#17 A Horses Parts...

The requests came often.

Regularly we had been receiving requests from children's groups to host tours of our facilities. We finally decided to do so.

Our first group were junior girl guides, called Brownies, and they arrived in a multiple car caravan.

In the parking lot, car doors opened and out rushed twenty little girls, all between 8 and 10 years of age, accompanied by an appropriate number of adults. 

Is was the most daunting thing I've ever seen.

Although trained as an instructor, I was accustomed to adults. All these eager little faces were a new experience for me. I had to admit that they scared the life out of me.

In unsuppressed excitement the little girls milled about in our entrance yard. The twenty seemed like a thousand.

In preparation for their visit and tour, I created handouts. Something to take home and both relive this experience and to remember it as well. My handout was a picture of a horse in black and white outline, designed for the girls to color. The picture also had the various "parts" of a horse marked upon it.

For some reason unknown to me... all horse people were obsessed with the parts of a horse and I... following my training, passed this on to the little girls. Words like... gaskin, hock, fetlock and forelock, were marked for the girls to learn.

To further bring the point home to the little girls and to make the picture come to life... I decided to be clever. I paid dearly for this cleverness in the months to come.

I brought out a very gentle gelding for the girls to actually touch and pat. He was a big bay and loved little kids. He patiently allowed their touches and I'm sure converted many into "horse crazy" adolescents in later years.

My big mistake was at first a big success. To bring my lecture about horses to life, I thought it would be a great idea to write the parts of a horse on the horse itself. The girls loved it... they could actually see what I was talking about and it made everything much more personal.

I was so very clever, I thought!

Finally the kids, all happily chattering and with their compliment of grinning adults, got in the car caravan and drove away.

My chest puffed with pride... my first lecture was a great success!

I took the big gelding back to the corrals but first I wanted to brush off the names I'd written all over him.

"Ohhhh no,"  I muttered.... "Oh nooooo."

In my excitement at this the first of many lectures to children, I'd written the parts of the horse in permanent marker.

My horse now had his "parts" written everywhere and his parts were permanent.

I don't know if the horse was bothered or even cared, but I did. I was red faced and humbled.

A few days later a letter came in the mail. The little girls had a wonderful time, it said, and they sent a thank you card. On it was drawn a picture of the horse.... with all his many parts.

Time would cure my misdeed as time often does. My horse of many parts finally shed his winter hair, reveling a blank canvas beneath.

#16 An Affair Of The Heart...

Our stable has been operating almost 18 months when it happened.

My Cowboy had been feeling poorly for some time and finally agreed to seek medical attention. His visit to the doctor was life changing.

The examination discovered that he had heart blockages. Surgery was needed... needed now.

He was admitted to University Medical Center for early morning surgery. I sat with him. The surgery, Quadruple By-Pass, was scheduled for 7 am but was performed closer to 5 pm. The problem was two emergencies... unavoidable delays. The waiting was difficult for us both.

Finally as he was taken in for his operation and I had to leave. Prior commitments for evening events couldn't be changed. I had to go. As a cowgirl in training, I didn't want to leave my cowboy.

The events went as planned and they went well. The stress of juggling the events and his illness was very high... but cowgirls keep their heads. I did manage to return to his side later that evening. He would spent that night in CICU.

Next morning he was moved to a private room. The morning after that, he disappeared.

The nurses found him in the cafeteria, pushing his IV cart as he purchased a coffee and a newspaper. They were shocked that he was up and around but nothing it seemed could stop him. He was discharged the next day.

This proved a mistake.

Life at home was not the same. His distaste of the hospital had overcome his good sense and made him appear a super man. In reality, it hit him hard when he came home.

At that time we had a number of privately owned horses in our care. One such horse was owned by a doctor from UMC and it was our friendship that resulted in the top cardiac surgeon in the city as My Cowboy's personal doctor. Our medical friend took me aside and gave me warning.

He said the medical profession had a dark, little secret concerning open heart surgery. For reasons not known, often this surgery resulted in a change of personality for the patient. This would prove to be true, My Cowboy never was the same again.

My Cowboy recovered slowly but he physically recovered. The happy go lucky, slightly irresponsible and carefree cowboy didn't. The life saving operation became a life altering one.

#15 Born To Do It...

The days were long and hard. The life... exhilarating.

My day began at 4 am... when I fed the horses. I let My Cowboy sleep those few extra moments... it was one of those girl things. It was always black outside but the eager nickers always, always greeted me. It was a satisfying moment to know all you loved were cared for.

Summer was always a challenge. Although still dark outside, there was the hint of dawn. Not enough to see anything and seeing is what I wanted to do. Snakes were about... not just docile ones but rattlesnakes and I didn't want to step on one. Tarantula's too... although I was more horrified than afraid... if you know what I mean. It was always a challenge to walk down the path from the little stable cottage to the stable itself.

In the beginning we started with ten horses but quickly the numbers grew, 15, 20, 60. My marketing paid off and our little stable was a thriving one.

We provided trail rides into the desert. A way to show folks, mostly tourists, the beauty of this land and the fun of being on a horse. As we grew, we added stabling for private horses as well.

The official day began at 7 am with our first rides and ended at 5 pm with the last, but many days, my day didn't end until 8 pm. Later as we became involved in cookouts and sunset and breakfast events, my day became longer. The horses were all fed early to give them plenty of time to eat and digest before the work began.

Seven days a week I fed, every holiday I fed. Sun, rain or snow, I fed. I trudged down the path and carted hay and grain to a multitude of hungry mouths. Every evening I fed too but more often than not, I had help.

It wasn't just the horses which grew in numbers, we began to hire employees and with them I learned another lesson on my road to cowgirlhood. There are two kinds of cowboys.

The first, those whom I had idolized in movies, were the good guys. Family men who cherished the land, the horses, the family and the wife. Honest everyday men who just had extraordinary lives.

The second, those whom we seemed to hire, were drifters. Most were cowboy wanna be's. Yes they could ride but seldom did they love the animals and almost never, the land. Their big claim to fame was the art of being phoney. They were not what you thought, hoped or even expected them to be. Most had authority problems, most were loners... misfits who traveled from one place to another, in hopes of finding the perfect score.

The perfect score being getting rich, getting laid and getting out of work.

I had an ongoing battle with them... for the number one trait of them all was that "no woman is going to tell ME what to do!"

My Cowboy, never understood and truthfully wasn't far off from being one of them. My life, although idyllic in many ways was fraught with tension as I tried to deal with this western flotsam. My cowgirl lessons continued as I learned the art of detaunt and that more than six guns can be fired.

The interesting part of all this is that I never noticed. I was so wrapped up in my dream, that the work or the people never got to me. I loved caring for the horses. I loved riding 10 hours a day. I loved the desert. I loved being a cowgirl, even if I had yet to meet a cow.

This WAS my life... I was born to do it.

#14 Trails...

Those early days, when business was so slow, I often rode alone into the hills. I blazed trails in places never seen by timid riders and later I shared those trails with friends.

One afternoon, I was riding in a narrow canyon when I saw an old mine shaft set horizontally into the hill. From its mouth, a large herd of Javelina (a native pig-like animal) rushed out, disturbed by my approach. Opportunists, the shaft had become a sheltering cave for them.

Another mine shaft was almost my undoing.

Pushing though thick brush, I discovered I was on the edge of a shaft which plunged to unknown depths. Well hidden by brush, I wondered how many animals had met an untimely end here. I wondered if I looked, would there be signs of unwary people as well.

My desert rovings made some cowgirl changes as well. In my Eastern riding days, horses were always tall and it was common to be given a “leg up” to get on one. Mounting blocks were available at every stable. Now, out in the desert it wasn't so much fun... the handy rock could hide a snake... a side-stepping horse could have you land in cactus.

Out in the desert, mounting help is seldom available. It is done from the ground and a five-foot woman has trouble with a seven-foot horse. I began looking for horses to suit my size... short.

My favorite horse was a little red colored mare. Crimson and I patrolled the hills with vigor and her stout heart belied her small stature. She would go anywhere.

Traveling along a narrow wash, we discovered a side wash paralleling. I turned the little mare and we headed down this new trail. A steep bank rose along one side, dense brush the other. Layer after layer of rock, sand, gravel and compressed debris formed the bank which had over the millennium turned rock solid.

Burrows were built into the bank, homes for rodents and small animals. I spied a large snake making its way along the ledges of the wall, intent on dinner.

Along the other side of the wash were small trees and brush. With each step the wash narrowed. Vines appeared growing on and over much of this smaller vegetation, forming a green blanket.

Rounding a bend, we found a wonderland.

Butterflies by the millions filled the air. Small yellow and blue butterflies rose in a cloud as we passed. The vines, along with the sheltered wash, had given them the perfect place to breed.

The mare never batted an eye at the butterflies which flitted around her. Some landed on her ears and were gently shaken off.

Others landed on me, stopping for a moment on my hat and shoulders before moving on. Together, the mare and I, went through this cloud of blue and yellow, touched by this special moment.

My travels in the desert introduced me to this incredible land. Mounted on a trusted equine, I traveled high into the mountains and deep into carved canyons. I saw extraordinary birds, reptiles and animals and I saw a new world. Slowly my old world fell away as this new world became mine.

Slowly the urban girl was retreating and the cowgirl was being born.

#13 The Stable

After I left the guest ranch, I didn't know what to do with myself. Many things went through my mind, but the main one was, that I loved this life.

By chance, a little riding stable came up for sale. I went and looked and knew I wanted it.

When things are right, it all comes together and so it was with the little stable. A deal was struck and soon I was to be the owner. During that time, my relationship with My Cowboy had grown from friends to much more. He was very interested in my little business to be. It seems it was his dream too.

We forged a partnership... both business and personal.

The stable was tiny and in poor condition. I spent the first months just cleaning it up. My Cowboy kept his day job.

Slowly we built new stabling for the horses, corrals, tack room, customer office as only excited new owners can do. We worked very hard and created a cute but very clean stable. The only thing was... we didn't have any business.

Against my better judgment, My Cowboy quit his job that summer. Things were very slow, only diehard horse people wanted to ride in the summer heat and they all headed up north. My Cowboy lamented his involvement every day. He had so little faith.

I did what I always do... I immersed myself into the business and learned the secret to success... marketing.

In the fall of our first year, business began to improve and things were looking up. But looking up showed only a darkening sky. In a few days it began to rain and for one solid week, it never really stopped.

It was the year of Tucson's great flood. A once in a lifetime event... the one hundred year flood!

Actually it was a perfect storm. A tropical depression off the western coast of Mexico which moved inland, combined with an El Nino year bringing extra moisture and days of rain to Mexico, filling rivers running north. The rivers in this part of the world run northwards... and they were already flooded before "our" storm even shed one drop.

Modern city growth was based on WYSIWYG (What You See Is What You Get) and all that the planners saw were sunny skies and dry river beds. No one ever went... "but what IF."

Buildings and whole communities were built in flood plains and the torrents of rain did just that... flooded the plains. The flood waters savaged any area they went through and then moved to join the flooded rivers. Half a years rainfall in a couple of hours whipped down the mountains, filling every wash and arroyo to overflowing. These connected with the large watersheds and into the raging Santa Cruz River.

Normally fifty feet wide, this sleepy river wound along dry channels and for most of it's expanse, ran underground. Now the sleeping giant awoke with a roar.

Our tiny stable was on the west side of the river. A large bridge spanned the Santa Cruz and took us to town. The flood filled river tore away access to the bridge on both sides, and expanded the river to over a mile wide. Our bridge held but not so five others, south and north of it.

Everywhere in the city, homes and businesses were swept away. My Cowboy and I, from our safe shelter higher in the mountains, watched as a house raced by in the raging current. Huge electrical towers shuddered before us and crashed into the water, exploding as they did.

The destruction was massive, the loss of human life minimal but the loss of animal life great. Farms and ranches were destroyed and a dear friend had her ten horses (in a pasture) all drown. Their pasture was on the "other" side of the river. No one was able to rescue them in time.

For us we were immersed in mud but safe. Our biggest and most crucial problem was being cut off from town. An inconvenience at first but life threatening to our tiny business.

In the months that followed, my marketing lessons would be challenged. Making the best of a bad situation was secondary to finding creative ways to attract business.

But something worked... or maybe it was that God smiled at us from above... whatever it was, we survived and in the next year, we thrived.

View of the flood waters receding and the loss of our bridge.

The flood waters receding and the river beginning to shrink again.

#12 A Sunny Day...

The guest ranch didn't have many horses. Business was so poor that only a minimal herd was necessary. There were only ten.

Most of the herd were older animals, they were wiser, gentler and easier for inexperienced guests to ride. One horse was the exception.

One of the many "new" owners of the ranch bought him and he didn't quite fit in. He was a five year old, mixed breed, bundle of equine fun.

I had learned that the cowboys at the ranch, preferred simple horse names. Names that related to color or markings... Blackie, Brownie, Socks, Star were common. I often wondered if this made the horses easier to identify especially after a wild evening the night before. But... I came from a place where horses had regal names and chose to give this equine, a name with... character.

I called him Arizona Sun.

Sunny, as he would be nick named, was a palomino. Now I know what you are thinking... a Trigger look-a-like, but no... that was not Sunny.

He was beige... the only beige horse in existence. On a bright day he was a very light gold color... on an overcast day a washed out creme. His lighter colored mane and tail and his small blaze and two hind white socks were barely noticeable against his beige coat. In truth... he looked prettier when covered in mud.

He was a good size for a ranch horse, well muscled with a large head. Any good looks were only in his head but he did have a way of getting into your heart.

Sunny liked to play and drove the rest of the herd crazy... when work was done, all they did was eat and sleep. Sunny, on the other hand, thought of things to do.

Three Hispanic men were working on a well pump next to the corral. It was a blazing hot, Arizona summer day. They brought with them a six pack of beer to enjoy later.

They put it into the horses water tank to keep cool.

Sunny was ever vigilant. He went to investigate. Submerging his head, he felt along the tank bottom, until he found the treasure.

Strong teeth grabbed the six pack and hoisted it into the air. Aluminum was no match and he crushed the cans, spilling the golden liquid which he eagerly sucked up.

Rocks whizzed by his head as the men tried to save their beer but the only one who enjoyed a cold brew that day was Sunny.

The ranch often had special promotional tour groups visit. These small groups of travel professionals were given the royal treatment in hopes of bringing future business. One such group arrived and I took them on a trail ride.

The ride was beautiful, the desert at it's best, the horses providing a safe and fun experience.

Most of the horses...

Placed near the rear of the ride, Sunny fussed.

It was nothing that couldn't be cured with food, so Sunny grabbed a snack where ever he could and in so doing created a mouthful of green foam. Then he shared it with his rider.

Sunny began to toss his head. And with each toss,  a line of green foam streaked across the rider, leaving no spot untouched. Shirt, jeans, hat... and face... all covered in green foam.

The rider, as luck would have it, was a travel writer for the New York Times travel section. The ride truly became infamous and Sunny known throughout America.

After that event, I decided Sunny needed to work on his people skills. We were part of a trail ride, up to the top of Wasson Peak in the Tucson Mountains. It was to be a challenging ride, as we were climbing to the 4,300 foot pinnacle and then returning.

We snaked our way up the mountain on a very steep and narrow trail. One side of the trail was the mountain itself and the other side dropped away into deep valleys. The trail itself was a rocky, two foot wide path.

Sunny and I were last... it was to be a lesson event for Sunny and he fretted at being so far back. He was not the happiest camper.

With out warning... in less than a heartbeat... Sunny and I were facing the opposite direction. We were now heading back down the mountain.

Performing a dressage move... a perfect pirouette on his haunches, he lifted his front end off the ground and spun on his rear legs to make the turn. Terrific... if I was riding a dressage horse.

Impressive too... if that's what you wanted to do.

Sunny had lulled me into a false sense of security... I forgot that his mind never stopped.

I now had a dilemma. In order to continue, I had to repeat that perfect move in the opposite direction, without going over the edge of the trail.

I called on all my riding skills, sat deep into the saddle and gave him determined leg commands, while firmly using the reins to control forward movement.

There was a second when we hung out over the edge... when my heart almost stopped. But only for a second as Sunny never stopped for longer.

Once again were heading up the mountain.

Once again it had been a Sunny day. 

Arizona Sun "Sunny" and me at the top of Wasson Peak.

The horses, unsaddled, are resting at the top of the mountain.

View of the winding trail we came up, Tucson in the distance.

Looking west to the valley beyond, from the top of the mountain.

#11 Priorities...

I had many more lessons to learn on the rode to becoming a cowgirl. My next one was priorities.

I was all settled in my new desert home and one night I was lost in a dream filled sleep. Somewhere in the night, the dreams turned real. I felt a sharp pain in my thigh.

Foggily I awoke, sure it was just a very vivid dream, when the pain came again. It felt like a knife was stabbing my leg.

I sat up, turned on the light and jumped out of bed. Pulling the sheets back I looked to see what could be causing the pain. Within my sheets was a scorpion. A tiny Bark Scorpion.

I let out the appropriate scream... more suited to a dying coyote, and went about protecting myself. Needless to say, the little critter did not survive our encounter.

My fight with death over, I began damage control. My leg hurt, a large lump was growing on my thigh. Actually two large lumps, as the little sucker stung me twice.

As a newbie to the desert, I was terrified. I'd seen many western movies and I knew, just knew, I was now going to die.

It was the middle of the night and I didn't want to die alone, so I called My Cowboy. We'd become very good friends and he always said that if I needed anything, to give him a call. I don't think he meant at 2 am.

He took it all graciously... and said he'd be right over. He lived only a few miles away and soon was on my doorstep. I showed him my wounds, told him where my will was and asked if there was anything we could do. His advice, as he really had none, was to call Tucson's emergency hotline.

Oh... I thought. I could have done that sooner.

They didn't seem at all disturbed by my early morning call and after a series of questions, they determined that I would live. There really was no doubt, only in my mind was there a threat. They did advise that should I feel ill or have greater discomfort to take some allergy medicine.

Whew... that was close, I thought.

My leg was hurting but I did not have any allergy medicine and prepared to go to the store. My new home town had all night grocery stores and one was nearby. My Cowboy volunteered instead.

"Rest, take care of yourself," he said, "I'll go." and off he went.

I was thinking that he was indeed a knight in shining armor riding on a white horse, going off like that to save me. I was off a little on the thought, as he wore blue jeans and drove a red pick-up truck.

I waited, but he did not return. Time passed... 30 minutes, an hour. I seriously began to worry.

Finally he came up the drive. His tiny truck filled with shopping bags.

It seems the grocery store was having a special... did I know strawberries were on sale? The store was pretty empty and in his cowboy logic it was a good time to shop. He knew I was really OK and why not put this store visit to good use. With weekly shopping finished, he came back to me.

As for my allergy medicine... he forgot it.

I never needed the medication. I was healthy and strong but learned a lesson that night. Scorpions are a nuisance but a fact of life in the desert. Few find them life threatening and usually only the very young or those already ill. In the desert, there were many more threats to be taken much more seriously.

The real lesson of that night was to be prepared. To learn about my new home and what to fear and what not. I also learned about priorities... and when a good sale couldn't be missed.

#10 A Newbie...

Transformation from an urban girl to a cowgirl wasn't easy. There were lessons for me to learn and some a little disconcerting.

My first lesson was language.

The language lesson began on that first morning at the guest ranch. At breakfast, I dutifully sat in the Spanish style dining room, properly upright at the table. Sun streamed in from the skylights directly above the deep rose bougainvillea growing along the rear wall. Sunlight painted the outdoor patios with a brilliant light and spilled through the wall of windows flooding the dining area.

I was enjoying the happy glow the light created and realized that I was hungry.

A waitress appeared and I asked for breakfast.

"Porridge???" she said, a slight touch of incredulity in her voice.

"Izzat like grits" the waitress asked.

"Grits?" I asked.

Before I could comment further she was gone.

A moment later the chef appeared and demanded,

"Porridge? Just what the heck is that?"

"Well," I began, "you boil oats... sort of a gruel..."

"Oats" he almost shouted, "Boiled oats... lady around here that's oatmeal!!!!"

As he started to leave I asked, "Is it steel cut?"

"Lady, on a ranch, oat meal is oat meal."

We all spoke English but it didn't mean we spoke the same language.

My second lesson was trust.

I noticed that all the resident cowboy's were branded. Like cattle and horses, they had permanent marks of ownership upon their bodies. Every cowboy had a circle on his ass. A circle on the back pocket of his blue jeans and always on his rear end. Was this a symbol of some secret society?

Soon I understood, the circle was actually a worn area on the back pocket caused from a small, round tin can. Inside was a mysterious mixture of dark chocolate that smelled of heavenly mint. It was called "Chew."

"Want some?" I was asked.

"Oh yes!" I eagerly replied. I loved chocolate and this looked divine.

I scooped a handful from the container and popped it into my mouth.

"Don't chew it..." I  was quickly told.

I should have been suspicious... it was called chew and you don't chew... what gives? So I swallowed it.

Almost before it hit my stomach, I began to vomit and continued to do so for some time. What I had swallowed was chewing tobacco... in all its disgusting might.

I learned that a cowgirl had to beware of a cowboy's sense of humor.

Another lesson was communication.

I couldn't wait to explore the city of Tucson and my rental car took me everywhere. Tucson has a rich Hispanic heritage and I was eager to see this culture.

The ranch staff said that I must try the local cuisine and I stopped at a recommended Mexican restaurant. I ordered Tamales... highly promoted by everyone at the ranch.

Soon a plate brimming with Tamales arrived. They were a soft green and looked like pudgy packets. I began to eat but discovered that they were unusually tough. I found the meal very unsatisfactory and left most of it untouched.

I returned to the ranch and commented about my dissatisfying "Mexican" meal. Everyone roared with laughter. Wrapped in corn husks, Tamales are a seasoned corn masa and designed to be unwrapped before eating. I had been trying to chew corn husks.

Oh there were many lessons in my new land... and some, not worth chewing on.

# 9 Cowgirls and Indians...

As the days progressed, I was becoming more and more a cowgirl. On one special day, I became an Indian too.

Groups came from many parts of the world to the little guest ranch. One such group came from Japan.

The new European owners of the ranch were trying one more time, to create an authentic western atmosphere. They planned to have the group arrive just before sunset and serve a traditional ranch meal outside.

The cookout would be spectacular... red checkered table cloths would adorn each table, a bonfire would hold center stage and the chef would cook steaks over a wood fire grill. Combined with a glorious Arizona sunset, the scene would be perfect.

The ranch employed a variety of less than stellar people. One was the handyman who often smoked things that he shouldn't. He had been happily enjoying his favorite past-time prior to the evening event when he was asked to fill all the lanterns upon the picnic tables and make sure they were ready for the evenings cookout.

He dutifully did so.

The guests had not yet arrived but the ranch owners thought that glowing lanterns would provide a little more atmosphere upon first impression. They instructed the handyman to light the lanterns on each table.

There was a boom and whoosh... when he did so. He was thrown backwards a few feet and luckily not hurt.

He'd filled the lanterns with gasoline not kerosene.

A tragedy had been averted and everything was quickly fixed and again the scene was set for the guests arrival.

The tour bus finally pulled up, unloaded the Japanese cargo and then disappeared. The ranch owners wanted nothing to ruin the carefully arranged cookout scene. The happy Japanese milled around the bonfire, enjoying the orchestrated ambience.

Suddenly out of the darkness was heard a shrill scream and a group of mounted Indians charged from the shadows. They held spears in the air and circled the horrified tourists at a gallop.

Another group broke from the darkness, this time mounted cowboys shooting guns.

There was pandemonium.

The Japanese, in fear for their lives, ran into the desert night. The Cowboys and Indian's rode madly about, screaming and shooting.

The ranch owners had not realized that the glory days of the "Wild West" were very much a part of the Japanese present day. The Japanese culture had not assimilated that the many westerns on their TVs, were of a time long past.

The ranch owners began damage control. The mounted actors dismounted and awaited commands. The ranch staff went in search of lost Japanese tourists... who were running wildly though the desert.

Eventually they were all rounded up safely and the cookout went on as scheduled. Once fed and plied with drink everyone had a good time. Photos were taken and memories made.

For one urban girl trained in England, who dressed up as an Indian and who had just fulfilled every wild west fantasy she ever had, the evening was a great success. It was the only time that this cowgirl in training became an Indian.

#8 A Time To Go...

As all vacations do, this one ended. I was to return many times over the next few years until finally the t's were crossed and the i's dotted and I returned to stay.

The old guest ranch was still operating but with new ownership, and still no marketing plan. My Cowboy had long ago moved on and I was offered the job of head wrangler. I was officially in charge of a staff of one... me.

My job was to care for the horses and take tourists on trail rides. For me it was heaven. I didn't want to just put people on a horse, I wanted to introduce them to a new way of life. My love of both the horses and the desert could now be shared.

Yet it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that the ranch as a business, was slowly coming to an end. Although more guests were here than during my stays, it wasn't enough to keep going. The ranch changed hands again.

This time the owners were a group of European's, two couples and a single woman. None had ever stayed at a ranch, and none knew how to create a western experience for guests. They marketed in Europe, to Europeans who still had the movie cowboy image in their heads. Unfortunately the new owners didn't know how to deliver.

Their first group arrived in the summer... it was 105 degrees and the ranch, always a seasonal winter resort, had no AC. In a flurry of activity, the owners decided to put AC units in each guest room. Forty eight hours prior to arrival they started. Everyone on the ranch pitched in, including me.

A large maintenance firm cut through adobe brick walls (some a foot thick) and installed the units. The resulting dust was a housekeeping nightmare.

The group arrived... fifty people from Italy; hungry, hot and harried from a long flight. Fifty people turned on ACs all at the same time and immediately blew the ranch electrical system.

Dinner that night also proved a challenge. The fifty Italians didn't understand ranch style family eating and when everyone was served the same thing, it was all returned. The lovely ranch meal was rejected because they all wanted steak and french fries.

The group also expected a valet service... as I was walking to the office, I was handed a large pile of clothes by a passing guest and told to iron it all before evening.

The group lasted until the morning, when as one they checked out and went to a Ramada Inn.

A few weeks later another group arrived. This time the AC was up and ready to go, the staff was prepared but the group never left the swimming pool. It was too hot and they hated it. Complaints were rampant but the last straw came at dinner.

The chef, not of the strongest character, could not handle the complaints. He did his best but the pressure was too much. He found his stored bottle of Tequila in the back room and began to fortify himself. Dinner was cooked to perfection, even if he had to say so himself. Not a soul could complain tonight.

Dinner was fillet of white fish, mashed potatoes and steamed cauliflower... a vision of.... white.

The ranch owners purchased several new horses for the remuda. One of the animals didn't look well when it arrived and died later that day. The new owners ordered the horse butchered, to be served at dinner that night.

Horrified I explained that they couldn't do that... the reasons were obvious but the mere thought of what they planned, was more than I could bear. The thought of horse burgers made me ill.

I quit.

The ranch lasted only a few more years and had many more owners. Each worse than the one before... it was sad to watch a place I once loved fall on such hard times. I guess there really is a season for everything and it was now time for the little guest ranch to go.

#7 Adjustments...

It was a bit awkward and it was uncomfortable. Western riding was new to me.

I learned to ride on an English style saddle. These were small compact bits of leather which lightly sat upon a horse’s back. The saddles didn’t hold you on the horse but rather, balanced you over him. Their lightweight design also made jumping fences much more comfortable for both man and horse.

Oh-h but it was so easy to come off!

I was now riding in a Western style saddle and it felt awful.

In the old West, coming off your horse could be life threatening, a man on the range without his horse was literally lost. Western saddles were designed to keep you on the horse as long as possible. Although bucking broncos look better in the movies, the goal was to avoid fuss and stay put.

My first Western saddle felt thick and massive but as I adjusted from riding flat grassy meadows and level riding arenas to rugged desert terrain, I learned to love them. Riding past armored cactus, I learned to appreciate them. Negotiating steep mountain trails and staying astride a horse darting from a coiled rattlesnake, I learned to cherish them. 

Western style saddles are like trucks, built to work with lots of storage. Horns became places to wrap a rope around or even to tie a rope to, canteens were slung here as well. The rear of the saddle held extra bags, rolled clothing or even a sleeping bag. These saddles were meant to be useful, to be lived in and enjoyed.  

For me the biggest difference was weight. Lightweight English saddles were easily lifted to place on the horse. Western saddles for me, had to be negotiated. I was the laughing stock of the corrals until I learned the secret to tossing a heavy saddle up on a horses back. 

I adjusted my riding style too. 

I rode for comfort and merged the two genres into my own. The formal English style somehow morphed into a laid back, deep seated Western look.

Soon a cowboy hat replaced my scarves and soon too it was adorned with found bird feathers and pretty pins.

Yes... the change had begun but with an urban girls bling!



                           




                  

#6 The Way It Works...

Sometimes it all comes together... the stars, the moon, the morning traffic, everything just works out.

It was that way with my trip to Arizona.

Somehow, a power beyond myself directed my actions, putting me where I was supposed to be. The failed group vacation, the failed holiday to South America, the failed trip to Barbados, all guided me towards the Arizona destination.

I have often been asked "just how did you pick that particular place to visit?" and this too was directed from above.

In those days guest ranch marketing was very limited. The best information that I could find and this with my travel agent helping me, was an American Airlines listing. A little booklet with a list of about twenty names and nothing more, would be the basis of my decision making.

There were no pictures and few details.

I looked at the names and didn't have a clue as which to choose so I began a process of elimination. Only two cities did I recognize... Phoenix and Tucson. Several of the ranches were from areas that I didn't know where in the state they were and the listing gave no clue.

I decided to stick to city names I knew.

Phoenix, the capital city of Arizona, was then and still is a large metropolitan area. I remember reading as a child, stories of young girls riding the range on ranches around Phoenix. I even had a school mate who moved with her family to Phoenix. Yet I hesitated.

I wanted less city and more country.

I looked at Tucson and several ranches were listed. Some had exotic Spanish sounding names, others lazy western names, and two others had names with horses in them. I imagined stallions rearing and wild horses running and made my final decision.

My simple decision was to change everything for me. Change where I would live, change the direction of my life and eventually change me from urban equestrian to country cowgirl.

It was all due to chance... directed from a power above. A series of random appearing events directing me to my destiny.

Who knew... not me, that the vacation plans I was making were about to change my life.

#5 An Icon...

It is not everyday that you meet an icon... and here I was meeting one. Before me stood a 100%, red-blooded, American cowboy. 

I wasn't impressed.

Little did I know, that five years from now we would be a couple, but for now I thought he was a jerk.

A charming jerk.


He was not a tall man but his compact body was well muscled. Dark haired with brown eyes which once in a while... twinkled. He sported a large moustache... a cowboy tradition which was thick, full and waxed into large curls on each cheek.

His dark hair had once been black but now was streaked with grey. An ancient grey felt hat banded by a dark band of dried sweat capped his head. He looked authentic, an icon of the west and steeped in ranch wisdom and horse lore. 

He pulled out a bit of tobacco, placing it in his cheek. He sucked on it for a moment and then went about doing corral chores. Every few moments he spat... a dark stream of spittle. 

I was intrigued. I was in awe. I was thoroughly disgusted.

He cleaned up well and in the evenings he tended the ranch bar where his cowboy charm was legendary. Old ladies loved him, young girls idolized him, city folk thought him one of a kind. I didn't quite know what to make of him.

Next day we rode together, just the two of us. Few guests were on the ranch at that time so my first rides were very private. My mount was the semi-clean white horse of the day before and no more cleaner today.

The desert was spectacular, it was a world unto itself. I'd never seen such a place. It spoke to me, to some inner soul that I didn't know existed. This land of sharp contrasts, of needles and spikes, of snakes and wild things... this land took hold of my heart and never let go.

My little horse picked a sure footed way along trails which climbed high into the Tucson mountains. All signs of civilization disappeared. The only sounds became the steady plopping of hooves on hardened earth. Finally reaching the crest of a small foothill, we gazed down upon the city of Tucson. The view took my breath away. 

Bird songs serenaded us from a narrow arroyo below, a pack of coyotes sang too. I was re-living every western I'd ever seen. It was a moment that was both an ending and a new beginning... a moment that became life changing... 

My first visit to this desert wonderland had left me imprinted... imprinted with an icon of a man and a land like no other, and like all things imprinted, I was to be tied forever to this place.  

#4 My Cowboy

Horses were the reason for my Arizona visit and it was horses that I wanted. I grabbed my ranch map and searched for the corrals. I didn't really need the map... my nose and the tantalizing whiff of my favorite fragrance, that of eau du corral, led the way.

Just beyond the tennis courts, the corrals sprawled for several acres. These were a serious of various sized pens attached to a small building. Originally white, these pen fences were in various shades of soft grey. Age and weather, plus the power of equines, had taken a toll.

My arrival in Tucson brought with it sun. Winter rains had turned the desert landscape into a green vision but had left the corrals a sea of mud. All in sharp view with the warm sun.

I climbed the greying fences and peered at a milling herd of mouse colored animals in the large corral. The occupants were a uniformly mud-colored group with only the occasional spritz of color to show differences. My heart went out to whomever had to clean these unrepentant mud ponies.

I heard the clink of horse shoes on gravel and saw a group of horse riders coming towards me. It was a trail ride returning from an afternoon ride. And there he was... my first real cowboy.

My Cowboy led this group on a formerly white horse. Parts of the horse were still white but all four legs, parts of his tail and a spot or two through his body were the uniform color of the corrals... mud brown.

He was followed by a long line of riders, all on similarly mud covered horses of differing colors. I now knew who the person was whom I had pitied a moment ago, that person was leading this motley line of filthy animals.

I was tongue tied, I was smitten at first sight... and I was in the way.

"Move it lady," My Cowboy uttered as he rode up to the gate.

Obligingly I skittered away. I watched from a distance the age-old ritual of dude ranch cowboys helping city slickers dismount.

It was a comical scene. Most of the people had never ridden before and now sported bowed legs and saddle sore bottoms. The laughter was contagious as I watched them. Their grins and happy exclamations made their discomfort disappear. Everyone had had the time of their lives.

Then, as one the group, headed back to the lodge. I was left alone to watch My Cowboy and his assistants unsaddle this milling herd of mud horses.

One by one the horses made their way to a cowboy and was stripped of all gear. He took the gear into the small building. One by one the horses then moved to the corral gate and waited. When all were unsaddled My Cowboy threaded his way through them and opened the gate into the large horse corral.

A sudden rush of horseflesh pressed past him into the muddy field beyond, where each in turn, dropped and rolled. Soon every horse wore the full body uniform of the corral, a rich coating of mud. 

This was just a day at the ranch, a day that would become part of my life.

#3 The Ranch

It's funny how you see what you want to see. When I arrived at the guest ranch, all I saw was charm and beauty. In actual fact, the ranch was well past it's prime. It's glory days were long gone but for me, it was incredible.

The rooms were scattered in clusters around the property with winding paths leading to a central service building. The "lodge" consisted of a very western lounge connected to a very rustic saloon. Original western style art decorated the walls, along with western memorabilia and branding irons. It was the perfect representation of my cowboy movie memories.

The lodge also held a large dining room which would have been more at home on a Spanish hacienda than a ranch. Large beams spanned a cathedral ceiling with magenta bougainvillea profusely blooming along one wall. Cascading pink blossoms surrounded a wall fountain from which water trickled to a series of basins and finally into a pool. The resulting gentle splash caressed this tired city soul.

Richly pink table cloths smothered dozens of dark, wooden tables each with ten chairs. All arranged in military precision across Mexican tile floors to fill the room. On the far side the long wall was entirely floor to ceiling windows looking out upon the patio outside. Here yellow, pink, purple, red and white flowers spilled from adobe pots.  A shimmering aqua pool, framed by a tiered patio, was surrounded by stuccoed walls smothered with twisting vines. Above everything a endless cerise sky.

The same building also housed the kitchen, the ranch offices and a large library living room.

It was everything that I dreamed, it was beautiful, it was incredible... and it was very empty.

#2 Love At First Sight...

The plane landed and rolled gently to a stop near the terminal. A large stairway was pushed out to the plane and we disembarked slowly. In those days, everyone in Tucson exited planes down staircases and walked into the terminal. As it was my turn to exit the plane, I stopped for a moment at the top, inhaling deeply this new fragrant air.

The air held an unknown scent... somehow exotic and somehow fresh and somehow clean. It tantalized as no perfume ever had. It would be some time before I discovered the source of this scent... chaparral or more commonly called here, desert creosote bush.

There had been recent rains in the area, rains which released this incredible scent into the air through the plant's leaves. Thousands of these long lived plants, some hundreds of years old, grew in great colonies all over this desert land.

I walked slowly across the tarmac enjoying the scent sensation and almost overwhelmed by the brilliance of the day. I almost hated going inside the terminal to collect my luggage.

At the luggage counters I saw a collection of people off to one side. All were holding signs of cardboard with boldly printed names on them. One sign had mine.


I went to the bearer and met my ride to the guest ranch. It turned out to be the owner, as these small hostelries were very hands on with their management. He was a charming and slightly shy man who told me about the desert I was about to meet. I barely heard him as at my first real look at this incredible place totally engrossed me.

It was love.

I arrived a young woman of the world. I arrived from a foreign land and a different way of life. I arrived but would never ever really leave again. This place would forever have my heart where ever I would be. I had found my home.

#1 How It All Started...

Have you ever wondered just how much chance plays in the development of our lives? Or do you believe that it is all carefully planned by a power beyond our own?

My story begins with a holiday gone awry. Carefully made plans fell through, when a group of 10 friends planned a vacation on Padre Island off the coast of Texas. It was to be a time of sun, sand and surf and for those involved, an escape from snow and cold.

As things go, coordinating 10 people proved a difficult thing to do and as things go, this proved the downfall of the groups plans. One by one, members dropped out until only three remained. 

The last three in our group were all women, two sisters and myself, all young, full of life and the thrill of adventure. We booked a trip to Columbia.

A few weeks later our travel agent called and strongly advised us to change our plans. Columbia, it was reported, was becoming to dangerous a place for tourists, especially young women alone. The sisters quickly changed their plans, opting to go to Barbados instead.


Barbados had no appeal for me and after listening to the tales from a work colleague about a trip to Arizona, I too changed my plans. My colleagues tales revived old memories. Memories of movie tales of cowboys and the old west. I decided to vacation in Arizona. Chance... or divine intervention had just created my destiny.

My background involved horses. They were the glue in my life and I worked hard to become a professional horsewoman. Long hours striving to perfect my own riding skills and then college credits, ending finally with a riding school in England to gain accreditation which gave me professional status.

I decided that my Arizona vacation had to include horses. A dude ranch seemed the ideal place.

It was 0 degrees with a wind chill factor of 20 below, when I left my homeland. It was cold and grey and froze the heart. My plane landed in Tucson, Arizona to sun filled skies and balmy breezes. I stepped off the plane to feel those gentle breezes caress my skin, I felt strange exotic scents tickle my nose and the most welcome feeling of all... that of warm sun upon my skin. 

It was love at first sight... a love for this new and strange land and a new life to be.

Yes my visit was by chance... an unplanned event which evolved and as it turned out, became life changing.

It Happened By Chance...

This is a story of how a city girl morphed into a country one. It is the story of how a young woman who once trod the pastures with equine nobility became an Arizona cowgirl. A girl who learned to be a woman. Who found her strength in her passion and then in herself and along the way found an incredible way of life.