Trail Riding Lessons

For several years, the B5 Gang has enjoyed two lovely weeks of camping and trail riding in Brown County State Park.  We go one week every spring and one week every fall.  It’s tradition…and last week was THE spring week. 

Our bi-annual packing experience has been honed over the years.  Since I merely SIT on a horse (I’m no Cowgirl, as any of the other four members of the BG Gang can – and WILL - tell you), Cowboy and the girls don’t really prefer my “help” with horses, tack, or anything remotely resembling equine comforts.  They realize that IF they depended on ME me for this task, we wouldn’t get very far down the trail.  I DO, however, have an important job.  I plan meals, shop for food, and pack the HUMAN comforts for the week. I think they appreciate it…or they WOULD…if ever they tried to go without me. But I digress…

Upon arrival at the campground, the well-oiled B5 wheels were set in motion, and we soon congratulated ourselves on the quickest and most flawless camp set-up in recent history.  We were ready to map our first course for the week.  Girl 1 & Girl 3 started tacking up horses, Girl 2 & Cowboy pulled out the map and a highlighter, and I packed snacks and drinks to-go-style.  Soon we were mounted and stepping out into the wonderful wilderness of Brown County State Park.

Since I no longer have a horse of my very own and was forced to “borrow” a horse I’d never ridden before (I’m not bitter…no, not me…but that’s a story for another day), I was a teentsy bit apprehensive as we made our way up and down trails.  I may or may not have been white-knuckling it every time Harley and I  encountered obstacles…I tried to explain to Harley that I’m a SITTER, not a JUMPER.  Noting my apprehension, Cowboy quickly started advising me.  His little lessons, as usual, eased my apprehension, and it wasn’t long before I finally was able to sit back, relax, let Harley do his job, and just soak up the surrounding beauty.

Cowboy has this innate internal compass.  I swear that man can be in pitch-black darkness, turned around several times, hung upside down by a rope, and STILL accurately point to North.  In contrast, my innate internal compass is limited to “remember to hang a Larry at the loopdy-loop tree.”  Since Cowboy long ago gave up ever trying to teach ME how to find True North (thank the Heavens above), I listened as he quizzed the girls on what they remembered from past lessons.

 

Much to his dismay, with the exception of Girl 3 (who isn’t half-bad), they pretty much inherited their mother’s lack of an innate internal compass. 

 

As we headed back toward camp, Cowboy was naming trees.  Then he was listening for bird calls.  It really is ridiculous what this man knows.  You would think that after 23 years of marriage, I might start learning at least a LITTLE BIT of the stuff he holds in that brain of his, but alas…no.  I just am not gifted with the sense of direction...or sun placement…or trees…or birds…or training horses…or providing medical care for horses…or HORSES IN GENERAL for that matter…no…I can’t teach any of that.  They pretty much let me tag along on trail rides because I’ve been nice enough to ensure they have towels and shampoo…and s’mores…and snacks for the trail.  It kind of bummed me out when I came to the realization that I can’t really teach them ANYTHING about camping or trail riding.  I mean, seriously…I’M THE TEACHER!  I’m the teacher of school subjects, anyway…In all honesty, Cowboy is the teacher of life.  I’m a band-aid-sticker-onner.  Cowboy is the hugger that soothes the wound of the deeper hurt.  I’m the food cooker.  Cowboy shows them how to feed their souls.  In a way I’m really happy that he is all of that for them.  It’s really really cool to watch a dad teach his children, and it’s really really cool to see them interact with him.  But DANG IT…why’s he have to make me look so bad?  I obsessed over this for the duration of the ride.   When we stopped for a rest, it became evident that I would just have to figure out a way to show them how useful Mom can be for this trail riding stuff.  I mean, honestly…I can’t let them think they can start going without me!

The next day of trail riding was much the same as the first…blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…I was starting to get a little jealous.  “There must be SOMETHING I can teach them out here in the wilderness,” I thought.  And then it hit me…I’VE GOT IT!!  I can teach them a very important lesson…probably a girl’s most important lesson of all…a lesson that Cowboy would NEVER think to teach, because he has never had to learn it himself.  And here it is…are you ready…?

WEED IDENTIFICATION

POISON IVY

STINGING NETTLE

Because when you’re three hours away from camp, and there’s not a pit toilet in sight, it’s essential to know what weeds NOT to use!

Happy trails! :)

Viva la Mexico

The B5 Gang split up last week when Cowboy and I embarked on a much-needed vacation. Rising at o’dark-thirty, we tossed a few things in bags, kissed Girl 1, Girl 2 & Girl 3 (who didn’t get out of bed to see us off, btw), and headed to the airport. Everything went right…no traffic, quickly found airport parking in the economy long-term lot, immediately picked up by the shuttle, early check-in sped us through the ticket counter, and upon arrival at our gate were told that we would board early and leave early.  YAY! 

The flight was great…no turbulence, smooth landing. We landed 20 minutes early in Cancun, Mexico, and at 10:00 a.m. it was already a sunny 75 degrees. We easily slipped through immigration, found our bags waiting at the luggage carousel, handed our customs paperwork to the attendant, bypassed the vultures trying to sell timeshares in the lobby, and a driver called us by name, escorting us to his van.

Traffic was light, and in 20 minutes we were at Puerto Cancun. I slipped inside, bought two ferry tickets to the lovely Isla Mujeres, boarded the ferry, and in no time at all the captain began backing away from the dock.  I lay my head on Cowboy’s shoulder, breathed in the salt air, felt the tropical breeze blowing through my hair, and must have taken a bit of a siesta, because before I knew it, we were at the resort. A bellman unloaded our bags, opened his arms wide, and said “Welcome home!”

Ahhh…(deep, dramatic, contented sigh…) There could be only one explanation for the easy-breezy path there…

The entire universe had conspired to put us right there, in that very place, at that very time. This could mean only one thing:  I BELONG in Mexico. I was smiling. Cowboy was smiling. The resort staff was smiling. Even those silly Mayan gods must have been smiling.

Our week was amazing. Views previously enjoyed but erased by the passage of time once again flooded our vision. We took in every morsel of it, intent on memorizing the horizon, the crystal clear turquoise waters of the Caribbean, the reflection of the sun’s rays on each surface, the rumble of the waves.  Each night we fell asleep to the sound of waves crashing at our balcony, and awoke to the same. We soaked up the sun and wiggled our toes in sand. We marveled at sea stars, sting rays & colorful fish. We were captivated by pink sunrises, golden sunsets & burning red full-moon dusks. We watched as streaks of lightning pierced a dark night sky, and a colorful rainbow graced the morning's dawn. We met new friends, learned their stories, laughed with them, cried with them, and shared our common faith in the Creator who blessed us to be there together, embracing the beauty that surrounded us. It was an awesome week.

And suddenly, it was Friday evening…the night before the dreaded moving-out-and-going-home day. Cowboy and I decided to deviate from our normal routine and walk into town for dinner. Mistake #1. Never EVER leave a gorgeous, tranquil, private beach with lovely resort restaurant for a tent restaurant on a public beach. Never. Did you hear me? Don’t. Oh, the food was delicious, it was the experience that was excruciating. Inebriated girls stumbled into the sea and “somehow” lost their bikini bottoms. Men (and woman) blew cigar smoke right over our table. Two 60-something grannies decided to change their bathing suits, nearly losing their towels in the process. And then, as if a sign from above, it began to sprinkle. We walked back to our resort and stepped inside the lobby just as the skies opened up and torrential rains came pouring down.

Saturday morning we tossed our things in our bags, headed to the buffet for breakfast, said goodbye to our new friends, checked out of the resort, and headed to the ferry. Once there, I realized something important that would have been nice to have known exactly one week prior. Had I not been captivated by the easy-breezy path, I might have realized it sooner...I had purchased two round trip tickets for the ferry. Hmmm. Where WERE those tickets? Did I keep them? Did I toss them? As I opened suitcases, searched pockets, and dug through bags, the ferry pulled away from the dock. Darn.

After a thorough search, I came up empty handed. No tickets. Darn again. Cowboy rolled his eyes, approached the ticket booth, and bought two ONE WAY tickets to Cancun. We maneuvered our bags through the waiting area and plopped down on a bench. I opened the front zipper of my carry-on to stow away the receipts for the new tickets and guess what I found. Yeesh. The round trip tickets. Oops. This time a “SANDRA!” was attached to Cowboy’s eye-roll. Yikes.

We boarded the ferry, found a seat on the top deck, and made our way to the mainland as dark ominous clouds began to settle above us. We encountered traffic that doubled our transit time to the airport. We stood in a long line of grumpy passengers at the ticket counter, picked the wrong security checkpoint line, and got stuck behind a woman who apparently “looked suspicious” to the TSA. All the while, unbeknownst to us, a monsoon was fixin to hit Cancun. I’m not kidding. Monsoon.

We ambled to our gate where throngs of people filled the seats and overflowed to the floor. Sheets of rain pelted the windows. Grumpy home-goers were drinking their sorrows away in the airport bars. Annoying announcements were being made over ear-piercing loud speakers. Every flight was delayed by the storm.

We waited. And I got antsy. And we waited some more. And I paced.

Finally, four hours after we had arrived at the airport (two hours after we were scheduled to take off) our flight was called to board. “Just wait, San…no hurry,” said the cowboy. So I waited. Against my better judgment, I waited. I was the 2nd to the last person through the gate, and WHO do you think they chose for a “random search”…?  Me. They opened my carry-on, they opened my purse, they ran a metal-detector over me, they patted me down, and soon after they eradicated the last morsel of my dignity, they let me pass. And Cowboy chuckled. I saw it. And I wasn’t happy.

We descended the stairs to the tarmac where there was a bus waiting. Yes, a bus. The rains were so heavy that they were bussing passengers across the tarmac to the waiting plane. We boarded the bus, and I was mentally preparing to make a mad dash for those flight steps. I was DETERMINED to the be the FIRST ONE to board that dry plane, by golly! The other passengers were either old or carrying babies and car seats, so I was SURE I could win the race to the top.  My adrenaline was pumping…I was on my mark…and then Cowboy reached out, touched my arm and said “Just wait, San…no hurry.” So I waited. Against my better judgment, I waited. And I was the 2nd to the last person off the bus.

There was a looooong line of people on those steps waiting to board that plane. I was 2nd to the last in that never-ending line. I got wetter, and wetter, and wetter. The man behind me got impatient and began yelling “PUSH ‘EM IN AND RUN ‘EM OVER!” He sounded a lot like Cowboy (ahem). And it was in that moment that I realized…

The entire universe had conspired to put us right there, in that very place, at that very time. This could mean only one thing: Mexico was taunting me. I wasn’t smiling. Cowboy wasn’t smiling. The tarmac staff wasn’t smiling. And I silently cursed those stupid Mayan gods.

Hasta la vista, baby!

I Didn’t Know I Married My Father in Law

After 22 years of wedded bliss with this man I call Cowboy, it has become evident that I am married to my father-in-law.

I first met my father-in-law, Big Dad, over 25 years ago. At the time he was a burly and bearded semi driver, but his smiling eyes gave him away instantly. He teased, poked, and prodded at me, and we quickly formed a bond. I became his daughter.

A natural story-teller, I’ve often shaken my head at the yarns my father-in-law spins. He always has a funny story to tell, and he never fails to deliver increasing dramatics as his audience responds with howls of laughter. Big Dad has never met a stranger in all his born days. The man could talk the ear off a lamp post. And intuition…oh yes…if he gets a feeling that someone is having a bad day, he’ll do something to make them laugh. It’s his duty.

Big Dad is one huge tease. He pokes, prods and cajoles anyone and everyone (nearly to the point of exasperation). To say his is stubborn would be an understatement. He, of course, will deny this to his dying day. And probably the biggest thing of all:  Big Dad hates to be late to anything…that is, unless he is galavanting all over town, visiting and chatting to his heart’s content…then it’s okay to be late. It’s his call. And trust me, when he makes the call, and the man says it is time to GO, he turns completely impatient and you GO…now! There is no waiting, no last-minute chatting, no time for belabored good-byes, you simply GO. If you don’t go, he’ll leave you. I’ve witnessed it. Once when Big Dad and Mom B were visiting us, Big Dad determined it was time to leave. He threw up his hand, yelled “Goodbye!” and headed out the door. Mom B, of course, could not leave without a few parting words, hugs and kisses. By the time she made it out the door, Big Dad’s truck was rumbling down the driveway. Cowboy and I stood on the porch giggling as we watched Mom B chasing Big Dad, laughing the entire way!  

A flashback of this particular incident came to mind a couple of years later when our little family of five was preparing to meet Cowboy’s parents for dinner.  Roughly three times throughout the day Cowboy had stated what time we would leave, and roughly five more times when the bewitching hour was near, Cowboy warned his daughters that the bus would leave with or without them. That magic hour struck, and the girls were still fussing over silliness, not prepared to leave. Cowboy took me by the hand and calmly escorted me to the waiting truck. He turned the key in the ignition, backed out of the parking space, and with a honk of the horn, began slowly driving down the lane. In an instant, three little girls came flying out the door, running down the drive screaming “WAIT!  WAIT!  STOP!”  With heavy sigh and glint in his eye, Cowboy put on the brakes, rolled down the window, and asked them if they would like a ride. We made it to dinner on time. All five of us.

When I first met Cowboy, I couldn’t help but think his personality was a lot like his mother’s.  Kind, gentle, patient, helpful, bubbly and fun…but over the years he seems to have morphed into a younger version of Big Dad…that “left behind” moment was probably the first big indication.

Also like Big Dad, Cowboy is a story teller. Something always reminds him of a happening from his younger days, and time after time the girls have asked him to repeat a story he’s shared before. When the girls were really little, Cowboy would make up stories about a fictional character named “Granny Fletcher.”  To this day I imagine they think she was a real person who did the craziest things. 

Probably the strongest intuition Cowboy possesses is his ability, like Big Dad, to hone in on people’s emotions. We’ve gone to dinner many times when he has turned to me and said “our waitress is having a bad day…I’ll see what I can do about that.”  Generally I groan and say “No, please…leave her alone!” But every time that notion has struck him, he’s turned on the silliness, and we’ve always left the restaurant to the sound of a laughing waitress. 

And harassment teasing…? Cowboy, like Big Dad, has mastered it.  He often approaches drive up windows looking like a…well…a crazy man.  I was with him once when he made his away through a Wendy’s drive-up at lunch time.  When we reached the window he immediately began messing with the cashier, asking for pepper packets, knowing full well that they didn’t carry any. The fun  teasing lasted for several minutes. Finally, the girl said “wait” and quickly returned, flung a gray plastic pepper shaker through Cowboy’s truck window, and laughed “There…take that…are you happy now?” He kept that pepper shaker in his glove box for months.

I can’t even begin to list the things he has done to the tellers at our bank. It’s embarrassing. Truly. I apologize to them every time I visit.

One day this week Cowboy stayed home from the jobsite to take care of some things here at home. Just before noon he announced that he needed to run some errands. Knowing this trip would likely turn into a Big-Dad-style galavant unless someone (a.k.a. ME) was able to intervene, I spoke up, “I’ll go with you.” With a curled up  nose and a frown he looked at me and said “Who invited you?”  Not to be deterred, I grabbed my bag and headed to his truck. We made two stops: TSC and Lowe’s (or, as Cowboy calls it, “Slows”).  He of course teased and poked and prodded the staff at each store, and he of course stopped to talk to anyone and everyone he knew (and even someone he didn’t really know) when the opportunity arose, but I am proud to say I managed to keep him on a narrow path and we arrived home in time to get Lil to her dance class. Success!

One thing I can say is unique about Cowboy is that he has a knack for coming up with the strangest ideas. For instance, this morning Cowboy and I had a discussion. It was a silly discussion surrounding a check. Yes, you read that right, a check…written to me by a friend. As we sat at the kitchen table drinking our morning coffee, Cowboy looked over at the check on my errands pile and said “Wow, she has really good handwriting.”

I nodded.

“No really, look at this…that’s good handwriting.”

Again, I nodded.

“Oh my gosh, look…she used a straight edge to draw that line right there…look at that…” and he held it up for me to see, “she used a straight edge!”

This is where I spoke up. “Oh, don’t be silly, she did not use a straight edge, she simply drew a nice straight line.” 

And then it surfaced…that Big Dad stubbornness.

I listened for several minutes as Cowboy tried desperately to convince me that my friend must use a straight edge to write her checks. I kept shaking my head no. I watched as Cowboy dug through the junk drawer and pulled out a straight edge, laying it across the line drawn on the check, viewing it at several different angles. He continued to insist she used a straight edge. I continued to shake my head no, and I might have sort of laughed. A lot. This must have irritated him a bit, for it was then that he spoke a little louder: “I’ll betcha a hunnerd bucks she used a straight edge!” Seizing the opportunity, I stretched out my hand and said, “I’ll take that bet, partner…let’s shake on it!” 

Soon after, a flutter of text messages began back and forth between myself and my friend. To make a long story short, I’ll just say…I won the bet.

To further expound, let’s just say…Cowboy isn’t over it yet. He contends that she must first PROVE to him that she can draw a straight line without a straight edge. Furthermore, he’s just stubborn enough about this (and tight-fisted enough) that I’m certain I’ll never see my “hunnerd bucks.”

Following this epic disaster of a bet, and a few household chores, Cowboy announced that he was “going to town.” I groaned and reminded him that we had a family reunion at noon and we would leave promptly at 11:30. I don’t think it was a nagging type of reminder, but I can’t be sure.

Really, I knew I should have ridden with him. That little voice inside my head kept saying “someone needs to go with him!” but I had so much to do, and I figured I could always call him repeatedly on his cell phone if worse came to worse, right…? So, away he went. Alone. Disaster in the making.

My first call to his cell phone was at 11:46. No answer.

My second call to his cell phone was made as I made my way through the kitchen at 11:48. While awaiting his answer, I looked at Emma and said, “Is your phone ringing? I hear a phone ringing.” Emma rushed to find her phone, “Nope…not mine.”

Where was that ringtone coming from?  “Emma, there is a phone ringing…I hear it…it’s playing ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’” That’s when it hit me. Cowboy’s phone is programmed with a unique ringtone for each of us, and MY ringtone…you guessed it… is ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’ Wouldn’t you know it…Cowboy’s phone was lying right there on the kitchen counter. NOW WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO?!

I stood for a moment, gathering my thoughts. “What would Cowboy do in this situation?” I asked myself. Then, I took a page out of Big Dad’s book. I looked at my daughters and said “We’re leaving…dad will just have to figure it out.” We jumped in the car, and as we began our descent down the lane, guess who pulled in…grinning.

Flashback: to a time when I watched Big Dad pull away with Mom B running after him. Flashback: that moment I first became aware that I was seated next to a younger version of Big Dad, driving away from home with three screaming girls chasing us. 

Yes, it’s true, I’m married to a younger version of Big Dad. But I just can’t help but love them both dearly, quirks and all.

Blessings & Healing

The song “Blessings” by Laura Story has touched my heart since the first time I heard it played on the radio.  This morning, however, it opened a deeper awakening within me.

As you likely know by now, our biggest surprise, my pregnancy, has ended.  The entire experience was an eleven-week roller coaster ride that started with painful lows, moved into uncertain loops, soared to incredible highs, and came crashing down into devastation.  It has been like nothing I’ve ever experienced before -- both wonderful and horrible wrapped up into one.  It was a blessing that has touched me like no other blessing ever has. 

Since the beginning of my miscarriage I’ve tried multiple times to put my experience into words, writing for what seemed like hours, only to delete all of my thoughts and start over.  I simply couldn’t express the peace surrounding me with enough emphasis.  Something was missing…that is…until this morning.  As I lay in bed reflecting, the song “Blessings” came on the radio.  I’ve heard the song at least one hundred times, but today, when she came to the end of the song:

“What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can’t satisfy?
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise?”

I had a revelation…THAT’S IT…PERFECTLY!  This is exactly what I’ve been feeling but couldn’t express!  Losing Gus (the nickname our baby was tagged with from the first day of our announcement) was a huge disappointment. It was the biggest heartache of my life because not only was I filled with grief, but I watched helplessly as my husband and daughters openly grieved too.  A day that should have been filled with excitement became instead a day of mourning. 

But grief is a funny thing, and in this case, it re-awakened my senses to my greater thirst…Heaven.  You see, although I have relied on my faith and my relationship with Jesus for nearly my entire life, in all of the recent busy-ness of our family life, Heaven had been pushed back into the recesses of my mind, locked away for reflection at a later, less-busy time.  It took our family’s great loss, and the ensuing “waiting” period, a time of intentional, un-plugged quiet, to focus on this one crucial aspect of my longing, reviving my thirst. 

What if the trials of this life are His mercies in disguise?  Our loss was certainly Gus’s gain.  None of us can know the challenges that might have awaited him in this world, and as Brian pointed out very soon after confirmation of our loss, God sees the bigger picture that we can’t possibly know.  It is His infinite wisdom and mercy that sometimes saves us before a greater heartache is revealed.

So here we are, approaching the other side of this journey, and though I can’t yet look back on the fullness of it, I can honestly say I already count myself richer and more joyful because of it.  I’ve learned so many things about myself and my family along the way.  I have absolutely no idea what God has in store for us now, but I know we are bonded in a way that we’ve never been before.  Our future cannot be controlled by us.  It is God’s.  Whatever He has in store, I am willing.

Life is not without heartache, and thankfully, it is certainly not without blessings…each, in its own way, a surprise much like the kind I’ve always resisted in the past.  Through this one particular surprise, and its ensuing heartache, I have come to realize that my journey will be filled with countless surprises, several heartaches, but all blessings in disguise. And I’m okay with that.