Are You A Cowboy?

Are You A Cowboy?

I wasn't born in the West. Quite the contrary. A large, very Eastern city is what it says on my birth certificate. I'm what you would call a transplant.

When my parents told me we'd be moving out West, the summer that I turned eleven, I was at first rather...stricken. They might as well have announced that we were going to live on Mars. I envisioned everyone living on a farm and having at least one horse. I thought all of the girls my age would be wearing pony tails, blue jeans and boots.

We did move, and found out that it wasn't exactly like that. However, in the small Western town where we lived for a time, I had many opportunities to become immersed in the ways of the West. I have to admit that being a somewhat genteel type from back East, I only took advantage of a few of them. As a twelve-year-old watching my first rodeo, I was horrified. I worried over every single participant... so much dust and dirt and blood. It was obvious that I'd led a sheltered life, up to that point.

Against all odds, I stayed out West long after I was old enough to choose to leave. I learned by observation that a native will think nothing of damaging their pickup truck while they're intent on bucking a new snow drift, or a really tall sand dune. I learned that even if a seventy-year-old broken down man with arthritis shouldn't be riding his horse anymore...he still will. And if he can't climb up on that horse, he'll take it over next to his farm truck where he can scoot from the bed to the saddle without so much as a cuss word. I saw folks riding up and down Main Street on their four-wheelers with their three-year-olds on their laps, not really caring whether or not it was legal; in their eyes, it was all about spending time with their child. I got hauled home one unfortunate day by a farmer in a Toyota pickup truck...when I was driving a Ford F-250 that wouldn't run... I'd had melting groceries and three restless children in the vehicle with me, and along came my hero....this man of Western Cowboy lineage. He didn't care if he ruined his transmission; he only wanted to help a damsel in distress.

Lately I've been thinking about the whole 'cowboy' idea. Maybe it was because a politician from Washington DC visited here recently in cowboy boots and blue jeans, thinking that his attire would impress us. Maybe it's because where I live, every now and then, I see one....a real one, weathered skin with a face etched in character...and...I'm fascinated.

Maybe it's the idea of someone who has 'true grit'...one who won't be thrown. How the general public yearns for that sort of a leader nowadays, someone who takes the frustrations of life out on the hard work of roping a calf or breaking a wild bronco, instead of another human being. Picturing a cowboy with road rage makes me grin at the absurdity.

Cowboys signify dreams. Wide open spaces. The Old West, and its endless possibilities, with the promise of things far more precious than gold. Being your own person. The reckless rebel that doesn't have to play by anyone's rules, and Heaven help the man that questions their personal choices. These types aren't 'fair weathered' folk...the irrigation pipes have to get moved no matter if it's rain or shine. They intimately know blood, sweat and tears...and don't sit around griping about their aches and pains. They simply accept them as a part of life. We would do well to do the same.

Then there is the beauty of the relationship between horse and rider. Here is an individual that is mastering or has mastered the fine art of understanding another living creature. What sacred trust must exist amongst the two. Most of us struggle just to get along with one another, yet here is an example of untold amounts of time and patience to make such a relationship work, without even the commonality of belonging to the same species. With just a nudge or the controlled use of voice, human and horse are on the same frequency. Amazing.

I haven't been to a rodeo in years. This year, I am going. Why? Because I need a few good examples in my life. In times like these, I dare say we all do. Examples of sticking with something, no matter how hard. Examples of unflinching courage, even in the face of danger. Examples of a horse and its rider in perfect sync; like the rest of us could be, if we'd only get over our stubborn-ness. Seeing a good old boy that's going to get the job done, no matter what. That's what I need.

And you know what? I'm going to experience it ALL. The Steak Fry at the Park. The premiere country band called 'Redstone' downtown. I'll probably skip the golf tournament because the last time I went to the driving range I almost took someone's nose off...but the Hot Chili Nite and the street dance, are you kidding me? I can't wait to taste a bowl-full, and dance with my husband. And in the morning I'm going to the "All-American" Pancake breakfast, then the parade downtown to swipe as much candy as I can from the candy-throwers.

If I can only afford to go for one night of the Rodeo, I will go on the Tough Enough For Pink night. A portion of this night's ticket sales goes to the Foundation to cover the cost of a mammogram for women who can't afford to get one. My husband's mother died over twenty years ago from breast cancer, at age 54. She was a dynamo....and a cowgirl. She met her husband while she was barrel racing; he was a rodeo clown. Although I've never met her, her vitality is evident in the vibrant personalities of her six children. The arena will be flooded with pink, in honor of those who have struggled and lost, struggled and won, and are currently struggling with the disease. I'll have my pink on, you'd better believe it.

I've been in the area for years and have not chosen to experience these events, specifically designed to generate enthusiasm and a sense of community, come Rodeo time. I've always thought that I was too busy for that sort of thing; and really, let's face it...I'm not a cowgirl. Or...am I?

I try to speak up when I see something amiss. I try to stop to help people, without worrying if they'll think I'm weird. I fix what is broken. I'd fight to the death for my loved ones. I do my own thing, after too many years of trying to please other people. I do the job; even if it's difficult...even if it's raining, whether that rain be outside or inside of my heart.

Yeah, I think there's a little of that in all of us.

I would say in retrospect...that these Idaho cowboys have had a profound effect on me. I am learning to be one who is determined not to be thrown...and if I am, I'll get up, dust myself off...and get right back on my horse.

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Hope to see you there.

Copyright (c) 2010 Amy Larson. All Rights Reserved.