Barrel Racing is Harder than it Looks!

You would think "How hard can it be? You turn the horse around 3 barrels as fast as you can go. Piece of Cake.", right? We have been working this summer on turning one English-trained prim and prissy horse and one beginner-baby into barrel racing machines. We took the Mother-Daughter clinic from Judy Myllymaki (barrel racing goddess) and came home ready to get to work. I brought my beautiful new Nikon camera to the barrel race yesterday, and set out to get some really great pictures of us "chasing cans". Ack! Iris took wonderful pictures of some random people, to try out the method, and the most awesome picture of her BFF winning the whole thing, and the picture of me is horrible! Just because it shows the naked truth. I am doing it all wrong. Then I took over the camera, and tried to stand where she wanted me (apparently I can't even do that right-) and both watch my girl's run, and focus and shoot at the same time. . Here is what was happening at Hayshed Arena yesterday:






Here is random person #1 - I don't know her name, but she is awesome. Look at that horse lean around the barrel. Look at her hand- nice and low. Nice turn.

Here she is running back. I like her bit. I like her reins.

Here is the rotten kid that got a 15.9. If she weren't there, I might have won some $$ in the 4D (I'll explain that some other day) But since she is one of my students, and my daughters bestest friend, I was very very happy that she did that.

Here is random person #2 - I actually know who this is. She is one of the gals that run the barrel racing club. Obviously, she knows what she is doing. See how she is NOT looking at the barrel, but up and out and off to where she is going next. See how her hand is nice and low? Nice run, Sheri.



Ack! This is NOT good. See how she is looking AT THE BARREL? See how her hand is WAY UP IN THE AIR- keeping her poor horse from getting nice and low to turn. And what is that expression on her face? Shame. The camera doesn't lie. We actually got our best time ever (18.522) looking like this. My husband had the positive criticism "you would have been in the 17's if you didn't trot to the first barrel" Of course we didn't trot, but last time we blasted to first, and went about 20 feet past it, so I guess I am a little over cautious.
Here is the pro- getting the new world record time of 15.984 (Not sure what is the actual world record time at the Hayshed Arena, but its got to be close) See how awesome is her form? Is she looking at the barrel? NO - is her hand up in the air? NO - She is an awesome rider. She is my hero.

Here is my girl getting advice from the pro. It must've helped, because she too got a new personal best time.

Then I took over the camera. Iris' horse is a lefty, so she takes the other barrel first, so I was going to set up on the other side of the arena, but she insisted she had the best spot, and told me where to go. She did have a great spot, but apparently I misunderstood directions, and my photos aren't anywhere as good as hers (not because of the subject, but because of the photographer) Here is her run:

First barrel - oops, I am a little slow. Nice butt.

Second barrel- wow- hand is low, looking good. Is she looking at the barrel, or off to third?

Hustling off to third barrel- horse came out a little wide on second, but Iris' form looks great.


And around third- looking good.
The run back- Nice run, Iris. Posted a time of 21.836 The horse is coming along, but we have some more work to do. Help Catie!

My terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

Yesterday started off badly. I woke up late, so my husband was already in our bathroom, and I had to pee. I am usually the first one up every morning, but this morning I slept in. No problem, I will just use Iris' bathroom in the hall, before I feed the dog. Except Iris' toilet was plugged up, where when you flush, the water comes up, instead of going down. The plunger was not where it is supposed to be, and now I really had to pee, so I started back toward my bathroom to wait my turn, and nearly stepped in several small piles of cat puke on the kitchen floor. Nice start to the day. The rest of the morning was ok, just tried to get errands done, etc. Iris had a riding lesson at 4:30, so we planned on getting to the stables at around 4:00 so she could saddle, etc. But the horse decided she did not want to get in the trailer, so I needed Iris to walk behind her with the buggy whip (just for encouragement, relax) but the wind was blowing about 90 knots, so first I had to tie the trailer door open with a piece of twine. The horse jumped in the trailer, and Iris, having to untie the (badly) tied twine, dropped the whip in the grass, got the trailer shut, and we were off. - only about 20 mins later than we had planned.
Of course, after the lesson, the horse once again refused to get in the trailer. Guess where the buggy whip is? Yep. back at home in the grass. The only other reliable adult around was Sally, the riding instructor, and she was riding a horse in the middle of a lesson with someone, so we tried the best we could, but the horse was very determined she was having none of it. About 30 mins later, Sally finally was available, and we got the horse loaded up. Now we were about an hour late, and missed the first of Blaine's two Laker baseball games- I had thought we would only miss half of the first one, but now we had to take the horse home, so we missed the whole game. The last few days Iris and I have spent shoveling truckloads of poop in and out of the truck, and I was (am) sore all over, and exhausted at bedtime. I changed into my pajamas, and was heading towards bed, when I saw the 4 12-packs of pop we had bought earlier in the day, in the pantry. I am fairly sure I asked SOMEONE to put some in the fridge, so there would be COLD pop to drink instead of warm, but here they were unopened. So I opened them all, and was putting 2 of each in the fridge, when a root beer slipped off of the shelf, and hit the ground right between my ankles, and blew up. I mean exploded. Most of it went straight up, so I was covered in root beer, but it also sprayed up the wall, and splattered over much of the groceries in the pantry. Lovely.

Geek Girl guest post- cool! I can post from my phone- more from Geek Girl soon
*/V\?Rl\l@*

Playing Chess with Yourself

This is a self portrrait of A.D. Stillman, who homesteaded our family ranch in Pleasant Valley, back around 1900. My Grampa Wallace Monk bought the ranch from the Stillman family, and then sold it to my Dad after WWII. As a kid, I remember a small book of photographs that was found in the attic of the old ranch house by my Mom, with some glass negatives. This one was always my favorite. A.D was a rather interesting guy- he dabbled in photography, and we have some great old turn of the century photographs of the ranch that were his. He was also a bit of an inventor, as most ranchers have to be, but especially when you live so far out of town in the early 1900's. He lived in Pleasant Valley on the "Home Place" with a son and his wife, and when he was in his eighties, he decided he did not want to be a burden on the family anymore, and was determined to kill himself. Apparently the family had some kind of idea this was what he had planned, because they had hidden all firearms from him. He supposedly worked out in the shop, and over time fashioned himself a working gun out of some scrap metal. When the family left him alone for a time one day, he left a suicide note, saying that he was going to climb to the top of Meadow Peak, and shoot himself. When they returned, and found the note, they organized a search party, but the search party started looking at the top of Meadow Peak, and being old and frail, he hadn't made it very far up the trail. The story says that he found or had earlier made a hole in the ground, and piled up rocks and rigged it so that after shooting himself, he would fall in the "grave" and the rocks would cover him up. So about a half-mile or so up the mountain from the ranch house is a place we always knew as "Stillman's Grave"

Sunset Ponies

 

Sunset in Montana- It's a beautiful thing. If only I didn't live next to power lines- if I had more time/energy/money I would photoshop that out, but for now - keepin it real.

Cowboy Dishtowels

These are my new favorite dishtowels. My Mom made them for me last fall, before she had her stroke. She is 85, and on January 1st she had a series of mini-strokes, symptoms being numbness on the right side, and most scary, she couldn't find the right words for things, couldn't remember what day it was, or her own birthday. After a couple of days in the hospital, they decided she needed surgery to clear one of her carotid arteries in her neck- and they sent her home for a few days. Jan 6th she had the scheduled surgery, and everything seemed to go well, except that she was sicker than a dog from the pain meds. I had to leave the hospital to go get my daughter from school, my sister called me around 3:30 to say Mom was finally feeling better, and talking, and said she felt better than ever, and her mind was really clear. I arrived at the hospital, and went to check on her, she opened her eyes to talk to me, and her right side of her face was drooping, she kept saying her right arm was "funny", she couldn't feel it. I went and got the nurse, who just said "Oh, she's just been laying on it, lets turn over on the other side." I was very concerned, and I insisted that she was having a stroke. The doctor was called, and after CAT scans, etc, decided they had to re-open the surgery up and clear out some more clots. Luckily, we caught the stroke in time, and there wasn't too much damage, but she still doesn't have full use of her right hand, so I don't know if she will ever be able to make any more dishtowels. She keeps getting better though, and luckily she is left-handed, so I hope she is able to do some more stuff like these soon.

There are actually 7, one for every day of the week, but I had her leave the words off so I wouldn't be restricted to which one to use on Wednesday, etc.

My Mom the Cowgirl

Here is my Mom- she wasn't born a cowgirl. In fact she didn't even think she was headed down that path- she thought she married a dashing young pilot- when WWII was over, and they moved back to Montana, my Dad decided to buy the family ranch from his Dad, and she became a ranch wife not knowing what she was getting into. You can tell she doesn't know quite what she is doing, because she is out in the cattle pen in her rolled up jeans and saddle shoes. But she jumps right in and tries to hold the calf for branding. Except that she is only holding one hind leg. Very probably in the next few seconds after this photo was taken, the calf - not thrilled with being held down for a hot branding iron- used his free leg to kick the bejesus out of those white socks.