The State Chili Cook Off

We'd just left the Little Miss Stampede and Buckaroo Contest, went through the doors to the Arena to the Rope and Run, then back through those same doors into what was now the Judging of the Chili.

Not any ordinary chili, mind you. This was State Championship-worthy Chili. They'd already gotten underway, and the announcer was saying that KQFC, a country radio station, had won a prize. Their team's name had been "Saints and Sinners", which I thought was colorful. The announcer assured the crowd that the prize had nothing to do with the placement of their booth (was it right next to the judges' table, I missed that one!), but that their chili was just that good."

Impressive.

In fifth place was the chili called "Code 3: Lights and Sirens." Sounded like my kind of chili...I like my chili to be respectfully spicy.

Fourth place was Team Number Ten, with Dustin Morrey (slaughtering it on the spelling, I'm sure!) and Chris Dawson. This was their first year...these two are in the fondue business; they operate the Mona Lisa Fondue Restaurant in town. If they make chili half as good as they make fondue, it's no wonder they placed.

Third place was Team Number Six, Joe and Marilee Barrett of Hi-Country Chili. They came all the way from Worley, Idaho. I asked my husband where on earth that was, and he said simply, "Up North." (Go, Worley!)

It was fun to watch the excitement building as they announced the Second Place and First Place winners. The tension level was climbing. There were a couple of girls standing in front of us, and when the Second Place winners were announced, it was as if their group had been hit by a lightning bolt. One of them must've jumped nearly three feet off the ground. I don't blame her; I wouldn't mind winning four-hundred dollars for a batch of my chili. As it is, that might be the price my family pays someone else to haul the stuff off! Apparently not the case with these people.

And the moment we'd all been anticipating: The Big Winner.

A wave of laughter, applause, and cheering went up when the announcer said: "Team Number Seven: 'Garcia'."

Prolonged applause and whoops. These people were well known, and from what I could tell, well loved. The announcer quoted their grandson who'd told her earlier, "THIS IS THE BEST CHILI EVER!"

The announcer asked the couple, "So was it worth all the sweat?"

To which the wife replied, "Thank you so much. We've been competing for ten years. We've been competing in other states, and if we win there, we feel like we aren't representing OUR state. It is so nice to win in IDAHO!" More cheering followed her statement.

She then said, "I'd better give my husband the mike because he thinks I always take over and say everything." She passed the microphone over to her spouse, who paused for a second with an impish grin on his face, waiting to have the attention of all who were listening. Then he very deliberately leaned over the mike and said, "Yes, Dear."

And that was it.

The audience was roaring again. They really liked these people. Not only that, there was just a general easy feeling of comraderie in the air, mixed in with the heavenly scent of the chili.

We got a picture of the Second Place winners, one of whom was absent. Melissa Stelzner spoke for them both. Their team was called "Autism Awareness". The other team member was a mother of an autistic child, as was Melissa. We asked her about the ingredients, but she warned us that rather than having to kill us after we knew, to just 'keep it on the low'. We promised that we would. She put her finger to her lips and said, "Shhhhh!" ....perhaps by way of a subtle warning. We knew she meant business. This chili thing is serious stuff.

Melissa told us that she'd jumped for joy, out of both gladness and shock when their team was announced. She and her friend had never entered a chili cook-off contest before; and here they'd won second place in the State! Not too shabby.

Melissa said that her 'secret recipe' was not extremely spicy, at which point a friend chimed in and said that was exactly what she liked about it. Her other 'secret' was that she used all natural beef steak, that because of this, their chili was 'very meaty'. She says that she buys all of her meat from Albertsons in Nampa, the one on Twelfth and Seventh. I asked for the name of her butcher, and she said she wasn't sure, that she always just called him 'the meat guy', but that she knows he drives a red Mini-Cooper. So there you have it; go and see the meat guy with the red Mini-Cooper at Albertsons.

We also couldn't resist getting a photo of the winning couple, David and Alicia Garcia. They told us that they actually own a restaurant called Garcia's off Kimball in downtown Caldwell. I asked them if they'd be serving their prize-winning chili there. They said that they would, but not all the time....it takes a lot of work to make it.

They told us of the other prizes they've won; their chili has been highly decorated. But they were thrilled with this new award. The Top Chili in the State. And that state was their home state of Idaho. Good deal.

We sat at the nearby table outdoors and wound down a bit, listening to the band playing outside. No more hundred degree weather; but it was still at least ninety. I hoped that the band knew that although we were a pretty mellow crowd, how much they were appreciated. Toes were tapping. You could hear people conversing, talking about their day. An older girl in a white sundress and a younger girl were swinging each other around, dancing to the music. People were snacking and sipping cold beverages. The chili winners were taking down their outdoor booths, with their friends and family members assisting. The Idaho sun was setting on a perfect day.

But we weren't done yet. One more event to go on this marathon adventure.

The Movie Under the Stars...

TO BE CONTINUED.

"No Time"...A Roper's Least Favorite Words

We were back in the same arena where I'd first seen the Stampeders at their practice. But this time it was a different set-up. This was the world of the ropers.

We walked past the calves in their stall, waiting for their turn to run. They were wearing these...things...on their heads. My husband said they were some sort of an ear/horn protector. But I thought they looked funny. I didn't mean to mock the calves, but I couldn't help but laugh at those get ups. Oh well, their ears and horns looked healthy.

"Are these male or female calves? Do the girls have horns?" I asked, honestly not knowing.

"Every girl I know has horns," he replied with a devilish grin. He got a smack on the arm for that one.

The metal bleachers were pulled out, dust and dirt caked onto them. This isn't a spectator sport for people afraid to get a little dirty...it's for real men and women, here. I'd like to think I'm on my way to becoming just that real. I didn't dust it off; I sat. And I'm not sorry.

I had my husband with me this time; my knowledgeable personal commentator. He understands all the cowboy stuff; an invaluable asset of western trivia right under my own roof. He started to instruct me almost as soon as we sat down.

"....have to rope the head first, so he can control the calf and 'aim' it...once he swings it around, the other guy can rope the back hoof."

In team roping, the 'header' is the guy that ropes the head. (That seems obvious enough, but I didn't know it so I thought I'd share). This is also the 'lead horse', or the guy that goes out first. A lot of the horses that do this are pretty high-strung, which is how they'd want them.

"They probably took some of these out of Les Bois", Husband commented, referring to the racing park in Boise.

The 'heeler' is the guy that ropes the back legs, or the heels. This explains why I've heard terms such as 'Champion Header' or 'Champion Heeler'. Now I knew what they were, finally.

They had a laser line to start the timing, just like at the barrel race. When the calf runs out, they're being timed.

Right away I realized that the words a team of ropers least want to hear are the words spoken by the announcer, "No time." Translation: that means they blew it.

The lariats, Husband explained to me are what you'd call 'hard twist'. He said they were about as hard as a cable, and that they need to be that way for accuracy and guiding.

"It's like the difference between a noodle and a football," he said, "You can throw a noodle but it won't do anything."

The ropers wore a thin, tight-looking glove on their roping hand for protection. I imagined that rope could give a rider some mean burns.

We heard the announcer say that there would be a dress code the next day. I'd had one of the cowgirls tell me about this, that the Stampede was very picky about dress code. Button up shirts, hats or no hats at all, etc. If they didn't dress that way when they were told to, they didn't ride.

Sometimes when a team was running out beginning their roping, we'd hear an ugly buzzer go off. Even if a person didn't know exactly what that meant, you could tell from the sound it wasn't good. What it meant, Husband said, was that they 'broke out'; the 'header' broke the barrier before the calf hit a certain spot. The penalty for this was that they got time added on to their final time score. We heard the announcer say, "Five seconds for the barrier."

Bummer.

I also learned that if you were going to rope them, sooner was much better than later. It's no good to chase them halfway across the arena and waste time. Even if they heard that blasted buzzer, the teams kept going in an effort to salvage the run.

Husband pointed out that the 'header' has to move forward, while the 'heeler's' horse has to back up, in order to do what he called 'stretch' out the calf, proof that he is roped. Only when they're 'stretched' do they stop the clock. It looks like this: one front hoof it out front, and one back hoof is out behind them, as if they are laying down.

The 'heeler' has to be ready to throw at any second, not knowing exactly when the 'header' will rope the head. So a lot of times the 'heeler' will leave the gates already swinging his lariat, anticipating that critical moment. Some left the gates swinging, and others didn't swing until the very moment they needed to. It was probably just a personal preference. I also noticed that each roper had a fairly different sized loop, probably also just a preference.

Suddenly an unexpected performance. A rebel calf got loose and ran across the arena, unaccompanied by ropers. Oops.

I looked over at the rest of the calves. They looked a lot alike, they even appeared to be all exactly the same size. I guessed that there must be some specification that calls for them to all be around the same weight.

Over by the gates, there were two 'junior ropers', sitting on the fence, swinging their smaller lariats. I wondered if their dads or big brothers were competing.

The tunes of Brooks and Dunn and other 'true' country musicians were playing. Some of those songs I hadn't heard in twenty years. It took me back in my mind, and sort of relaxed me. I appreciated that.

At one point it was time to 'water and grade' the dirt, in preparation for Round Two. Good. This gave me a chance to people watch. I saw that there were Wranglers on young and old men, and the scuffed-up boots I was told about. (A cowperson said once that if my boots looked too new, I'd get mocked). The women seemed to just wear whatever. A lot of the older women were in polyester pants and orthotic shoes, in it for the comfort. Hey, it was a hot day and those bleachers were hard; I didn't blame them.

Just ahead of us a few bleachers down sat a man with a cowboy hat and a t-shirt. The back of the shirt declared that it was 'Cowboy Brand'. It had a picture of a horse and rider, both drinking from the same clear stream. The caption? Psalms 23:2....'He leadeth me by still waters.' Loved it.

I also enjoyed the ads attached to the metal gates. "Weaver Leather: Ride the Brand", "WRANGLER", "D and B Supply: Western Home and Family Store" and "CACTUS ropes". Real cowboy stuff. Cool.

A cowgirl walked right by about twenty-five calves in their holding pen, in order to get to her horse that was waiting patiently on the other side. She didn't seem to be worried about her toes, which would've been my first concern, she just shooed them away. I realized that I was thinking from my angle, not hers. While I had on some flip-flops, she had on some good-quality and no doubt, scuffed, boots. If she got her toes stepped on, it might be slightly uncomfortable, but not the end of the world.

It was now Round Two. There were a lot of horsemen out in the arena running their horses, warming up both their animals and their arms.

I continued to learn.

If the calf is too close to the 'heeler' and his horse, the calf either has to move, or the 'heeler' has to back up to get room enough to throw the rope out and rope it.

I noticed a cowboy reaching into the calf's holding shoot a bit to get them somewhat riled up enough to run; it being no good if the gate opens and they just mosey on out of there, fat and happy. To do this, he often messed with the calf's tail, twirling it around. Most calves aren't used to being messed with like that, and it made them want to avoid the disturbance, which made them go running out of the gate. This was, I realized, similar to giving a puppy or a kitten a play toy and having them get feisty about it, in an effort to help them recreate and get their energy out in a controlled manner. It was effective.

The announcer was talking faster and faster, announcing names and their order of competing at record speed.
"She's pushing them through," my husband commented. I'll bet she was; she said they'd had fifty-eight teams out of one-hundred-and-thirty-three returning from the First Round. They needed to move right along, some of these people didn't want to be there till midnight. The first team would barely be finished before the next team was called. We had a schedule to keep.

One bit of added excitement; a calf got kind of testy and decided to attack one of the roper's horses. He almost got the better of him for a minute there, too. Reminded me of some small dogs I know that don't understand that it's better to pick on other animals their own size, or not at all. They underestimate their power.

Over and over again I heard those dreaded words, "No time." A ride wasted.

It occurred to me that a lot of these riders and the announcers probably knew each other pretty well. Even with my limited western experience, I was running into the same people over and over again, at various places. I'm not complaining, mind you, they are great folks. I just imagined that to say the words, "No time" with as little emotion as can be mustered might have been difficult. I'm sure that the announcer didn't feel neutral about it; these were most likely some of her friends or even family. That would be hard for a person to have to do.

As as sign of the times, it was interesting to note that one of the cowboys helping to twirl the tails of the calves at the gate was on his cell phone off and on a lot. Another roper was actually smoking a cigar as he competed. I thought I was seeing things, but I was not. He had a big old stogy stuck between his lips. He was also wearing a cell phone on his belt, as were a lot of the riders. Modern technology has caught up with the West, and it probably has been that way for quite a while.

I liked watching the roping. It got my heart rate up.

I would definitely go again.

It was getting late, and we needed to get home in order to sleep and prepare for the next busy day. As we were walking out, I once more heard the familiar echo of the words:

"No time...."

"What's For Dinner?"

The Idaho Beef Council's office read my blog about the Steak Fry, liked it, and offered to send me some goods. I will take beef 'perks' any day, my friends.

My husband, who prefers chicken, is mortified. Would I actually openly promote beef? You're darn right.

We'd just been shopping last night, and after peering into the fridge this afternoon, he exclaimed, "We've got enough eggs in here to feed a small army!" To which I replied, "I'd rather eat the eggs than eat their mothers!"

After hearing a moan from the kitchen, I hollered out from my office, "Hey, you started this 'chicken war', not me!"

Bring it on, Buster. By the way, guess what's for dinner tonight?

Little Miss Stampede and The Buckaroo Clown Contest

We were so glad to see that the Contest was inside, in air-conditioned comfort. Two reasons for this: we were cooked to a crisp from the parade-going, and we had our grandkids, a five and a two-year-old, on loan.

The first thing we heard when we walked into the building was the voice of a pleading mother.

"Last time, I PROMISE." Somebody's kid wasn't happy.

We got situated at a table and bounced the kids on our laps, trying to keep them content as we watched. There were two glamorous girls up on stage, running the show.
One of them was the lady that had stood in line ahead of me at the Kiwanis Steak Fry. The one that had refused the coleslaw, claiming that her family was 'particular' about food. I had somewhat mocked her, but now that I understood she was probably a former queen of something or other...well, it made me re-think my coleslaw habit, is all I'm going to say. Although, I thought to myself, if I did swear off the stuff I might become more thin, but then again I will never, ever be taller. So… never mind.

They started off by proclaiming that this contest was 'just for fun', and was 'not necessarily a spirit of competition.' I looked at the audience of perspiring contestants and parents and thought, "Yeah RIGHT." Wink, wink.

I have to say that those girls did a good job interviewing. Even with tiny folks that would only answer "Yep" or "Nope". After a few of those, the girl said, "Do you have anything else you want to say?"

The little 'buckaroo' clown, in his baggy, fringed denim shorts, said a predictable, "Nope," and went back to join his parents. Apparently he'd had enough.

Another classic: "Do you want to wave to Mom?" the girl asked. Dead silence and zero movement. I guess that answered that question.

Next contestant: "Do you ever go riding full speed on your horse? You DO? Does your mom get scared?" And the reply, as if stating the obvious:

"Yeah."

Also, the genius question of, "Do you know what sound a zebra makes?" The child looked bewildered. She did not. Neither do I, for that matter.

Another goodie: "Are you glad to be here tonight?" A long pause while the child honestly thought about it. And then a "Uhhh......." as if perhaps that were not the case. Ahh, the honesty of children.

This was as good as Art Linkletter's 'Kids Say the Darndest Things'. I hoped someone was recording it all. The audience, made up, no doubt, of adoring relatives and friends, were more than amused. They were really enjoying this. And the kids were enjoying having a huge deal made over them, that was obvious.

One of the little clowns was asked, "Can you do something funny for us?" The kid looked stricken, as though he had not one funny thing to do in the world. But his family came to the rescue. Curiously, they all began to howl, like a coyote at the moon. I must've look surprised because my friend Carol leaned over the table and explained, "They're giving him a clue." It seemed that I also needed one.

Eventually our clown threw his head back and gave a mighty howl, causing the audience to erupt in both laughter and thunderous applause.

One clown contestant performed so well, that when his dad swung him off the stage, the proud parent exclaimed, "Now I've gotta buy you a GUN!"

Apparently this had been a part of the bribe.

I noticed that my friend Carol was looking rather shocked. She'd come into town for the Stampede from a large city, and may have thought this statement was somewhat...redneck.

"I'm not gonna lie," she said to me, eyes widened, "I'm scared right now."

It maybe had something to do with the fact that the kid had been no older than four years old...probably closer to three, would be my guess. I'd give it a few years if I were his parent, but to each his own, I suppose.

I found my friend, May, whose daughter was competing. I have to be honest, I was biased from the beginning, from the moment I heard that Lillie was in the contest...so it was a good thing I wasn't one of the judges. With her embroidered Stampede For the Cure pink ribbons on her mega-fringed costume, I thought she was a winner no matter how she placed. Her long blond hair was perfectly ringleted. But her mom was worried about the hair.

"It's melting!" she told me.

One of the more memorable acts was when an older girl performed the chicken dance while spinning a hula hoop around her middle. Now THAT’S talent! We all clapped with her when it was required; a great audience participation activity. That was really very fun.

We'd been there for an hour and a half, and our five and two-year-old were becoming increasingly restless. My husband looked slightly tired; but our grandson on his lap did not. Our granddaughter was hungry and wanted everything from pretzels to cheeseburgers, one eighth of which she might actually eat.

How, I wondered, did these moms, dads and kids do this? If I were to dress up our grandkids in costume and do their hair perfectly, plus the heat, noise, and long day...would I live to tell? Probably; they were good kids, but I might just have been a little...let's say 'crabby' afterward. That's when it dawned on me that competing in a 'non-competitive' contest such as this was no less than an 'endurance sport'. Some of the kids in the contest actually went straight from that event right into the arena next door to compete in barrel racing, with no more than a fifteen-minute break in between to change and to eat.

The truth of the matter is that I didn't catch the names of the winners. I was at the concession stand, getting dinner for two starving kidlets. But if we are truly non-competitive (wink, wink) that would mean that each kid was a winner, and that it didn't really matter....right?

Only kidding: The winners were Rebecca McMillan, Ashley Loucks, and for Little Buckaroo Casseyn Pearson.

Pageants and Contests: The Extreme Endurance Sport.

I respect that.

(Even if some of them don’t eat coleslaw.)

The Kiwanis Steak Fry: Here's the BEEF!

It was my day to eat beef. Finally.

Unbeknowst to myself, I had married into chicken hell. Oh, sure, he seemed to like ham, fish, beef...that is, until after the wedding. I was told much too late of his grown son's comments to my son, after the matrimonial event. They consisted of two things. "Good luck," and "I hope you like chicken."

At this point, I could not chew one more piece of chicken if my life depended on it. Given a choice, I think I'd rather starve.

I needed some iron in the worst way. I needed beef. And today was my lucky day; the Kiwanis Steak Fry was upon us. Praise Heaven.

It was hot at Lakeview Park, where the dinner was held. But I stood in line with the backs of my calves slow-cooking in the sun with only one goal in mind. Steak. Medium-rare. Now.

I was surprised at how quickly the line moved through. While we were waiting, one of the Kiwanis guys walked down through the crowd, handing out ice cold bottles of water. Nice touch.

I could smell the steak, and I could see the steak! This was not a dream, though there was a hazy cloud of smoke surrounding the cooks, which could have been clouds. Clouds and angels, cooking my steak. When the big, thick, lean steak was finally on my plate, I was one happy girl. This was not an illusion. This was beef; my favorite protein. I was going to live to see another day.

There were other sides, too. A big fluffy roll. Rice. Coleslaw. The lady in line in front of me told the coleslaw passer-outer that there would be no coleslaw for them, thank you. To make up for his disappointment, I pronounced, "I'm a coleslaw eater!" and he merrily put some on my plate. The lady standing next to me, in almost an apologetic way, said, "Our family's just sort of picky that way," to which I replied, "I respect that." She smiled and our exchange was over. And I had my coleslaw. So did my daughter. We come from a long line of coleslaw eaters.

Tough to find a spot in the shade at the long tables...those were primo spots and they were all taken. We didn't mind. We needed some sun, anyhow.

The music wafted through the air, the band was really good. I only knew Patti Syme the Realtor, I never knew Patti Syme the Singer; the girl has a gift.

And then, the moment I'd been waiting for...that first bite of beef. I can only tell you that I'd wait another six months, if I were assured I'd have steak like that waiting for me on the other end. The steak was so large, however, that in dismay I realized I might not be able to eat it all. All that waiting...only to leave the job half-done. It seemed so wrong. My daughter tried to coach me through, saying, "Just take little breaks in between, Mom! You can do it!"

And, I did. I finished that glorious steak. And I am NOT SORRY. Did my system go into shock, after all of that chicken? Quite the contrary; I finally felt...whole. I'm sure my blood got redder and the oxygen level in my brain returned to where it should've been all along. If I'd had any problems concentrating or finishing a full sentence in the past, I blame malnutrition. Man (or woman) cannot live on chicken alone. If I had my way, they wouldn't live on any chicken at all. There's a reason they call it 'fowl', as my brother-in-law once said.

The Ice Cream Sandwich guy came around before we were even done with our dinner, telling us that we didn't have to wait to finish dinner this time to have dessert. So, we didn't. My daughter and I tore into those treats like two naughty children. Then, because we couldn't resist and it was delicious, we finished our dinner too.

Half an hour later the Ice Cream Sandwich guy came around again with his cooler of delicacies and gave us another one. They quickly disappeared. I don't eat like this all the time but hey, this is a 'Festival', people! It's time to be festive. When in Rome, and all that.

Friends and neighbors were there, and people whose faces but not names we knew from around town. About twenty classic cars lined the park, and folks were walking back and forth, oohing and ahhing over them. I wondered what it would feel like to own one of these. Perhaps this will be a part of the mid-life crises I've been planning for years. Why not.

The tables were filled with happy, contented people. I credit the beef and the Kiwanis club. If beef is what's for dinner, I'll be there every year.

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.