Finding Out

September 11, 2012 

Because of all the weird changes, headaches and increasing spaciness I was having, I went to the doctors on "9-11".

Well, actually I really went first in late July because my daughter, Kaylin, wouldn't let up.  All summer she kept repeating, "There is definitely something wrong with you, Mom!  Go to the doctors. Maybe you need some Ritalin or something." and then we would laugh like crazy. But, I did listen to her and went to my general practitioner, who sent me to a neurologist, who ordered an EEG, and MRI instead of dolling out meds.  I'm glad that he did that. By September all of my test results were in and I scheduled my follow up visit.

My mom and dad are still in New York, eager to watch some fall sporting events in our area. My nephews both are playing flag football on Sunday mornings at the rodeo grounds, and one of them is a high school football coach.  We love attending their games together. It's a fun way to spend time together.

Because I have a follow up visit in Buffalo, NY  and Mom and I love to have playtime together, she decides to go with me.  So after 27 years of not being with my mom at the doctors, we trek to Dent Neurological  on this life altering visit.  It’s a girl’s day.  Joe and my dad don't even come with. Mom and I wait in the waiting room for about 6 or 7 minutes before we go in to see the physician’s assistant.  We go over my symptoms again, they are not earth shattering.  For some people they are "normal".  The PA writes down that I’m mostly concerned about my heightened senses, distractability, lack of muscle memory - being unable to ride like I used to, and my constant head aches. The PA is on her computer typing madly.  She then pulls up my MRI report.  There are pictures, cool.  To see the pictures better my mom and I scootch closer to her computer screen.

My neurologist's Physician's Assistant  hesitantly says, “There are signs of a sort of cyst in your left frontal lobe. The white portion in this picture shows where."  I stare at the picture on her screen.  I think back to a couple of weeks ago.

“When are you going to be seeing your doctor next?” pops into my head, remembering what the MRI technician had asked when I was coming out of the MRI tube. “Do you have a neurologist appointment scheduled?” rings loud and crystal clear now.  I remember mentioning these two comments to Joe last week after I had the MRI test done. I wasn’t concerned.  My curiosity just piqued. Now I see what the technician was worried about, the "thing" jumps right out at you.  You don't need to be a brain surgeon to see that there is something wrong.

Back to the screen my attention turns as the PA scrolls through a variety of pictures.  She picks up the report and reads some more about the white splotch that keeps showing up in my pictures.  Sometimes it's gray surrounded with a white ring, sometimes it's solid gray.  And depending on the view, sometimes it's round or sometimes it looks more like the pom pom edge trimming on my pillow, having what appears to be three blobs all connected together.

 I feel happy to have an answer.  The PA keeps talking. I don’t hear very much of what she is saying, although I'm not sad or scared.  I am stunned though and want to know if I can have some Ritalin or some other drug to help me concentrate and stave off the distrations in my life.  I am not given any medications to take home, but my mother is on the ball and collects the first of about 40 reports that would be written about my brain "lesion" and that's what we walk out of the doctor's office with.  That and a picture of my white splotch.

We barely mentioned "it" as we enjoyed our luncheon at Panera Bread.  Instead we visit and enjoy a delicious bowl of soup side by side.  Later I find out that my mom had been a nervous wreck. I learn that she settles her nerves with research. Once she got home, she spent countless hours deciphering the doctor’s report. She gave me a rewritten report for my files.  It explains all that those unknown medical words really meant in easy to understand lingo.  This gave both of us knowledge to build our strength on.

My mom explained that the doctors suspect that I have a meningioma - a type of brain tumor.

Cowboy Church

Mustard Seed

One July morning Kaylin and I climb up in to the bleachers and sit ourselves comfortably in the morning sun.  My black bejeweled sunglasses giving everything a bluish hue, I looked around at all my blessings.  There in front of me a rodeo arena, flanked by a hillside of temporary hay bale seating.  The top edge of the hillside is covered in beautifully leaved trees of various types.  Just a few days ago we had been trail riding in the shade of those trees.

The pretty lady we saw earlier comfortably picks up the guitar and strums, her voice is angelic.  Pleasing music floats up to our ears. Alluring lyrics pull me into complete concentration mode.  I become hypnotized by her melody and soon the words have me in tears.  I hear God speaking to me.  Directly to me he says that I have been successful, even if not by the world’s definition.  I must have needed to hear that because my tears just flowed, it was as if my heart was opened up and love and understanding were stuffed inside of me. I sat there hunched over, sobbing.  You know those racking kinds of sobs where your body just involuntarily kind of hiccups?  Yep, that’s what I did on that sunny day sitting on the splintered, peeling wood bleachers. I couldn’t make any sense of it.  But where those tears led me would make sense months later.

After the amazing service sitting outside amongst our heavenly blessings I tell the pretty lady that she has moved me with her song and asked what hymn she was singing. I told her that I’ve been frustrated by my lack of concentration, my inability to ride my horse straight and excused my slow, sloppy barrel run the night before.  Kaylin said, “My mom does feel successful, not because she wins like the world expects, but because she is camping with her family, riding her horse and participating in a rodeo.”

The angelic singer explains that she is the lyricist, there was no hymn. She tells us that she understands our connection to her lyrics about success. She then changes the subject and preaches that all it takes is the faith of a mustard seed to get through our world’s challenges. She mentions that she has had tribulations and with the tiniest bit of faith she was able to move mountains.  I didn’t completely understand what she was saying to me until later.  The songstress gave me a copy of her lyrics and the words mustard seed were there. Shortly thereafter I understood; when one of Joe's cousins gave me a necklace with a mustard seed inside a glass bauble, it came with the scripture:

 Matthew 17:21 I say to you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.

So I put my big girl boots on and went about my horse training, barrel racing and teaching as though nothing were wrong.  My faith was the size of a mustard seed, so - my trials would not change, but my Lord would give me the skill set to deal with them.  I'm certain of it and I will move this mountain of  annoying symptoms from my life!

Teaching Elementary School

In September 2012, I notice changes in my teaching strategies, management techniques and tolerances...

I stretched a piece of masking tape from the corner of my teacher desk, to the reading table.  I hung a little notice from it that said:

                 NO ADMITTANCE

I embarrassingly conjured up a lesson-plan to include the word admittance so I could justify the sign I had just hung.  In reality, I needed silence; a moment of pure stillness to rejuvenate.  That’s a tough thing to find inside a fourth grade classroom!

After my reprieve, given to me by my corner office,  I walk up to the front of the room and pick up the stylus to my smart board and get ready for my math lesson... 

               ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...“My teacher wants to borrow the stop watches,” the visitor requests.  I walk away from my small math group mid sentence to go look for the stopwatches but I’ve forgotten where our stop watches are.  The noise is nearly unbearable, all that clinking and tinkling and then crack! A polygon hits the floor.  My feet are moving, my mind is thinking, but my eyes are not seeing.  
I groan to myself, “I keep losing things. I can’t remember where the stop watches are!”  Did I just say that aloud? I keep walking around, not seeing. 

My star asks me, “What are you doing Mrs. Conti?” which brings me back.  I look at her sweet face and am grateful.  I ask her if she knows what I’m doing, and she says she thinks I went to go look for the stop watches.  She doesn’t know why I’m here, over at the sink though, she guesses that maybe I'm thirsty.  And she fills up a cup of water for me with the hand not holding the stop watch box that she promptly delivers to the visitor. I watch her deliver them with pride in my heart. 

Man, these kids are really stepping up to the plate!  They are so reliable and take great initiative in running our class, I think to myself as I head back to my small group of math students.

                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                               At the Quarter Horse Congress 2012

“Do you think you’d be interested in going to the Quarter Horse Congress this year?” I asked Barb as we waiting for the buses of students to unload.

“I’ve never been before, when is the barrel racing going to be going on?  Maybe I could go.” She answered. “Lori, whose running?” She asked.

BURRRZZZZZZ! The school bell rang and I pressed my index finger into the soft nub of flesh in front of my ears, trying to block out the annoying sound. 

"Lori, who is running at Congress?" She asked again.

The children’s excited voices came rolling up the hallway like a ball of snow, getting bigger and bigger with each rotation.  The voices are hurting my ears and the vision of the children is crowding my eyes.  I squint. It hurts like when you step out of your house into the sunny afternoon. I smile and try to stay alert, watching for any one who may slip with their slippery shoes, ready to catch them.  Their voices becoming an alarming decibel, I look over at Barb to see if she is bothered by their loud approach, wondering if I should say something to quiet them down.

I can see her mouth moving, but don’t understand the words coming from her.  I walk across the hall avoiding the sixth graders who have already reached us.  I unplug my ears and squint at her.  Concentrating all my effort on seeing what she is saying, I watch her mouth the words will Kaylin be running there?

I look down the hall wondering why she thinks that Kaylin would be at school today.  She’s still in college and has classes all day long.  Maybe Barb misspoke and called the dark haired girl that is trotting right up to me and past me into my room Kaylin by mistake. I wave and walk away following my students into my room.

Kaylin says, "Tell them about your...

                                          "WATER BOTTLE RUN"

“Up next we have a cowgirl who traveled to us from Fredonia, New York!  Is there anyone here from New York to support this lovely gal?” and the crowd answered with a lot of shouting and whistling.  We are only about three hours from the New York line, so die hard rodeo fans travel to see their friends and favorite contestants compete. “Next in to wrap the cans is Lori Conti, she’s on an old sorrel-y horse. I can see her in the alley way.”

As I turn left into the alley, I realize that I need to work hard to get my gelding in the correct body position to achieve a right lead departure.  I use my left leg, bent at the knee to cue his hind quarters over, he takes a step forward and his hip is now cantered to the right.  I put my right foot forward, directly on the cinch and lay it against my horse, a cue to help him to remember to keep his shoulder up.  We take another step down the alley towards the arena.  As soon as the barrel comes in to sight, I’m ready to smooch to Caz which is his cue to GO!  He will be all set to depart in the right lead saving precious time as we turn the right barrel first.  Both of us peer down the blind alley waiting for the first barrel to come into view. 

It bothers me when cowboys sit on the fencing along the alley, it distracts me and my horse.  I really don’t like it when they are crouched down working on their gear in the corner either, they look like a monster ready to pounce to my nervous-nelly horse.  Today there are three cowboys scattered around this long blind alley.  I wonder which one dropped their partially full spring water bottle.  It’s right where my horse’s right hind foot is going to step next. 

Oh no!  My horse is going to step on that water bottle and get it stuck to his hoof.  It will wrap right around it from left to right and clinch itself there for my entire barrel run.  Oh, shoot!  That cowboy is going to be so thirsty.  I wish I knew who it belonged to; I could go get him another bottle. I have some under the couch in our 2012 Bison 8414 horse trailer.  I wonder which barrel will be the hardest to turn with a water bottle clinched to his right hind hoof. I'll bet that if the arena is as hard as it looks, the first turn might be where the water bottle…

The water bottle. I see it on the ground in the alley as Caz and I run out.  Oh, I guess it must not have gotten stuck on his hoof.

“Her time ladies and gentlemen is a 14.79, and that just won’t cut it! No money for this New York State Cowgirl.  So give her a big round of applause because she still has to pay her truck and trailer payments, diesel fuel, entry fees and to feed her big sorrel gelding.  You’ll be giving her the only pay off she receives tonight, folks!” and once again the crowd answers with cheering.

I don’t mind consolation cheering. 

I wonder if that cowboy will get his water bottle back.

Mounted Shooting

Should these two sport words be placed so closely together?  

Yes, I can travel about mounted on a horse.  Yes, I can shoot a handgun.  

I think back to my initial exposure to mounted shooting.  The summer before, I attended a shooting clinic held at Stagecoach West, a fantastic western store just twenty minutes from my home. Out back they have an arena and have hosted some famous horsemen over the years. This was no exception.  It was a wonderful clinic with drills for our horses and drills for our shooting.  We separated the two skills and then in the end, we put the two back together.  As a newbie, I found my self comfortable and capable.  This is not a feeling that I get very often.  I’m not good at most sports. I’m generally awkward and most definitely uncoordinated, usually.

I really enjoyed the Stagecoach Outriders club, a new chapter of the Cowboy Mounted Shooting Association and I especially enjoyed going to the president’s house for a couple of winter meetings after that first exposure to the sport.  Horse people certainly have a way of making you feel welcome, whether they are quick to give you responsibilities, trust you with their horse and shooting equipment or let you help in the kitchen when cleaning up after snacks, it makes you feel like you are indeed wanted.  That is how I felt.  

After school one night I was even invited to a local barn to attend a practice shoot.  I rushed my fourth graders onto the bus and I hurried home and back with my horse and riding equipment.  We rode patterns with unloaded guns.  My horse had a decent handle and I felt at home trotting and even doing some loping through the patterns.  The hard part for me, and many beginners, is cocking the gun between every shot.  My forearm got very tired, but I felt perfectly successful at this practice and had a ball with the crazy antics of some of the club members. They are a wonderful group of people and invited me back to play broom ball the following month.

Broom ball is kind of like polo.  You have goals on either end of the arena and the object is to get the ball into the opposing team’s net.  Of course you are on horse back.  I decided that my former horse, Pixie Dust, would have been a more suitable mount because she was short and scrappy.  My current mount is tall and thin, which means he’s easily pushed around.  I also had to lean way over to reach the ground with my broom.  I decided that if I came back to play, I would need a longer broom handle.  It was absolutely hilarious trying to get to the ball, my horse was fabulously easy to guide anywhere I wanted to go, but even with the ball in perfect position and no opposition in my way, I could not hit it with my broom.  It was as though my arm was not a part of me.  I would swing, and miss.  Swing and hit my horse. Swing and hit a teammate’s horse.  I stepped out of the way and watched other people play.  Each person was able to make the broom hit the ball.  Every single person could hit the ball except me.  I did feel kind of bad about it, but not completely defeated because I could block my opponent’s shot by placing my horse’s body exactly where I wanted it at precisely the right moment.

Yes, I can travel about mounted on a horse.  Yes, I can shoot a handgun. 

Later that year, when a spring shooting competition came around I decided to go. In preparation for such an opportunity, over the winter I had designed and created a beautiful long dress to wear, because vintage clothing is required for mounted shooting.  I was happy with the way my horse accepted all the flowing material.  I didn’t feel too uncomfortable riding around with the dress blowing in the breeze. It was fun, I felt very western.

When my time comes to shoot, my cousins lend me their holster and guns.  Once again they remind me how to use them safely.  I feel completely confident. I had walked my course on foot, and then went through it again formulating a perfect practice in my mind.   My horse is calm and easy to maneuver and I’ve always been comfortable around guns.  I ride through the gate and get in the start position.  I look up at the pattern in front of me and… nothing.  My mind is blank. I don’t know if I should go left or right.  I can’t figure out which balloons are my first balloons and which are the last balloons to shoot during the run down.  I just sit there. I’m not sure how long I sat there mouth agape, but it was at least until a friend came closer to the fence.  Thinking I was scared she gave me encouraging words.  I turned and looked at her and then sheepishly asked her, “What is the pattern?”

“It’s the same one we practiced.” She sweetly explained.  “You can do it.”

“Can you tell me which way to go?  And which balloons are the run down balloons?” I begged quietly.

As she chuckled and squeezed my forearm she said, "This course is a series of light and dark balloons. Ride over to the half moon, take those ones first and then around the run down barrel where you'll switch to your other gun and finish coming straight back here getting these last targets as you speed home."

I just smiled at her and started down the left side of the arena smoothly cocking, aiming and squeezing the trigger of my borrowed gun hitting all three of my first balloons.  And then I slowed my horse down to a collected trot, looking left and then right.  I looked back at the half moon of balloons, not remembering where she said to go next. Not remembering where my feet had walked.  I trotted my horse to the right and shot across my chest getting those last two balloons in the half moon.  I switched guns and was ready to do my run down.  I found the barrel.  As I get closer to the barrel, I wonder which direction to go.  I can’t remember, but my horse seems to want to go left, so I let him.  We are now on the run down which is supposed to be at a run.  But, I only trot because pulling the hammer on the gun is difficult if I’m going too fast.  Phew!  My run is done.  I wonder how it went.

I turn around and look behind me, and see three balloons still waving in the wind.  How did I miss them?  I don’t remember missing any.  The ring master comes running out, “Do you have unshot cartridges in your gun?” and takes my weapon from me to safely unload the three rounds that I didn’t shoot. I wonder how I have live rounds in my gun. Weird.  And embarrassing.

I leave the arena and Kaylin asks, “Why didn’t you shoot the last three balloons?” 

“Hmmm, I thought that I did.  Whoops.”  I begin to worry if I’ll get in trouble for not shooting all the bullets.  That could be dangerous! But, no one is yelling at me.  These cowboys are real couth.  No scolding over the announcer’s mic.  I’m happy.  That was fun.

“Mom, you looked like you were aiming at the targets, why didn’t you squeeze the trigger?”

“I just don’t know Kaylin.  Really, I didn’t do it on purpose or anything, I just didn’t shoot.  I think I was worried about where to steer the horse and forgot about the gun.  I’m sorry.” I hope I didn't embarrass her.

Yes, I can travel about mounted on a horse.  Yes, I can shoot a handgun. But the two at once prove to be too much thinking, all at once, for me.

I wonder why? 

Chasing Butterflies Around the Rodeo Arena

When they finally call my name, I’m not even sure if Caz knows that we are here for a barrel race.  It’s the first rodeo of our 2012 season.  He walks through the gate and lopes towards the first barrel.  I notice how slow he is going and think about turning the first barrel too late.  I’m almost to the fence. As I go towards the second barrel my body takes over.  I go from one hand to two hands and then back down to one as Caz approaches the second barrel. 

I’m still thinking about the first and wondering why Caz is so slow. 

LOPING TO THE FIRST BARREL

Last season he had worked up to a nice fast lope. I hope that he isn’t hurt or sore from the six hour drive.  I wonder if he stepped on a rock in the parking lot. I also think he might be sore in the back because he's so stiff on his turns.  And then I’m startled by the closed gate, our race is over.  There is no run out like most rodeos.  So there we stand as the crowd is fairly silent after my display.

Did I even go around the third barrel?  I think back.  I can’t remember anything after the first barrel.  It’s like my body and horse ran, but my mind got trapped in the details of the first. I pat my horse on the neck hoping no one noticed my confusion and moment of befuddlement. I leave the arena.  I walk him back to the trailer.

“Mom! What happened?” Kaylin asked.

“What do you mean?"I asked her for clarification as I had already forgotten the episode I had had in the rodeo arena.

“Mom, you barely were riding your horse!  You didn’t even 'look' while going around your barrels.  That’s not like you!”  Kaylin explained.

 “Oh, I don’t know.  Caz was a good boy though, he didn’t act scared or nervous about anything.  I’m so proud of him.” I give my horse a big hug, and walk up and down the driveway behind the arena, cooling him out.  After untacking and putting the horses up, we rush back into the bleachers to sit with our friends who are watching the rest of the show before going to the dance hosted by the Malibu Ranch.

“Wow!  What was Caz doing? Lori, were you chasing butterflies around the arena?”  One friend asked. Another friend used his finger to make a curly cue ribbon trailing in the air designating the path we took while covering every inch of the arena.  I laughed at the image their question evoked.  I didn’t respond.  

I let them lavish Kaylin with kudos on her first rodeo run with Leyna this year.  She only has one run at one other rodeo previous to tonight, so this is a big night for her. Everyone cheers as she enters the bleachers and walks up to our seats.  All eyes are on her! However, the friendly picking continues, “We saw you looking at the hot guys on the fence at the third barrel Kaylin, we all know that’s why you went a stride past. You just wanted to get closer to the hotties!” and everyone cracks up laughing again.  I just love my group of friends, they are so much fun to be with and so light hearted. No one mentions anything else about my run.

I sit in the bleachers surrounded by friends.  We are not in our usual spot.  We are on the right side, way at the end. It feels weird.   In front of us are the roping chutes. I consider my run again, wondering what really did happen. I question my memory to see if we had actually made it to the third barrel.  It's right there where it always is, set in front of the roping chutes.  I don’t remember being there at all.  I just don't know. I do know that it was a thrilling run and now I'm watching bull riding with my wonderful rodeo friends waiting eagerly to hit the dance floor over in the saloon.

This isn't the time to fret about all the time I spent in the arena.  I'll worry about my run later, when we get home.   I will watch our video and plan our daily training sessions based on what I see. I'll get help from my friends and family, and we'll pull the next run together and shut that clock off in a hurry!

Ford City ~ a great name for a rodeo town 

It sounds like it came straight off of "Gunsmoke";  a wonderful western show I used to watch that highlights the lives of characters Marshall Dillon and Miss Kitty.  I’d watch for the story line, but also to see how to get on a horse,or how to stop, tie and back a horse.  So when I got online to see which rodeos had call ins for the weekend, I knew I was going to call in at Ford City; a very western sounding venue.

I've been on the phone for about 70 minutes trying to get through to the Central Entry System.  I try to make good use of time so I take my cell phone while I go out hiking.  I just hit END after the call rings busy, then SEND, SEND and my Verizon wireless phone redials the call-in number. The walk along our beautiful creek is relaxing and soothing.  The water proves how powerful it is; cutting deep grooves and puddles in the soft slate rock.  The scene is breathtaking. “Hello.” I heard someone answer.

Photo by Contiphotography

“Hi, I’d like to enter Ford City please.” I excitedly announced. “I’m calling in for my daughter too.”

“OK, card number?” she asked.  After I gave her our card numbers and told her our preference to run in slack she gave me a confirmation number and said good bye.

 It takes a couple of days for the books to be finished and the draw to be posted.  I can call back in two days to get the order of go. As I look up the ravine wall covered in pretty white flowers sparsely covering the dark green waxy leaves underneath I decide that's what I'll do. I wonder what the pretty plants are. This spot right here is so serene, I'll have to remember to revisit next summer.  This view is just as pretty as my other favorite scene.  You know the road or trail that has trees along both sides bending into a canopy overhead?  We have one horse trail along the eastern ridge of the creek, it has pines on both sides, the long bows of the trees hang low overhead.  Each spring we have to go trim the branches so they won't interfere with our ride.  I just love that type of route. There is a road like that in a nearby village with willows flanking the left and right of it.  When I was a child these trees were strong and tall creating a sort of tunnel to drive through.  Now, the trees are tipping away from the road due to erosion of the ditches along the farmers fields that run along both sides, but I still drive this road and remember.

I had to look Ford City, a western sounding town, up on a map, and found that it is less than three hours from home.  Calculating the cost of diesel fuel, camping fees, entries and food I realized that I still have enough in my fun-money-stash to sign up.  I convince my daughter Kaylin to go and encourage her to bring anyone else along so we could split fuel costs.  Unfortunately, our other rodeo friends were going to make it to two other rodeos before hitting Ford City, so we end up going-it-alone.  Well, that is us girls, Wrangler (Kay's blue heeler), CAZ and Leyna (our horses).
          Kaylin and I just love traveling and enjoy being trapped in the truck with nothing more to do than get to know each other better through the in depth conversations that occur while coasting down the highway.  We travel down routes 60 and 90 in New York and then go south on 79 in Pennsylvania.  The trip is an easy one until you get close to the Ford City Rodeo grounds.  When you are about 5 miles away, you end up taking a few turns here and there in order to climb the hill up to the Armstrong Horse Park.  As we pull in we look around to get our bearings.  We can see the attendant at a closed gate about a quarter mile into the park and we head in that direction.

The gate attendant asks our names and crosses them off the list, we ask if there are any restrictions to parking, and he says there aren’t.  We excitedly scan the area and find the barn with stall rows that we want to house our horses in.  I temporarily park our rig, so we can jump out and check out the stalls.  We have arranged to rent stalls for three days, so we can allow our horses to move around and lay down before and after their races.  After walking past about twenty stalls, we find two empty stalls at one of the barns and decide to claim them.  We are especially happy with the location of the stalls because right across a dirt road and under some trees there are several spots for horse trailers.  Some of the rodeo staff and specialty acts are already there and have set up camp.  We choose a level spot and drive the trailer around the wooded area and enter the woods from the back.  Our truck is facing the barn and the stalls that we have chosen. 

It is hot out!  Our horses are probably thirsty, so even though we are still just wearing shorts and tank tops; we throw our cowboy boots on and pull our horses off the trailer.  Around the rodeo campground you don’t really need to be worried about your attire.  You run in to all kinds of crazy outfits, including men wearing make up!  You know; the rodeo clown. One of my favorite sights is a rough and tough bulldogger walking around with his cowboy hat and boots, cut off jeans and an open western shirt.  The best part is the stark whiteness of his legs and chest compared to the dark tan of his face and forearms.  So funny!

So to make everyone have a good laugh we don our cowboy boots with our shorts, not to make a fashion statement, but to protect our feet from the sharp, heavy hooves of the horses that we lead over to a hillside of grass.  As Kaylin holds the horses, I go grab our kinky green garden horse.  It is the one we use to bathe our horses while traveling,  it's easy to empty and store. Caz and Leyna are sweaty and I want to hose them off.  I love the smell of a sweaty horse and just love lathering up their summer coat with some Orvis horse shampoo. Orvis comes in a wide mouthed plastic tub and when it’s cool outside it gets pasty thick, but today it’s clear and liquid.  I put some on a dandy brush and start scrubbing.  My horse loves to have his chest and behind his ears, all the way along his mane down to his withers, scrubbed.  He acts like a cat stretching into the brush that I lay against his neck. I make sure to rinse him off really well, throwing a little apple cider vinegar in a bucket of water to help cut the soap suds and provide protection against bugs.  After I finish rinsing him I use a sweat scraper bent into a half moon shape to sweep him from top to bottom.  The water, warmed from his body heat, falls to the ground.  I check to see if there is any soap residue, seeing none I leave the wash rack to Kaylin and her sweaty gray mare, Leyna.  Caz is so happy to be clean and cool; he enjoys some blades of grass on the hillside waiting for his girl, Leyna to join him.

                        

                           * * * * * *

“Big pocket!”  Kaylin encourages trying to raise her voice above the crowd.

The announcer begins, “Miss Lori, c’mon we’ve got three barrels left to do, we’ve got a horse race on this Saturday night!”

“Big pocket!” Kay yells out again hoping that I can hear.

“We’ve got a Fredonia, New York cowgirl here turning some quick barrels.” Again the announcer tries to get the crowd excited for the big run home after the third barrel.

“Go, go, go! Big pocket, easy hands,” Kaylin’s coaching does not actually reach my ears but her sentiments reach me another way like when bunches of people all pray for the same thing, the heart and soul she pours into her encouraging reminders reaches me.  Somehow.

“Time just in for that cowgirl is a 15.981, a 15.981 is in our lead!” is announced.

 Like all rodeos, its not just the show and the racing that I love.  We were graced with the presence of our good friend Chelsea Drake at Ford City and even though we've been camping for days she pulls out her fancy camera and we get our horses and selves all dolled up for a photo shoot.  What fun!  Just don't look too close, or you may see some dirt under our fingernails, smudges on our cheeks and grime on our clothes - unless we sneakily cover it up with a cowboy hat!

Kay is getting Bugged Out!

Summer Barrel Racing at Attica Rodeo

           

Western New York  COWGIRLS

Kaylin, Chelsea K. and Me

          “Up next we have a cowgirl from nearby Fredonia, New York!" 

is my cue to enter the arena.   I walk my horse, Harley, through the corner gate.  He’s a nervous, athletic machine.  He’s muscled up and ready to work.  My nephew Christopher comments, "Look at him dancing around!"

           This arena has a unique set up where we have to cross the short end of the pen and circle around before we head up the center towards our barrel pattern.  I’ve practiced this way at home with Harley.  He gets excited as he hears the crowd and sees that there are barrels set up.  I know right where I have to ride him to to get in position for my start. Across the pen we trot and then I ask for a collected lope in a small circle to the right.  I keep looking ahead with my eyes on the chutes.  I ride past chute two then three.  I look over my shoulder to the right and spot the first barrel.

            I urge Harley on with a smooch and a squeeze of my legs, keeping two hands on the reins.  He is a free runner and doesn't have much in the way of collection or rate so I keep my eyes on my rating spot and before I know it, I’m there.  I yell above the crowd, so my horse can hear me, “Easy, easy, easy,” pulling back gently on both reins before I drop the left rein and grab the horn.  I jam my left elbow into my gut and brace it there like a seat belt, keeping me sitting deep in the saddle as I lift my right hand about 3-4 inches.  I look around my right shoulder and see the second barrel.  

            The spot I focus on is about 5 feet to the right of the barrel, sometimes there will be a specific banner to look at, but here I had to improvise.  I look there, so that I can help my horse finish the first barrel. Before I know it we’re at the second.  A double bump with my left foot helps round him out as we cruise around the second.  I try not to lift my hand, but the adrenaline in my body makes it hard for me to stay calm and I do.  Harley isn’t sure what to do as he finishes the second because I’m irritating him with my noisy hands.  It’s something that I’m always working on, I'll blame it on the old westerns I used to watch where the cowboys rode with their hands as high as their eyes!

            It’s only six long fast strides to the third. Harley LOVES to run, but he's new to the pattern, he still needs my help.   I’m so excited that I forget to sit and ask my horse to rate.  He is going too fast, oh no!  A stride too late, I pull back on the reins with both hands, drop to the horn and look hard to the left.  He takes a big jump past the third and turns towards home with a leap into the air killing precious time.  I’m bummed that I didn't rate him, but he’s fast.  Smokin’ fast and he can make it up on the way home, so I pull myself up out of the saddle and encourage Harley to stop the clock in a hurry.   

            One of greatest thing about rodeos that are close to home is that my friends and family can come on the rodeo road with us.  For this exciting run with Harley, cousin Christopher and neighbor Nathan came out for the evening.  It made it really special to be there and run.  I love introducing rodeo to people.  It amazes me that so many people I know have never been. I love it best when our guests are just happy to have someone in the rodeo to root for so there is no pressure to win.   Part of what I look forward to is...

Spending the weekend with my horse!

  I’m so blessed that my dreams have come true and I’ve been able to travel the rodeo road.

Learning to Ride Horses

Wanting to be a cowgirl wasn't enough.

I first started learning about riding as a child.  I read books, magazines, looked at pictures and watched westerns on TV.   I remember reading  a magazine article about leg aides.  I think it was  about "using your legs" while you ride a horse.  I was like many people and thought that legs were meant to wrap  around your horse and clench ~ to hold on.  I also watched Bonanza after school quite often and saw how the cowboys hands were always holding the reins pretty tight and usually high up in the air.  
                                                              

My Sister Riding Today

My sister Penny was the first cowgirl I really knew. She's my "big seester". She rode a lot when we were growing up.  I remember her riding bareback, going fast!  She also spent a lot of time near her horses or in the barn.  I also remember her reading lots of books, while lumbering on her horses back. She had one horse that was pretty short and wide where Penny could lay on her tummy backwards, knees bent~feet up in the air.  She would lay with her elbows propped on her horses butt, holding up her book.

My good friend and riding mentor, Kelly, always told me that I looked like a Barbie on my horse and that I needed lots of time in the saddle to get confident and loosen up.  She helped me with that by spending  hours and hours, together on our horses, exploring the beautiful trails and scenery down near  Kellettville, Pennsylvania and Lisbon, Ohio.  I have to admit that I did drink a couple of beers before and during these rides and that helped limber me up a bit. I remember being confused when she explained how she rode, "First I think of where I want to go, and then I look there, and that's where my horse takes me.  Usually."

Kelly and Madison at Flying W Ranch

When my daughter was about six years old I took her to riding lessons over the winter.  I paid close attention to everything her instructor said, and didn't say.  I remember learning the words inside leg, outside rein, jog, canter and roll back. I already knew walk and whoa (that was about it, though).

My daughter, Kaylin on KC

Because I have a clumsy nature, and I'm pretty nervous and uptight I never did enjoy showing.  However, my daughter was quite successful in 4H making it to States for many years. I watched her and the other kids and learned a lot.  I tried to go to every Drill Team practice because I noticed  improvement in each rider's skill every week! What were they doing to improve?  Riding.

I made a plan, set some goals and once again God blessed me with what I needed to achieve them.

I decided to just keep riding.  I rode and rode and rode. Although I was scared, once we got our indoor built, I rode bareback too. I rode and rode and rode some more. It was ride-altering.  I finally understood what Kelly meant because I could feel what my body was doing when I turned and looked where I wanted to go. I finally understood what the article that I had read so many years ago was really referring to.  My legs also moved when I turned to look where I wanted to go.  Finally, I could think of where I wanted to go and my horse would take me there, no tight reins or hands waving in the air. Watch a video of Harley and Lori

We have won Extreme Cowboy Races,  Barrel Races and Pole Bending events.  I've raced in over 50 rodeos! I love my life.

On Being a Cowgirl

My daughter's debut at the Gerry Rodeo 2012
She is in turquois in the center
the "cowgirl".

I grew up in "Rodeo City"

It might have been watching Bonanza after school for all those years, or maybe wanting to be closer to my oldest sister Penny – who was a horse lover, but somehow a fire was ignited in me.  I had a burning desire to be a cowgirl. 

                Some of my very first memories of horses were from my experiences at the Gerry Volunteer Fire Department’s PRCA rodeo.  Putting on this rodeo was a community affair. For the youngest child to the oldest citizen of our town; jobs were created to match the needs of the rodeo production.  After someone’s parent would wash the silverware the youngest of volunteers would dry it and sort it.  Other youngsters would roll a knife, fork and spoon up into a napkin placing the silverware in a big tin pan.  They were preparing for the still-famous Barbecue Beef Dinner.  It’s served prior to the show all five days; the show runs from Wednesday to Sunday during the month of August.

                Each morning at the crack of dawn the early risers would meet under the tent situated near the dining hall of the rodeo grounds.  Together the women and occasional man or boy would “eye the potatoes”.  We had large machines that would tumble the skin right off of the potatoes.  All we had to do is peel out the eyes and size the potatoes.  The locals just love to come have coffee in the dusky mornings together to start their rodeo day.  Many days the mother’s would bring their young children down and we would have garbage crew picking up garbage all over the grounds and the occasional rock crew removing small stones and rocks from the arena.  This task made the barrel racers very happy, I’ve been thanked for improved arena conditions many times over the years. You also might find a group of kids under the bleachers looking for money.  It’s amazing how often coins jingle out of pockets and onto the ground when rodeo fans are jumping up and down cheering on their favorite cowboy or cowgirl.

                Starting at about five o’clock some of the older volunteers would sit on a high wooden stool in a little concrete booth selling tickets to get into the show.  I call the rodeo a show because at that time, I didn’t realize that it is actually a sport.  I’m not very athletic, so I don’t usually like to watch sporting events. But rodeo was a different story.  Our rodeo was a great accomplishment, having survived over five decades.  Everyone in the town had stories to tell. 

              I love GVFD rodeo best because it feels like a family reunion.  Many families that have been spread across the country side, as the children began careers and families of their own, would pick rodeo week to return home, knowing that the rodeo grounds provided an easy gathering spot, dinner and entertainment.

               I’m committed to being a great spectator.  I’ll sit through rain, sleet, power outages, downed horses, injured cowboys and even during my own sickness.  I feel a powerful connection to the show before me.  The glitz, glamour and talent of the specialty acts gets to me.  It grabs me by the heart and captures my attention.  JW Stoker, a gentleman cowboy in clean pressed western outfits, swinging his ropes and jumping through them makes me gawk.  Later when he comes out on a speeding horse doing acrobats on and off of the horse at full gallop, I gasp.

                After the rodeo is over each night the band plays Thanks for the Memories & Happy Trails,  old western tunes.  I stand on the top bleacher as a school aged girl and look out back into the contestants camping area, listening for the cowboy and cowgirl voices above the drone of the goodbye lyrics.  I can barely discern the western twang and laughter around the already lit campfires over the voices of other rodeo fans as they exit the rodeo bleachers.  I however, don’t move from my spot, dreaming of what it would be like to live on the rodeo road.