Stare Down

For more information about Boar's Tusk, click here. 

********************************************************************************

August 1984 rural Wyoming; my pregnant mother rode a Honda motorcycle to the night shift at a local 7-11. I was born a week later. I watched my father tame and gain the trust of the most unholy beasts. I was blessed with the most adventurous parents, and they believed in me.  By the time I was 3 years old I was riding horses in the backcountry of the Rocky Mountains. All 5 of us packed in a 10x10 canvas tipi, five or six horses 20 miles from the nearest sign of civilization. I didn’t mind; I didn't know anything different. Blissfully unaware of Disney Land, war or news channels. I did know danger, bears, rivers, moose, cliffs, dark nights and cold days. It was brutal at times; but I can tell you that little dancing Jenny could ride, rope and wrangle, back a trailer and shoot a gun. By the time I was 12 I could run equipment, field dress an Elk and train a mustang. I struggled in school and to sit still at church; I was feral. Until 6th grade humbled me and taught me about mean girls, boys and my lack of fashion sense, I was naive, willing and kind; I was wild, wired by nature and my character seasoned in the high mountain sun. I was wiser and weirder than my bubble wrapped friends. My parents raised me to figure things out on my own, to win and fail with no audience. They believed in me. For many years I thought I had been robbed of some glorious childhood. I never spent a summer day in the city or watching TV, dining at restaurants or walking the halls of the mall. My upbringing was unconventional and wildly fulfilling.  

One early June day 1995, I packed lunch and tied my favorite western shirt around my dirty wranglers. The sun beams shot through the dust in the pasture; an old ranch horse we called Buck met me at the gate. He was big and had radiant golden eyes. He believed in me too. I walked my buddy up to the fence so I could wrangle my tiny saddle over his giant back. We headed out of the barn full throttle; my mother waved as we made it to the road. Buck and I rode down the ditch, cars humming by.  We ran up a hill, down a gully, weaving through the sage brush. I sang, whistled and wandered. I didn't have a cell phone or a watch, just fresh air, freedom and wild horses. They are the most beautiful creatures. I had this crazy idea that If I could touch one, I would be a true Indian princess.  

I am only 11 years old I'm at least 5 miles from town on a huge horse all by myself. What could go wrong? We rode for miles the sun was beating down. I spotted a spring in the tall sagebrush, and we took a break. Buck snorted and nudged me. I was daydreaming in the shade watching ants. Suddenly, I made eye contact with the black stallion across the pond, he was covered in scars and mud, his long black mane full of dreads and authority. Horses are very territorial in the wild and extremely dangerous. This stallion, and the rest of his bachelor herd of wild mustangs were quickly surrounding us. There were about 9 studs stomping, grunting, flipping their tails, visually disapproving of our visit to the spring. My heart is thumping, not sure if we should stay still or jump and run. My tiny hands clenched the reins, and my trusty steed awaited instructions. Buck’s eyes and ears were everywhere; he knew to stay with me and stay calm. I recalled my father's instructions; I stood up quickly like I was ten feet tall making direct eye contact with the lead stud, I never looked away or stepped backward. The stud turned sharply and headed around the spring in our direction, dust flying. Buck was so tall the stirrup was up to my eyeballs. I had seconds to react. Hold my ground or run. 

Buck lunged in the pond; making him short enough for me to get on.  Fiercely staring down the magnificent creature I had ever seen. I threw up my arm's chest out, blonde hair whipping in the hot wind, I growled at the approaching steed. He stopped in his tracks about ten feet from me. I could smell him. I felt him acknowledging me; face to face. A long pause of wonder and fear froze me, the beast nodded.  I leapt like a cat atop my big brown horse; as soon as my butt hit the saddle Buck took us to safety. I looked back across the sagebrush sea and the stud band ran along with us, as we raced into the wide-open space. I believe standing up to this majestic feral band of stallions in the wild prepared me for many other encounters in my life. I have faced my fears; I keep going scars and all. I keep showing up for the challenges, I am a peacemaker and a lover but, if necessary, I am still that savage little cowgirl. I believe I learned how to face fear. To stare it down and hold my ground.