Country Lifestyle
December 2017 Profile: John Jennings
By Laci Jones
Raised under the city lights of California, John Jennings is not your typical Californian. Born in El Centro, Calif., Jennings considered himself a “redneck,” spending many days hunting and fishing on the many California golf courses in Palm Springs, Calif.
“I would get kicked out of golf courses,” he said followed by a chuckle. “The security guards would run us off, and we would go to a different one.”
He was always “tinkering” with knives, guns and other items. Jennings recalled using circular saws as a child, saying it was “second nature.” At 17 years old, he dropped out of high school and began working full-time. Like his father, Jennings worked in construction.
“I was making $500 per week 30 years ago, which was pretty good money,” Jennings explained. “I moved out to my own apartment and just started doing my thing. Looking back, I wish I had gone to school because my son’s going to Oklahoma Baptist University, and he’s got so many opportunities.”
Jennings “bounced around” from job to job, never working at the same place for more than 18 months. His career took a backseat when he was diagnosed with Idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura in his mid-20s. ITP is an auto-immune disease where the immune system sees blood platelets as foreign object.
“We were fixing to deer hunt out in the desert,” Jennings began. “I had these big ole bruises, and I didn’t think much of it.”
Jennings chalked the bruises up to clumsiness, but his wife suggested he visit the doctor to be sure. After his results came in, his doctor told him he needed to stay home, but Jennings was in denial.
“I felt 100 percent perfect. There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said. “I said, ‘No, I’m going deer hunting.’” They said, “Well, go ahead, but even a jar against a seatbelt could kill you.”
Jennings underwent many surgeries and chemotherapy treatments as well as took a daily concoction of pills to cure ITP. One chemotherapy treatment increased his appetite, causing his weight to rise to 250 pounds.
“I did this for like three years, and it finally just went away,” Jennings added. “By the grace of God, it went away.”
The southern California native said the experience changed his outlook on life. Ten years ago, Jennings and his family moved to Shawnee, Okla. He said the expense, traffic, regulations and the mounting doctor bills as well as his parents’ influenced his decision to relocate to the Sooner state.
“My parents wanted out of California 30 years ago, so they headed east on I-40 to look around,” he explained. “They originally were going to look in Arkansas, but they got stuck in a hail storm in Shawnee and stayed the night.”
Jennings said he lived in Shawnee, Okla., when he was eight years old, but moved back to California following the oil crash in the ‘80s. His parents later retired in Oklahoma.
“When I was kind of fed up with California too, my mom called and said, “There’s this really cute little house right across the street,” Jennings recalled. “It was a dump. My wife cried when she first saw it.”
Moving to Pottawatomie County allowed the California native to meet Bill Madole, a local bit and spur maker and neighbor of the Jennings family. Madole owned the land adjacent to Jennings, which overlooked the North Canadian River.
“[Madole] owns three corners of this river,” Jennings explained. “Once I found that out, I thought, “Man, I would like to hunt that.”
Jennings worked out a trade with the landowner for hunting privileges. The construction worker completed projects like fixing Madole’s roof or installing a new door. Jennings began watching Madole work and thought it would be “cool to try.”
Jennings was quickly discouraged once the talented blacksmith told him how much the equipment cost. After, he didn’t give spur making as a side-business another thought. Then things changed. Four years ago Madole was preparing to leave for the National Finals Rodeo where he had a booth.
“I said, ‘I’ll help you get ready for the NFR, and you show me how to make spurs,’” Jennings recalled. “He was sitting there, engraving while we were talking, and he said, ‘okay.’”
The apprentice was tasked with filing spur rowels, which he described as “monotonous” tasks. He continued to learn from the expert, copying his style of spur making.
“We do what is called ‘Texas-style spurs,’” Jennings explained. “The Texas-style is a bit more utilitarian than the Mexican or California-style spurs.”
The Mexican and California-style spurs are more ornate with more silverwork, and they have a larger rowel than the Texas-style, he added. The Texas-style is more subdued. Jennings said he did not experiment with other styles, contributing most of his influence from his teacher.
“I rely heavily on his style because, to me, that’s how it gets passed down,” he stated. “There’s a guy named Kevin Burns whose spurs are pretty expensive. He learned from a guy named Jerry Cates. If you look at a Burns spur, it looks a whole lot like Cates.”
Jennings said the same could be said of Billy Klapper, who learned from the “Godfather” of Texas-style spurs, Adolph Bayers.
“I remember I sold a couple pair to a guy in Stillwater, Okla., who was a trader,” he recalled. “He was carrying a pair of mine around a big spur show in Abilene, Texas. Another spur maker said, ‘Oh, you’ve got a pair of Madole spurs,’ and he said, ‘No, this is Jennings’ spurs, but he learned from Madole.’ This is how distinctive my buddy’s style is.”
He said the distinction of the spurs could be seen in the details. Many spur makers do not engrave in the steel, but Jennings and Madole make individual cuts in the steel to create a distinct design. Also, the area between the band and the shank is squared off, which requires more effort.
While he is inspired by Madole’s work, Jennings also has more resources available than his mentor had.
“I look all the time on the Internet, seeing what’s out there and getting ideas,” Jennings explained. “If [Madole] wanted to see spurs, he had to drive to Amarillo, Texas, to a show. I think it’s just easier for people to get started across the board nowadays.”
Jennings said he never thought he would pick up the art of spur making because his background did not include horsemanship. The spur maker sent a pair he was proud of to a friend, who took them to a horseman. The horseman complimented the spurs, and Jennings’ friend mentioned he does not ride horses. The horseman said, “Well, that’s kind of a fraud.”
“My take on it is the guy who builds NASCAR cars probably can’t drive them or a pilot does not work on the airplane that you’re flying across the country,” the spur maker explained. “A good horseman does not equate to being able to do silverwork and vice versa.”
Jennings said his first pair of spurs were “good” for a first pair, but overall, they are “okay.”
The spur maker has improved since then, stating a good set of spurs takes time and attention to detail. Lately, Jennings has been inspired by old-fashioned designs including the 100-year-old design, gal-leg spurs.
“The gal-leg spurs are a really old-fashioned patterned, but every guy has to draw his own,” he explained. “Every guy’s gal-leg spurs are a little bit different.”
On average, Jennings spends 20 to 100 hours on a pair of spurs. The process begins with design. His background in sculpting ceramics helped him become the spur maker he is today.
Jennings traces his new designs on paper, then copper before cutting it out. The design is traced on the steel, which is then cut with a bandsaw. Once the bands are cut, the spurs are placed in the forge until the metal is red-hot. They are then formed into the shape of a spur. Then the shank is welded to the band and filed to smooth out any indentions.
The design for the silver is planned, then cut with a small saw and soldered on the spur. Once the spur maker cleans the spur, it is ready for engraving.
“It’s like another well-known spur maker said, ‘You want to have a really nice, delicious cake,’” Jennings explained. “The metaphor is about having a real quality spur before you ever put silver or engraving on. The decoration is just that, the icing on the cake.”
Jennings said what differentiates his and Madole’s spurs from other spur makers is their spurs are sterling silver mounted while others use nickel silver. For a swan-design spur, Jennings uses 925 silver or pure silver, which is considered more malleable than other metals.
In the past four years, the spur maker has completed more than 50 projects ranging from buckles to spurs. While buckles take less time, his spurs earn Jennings more money. His spurs cost anywhere from $650 to $2,500. Jennings has also competed in spur shows, stating winning is what drives him forward.
“When I’m sitting here, thinking filing on all of these spurs sucks, I think about how I want to win,” the spur maker commented. “That’s why I do it. That’s what keeps me going.”
Jennings earned the first place prize at the Cowboy True Art Show in Wichita Falls, Texas, and plans to compete again next year.
The spur maker attributed his patience to listening to old outlaw country including Waylon Jennings and George Jones while working on projects. He is currently working on spurs featuring a horse head, which he has invested 20 hours in thus far.
Jennings still works in construction full-time. However, he said rainy days and other construction delays allow him ample time to devote to his craft.
Jennings still lives in Shawnee, Okla., with his wife, Candace, who also helps contribute to his side-business. Together, they have four children ranging from ages six to 26—Char, John, Kate and Ella.
When asked what advice he would give to a new spur maker, he referred back to the advice given by his mentor.
“[Madole] told me a while back, ‘Slow down, do a nice job, which we both know that you can do,’” he recalled. “Don’t be in such a hurry.”
To order, call 405-249-6920 or email jenningsbitsandspurs@gmail.com.
This article originally appeared in the December 2017 issue of Oklahoma Farm & Ranch.
Country Lifestyle
Tracks in the Sand
By Savannah Magoteaux
This morning, I walked out into my arena and noticed something that gave me pause. The roping steers had been in there the day before, and even though the ground was wide and level, the dirt carried their story. Hoofprints crossed every direction, but in several spots, the same trail was pressed deeper than the rest. Twelve steers had been turned out, yet more than a few chose the exact same path, wearing it down until it stood out from all the other tracks.
Cattle are creatures of habit. Anyone who has spent time around them knows this. They like routine: the same feed, the same water trough, the same shade tree in the pasture. When they are turned loose, they rarely wander without purpose. More often than not, they move together, following the same course as the steer in front of them. There are reasons for this: efficiency, safety, instinct. Walking a beaten path conserves energy, and following the herd is their natural defense. Even in an arena with no real destination, those instincts come through. By the end of a short turnout, you will see the evidence, lines where they have chosen the easiest way to travel and stuck with it.
Out on the range, those lines last longer. Before fences and highways, cattle drives cut deep paths across the land. The Chisholm Trail, which carried herds north from Texas through Oklahoma into Kansas, was walked by millions of cattle in the late 1800s. More than a century later, faint traces of those trails remain, worn so deep by hooves and wagon wheels that the land still carries the mark. On ranches today, you can see the same effect in pastures where cattle walk the same lines between water and grazing. From the ground, those trails might look like nothing more than dusty ruts, but from the air, they sometimes stand out as sharp lines winding through otherwise open fields. Cattle do not simply pass over the land; they shape it. Every step adds up.
That simple truth extends beyond livestock. We all make tracks. Our habits and routines are our trails, worn in by repetition, sometimes efficient, sometimes limiting. Like the cow paths, they can serve a purpose, keeping us steady and helping us move forward. But when repeated without thought, they risk becoming ruts, keeping us from stepping into new ground. History offers perspective here, too. The old cattle trails built towns and economies, but once railroads and fences changed the landscape, those paths were no longer helpful. Sticking to them would have meant going in circles. Progress required something new.
The Tracks We Leave
Standing in the arena, I thought about the kind of tracks I leave behind. Most of mine are not visible in the dirt. They are pressed into my daily life, how I work, the way I handle challenges, and the example I set. Some are helpful and worth keeping. Others may have outlived their purpose. The difference lies in knowing when to stay on the track and when to step off it.
Tomorrow I will drag the arena and smooth it all clean again. The next time the steers are turned in, they will make the same trails. That is their nature. But unlike them, I have a choice. I can decide which paths are worth walking, which ones to change, and what kind of tracks I want to leave for others who might follow.
Tracks tell a story. Sometimes they are only temporary, fading with the next rain. Other times, they last for generations, reminders of where herds and people once walked. This morning, the cattle showed me again that even the smallest things on the ranch carry meaning. Their tracks in the arena were not just marks in the dirt. They are a lesson showing that every step matters, and the paths we choose shape more than just the ground beneath our feet.
References
Jordan, T. G. Trails to Texas: Southern Roots of Western Cattle Ranching. University of Nebraska Press, 1981.
Frantz, J. B. “The Chisholm Trail.” Handbook of Texas Online, Texas State Historical Association.
Bailey, C. “Animal Behavior and Herd Dynamics in Cattle.” Oklahoma State University Extension, 2019.
National Park Service. “Chisholm Trail: Herding Cattle and History.” https://www.nps.gov
Country Lifestyle
Apple Fritter Quick Bread
Total Time: 1 hour and 40 minutes
Servings: 10
2 medium apples (any type), peeled, cored & diced
1/3 cup brown sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
2/3 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 3/4 tsp baking powder
1/2 cup milk
For the Glaze:
- 1/2 cup (60g) powdered sugar
1–2 tbsp milk
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease and line a 9×5-inch loaf pan with parchment paper.
Peel and chop apples and place in a bowl with brown sugar and cinnamon. Toss and set aside.
In a large mixing bowl, cream together butter and granulated sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs one at a time, then add vanilla. In a separate bowl, whisk together flour and baking powder. Gradually add dry ingredients to the butter mixture, alternating with milk, mixing until just combined.
Next, pour half of the batter into the loaf pan, top with half of the apple mixture, then repeat with remaining batter and apples. Lightly swirl with a knife for a marbled effect.
Bake for 50–55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Cool in pan for 10 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool completely.
In a small bowl, whisk together powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla until smooth. Drizzle over cooled bread.
Slice and enjoy warm or at room temperature.
Country Lifestyle
From Savior to Lord
At a funeral I went to recently, the preacher said something that has stayed with me. He reminded us that, for the man we were honoring, God went from being Savior to Lord.
That phrase captures a turning point in faith. When we first come to know Christ, it’s with gratitude for His saving grace. It’s personal, almost inward-looking: Jesus rescued me. He forgave me. He gave me new life. In that moment, He is our Savior.
But faith is not meant to remain only in the relief of salvation. Over time, we are called to move from simply being saved to truly being led. To call Jesus Lord is to hand Him the reins, to let Him set the course. It means the decisions we make, the way we spend our time, and even the way we handle hardship reflect His authority instead of our own desires.
That shift isn’t dramatic or loud — it’s usually lived out in the everyday. It’s choosing honesty when cutting corners would be easier. It’s setting aside pride to serve others. It’s holding firm in values even when the world says compromise. It’s forgiving, even when it costs something.
And for people who work the land or care for animals, this truth feels especially close. We know what it means to trust something bigger than ourselves — the rain, the soil, the cattle in our care. A rancher can do everything right, but at the end of the day, much is still beyond his control. Faith works the same way. We can’t stop at receiving salvation like a safety net. We have to surrender daily, trusting God to lead, provide, and direct, even when we don’t know what’s ahead.
Scripture asks it plainly: “Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say?” (Luke 6:46). The challenge is clear — it isn’t enough to know God as Savior. We are called to live with Him as Lord.
Salvation is the beginning, but lordship is the journey. And just like tending a crop or training a good rope horse, it’s a steady, daily process. Rescue is where faith starts. Surrender is where it grows strong.
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