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.

The Snake River Stampede Parade

The year? 2010. The Snake River Community Festival (a ten day deal) had begun. I started the day off right with the Festival Breakfast in the morning, (it truly was the best meal of the day!) and a quick trip to the Nampa Farmer's Market, which was just around the corner from the Breakfast. I can't resist the Market...I love it there. And, lets be honest; I had a goal involving pepper jelly that I meant to complete by the end of the summer. I was going to get a sample of the hot stuff if it killed me. (And it almost did.)

After meandering around the Market, I got myself up to the homestead to collect children, dog, two bonus grandchildren, husband...and a partridge in a pear tree. We herded ourselves to the corner near Stone Lumber to watch my very first all-horse parade. It was very, very hot outside. Intelligent people brought colorful, large umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun. We were not among them. Our granddaughter said, "Hey, why don't we sit over there under that sign, where there's that square of shade?" She is only five and we are....well, older than five. Great plan. We huddled within the square's boundaries.

The first thing to go by were the flags. The American flag, the State flag, and one or two others. I'm guessing one of them was the county flag. Our five year old guest asked me why I was putting my hand on my heart. I explained to her that it was a symbol of reverence for our flag. She did the same, and we stood side by side in that pose as they passed. It took me a moment or two to realize that the man on the horse in the hat, carrying the Idaho Flag was Governor Otter. But the respectful term 'Governor Otter' somehow did not escape my lips. Instead I called out, without even thinking, "Hi, Butch!" He smiled broadly and waved at us.

I had just called the Governor of Idaho by his first name. Something I would sorely reprimand my own children over. Later in the day, while mentioning this to a friend who knew him better than I did, that friend had said, "He's the kind of guy that probably didn't mind that at all." Lets hope so.

Later on we saw the Snake River Stagecoach approaching. I had an unapologetic fetish for this piece of history, and just had to get a picture. The stagecoach had none other than the Parade Marshal, Lloyd Halblinger, riding up front. Everyone seemed to know and like Lloyd. He was the owner of the former Lloyd's Country Store. I had heard that this had been 'the' place to go for all things country.

We saw my friends the Stampeders; Kathleen Mautz rode by on her horse and gave a friendly wave. I knew they'd be having a big day, with the parade and the equestrian drill team competition at the Idaho Center later on. Yet they still smiled, waved, and had perfect hair. I would just like to know what brand of hairspray those girls are using. I can assure you that it holds, even in 100 degree weather.

I noticed quickly that this was more of a 'quiet' parade...no car's motors or horns blasting, no radios blaring. Just the clip-clopping of the horses' hooves. I liked that.

Our five-year-old parade-goer was very taken with the rodeo queens. Lots of hair, huge smiles, satin, flowers, and braided mains on the horses were involved. They waved with so much dignity, and their smiles never changed or wilted, even when their horses were making a 'deposit'.

A horse went by with the famous BSU Broncos colors; orange and blue. This was a favorite of ours; we are the proud owners of a BSU barbeque cover...that's taken being a fan to a whole new level.

There was a Stampede for the Cure float, being pulled by beautiful horses. They threw out t-shirts to the crowd. Now I have something to wear for Stampede for the Cure night on Wednesday. I was thrilled. This is a big deal in our community; the proceeds go towards getting under-insured women their mammograms. Who knows how many lives this is saving. Pink is the color of devotion....at least in this case. Those that are helping are devoted to their cause, and the community backs them one hundred per cent. There was a lot of cheering going on for that float.

Six more riders holding American flags went by later in the parade, and our five year old smarty tugged at my arm and told me to put my hand over my heart, like we did before. Once again, we both revered the flag-- or flags-- together. It was a heartwarming sight to see them waving in the wind, atop horses, the blue sky making them pop.

Horse drill teams, bareback riders, lasso-throwing horsemen, and last but not least....the imperative street sweeping machines. Even they performed, doing spins and such. We clapped for them, too.

The best deal was that since the parade route went around the block we were on, if we hurried down the sidewalk over to the next block, we could see the whole thing again. Which we did.

I went to find a Katie, a new friend of mine that was judging the parade, after it was all over. She was standing with a group of people. Katie's daughter, and a girl that wore fabulous sunglasses, and one other couple, with the man wearing a nice cowboy hat and boots. The girl with the sunglasses turned out to be Courtney Crowe, former rodeo Queen (1993), and the man with the hat was Lloyd Halblinger, accompanied by his wife.

Lloyd immediately stuck out his hand. In the course of the brief conversation, he told me all about his store. He is now retired and living in Crouch, and the store is closed, but people around us were adding bits and pieces in such as, "My parents used to bribe me to go to Lloyd's. I'd do chores just to get to go there," and "Lloyd's was the D and B before there was a D and B Supply!" One lady said that she loved it that there were tables for all of the farmers to sit and drink coffee at. Lloyd said to me, "I'd even give ya a little whisky from behind the counter, if you were old enough back then!" And then he winked. I just laughed. What a funny guy.

Lloyd said that they really enjoyed Crouch; they frequently attended the Starlight Theater up there. "Those kids can really act," he said. He invited our family to 'come up to visit' sometime, shook my hand once again and accompanied his smiling wife, to go and greet more friends. No wonder. Courtney Crowe told me that if Lloyd invited you over, he truly meant it. He was just that kind of guy.

After taking smiling pictures of Katie and I, we realized one crucial thing...that we were all melting. We took dog, children, grandchildren and husband back to the car. But no partridge in a pear tree; he got away during the parade and flew off to follow those waving flags. Can't say I blamed him.

Dayz Festival Breakfast and Nampa Farmer's Market ; the Perfect Morning

Even with my bad shoulder, and with the Tylenol PM I took last night to help me sleep through the discomfort...I was still wide awake at five-thirty this morning. Not just sort of awake; it was that rested, happy feeling you get when you're say, going on vacation that day or something. I realized that I was excited; just like a little kid.

This event that I've spent the past month blogging about...it's here. Beginning with Snake River Dayz, and then working its way up into the frenzy that will be the Snake River Stampede. Others had warned me about this...that feeling of anticipation. Those that have lived in Nampa and have been attending the Stampede for a long time will know what I'm talking about. I was told that once upon a time, 'back in the day', because there was nothing really big going on in the summers, and a trip to Boise was a waste of gasoline and money...that the Stampede was what the locals lived for. Now here we are, modern day....and it appears that this hasn't changed. The Stampede is still looked forward to; the Stampede is still a huge deal.

None of my family could make it to the 'Dayz Festival Breakfast', so I went solo. (More for me!)

I wish I could tell you what it feels like to park along Twelfth Avenue downtown, when there's an event there. Especially in the morning. The air is cool, and there's the energy of a new day, and the history of downtown flavoring the whole atmosphere. It was about eight by the time I arrived. I could instantly smell breakfast when I got out of my car. The famous 'horse' sculpture that's across from Wells Fargo is there in the corner, in all of its bronze-like glory, with the little bandstand where the music is played every Thursday during Downtown Nampa Nights.

At the end of the road was the old train Depot, a gorgeous backdrop to the white tents that were being set up for the market that would begin in another hour. The flag, atop the Depot, was waving in the wind against the cornflower blue Idaho sky. Or, was it 'furling', as my friend Jimmie Hurley likes to put it? I like the word furling much better. It was definitely furling.

Off to the right was the breakfast. About a dozen or more round tables were set up, right on the blocked off street. This made it seem like we were getting away with something, and added an element of rebellion. I like that. How often could you have your pancakes in a leisurely manner, right in the middle of the thoroughfare? Only on special occasions, or, to be complete, most Thursday nights around here. For Downtown Nampa Nights, it gets blocked off then, too, and when it does, people park their lawn chairs, coolers, and vending booths there. And they dance in the streets together; that's my favorite part. There is actually a lot of repurposing of the streets going on downtown. I like it.

I approached the breakfast booth on wheels. I recognized a smiling lady...but where on earth did I know her from? I scanned the gray matter for clues. Oh, yeah. The bank. Connie was often my teller at the bank. When she saw me, she said the same thing; "Now, how do I know you?" We both laughed that we knew each other's faces, but were fooled when both were placed 'out of our element'. She usually saw me in a car in the drive-thru. Sometimes all it takes is for one person to know you at an event (or for you to know them), in order to feel right at home. Seeing Connie had that effect.

The lady next to her told me all about how some kids from a local High School built the mobile kitchen on wheels. It was quite the structure, with its tough countertops and sturdy sides. It had decent tires, too. I was impressed. This woman went on to tell me of all of the other breakfasts the Rotary Club did throughout the year; all for good causes, to raise money for other organizations that needed it. This one, however, was the one they did to raise money for the Club, in order to maintain and to keep the lights on. Many breakfasts for others; only one for them. That's the Rotary Club for you.

My plate was full. Sausages and pancakes, cooked to perfection. And fruit! Fresh fruit, courtesy of the Williamson Orchards. They've been around these parts for a long, long time. I grabbed a cup of orange juice and made my way to a table by myself, thinking I would just observe. That didn't work. I looked around at all of the people enjoying each other and couldn't just sit there, feeling left out. I spotted a couple that looked approachable and told them I didn't like eating alone; might I join them?

They were lovely people. Margie and her husband (didn't catch his name) were great conversationalists. We talked about everything from his employment of years and years ago, to his stint in the military where he stood in line as they assigned each soldier "Korea" or "Europe", randomly like that. He'd gone to Europe. Margie had returned to Nampa to live with her family while she was without her husband for ten months, with a small child to raise by herself for a time. It had been tough, she'd told me.

Soon Mary and her husband (whose name I also can't remember, sorry!) sat down. They knew Margie and her husband. They'd been in Nampa for about fourteen years. Mary told me she and her husband had been married for sixty-one years tomorrow. Meanwhile, Margie's husband was teasing Mary's husband, saying, "So how's those coffee-drinking friends of yours?" I don't really know what that meant, other than Mary's husband's friends drank coffee, but I found it humorous all the same.

I could have talked with those people for a long time, but we had a parade to go to, and a schedule to keep. This community festival Nampa is putting on this year moves right along...no time to waste. It's a full day packed full of family fun. I excused myself from their lively table and regretfully walked away from the Breakfast. I didn't want to leave.

I was turning to go to my car, when the Nampa Farmer's Market sucked me in. That can happen, you know. All of those white tents, the fresh produce, and the Jelly Lady. I had this dilemma with the Jelly Lady. She never gave me a sample. I've visited her booth three times, and have even said---out loud---'may I try the hot one, please?' because I like pepper jelly. But it never happens. There are often other people there, and perhaps my tone of voice is too quiet for her to hear. I even asked the person next to me if I was invisible. They said no, so I assumed I must be a mute.

Because I am a stubborn German, I've made it a goal to get some jelly out of the Jelly Lady. Twice more I visited. Twice more I gave up. No pepper jelly for me. My family began to mock me for being determined to get a jelly sample; something so silly, really. But today was my day. I could feel it in my bones. And there she was; the Jelly Lady, talking to another customer. I was going to MAKE her see me, if it was the last thing I did.

I did get some jelly. It was 13 Alarm Jalapeno Jelly. And it was so darn good. But I didn't get it from the Jelly Lady. While I was focusing my energies on sending her subliminal messages 'notice me, notice me, I need some jelly'...her assistant came right up to me and got me a sample. Does this count? I'm going to say yes. I'm also going to say that it was worth the wait...I've been quite the consumer of pepper jellies, and if it makes my eyes water, that's respectable. Sufficeth it to say; it was very respectable. No wonder she doesn't grovel to the mere sampler...her product sells itself.

This day was starting off very well, indeed. Breakfast and a jelly sample. Not bad.

Not bad at all.

I Count To My Critters

Katie Leonard had agreed to an interview in person.

I was interested in meeting her for several different reasons. She'd been involved in the country-rodeo lifestyle for most of her life. We were meeting at a little cafe/coffee shoppe on a Tuesday morning. I only had one problem: Facebook pictures are what I would call kind of...weird. People look different in 2-D versus 3-D, myself included. Add to that the fact that Katie's picture was somewhat 'confusing'. It was of several different people, taken at an airport. I thought this was clever, if she'd wanted to remain anonymous. Was she the short, light-haired lady in the foreground? Was she the long,curly-haired brunette in the background, one of the persons on the edges of the picture, or 'none of the above'? (I found out later that it was that last one).

So I didn't really know who I was looking for when I approached the cafe. I happened to walk in the front door at the same time as a cute little spiky-haired woman entered. She smiled at me in such a friendly way that I thought to myself that this must be her.

"Are you Katie?" I asked.

"No, I'm Kathy," she replied. I instantly wondered if I'd somehow gotten the name wrong. Then 'Kathy' asked, "Are you Amy?"

I was....but how did she know?

It turned out that 'Kathy' was there to meet a girl named 'Amy', but not this Amy...and 'Katie' was inside, waiting for me. Just one of those weird coincidences.

Once Kathy and I understood that we were not there to meet with each other, I noticed a sparkling-eyed woman, who stood up and came toward me. I held out my hand and she ignored it, giving me a big, sisterly hug. Such is the case with Katie Leonard. She was not a hand-shaker.

I sensed that this was not going to be my usual interview...but then again, no two were ever alike. Katie immediately began with telling me that she had a lot of questions for me, not the other way around. She wanted to know how on earth a girl from Brooklyn would wind up in Idaho. It was a long story, but I tried to be brief. I got the sense that she was really interested, rather than just making conversation and trying to be 'nice'. I think she really, truly wanted to know. Her eyes did not glaze over once as I gave an account of my father getting a job as a college professor in a small college town, which had changed the course of our lives forevermore.

But I wanted to talk about Katie. She leaned forward with her twinkling, happy eyes that were full of emotion. They say that eyes are the windows to the soul. If this is the case, I can vouch that Katie's soul is a good one.

"The love for a horse is a love that is strong," Katie began. Her eyes glistened.

"I can holler 'Babies' outside in the back, and all the horses will come running to me."

One of Katie's horses had been a 'rescue' horse..which didn't mean the horse performed rescues...rather, it had been taken out of neglectful circumstances. "Butchy" had not even been able to eat grain or an apple in the beginning; he had never experienced such foods. He did, however have the 'escape artist' skills...he'd known how to escape almost any fence to go off in search of food; this was his survival tactic. He'd been severely malnourished when Katie entered his life.

She went down the list of horses. A high-spirited philly named 'Annie', so like her rider, Katie's daughter. The two of them got along well; they understood each other. 'Bobby' was the curious one, always looking around; he liked to see the scenery. You had to watch Bobby; he got a little distracted.

Katie had, she told me, no respect for those that abused horses. Her tone changed somewhat when she said this. It was obvious that she felt very strongly. She said there is 'no purer love, nothing like that unconditional love of a horse for its rider.' She also stated that she can give out that type of unconditional love to others, because she's experienced that in her life...she's received it from her horses.

"We all need to feel like we count," she said, eyes again glistening, "I count to my critters."

This was such an important part in Katie's life, that she'd wanted her daughter to have that same sort of experience, too. Katie's daughter first sat atop a horse at age four months.

"I wanted her to have that love," Katie stated.

She feels that a good goal in life for people who may have endured any type of abuse is to simply 'not treat people the way you've been treated.'

Her devotion was evident when she said, "God manifested Himself to me in my animals."

That got me to thinking that people experience evidence of God in many different ways. For Katie, it was in her horses. For me, all I have to do is get near some large body of water, or climb up on top of a mountain. The methods vary, but I understood what she was talking about. That feeling that you're not going through this life all alone...that awareness that someone else is aware of you.

Right about that time, both Katie and I got the feeling that this interview was about much more than just horses, and we both commented on that. Goodness seeps into a person's life through a kaleidoscope of avenues. Horses had been Katie's. She felt that getting that first horse had changed her path. She spoke of what horses had done for her, bringing her out of her shell, so to speak...and making her into a very welcoming person toward all walks of life. I commented on her hug, instead of the usual business-like interviewing handshake, which I normally did.

"I'm not a handshaking person," she said. "Besides, if I would've just shaken your hand, would we have been able to talk like this?" It seemed that those eyes of Katie's were now looking right through me.

She was absolutely right. Her kindness had set the tone.

Years ago, as a shy junior-high kid, I'd hardly been able to look anyone in the eye. If called upon to answer a question in a classroom setting, I'd nearly stop breathing. What would, I wondered, a horse have done for me during those awkward, lonely years?

The answer was in part in my interview with Katie. Unconditional love, and the confidence to share that with others.

Maybe I just need to go and get myself a horse. Maybe we all should.

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

There's A Little Rodeo In All Of Us.

It began one evening as Husband and I were riding over to the F Bar Arena, my first in-depth rodeo experience.

I'd known that his family had horses growing up. They mentioned one or the other of them, every now and then. I knew that they'd lived on an acreage out in the countryside. So on the way over to the F Bar, I questioned him. Types of horses? Quarter horse. Paint. Arabian, etc. He knew so much. Then it comes out that his father actually raised horses....to race...at Les Bois Park! This was no little hobby; he'd done it to supplement the family income for years.

I looked over at my husband sitting behind the wheel of our pickup with new eyes, the man I'd known (or thought I had) for a long time. Nowadays he didn't seem like the country boy that he once must have been. Button up dress shirts, woolen pants and dress shoes was his usual attire. When I look at him, I see the businessman that he is. I didn't see....a cowboy! But I was seeing one now.

"What?" he said, noticing the look, "I told you that we grew up around horses..."

He further impressed me at the arena. As we were sitting there, he talked all about the various techniques of training horses, differing styles, and when you should 'let the horse have the reins', versus trying to control its every move. It was nothing short of fascinating to listen to. All the while I was chastising myself for having had such 'horse' knowledge under my own roof, and not knowing it. I'd been interviewing several different people about the country-western way of life; when I should have been interviewing him, my own Mr. Larson.

The next family gathering brought more insight, this time with my in-laws. When they realized that I was blogging for the Snake River Stampede, all sorts of random items came tumbling from them.

"I used to barrel race!" My sister in law suddenly revealed. I knew her as the health-conscious, use-the-hand-sanitizer-before-you-touch-that-food, work-out daily, soccer-mom type. She...barrel raced? Really?

"Yeah," she laughed, "It was a good deal for me, because the horse was a 'hand-me-down'. My older sisters had ridden it, too. So by the time it got to me, it knew exactly how to do the barrels. All I had to do was ride it."

My head was spinning a little as I made the mental adjustment. Then her husband threw in, "Yeah, I grew up riding horses, too." Another little mental adjustment. Huh. Then they both said that they really missed it, and wished they could have that for their kids. I'd thought they were happy as could be in their subdivision with their fenced yard. I hadn't ever pictured them wishing for a country lifestyle, had circumstances been a bit different. Huh.

Then my father-in-law, the man I call 'Padre', walked into the room and added this little ditty:

"The kids' mom was competing for the rodeo queen, up there over in Utah. I was up there rodeo-ing, too, helping them out, doin' some clowning and such. She was out there on her horse, doing her thing, and the crowd was loving her. Her horse got a little spooked at all the applause and suddenly she was in trouble. So I went out there and helped her out. You know, a damsel in distress and all."

He then admitted to 'accidentally' running into her in town a couple of days later, and at that time he'd asked her out. Several years and six kids later, the rest is history.

"Oh, yeah, and I know that Shawn Davis that you wrote about, too, with the National Finals Rodeo..."

"You DO?" I asked.

"Oh, sure. I used to be in a few rodeos with him, years ago. I don't know him well, but I know him."

"What events did you do?" I asked.

"Oh, shoot...I did a little roping. And some bull-dogging...."

My father in law was a bull-dogger. This was too much.

I looked around me at the roomful of people that I'd been around for years. Family picnics, hikes, soccer games, weddings. Not once had this sort of thing come up. No references to rodeo whatsoever. Yet here, on my sofa, sat a barrel racer, a horseman, and a...bull-dogger. No kidding.



Later in the week, I visited with Brandon Hunt, one of the other bloggers for the Stampede. He is also a 'newbie' when it comes to the rodeo. His approach has been to research everything he can get his hands on about the subject. He told me he's checked out a multitude of books from the library on the history of the Snake River Stampede, and all things rodeo-related.

"It was interesting to me, while I was doing all of that reading," Brandon said,"That I got so much more than just rodeo knowledge out of it. There was a ton of history...ninety-five years worth...that got injected into the study of it all."

He went on,"For example...in reading about the rodeo, I read about how one year, back in the eighties, there was a goal for the Boy Scouts to take several hundred scouts to the rodeo in Boundary Country. They raised enough money to be able to do this; quite the feat. I was mentioning the story to my older brother, and he blurted out, 'Oh yeah, I went to that.' !"

Brandon had been very surprised. Here was an event that was a big deal, back in the day, he was reading about it in a historical publication, and his own brother had participated.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Brandon asked. His brother had replied that he had been eight at the time, it was a long time ago, and he'd forgotten all about it. He also told Brandon that it was the only rodeo he'd ever attended.

From this conversation, we two bloggers were beginning to get the idea that there is a little bit of 'country', and maybe even a little bit of 'rodeo' in just about everyone.

Just a couple of days later, my case was made complete. I was talking to my older sister. The one who never liked anything that was very country. When we were younger and a country song would come on the radio, she'd quickly turn the station, making gagging noises all the while. "Country. Blecchhh." she'd always say. Being young and impressionable, I'd followed her lead and had listened to anything but country music.

But luckily, I'd snapped out of it. A few friends and neighbors had influenced me over the years, and country music is now a part of this girl. However, I'd kept my show of appreciation for it rather subtle around Big Sister, knowing of the guff she'd give me if she knew just how much I liked it. I was talking about this the other day in front of my children, who've spent a lot of time with their aunt, and they said something I wasn't expecting.

"She listens to that stuff all the time!" they told me.

"MY sister? Listens to...country music? The one that never let me listen to it when we were teenagers? Are you kidding me?"

They assured me that this was the case. Doubting, I had to get it 'straight from the horse's mouth.' When I saw her next, we were seated at the Northwest Motorfest in the bleachers, getting ready to watch her husband do the hole shot competition in his shiny red Camaro. The motors were revving in the cars that were lined up, and it was nearly deafening.

Big Sister turned to me and said, "So, what's this business about writing for the rodeo? You're not very country," she reminded me, as if I needed reminding.

"When I first read your stuff, I doubted it was even you writing it. None of that country stuff sounded like you," she said. I explained to her what I was doing, writing not from a position of knowledge, but quite the opposite.

We talked about our Idaho country beginnings; the culture shock that had occurred with moving from 'back East', as we called it, to 'out West'.

And then I dropped the bomb.


"You never let me listen to any country music on the radio, remember? You'd change the station every time. And now the kids tell me that you're a big country music listener! What gives?"

She looked right at me with no apologies and blurted out four words I'll never forget for as long as I live:

"I just love Shania."



As I sat there with my mouth open, the cars took off on the hole shots, and it was too noisy for any further discussion. A few minutes later, however, she added this tidbit:

"I've always loved Shania. And I'm crazy about Keith Urban."

We both agreed that Keith Urban's music was a lot of fun; and we both agreed to the fact that let's face it, the man has fabulous highlights.



What I'm trying to say here is this...You just never know.



I'll bet there's a little bit of country, and a little bit of rodeo in you, too. Feed it with a trip to the Snake River Stampede this year.

http://www.snakeriverstampede.com/



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

The 'Steak' River Stampede

Tonight is the Kiwanis Steak Fry: the 'kick off', so to speak, for Snake River Dayz, in honor of the Snake River Stampede. But I think, just for today, we should call it the 'Steak River Stampede'...because the BEEF will be a flowin'.

I've discovered a beautiful blog by a woman named Kim, all about beef. A 'beef blog', if you will. She writes about life on a working cattle ranch. The pictures are astoundingly gorgeous. You should check it out.

And even if you can't have a Kiwanis Steak Fry steak tonight, you should still have some beef. Get your iron level back up to where it oughta be. Eat. Live. Love.

http://www.beefmatters.com/

Four Comedians and a Snake River Wagon

As I walked into the Mall, I could see the Snake River Stampede Wagon, front and center in all its olden-day glory. In strange contrast right above it was the Burlington Coat Factory sign, and surrounding the wagon was the newly remodeled decor of the Mall.

The wagon seemed out of place. But then again, maybe not. Something I hadn't paid attention to as I walked in were a group of four senior gentlemen, seated in the lounge area on the comfortable chairs. At least two of them were wearing caps that told me that they were military veterans. After taking several shots of the wagon, I thought it might be nice to put them in the foreground. So I asked them if I could take their picture, with the wagon as a backdrop. I wanted to make sure that all four of them had agreed, and it seemed that they had... but one of them, after looking more closely at the finished photos, seemed to be gesturing in a rather 'unfriendly' way in a shot or two; perhaps he'd been an unwilling participant after all.

I got their names....but am still not sure if they are real or fictional. Ralph Barnum. (One of the men who I'd come to know as 'Lee' told me that it was 'like the circus' Barnum). I turned to Ralph and asked him if that were true. He nodded solemnly and assured me that yes, that was his family. Hmm. The 'unfriendly' gesturer said that his name was 'Homer Hogshead'. I said that this sounded like an alias. Lee once again piped up and said that it certainly was an alias; but they couldn't tell me his other names...they were ones he couldn't repeat.

"I don't want my name in your writing," 'Homer' told me, "You see, I need to be anonymous..."

"D'ya know why?" Lee chimed in, "Because he's WANTED, that's why!"

I turned to 'Homer' and asked, "Is your picture on a poster in the Post Office?"

He assured me that it was. He said, "The F.B.I. knows my whereabouts."

I smiled at him and told him that I thought this was the case with most of us, nowadays.

"He wants to be 'wanted'," Lee said, "If you know what I mean...!" Lee was, I'm guessing, referring to those of the female persuasion. I wanted to laugh out loud, but didn't. These guys were quite the comedy act.

Lee told me that his last name was Archer.

"You know, like the 'bow and arrow'?" He had a story for every name.

When they learned that I was interested in the Stampede and cowboy-types, of course they all became cowboys, or claimed to be.

"That one there," Lee said, pointing to the man seated near him, who gave only the first name of 'Vern', "He's a real cowboy. And Mr. Hogshead over there...you see that cane? That isn't an ordinary cane...that's his stick horse, that's what it is."

I suppressed more laughter. These guys were a riot. I asked them if they hung out at the Mall every day.

"Yeah," Ralph said, "We're here just about every day," and then he added, "...or somebody else is...."



A visit to the Snake River Stampede Wagon, and free entertainment. You just can't beat that with a stick.....or a stick horse.

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