MindVenturer

To say that moving to Idaho at age ten was a culture shock would be an understatement.

Viewing our new small town for the first time (population 6,000) through the windows of our station wagon, my sisters and I scanned the streets for a McDonald's. We found one, and got excited. Never mind that there weren't any golden arches; maybe it was just an old-fashoned sign. The ignorance of youth; it turned out to be a family-owned clothing store named 'McDonald's'. We had to wait five more years for the real thing to come to town.

Our grade school back East had been what you might call forward-thinking. In P.E. we learned choreographed routines to music with red bouncy balls. Bounce the ball, spin around twice, then catch it in perfect timing to the music. We were taught to waltz. We never did anything that might be viewed as aggressive or competitive, like sports. After all, that could harm our delicate psyches. No one wanted to be the one responsible for doing that.

The first day in sixth grade at my new school in Idaho was an eye-opener. For P.E. we went out into a field to play softball. I'd never played the sport in my life. For starters, I found out very quickly when trying to catch one of those 'soft' balls without a mitt that the name was a lie.

How a girl raised by a college professor from a very New England family bloodline would end up writing to promote one of the top ten rodeos in the nation, the Snake River Stampede is a long story. Sufficeth it to say that I have an open mind. Adventures of the mind, the greatest mountain to conquer, are my specialty. I'm a 'mind-venturer', if you will.

One need only look at my resume to see that this is true. Professional Cake Decorator. Preschool Teacher. Electrical Contractor. Daycare Owner. Home Health Care Provider. General Contractor. Cleaning Business Owner. Student. Property Manager. Writer.

No small wonder that my career counselor in High School basically threw up his hands and quit working with me; he didn't know what to make of me, and at the time neither did I.

One thing has become abundantly clear since High School, though. I like to try new things. Eat eel? No problem. Climb Mount Borah? Sure, but I won't make it to the top the first time. (Snow and ice and let's get real; I was exhausted.) Guide an eight man raft down the river in whitewater? Sure, why not. Be the general contractor to get a home built? Okay!



Why then, did reporting on a rodeo seem like such a daunting task? Probably because I knew next to nothing of that culture. I've had plenty of opportunity to be exposed to it; cattle drives in Nevada that I took a minor part in. Castration time at the ranch. To tell the truth, not much of it got absorbed. I never dreamed I'd need any knowledge of this kind. Sort of like in algebra class, where you tell yourself, "I know in my bones that I will never use this stuff in real life."

But absorb it I have. I won't bore you with the details, but I can sum it up like this; I like what I'm seeing.

The part of it I like the most? It's the people. Everyone I've come in contact with so far is so very real. Friendly. Genuine.

Former rodeo queens were happy to talk, share pictures. Cowboys opened up about why they do what they do. Good old boys who've worked the farm for decades told a story or two, or ten, with some encouragement.

The 'Ride for Joy's' director, Teri Argo, had me out to view horse riding sessions for children with special needs. She explained to me that horses are magic, creating a bond with people that's hard to put into words.

A lady that has done some traveling with the rodeo crowd, Lisa Jones, responded to my request for her rodeo memories within twenty-four hours, sending a letter absolutely packed with sentences that could in themselves become short stories. The efficiency of the crews at the Stampede. The professionalism of those on the committee, and how they always greeted her whenever they saw her around the grounds with a friendly hello. The two well-known announcers that were top-notch at what they do. The ceremony for retiring an old rodeo horse, with that mare's children and grandchildren present; the humane and dignified way that the Stampede did that presentation. She wrote of the time the announcer asked all that were present to pray for a fallen rider. She wrote in an amazed way of a man with no arms that performed. This I am more than curious about.

I contacted a few officials of the Stampede (Jimmie Hurley was one of them) to see if they might be willing to meet with me to share their thoughts. They immediately responded that they would be happy to do this.

The responses I am getting so far have the same theme: "I want to share what I've experienced/seen/done with others." "You are welcome to visit." " Let me tell you all about it." " Come on over."

Is....this...the 'culture' that I've been resisting? If so, what on earth was I thinking? I have the feeling I am about to meet some of the West's friendliest folk.

I think it's high time I became a Western girl.



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