A story told

 The view out my back door


Growing up, I always wanted to be that person that could tell a good story.  My high school boyfriend, James, could tell a story; he was so vibrant.  If there was embellishment, it was present out of necessity and served a function within the story.  I never felt that I could relate a personal story, feeling that I lacked the ability to communicate in a narrative sense. Now I know it was because I hadn't been out in the world: hitting the road, making mistakes, sleeping under the stars in a new place, among cows, insects and the occasional thunder storm. But rather, I had school, more school, and work, which while potentially interesting, those experiences were banal in comparison to those I had dreamed about as a child and teenager.  This past Saturday night, a good friend, coincidentally from Sheridan, Wyoming, hosted a party, which we deemed India Night.  I made chickpea curry, Amber made the naan, and Andrea made a ton of excellent dishes.  Most of the Conservation Social Sciences department made it out to the event, and I was glad to finally get to know the second year M.S. and PhD students.  

I had been sitting next to a PhD student, and had been talking with him about the regional prominence of tooling leather in Wyoming, basically dorking out, since I think leather work is super cool.  All of a sudden he hits me with this:  So, tell me a story."  I shot him a quick smile and without hesitation replied, "I got a good one".  It was new to him, and is new to this blog, as well.


This past July, Madisen and I saddled up the horses for a nice evening ride.  I saddled Fabio, that Palomino that gave me hell all summer long, and Madisen hopped on Bucky.  We grabbed the guns, a .22 Glock and a Ruger .45 caliber revolver; my gun, the .45, had an old holster that had broken.  I knew better, but placed it (unloaded) in the saddlebag, and zipped the bag closed.

Looking back to the trail home.


The trail from the homestead was warm, dust easily kicked up, and settled back onto the hard ground just as fast.  The sweet smell of alfalfa, and the buzz of deerflies was all around, which only made us want to press forward.  We trotted past the fence that opens up to a vast, green meadow; the grass was very high at this point, up to the Fabio's chest at least. 

As the horses blazed through the grass, it parted easily, leaving a trail behind, marking our return home. I turned to Madisen and then looked forward toward the huge meadow splaying out before us, "Wanna lope?"  She grinned and with that we bolted across the meadow, down a dip in the terrain, past the red canyon to our right, and through a grove of dead brush.  Our trail suddenly became narrow, and Fabio accelerated into a full gallop.

Atop Fabio.


My right leg fell from my stirrup and my weight became unbalanced,  I held on to Fabio's barrel (stomach/ribs) with both legs, evidently the wrong thing to do, as he only ran faster.  I was on the verge of losing it, damn near about to have a wreck, when I sat down deep in my saddle and reigned in on him, pulling hard to my back and right, eventually slowing him down to a stop.  Madisen followed as well, and I felt bad to have stopped our sprint on account of losing a stirrup.  I quickly hopped out of the saddle and began to adjust my stirrup, but in Fabio's excitement he pulled forward, tearing the lead line out of my hand and heading back in the direction we came from.

Before I knew what was going on, Madisen had bolted on Bucky, making quick strides toward Fabio.  I stood there at the base of the red canyon, disbelief and embarrassment taking over, then the realization hit that I was vulnerable.  The red canyon blocked view of the setting sun, filling my vision were junipers climbing up it's rugged walls; the perfect vantage point for a mountain lion to view White Tail Deer, Sage Grouse or some other prey.  I stood, stomach deep in tall grass, realizing that my gun is in the saddlebag atop an inconsolable horse, and I am here, alone in a meadow, just praying that there are no cats around.

I reasoned with myself, deciding that the best thing to do was to follow the trail back, and eventually I would reach the main road, and hopefully my horse.  I briskly walked past the grove of dead trees, broke off the largest branch I could find, and used it to help part some of the grass so I could keep an eye out for Western Rattle Snakes.  About twenty minutes passed before Madisen came loping up to me, saying "Chelle, I've got good news and bad news, promise me you won't panic".  Ok, hit me.  "As I was following Fabio, he began bucking and running even faster. Upon reaching the dip in the land, he bucked up and I saw the gun go flying from the saddle bag.  I chased Fabio almost all the way home, but caught him, so that's fine, but he's still acting a little pissy." 

"Oh, shit".

"I said don't panic, we're gonna find that gun".  

So began the great hunt.  Atop our horses we scoured the land, looking for depressions in the grass where a heavy gun might make its mark.  Madisen remembered the general area that she saw the gun go flying toward, so we focused our gaze upon it.  Fabio continued with his attitude, making it difficult to focus, around a half-hour into this, I turned to Madisen and told her to head home.  "Leave me your gun and I will continue on foot.  If by the time your are finished unsaddling the horses and I'm still not back, come back for me on the quad".  Madisen headed back home, ponying Fabio behind her.  This time around I felt much more comfortable in the canyon, 17 rounds gives you a chance at least.


I walked the area, covering it hastily and worrying that I'd never find it.  I did this for about forty minutes, when I realized my method was obviously not working.  I calmed down and reflected on how previously I have found things by focusing and "following my gut", so to speak.  I breathed deep, closed my eyes and started walking.  I walked with no intention of arriving in a specific place, only focusing on the gun.  I don't know what about the gun I focused on, whether it was the idea of it, or its energy, or the effect it had on the space that it was impacting...it all sounds so metaphysical.  None of that matters, really, because when I felt the urge to stop, it was evident.  

I opened my eyes, and at my feet lay the gun. 


I almost overlooked it, just out of the complete unliklihood that it would actually be there.  Once I grasped that it was there I just laughed, picked it up, and started home.

.45 Caliber Ruger Revolver




I reached the road quickly, largely due to the skip in my step and excitement.  Madisen sped up on the quad. and looked at me with questioning eyes...I held the gun up and screamed.  We were thrilled, and as I recounted the story to her we both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.  

 

"Wow, that was a good story.  Like you just had that off the cuff", my classmate remarked. "I don't know", I replied, "Since we were talking about Wyoming, I guess it just naturally came to mind". 

 

I turned to him and smiled, "Your turn now, tell me a story".