It’s that time of year again, leaves are falling, snow is in the forecast and Yellowstone is back on TV.
Before we know it, there will be a run on black Stetsons, mirrored sunglasses and toothpicks. It’s that time of year when everyone wants to be a prime-time cowboy until they actually have to be one the rest of the time. As Thanksgiving draws near, I too am a bit thankful for the Dutton Ranch eye candy, for cowboys and wild horses, mostly for the lessons I have learned from them both this last year along the way.
From breaking wild horses to breaking down over losing one, it’s been a year of ups and downs for me. I’ve watched my daughter ride out whatever cards she was dealt in a crow hop across the expanse of the crowded arena of life this last year.
I have learned that it’s easier to see the horizon from the trail than the round pen. There is something about being out in the open without the confines of fences that causes me to look inward and see farther than I ever could outward and to realize the trail in my head was not the trail I would need to take to get ahead.
We signed up for the Mustang Challenge this past year and from start to finish, nothing went as planned. We learned that you don’t have to win a challenge to overcome it, that challenges are best met head on and that unbroke horses can break your heart faster than 8 seconds.
We buried my mare “Mamacita” under dark skies and a pile of pink roses and I watched my daughter learn to mend fences and hearts alike in the process, as she strung barbed wire between posts, in between bottle feeding her 2-week-old orphan mustang foal Sassy. We all learned not to give up, even Sassy.
When the going gets tough, you pull yourself up by your bootstraps. We learned to accept help and made friends along the way and when people ask the hyperbolic question were you raised in a barn, my daughter can now proudly say “yes,” as she grew up this past summer and turned 13 raising that baby horse despite all the odds.
I have learned this last year that you can still win amid a loss because it’s the lesson you keep. I have learned the best feeling of pride comes from empty arenas because the silence allows for reflection and an opportunity to take it all in and relive a single moment as many tines as you like.
Sure, loud cheers sound great coming through the gate in the moment but quiet grandstands leave room for memories to be recalled over and over. I have had the opportunity to roll barrels back to the shoots after the last spectator has left the rodeo and found gratitude alone in the quiet. Those are the memories I tuck like feathers in my cowboy hat.
I have learned this last year and am thankful that Frito Pie on a paper plate tastes better in the dirt and the wind at an auction while buying another horse you don’t really need, than a fancy meal with white tablecloths, which you also don’t really need.
This past year I have mucked enough stalls to learn that there is a difference between horsesh-- and bullsh--. That prime-time cowboys disappear into commercial breaks while real ones disappear over the horizon for a hard days work.
I’ve learned that chasing cattle is better than chasing cowboys whether you’re on horseback or in your boots. Being half-broke applies to plenty of horses and cowboys alike and I can say, I’d rather have a half-broke horse than a half-broke cowboy, though I do like a bit of wild, horses are more trainable.
So this year, as we gather round the turkey, take a moment to reflect on the value in not just yesterday but in all the yesterdays that our heritage has afforded us in getting to today.
Pause a moment and lower your mirrored glasses and your black Stetson over your heart and find gratitude in the lessons this last year has placed on your table. I am thankful for all the cowboys and horses that have crossed my path, for those ghost riders in the sky and still on the open range, for the trails behind me and for those I have yet to follow. Happy Thanksgiving and happy trails.
Jenny Johnston is a fourth-generation Durango local, part-time rodeo announcer and wrangler to two lil’ buckaroos.
