I grew up riding horses. Just look at me in the above picture. That’s me squished behind my cousin Marlene. My brothers John and Jim brought up the rear. We loved that old horse. Roxanne was her name. She was so gentle and patient with us. I rode her alone quite a bit and coaxed her to trot, bouncing me up and down until my sides ached. That was in the 1950s. In 1994, I had the opportunity to join several archaeology students on a trip to the Four Corners in the Southwest. We visited all of the archaeological sites in the area, led by Professor Jim Gallagher from the University of Wisconsin, La Crosse. While in that beautiful area, we visited the Navajo Nation in Canyon De Shelly in Northeastern Arizona. We spent the afternoon there and we were invited to ride through the canyon on a horse.

“Sure, I can ride a horse.” We all mounted and followed our leader into the depths of the canyon. A few kids nudged their mount and off they went. Like I told you before, I trotted Roxanne around the farm, hanging on to the saddle horn. I pretty much knew how to do it. I nudged my steed’s sides and gave him a little pat on his rump with the bridle rein. Okay then! We took off. It was exhilarating! I hung on for dear life and we galloped, leaving the novices behind. We caught up with the few that went ahead and slowed down. The ride was so much fun. I hated to stop. As we trotted along the trail, a student raced up to us and beyond. He seemed to be a bit frantic. At that moment, his saddle strap loosened just enough, and the young man slid sideways. He screeched; his horse, now terrified himself, kept racing straight ahead. The leader of our group took off toward him and finally was able to stop the horse. Our comrade was okay, a little shook-up, but he later laughed about it.

George and I have been watching the mini-series Heartland. We have enjoyed it immensely. The reason? The setting is in beautiful Alberta, Canada at cattle and horse ranch. Wild Mustangs live in the area and there were many shots of the herd racing across the plains. I have always loved horses and this story taught me so much more about horses, than I could ever imagine. So, I had to write about my experience as a “cowgirl.” I wish I was younger. I think I would live in Wyoming on a horse ranch.