#19 Everyone Loves A Parade...

The months following our autumn flood were perfect... 

...yet perfectly awful.

The sun shone. The skies were blue. The air soft and warm. It was perfect. Yet for a small tourist business, it couldn't be worse.

Access to our business had been cut off with the flood. Far to the south a bridge remained and directing visitors to us was difficult and complicated. Yet we did... slowly at first and with more and more regularity.

We had to be clever, offering incentives to travel the extra distance. We had to be better because we were hard to find. We had to make ourselves known and make people want to come to us.

In February, Tucson celebrates it's western heritage... it celebrates with a rodeo!

Beautiful Arizona spring weather draws many cowboy's and vaquero's to test their skills in old time ranch activities. For ten days, the city celebrates it's western roots.

Tucsonans threw themselves into this annual event. Dressing the part in cowboy garb... hats, shirts and boots! Pretend lawmen would round up tourists to lock in mock western jails and everyone would have a good laugh at the practice. Tourists and locals alike, loved it all. Yet for most, the big event was not the rodeo... it was the parade.

Billed the "oldest, non mechanized parade in the USA!" it was a big thing. This was the "big time" at the time, long before baseball and golf took away the title. It was a place where horses reigned supreme and it was a terrific way to promote ourselves.

Teams of horses pulled big wagons, single horses pulled buggies, donkeys, mules, ponies, goats, dogs and even oxen, provided the muscle behind the transportation. Hundreds of animals paraded through the streets.

Schools closed. Shops did too. Everyone wanted to watch the parade. Everyone wanted to be in it.

My Cowboy was still working for another guest ranch and that ranch had a float. He was obligated to represent them and drove their team of horses. Our stable closed for the day and a small group of ladies, all regular riders with us, became our official contingent.

We left the stable at 4 am... loading horses in the dark. A local TV station, KGUN Channel 9, had booked several horses for their on air news staff to ride and with our ladies group, we left with ten horses.

The ladies all wore similar clothes... blue jeans, blue shirts and big bandanna's.  Tall, thin, short, plump and in between, we were a sight to see. The final touch... matching blue and white straw hats with perky feathers stuck in the band. It was simple western bling!

One crafty lady sewed matching saddle cloths for each horse. We were a sight to see.

The parade wound through the city streets, crowds lined the way cheering and shouting their approval. At the official grandstand, a deep voiced announcer described our group over a loudspeaker. We heard our stable business named and described. We were in horse heaven!

That was the one and only time our little stable was in the parade... 

...as ourselves. 

The years which followed were filled with requests for our horses and wagons. Soon every horse, every wagon, every driver... was booked a year in advance by groups wanting their moment of glory in the parade. 

It was a hectic time but we were part of the city's western tradition. It was exciting and fun but times have changed. The luster has dimmed. Tucson is now a modern city and the old western ways have been slipping away. Yet the crowds, although smaller, still cheer as horses prance by. 

For those few days each spring, Tucson remembers...

...and so do I.

     The ladies in the rodeo parade

 

Honda and P.

      KGUN 9 TV News Anchor checking with the ladies.

 

Samson & Delilah with the guys

 

Wagon HO!!!!!

 

Hi There!!!

 

         

#18 The Face...

In the days following the big flood... no one came to our little stable.

No one could.

Our only easy access to the city was now gone. The bridge which connected us to town, had been severely damaged by the storm and floods which followed. The bridge which was our life line to the city was gone.

Yet we were comfortable and many were not. A deep well supplied fresh clean water and we had twenty tons of hay.  My fridge was stocked and cupboards too. My Cowboy had a beer supply... in every physical way we were OK. 

But our business had no business and it would stay that way for some time.

I took the free moments to explore, to keep connecting with this strange land, and to become one with it.

Mounting a favorite horse, I'd ride off into the desert and mountains. A water bottle in my saddle bags and snack should I need it. My Cowboy never rode for pleasure. He'd done it all his life, for him it was work. I always rode alone.

I was born with a sense of direction, my own personal GPS, but should that ever fail, I had a secret weapon. My horse.

The horses all knew every inch of the desert and they all had an unfailing direction finder... especially at feed time. They knew the way home from any direction and every shortcut along the way.

I rode deep into the mountains. There was much damage from the storms. Downed trees, broken limbs... tall saguaro cactus felled. I explored looking at everything, thinking of new trails and checking old ones for accessibility. I rode high onto ridges and down, deep into narrow canyons. I found secret places for Javelina and desert Mule deer. I saw bobcat tracks and listened to coyote calls. Soaring hawks cried while riding thermal winds above. Cottontail rabbits and quail scattered at our feet.

The skies were still filled with clouds, often scudding across like driven ships in a sea of blue. It was cool and the wet ground kept the trails dust free.

The horse enjoyed these times. Just the two of us... alone in the desert. It was a time of deep relaxation. It was a time of deep inner peace.

Sometimes a stable dog would come too. Usually our little greyhound mix, who needed lots of running time. It was in her blood and confinement was torture. She ran alongside, darting now and again to chase a rabbit but always quickly returning.

One afternoon the wind was fierce and cold. I cut down into a large arroyo for shelter. The rain soaked sand was firm giving solid footing to horse and dog alike. A smaller arroyo cut off from the larger and I turned to follow. It wound back and forth in a parrallel track to the mother wash but always heading down the mountain.

On one switchback I rounded a bend. A large ironwood tree had limbs down, almost blocking the way. In order to pass I had to ride close to the tree, ducking under low branches. 

I saw a face watching me.

I pulled my horse up sharply.

My little mare hadn't reacted. Nor the dog. A stranger this close would have evoked some response, I thought.

The face in the branches continued to stare.

I realized that the face wasn't real. I rode closer.

In the bark of the tree, a face was carved. The tree was an Ironwood... noted for its dense and very hard wood, noted too for its long life. Whoever carved this face had worked hard to do so.

A figure in a head dress... Spanish or maybe, Native people. I didn't know whom it might be. It was surrounded by swelling bark... growing up and around the face.

This figure was old.

I'd ridden this little arroyo many times. I'd ridden by and never seen. The storm and resulting wind damage had finally reveled this hidden desert treasure. I studied the face for several moments and then I rode on. The face was a secret I was loath to share.

Over the years, others found the remarkable face and others were not as content to let it be. Vandals painted it garish colors several times, not happy to leave it as it was created. Still others hacked the branches away to expose it to the elements and in so doing letting the elements have their way. Many tried to protect it but the figure was on private land and in others hands.

I wondered how many years the face had been hidden, how many years had it been safe beneath the shadows. And now in the full view of the sun... how many years would it last?

The face in the tree after being painted several times.

#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.