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?