Cowbells

For most people cowbells are either associated with cows or Saturday Night Live. "I got a fever and the only prescription is...more cowbell!" I think of horses.

Every afternoon and evening 66 horses roam a designated pasture of the ranch. At the break of dawn, they are all wrangled back into the corral, which is one of the most unbelievable sights I've ever seen. Imagine more than 60 horses galloping in the morning light, dust behind them, mountains and fields in all directions. I stop and watch every time.

I have always felt a special connection to horses, as I know many do. They are powerful, brilliant creatures who embody mystery and many of the secrets of life. As a child, I often rode but stopped when the barn we went to quit giving lessons. I have never feared horses even after falling off twice. When I knew I was coming out here I planned to ride every chance I had, to reconnect with my childhood friends, and to become the best rider possible given the time. Life had other plans...

My first two weeks I was surprised at how timid I felt around an animal that had been so easy for me to approach as a girl. I forgot how to pet a horse, how to be gentle, and how to be safe. As fortune would have it, a dean from a renowned California university is here for the summer working as a wrangler. He is incredibly gifted, not only with horses, but at explaining to 2-leggers how to speak a horse's language. He taught me that instead of walking in a straight line to move toward a horse, one should move in a slow switchback pattern, stopping to smell horse dung on the way (like a horse would), and then extend one hand, head lowered in a slightly submissive way, palm faced down towards the horse, waiting for him/her to catch your scent. I watched a guy on a cell phone today extend his hand abruptly to a stunning black horse. The horse immediately turned, left the enclosure, and galloped away.

Slowly I became more and more comfortable again. Every ride I made progress and started to remember how to squeeze my legs when riding, how to post, how to blend with the rhythm of a horse's cadence. The last time I rode (late June) I rode with another horse whisperer, one of the members of the partnership of families that own the ranch. He is 70 years old but doesn't look a day over 45. Always smiling. Always excited for adventure and whatever life has to offer. Always kind, gentle, and grounded.

I watched as he addressed his horse with terms of endearment like "sugar" and "honey." I watched him lope, not an ounce of awkwardness in his body. He held his right hand out waving in time with the horse's rhythm as I followed behind him.

"You look like you're conducting." I called ahead.
"Yeah," he laughed, "the symphony is in-between my legs!"

After that ride, the summer became much busier, more guests, less time. On my one day off a week, I often wanted to catch up on sleep in the mornings or go into town. Horses faded into the background for me. I still saw them every day and would occasionally stop by the corral to watch them and pet them if they allowed me to but my desire to ride was zero until yesterday.

With only a month left to go at my time at the ranch and this week as the final major week in the summer season, I decided to opt out of riding yesterday morning. I got the impression that I could potentially be more of a hindrance than a help and my desire to have a morning to myself outweighed the desire to get back on a horse. I was happy with my decision. Sometimes in choosing not to do something in the moment, we open a much wider opportunity for passion in the long run.

I spent most of yesterday alone and after having a particularly moving 2-hour phone conversation about the next steps in my life (namely moving to San Francisco), I decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in the pastures, forgetting that the horses are now in the fields I often frequent. Sitting on the upper part of what is called South Alfalfa, I looked at the mountainous skyline and breathed in fresh air and the smell of grass when I heard cowbells.

In order to keep track of the horses and to designate lead horses for that wrangle, many of the horses wear cowbells at night. I looked below me to see the horses grazing. I decided to go to the river, taking the path I normally do. As I walked, there were horses all over. Some were between trees. Others were slowly walking and eating. The little girl within me felt like I was in an enchanted forest. I put my journal and phone down and practiced what the dean had said. The first three horses weren't interested. They didn't run from me by any means, but they made it clear, "leave us be."

I then started to walk towards a horse that looked like a cow with its black and white splotches. He saw me coming and took off in the other direction. "Was it my breath?"

I decided to try something I've been experimenting with lately: surrendering from the result or at least letting go of the idea that something needs to look a certain way. I crossed the small creek towards the larger field and was astonished at what I saw. In front of me were over 30 horses grazing in an open pasture lined with ancient trees. Instead of directly approaching the horses, I chose to go on the outer rim and lie in the grass. When I felt calm and rested, I got up and started to slowly make my way back through the field. Again, I did what the dean had said. This time a horse let me pet him briefly and continued on, but another horse approached me all on his own, letting me stroke his mane, rub the acupuncture point on his forehead, and I walked in between the two horses, taking one step as they did for some time. When it was time to leave I silently thanked them and made my way up the gravel road for dinner.

Horses symbolize "travel, power, and freedom." According to a totem website I found, "It will teach you to ride in new directions and discover your own freedom and power."

It may sound strange, but I know that the horses have been waiting for me all summer, and I don't think it's any coincidence that as I stir from my Montana retreat and prepare for huge life transitions, that the horse is with me.

It's a dark Montana night and a new moon, so there is no light---only stars and cowbells.



totem website: http://www.linsdomain.com/totems/pages/horse.htm

Love Life!

Motion is in my blood. I come from a long line of movement. Like almost all Americans, my ancestors left everything behind and sailed to a new world. Upon receiving land grants after the French and Indian War both sides of the family traveled as part of a long wagon train and traversed difficult terrain to resettle in Kentucky. Both grandfathers were the only sons to leave the farm and yet again resettle. One to start his own body shop business and the other to travel the world and the States in the Navy. Although I do not know all their specific motivations, I like to think that sheer curiosity played a part.

"What's out there?" is a phrase I've carried with me since I had words. A friend showed me 550 year-old trees the other night on a 2-hour walk that soaked us in moonlight. Every day this summer I made sure to go somewhere, do, try or learn something new. That included Yellowstone, a quick trip to Canada (my first), a massage from a Blackfoot Indian, fly fishing by the Blackfoot river, the quest for the perfect skim vanilla latte in Missoula, a chocolate-dipped scoop of homemade white mint oreo ice cream in a waffle cone, running shoes from Tim, and $1 sushi night.

As I was driving my new favorite stretch of highway from the ranch to Missoula this afternoon, I saw a backpacker with a gray mustache carrying a forest green pack with pots, pans, and cans hanging off his bag. One of the reasons I prefer this two-lane highway is because of its sharp twists and turns around the bases of glorious mountains that border the Blackfoot River, the body of water that first brought me to Montana.

The man had just crossed a particularly narrow bridge and had mounted a rather large red and white sign to the back of his pack that read, "Love Life". He waved at every car that passed. I'm guessing most assumed he was crazy and maybe he was, or perhaps from the outer edges, he professed life's secret. I waved back at a fellow traveler.