The Buckaroo Breakfast

It was too early to get up. But I did, anyway. No bounding out of bed like I did on Saturday morning; we'd survived the Festival on Saturday, and had lived to tell about it. It was one fabulous day, let me tell you. But now I was paying the price. Just one more minute of sleep, please?

Driving down to the Idaho Center, I tried to wake myself up. It wasn't working. It wasn't cold enough for a blast of cold air with either the windows down or the air conditioning...it was too warm for that outside, and I was driving and older model car that's never seen the likes of an Arctic blast.

But when I pulled into the parking lot and saw the sea of cars, even at seven-thirty a.m., I knew I was in for a good time. When I got onto the long, wide sidewalk that led up to the Idaho Center doors, I could hear music playing. That old, fun stuff that gets sung every now and then if we're lucky. Festive music. People were leaving the breakfast and walking past me, wearing smiles and saying 'good mornin' as the went by. I liked that. Idaho people are friendly.

I bought my ticket and looked around. What a hustle and bustle was going on. Green 4H-aproned people everywhere, all grinning. They were enjoying themselves. The volunteers with the Stampede, in their red shirts and western hats, were sitting in the shade of an awning, surveying their many month's efforts coming together. I went to say hello to Dennis Parry, and to thank him for a prior interview on the Stampede. He introduced me to "Ken" owner of the Radiator Shop in Nampa, also a volunteer. They said they didn't think most people knew how much work went into the Stampede. They see a performance and think, "Well, that was nice," but don't know of the hours and hours of preparation that went into it. Dennis and Ken knew all too well what it takes to bring a gig like this together. It takes months. "Around January we start to really get serious about it," Dennis said. I counted back....seven months ago...the better part of a year. This was some major volunteerism.

They were pleased at the turnout. "There's been a steady stream of people since seven this morning," they told me. I looked around. It wasn't stopping any time soon; they were still marching up the sloping walkway to the entrance where the ticket-takers were.

Many of the servers in aprons were pretty young...twelve and up, if I were to guess. 4-H kids. I knew a little more about 4-H now, thanks to my friend Marilyn Vestal, who told me about her experiences. She told me that she'd been 'Queen' of the 4H Club, which had eventually led her to the Stampede. She said she'd been a bashful teenager, and credits her life with horses to drawing her out. She claims that because of this, she's been able to lead an open, full life. Horses, she said, 'brought her out'. She's spent twenty years as a leader with 4-H, not counting all of the years she was in as a kid.

"Horses give them the confidence they need," she told me. She feels that people are different from their experience with horses. And 4-H requires the kids to perform in front of people, which draws them out even further. They even have to do some horse-judging of their own, and eyeball an adult judge, explaining their judgments and defending their decisions.

"They have to stand on their own opinion," Marilyn told me. They also have a Public Speaking section of their training, and Event Demonstrations. It's a very complete program, designed to build a very complete child. Marilyn told me that 'everyone was so encouraging', and that her daughter often had more friends in 4-H than she even had in school. Nowadays, she and her husband are good friends with so many people, through 4-H. She'd said, "Horses really bring people together."

I could see now that this was true, with the crowd of green aprons ahead of me, smiling, talking, laughing, and serving the community their breakfast.

I stood in line with members of the last band that had performed, ladies with white shirts and black vests. They called themselves the "Prime Time Swingers", with ages ranging from 60 to 95 years young. They told me all about their specialized brand of entertainment. "We have a piddle fiddle!" the one named Betty said proudly. I started to laugh and had a hard time stopping. The 'piddle fiddle' was a made from a bedpan. Classic. They told me of their maracas made from toilet tank floats. I was still laughing over the 'piddle fiddle' when they sprung this last one on me: The Thunder Mug Drum...made, of course, from a chamber pot. Again I couldn't help myself but bust out in a chuckle.

"Don't laugh, " Betty warned, "They come in handy for road trips."

I got my breakfast and headed into the air conditioned Idaho Center. Some of the seating had been moved against the wall, to create a cafe-like atmosphere. Down below was that special dirt for the Stampede, installed and being used for what they call 'slack' competition. The diners were eating, visiting with each other, and watching 'Slack'. Not a bad deal for four bucks.

I grabbed a table with a friendly-looking couple, Rene and Curtis Homer. It turned out that he was the retired police chief of Nampa. Curtis was now volunteering his time, helping with security. I asked if he'd had many run-ins. He said that really, the Stampede crowd were never much trouble. Sure, there's a drunk here and there, but for the most part, the feeling is cordial and people are happy. It's a good group of people. I imagined it was a joy for him to continue to serve the same people he'd been serving for so many years, now with the Stampede. He and Rene had fun talking about the switch from the old green arena to the Idaho Center. They said it was a bit of history, and to be outside was kind of nice, but there was a thunderstorm almost every year, it seemed like, and here there's plenty of parking.

"And," Rene added, "There's no such thing as a 'bad seat' at the Idaho Center. There are even big screens for you to watch, so that you can see the action up close." She also said that the air conditioning is quite lovely.

"I'm all about 'cool'," said Rene, which made me smile.

"The 4-H kids are what impress me," Curtis said, "They do a tremendous job of serving." All around us were kids in green aprons clearing tables, asking their patrons if they needed anything further, helping those in wheelchairs, and re-filling coffee. A 'tremendous job', indeed.

Next at our table was Tommye Flenniken and his son. He told me he was a trick roper, and his son does a lot of roping as well. But his real calling, he said, is something called the 'Young Pros', a rodeo Bible camp. I had never heard of such a thing, but he told me they were getting more and more common in Idaho, Texas, and other states. Tommye said he does a forty-minute show at various schools and different gigs, and could do just about any roping trick. Here was my chance to ask a roper about the "Roping O.C.D." I'd heard of.

"Is it true that once you're a roper, you're always a roper?" I was thinking of the kids' grandpa, who used to have them run past him as he sat in his rocker on the porch. He'd rope them and have a great time of it. They'd get roped and not enjoy it quite so much.

"Pretty much!" was the reply. A-ha.

I was seeing a few familiar faces behind the aprons. The Mayor of Nampa, Tom Dale. And....oh, no...the Governor! The one I'd called 'Butch' at the last event, purely by accident. Well, maybe this was my chance for a do-over. I could, after all, apologize. That was no way to talk to the Governor. I contemplated this for a few minutes, while working up the nerve.

When I left the table, the stands were filling with people watching 'Slack.' The round tables were filled, and the people were still filing in. I was beginning to recognize people I'd seen at other events, such as the Kiwanis Steak Fry, the Dayz Festival Breakfast, and the Parade. I liked that. If the Stampede's intent was to bring the community together, they were doing a fine job.

I went outside and there was Governor Otter, making pancakes. I took a deep breath and approached him, apology spilling out.

"I'd get after my kids if they said that," I admitted, "I'm so sorry!"

The Governor patted my shoulder and said, "Aw, that's just fine, I don't mind it!" (Just like my friend said he would!) Was this a....'pardon'?

In between everything else I would see people like the girl that used to snowboard on my son's snow team, the lady whose daughter was on the same soccer team as mine, and even an old business partner that I hadn't seen in years, a very good person whose family I'd really missed once we'd amicably parted ways.

It was time to go, and I didn't want to leave. I could still hear the band playing and all the people talking and laughing, and Marilyn Vestal's words echoed in my ears.

"Horses really bring people together."

Looks like she is very right on that one.