent watching the southern ends of northbound cows, swallowing dust every step of the way.

Uncle Duke is gone now. But when I think about our ranch, I think of him. And when the National Day of the American Cowboy rolls around, it's his life I'll celebrate.

— Contact Star columnist Bill Nash at bnash805@aol.com.