Whooga!

Got an email this morning from someone at Whooga boots.

Apparently, they love me so much that they're offering all of YOU a discount on their boots! How cool is that!

I went over and poked around their site a bit, and while the selection is a bit limited, I did cast my eye fondly over the Elegance style, in purple of course. US size six and a half, for anyone wanting to get in my good graces.

So if you're looking for some sheepskin boots, head on over to their website, and use the code TRACTORTRA during checkout for a $30 gift certificate.


*this isn't an endorsement. I don't own any of these boots, I haven't tested them in any way, I do not vouch for anything except that they were nice enough to offer me a chance to pass some savings on their product along to you fine people. I think that's a pretty cool thing for them to do, so I shared.

I'll Put It Out With Your Nethers, Next Time!

I've let this one sit for a full day, because I was rather hot about it. I figured let it rest for a while and I'd chill out and find a balanced way to speak out about a subject that is near and dear to my heart.

But, after more than 24 hours, I'm still pissed, so here's the straight skinny:

Dear Idiots:

I realize that you enjoy our natural recreational areas as much as the next person. I even realize that the fire helps you get poon, or whatever. But for the sake of your pot and booze or whatever it is you hold near and dear CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES.

If you have enough time to flirt back and forth as you're loading out your car, you have enough time to grab that sack of trash you left behind, and toss some of the water that was five feet away and douse your fire thoroughly.

And you, young ladies, you stood around shaking your just-beginning-to-be-post-sports-season-chubby asses to the beat of the music that you were all inflicting upon everyone else there, hollering across the water to the cliffs for the boys to watch while you did it. In between sitting in your comfy little chairs and making fun of my wardrobe, that is.

In response to your comments about my body type: I eat better than you do sweet cheeks, and you hate the fact that your boyfriend's eyes followed me in jeans, work boots, and what is, I agree, an ugly (but comfortable) tank top, while you were parading around in your "oops my boob fell out" bikini. Some of us stole time that probably could have been better used doing something constructive and labor-intensive to go to the Hole and relax. Don't worry, he got just as grossed out as you did when I grabbed that first fish, and he couldn't even see the blood from where it had swallowed the hook.

But you ladies, you had plenty of time to douse that fire, and yet, you left it hot behind you. Why? Your sheer damned laziness could cost everyone the enjoyment of that particular nature spot if one stray spark makes it into last year's dead leaves. One. That's all it takes, and not only does our shady, water filled, handy dandy party spot go up in flames, but if the fire reaches the back of the canyon, it spreads out onto the grass land, and you cost ranchers their livelyhoods.

Yes, I said it. Your "out enough" fire could take food out of the mouths of children, you selfish little pricks.

I've seen people who are considered by society to barely be good enough to tolerate show more respect for the place than you did. I've seen known drug dealers police their trash and make sure their fire was out out out before they left from their party.

I've seen ex cons take a hike through the back trails with a black bag sticking through a loop of their shorts and come back with a fifty gallon trash bag full of other people's leavings.

So you, you freshly graduated young things, all set to take over the world, should be expected to do better, not worse.

The fact that you bagged the trash shows that someone had an inkling of what should be done, but that person obviously didn't have the spine to insist on your packing it out with you, or on dousing your fire entirely.

So instead, when I discovered the results of your sloppy, self indulgent visit to our fair Hole, I took more time from my day to make sure your fire was doused, with half-empty sodas and water bottles, and when I ran out of them, out of sheer pique, my own work boots. So now the soles of my boots, which I had managed to keep relatively un-melted through a couple of tours of working road construction, and at least one asphalt-laying job, now have pitted, disfigured faces, where they encountered the coals that hadn't gotten doused or smothered.

Let me just tell you this, if I see you there again, we will have a discussion about proper "wilderness" etequitte. And if I catch you leaving a hot fire behind the next time, I'll drag you back by your ears and smother it with your lazy little asses. Maybe that will get the point across.

I Smell Like Fish

Cause Farmmom and I went a-fishin.

In spite of the drunken high school and college students, we managed to come home with a fairly tidy catch, four pan-sized catfish and three pan-sized rainbow trout.

There for a bit it was just almost toss the line in and reel in a fish!

The dawgs went along and had a blast... Farmdog found a fish head to munch on right off the bat and darned if that floppy thing that Gramma was playing with didn't smell just as yummy! She tried to steal one of the trout in a very sneaky manner, grabbing just the tip of the tail fin and backing away slowly, as Farmmom wrestled the hook out of it's mouth. She didn't succeed, but the Fuzzy Pup did get a taste of salmon egg bait. We left the jar open while in the process of getting lines cast (no small feat in a little treed in cove like we were in) and he investigated.

We also provided a bit of entertainment to the others at the Hole, when Farmmom dropped one of the fish I'd caught and it almost got away. We were scrambling around on the rocks and trying to get ahold of it, the Fuzzy Pup was wondering why we wouldn't just let him get it for us, and Farmdog was busily warning everyone in ear shot that that was our fish, back off!

For never having been fishing before, both the dawgs were exceedingly well behaved, in spite of a couple little slips.

All in all, a great time was had, for a day when we really expected nothing more than a chance to wet a line and relax.

Now if ya'll will excuse me, I really should shower. I wasn't kidding when I said I smell like fish....

Whew

Well, things have been a little hectic around here, which would be why I haven't posted much. Spring/summer, lots to do, lots to take care of.

I did get a new horse and a new trailer this week, even though I couldn't really afford them, I couldn't really afford to turn the deal down either. A good horse (E's horse, Rebel) and a decent trailer for less than two grand... just too good to pass up. The trailer needs a little work, but other than putting some plate in behind the ramp latches, and adjusting the latches themselves, it's pretty much cosmetic and organizational.

Other than that, I believe I may have found my internship (FINALLY!) and a job all in one, with a little luck. The cutting horse trainer north of here is needing some help, and I would love, love LOVE to have the opportunity to learn from him. E took me out yesterday (he used to work for the guy) and introduced me, and the timing seems to be good. Waiting for the phone to ring, crossing my fingers.

If I'm working with him I won't be able to ride Legs and Red out the way I had planned for the sale, but I can take a couple months of riding on days off, and accomplish the same thing, I hope. The internship and job are more important, though, by a long shot. I can always list those two on craigslist and hope for the best.

Again, sorry for the dearth of posts, I have a few percolating, but finding the time and motivation together to get them onto the screen is a challenge lately, as my brain has been going a million miles an hour with real world stuff. Hopefully the muse will return from her summer vacation soon, and things will go back to normal around here.

In Rememberance

Yesterday, I went to the National Cemetary at Fort Lyon with the family. My dad's dad is buried there, and the place always hits me with a ten pound sledge, but even more so on Memorial Day.


So many graves with flags, so many people who left home to fight for their country, and whether they came home upright and made a choice to be buried here, next to their brothers in arms, or didn't make it home in time to say goodbye, here they are.



I know only the names I read on their stones, I couldn't tell you their kids names or what their favorite color was or who's cooking they liked best. I don't know them, but I'm thankful to them, and to the service men and women I do know.

Like my Grandpa:
He was never one to brag about his military service, or even talk about it very much. He wouldn't talk about the riots that destroyed the entrance to The Temple of a Thousand Steps in Korea, other than to say they happened, when I asked about the pictures. He wouldn't talk about going through Nagasaki when he was going on leave in Tokyo, other than to say he'd seen it.

But when we'd flip through the photo album with all of the pictures he took while he was serving, every once in a while his eyes would mist over as he saw one of his service buddies, and he'd simply say "He never made it home."

I don't think I can say it better than President Harry Truman did at the time, so I'll give you the words he felt appropriate for thanking those who did make it home.


Say thank you to the spirits of those who left their lives on the field of battle, today, and if you know any veterans or those who are currently serving, thank them too, and let them know that should they be asked to make that ultimate sacrifice for their country, they will not be forgotten.

Because We Remember.

Really Now,

This is getting a bit ridiculous. A while back I posted about a little old lady that had been locked out of her house, and my disgust that so many people drove by without offering to help.

Today, I got another example of the tone our society has taken, right here at home.

This morning I was on my way to the Next Minuscule Town Over, when I saw a car on the side of the road. Nobody was in the car, so I figured they'd gotten a ride. That is, until I saw someone walking on the side of the road.

Now, out here, we've got several people who like to take walks, and the shoulder of the highway is a popular path, so I wasn't sure that it wasn't just someone out for a walk until I got even with them and realized that the person was walking with some difficulty and using a cane.

It was an older lady (about Mamaw's age, and she swears she's older than dirt) who had had a flat. She's from here in the county, and had left her cell phone at home on the charger, so she borrowed mine to call AAA.

This woman, (I found out a bit later) is scheduled for hip replacement surgery in the near future, and she had walked almost a quarter of a mile, slowly, from her bright red, sitting on the side of the road empty vehicle, with no one stopping. I know four cars passed by her while I was in sight but before I got to her.

In this day and age I can understand being cautious about picking up a large man or someone who might actually be able to... ya know... hurt someone.

But a sweet lady with personalized gramma license plates and a cane? Come on, people, that's just callous, and wrong.

It pains me to see such things here where I've always thought that the tradition of being neighborly, no matter how distant the neighbor, held true.

So, if any of you people are from my county, shape up! We're supposed to be the backbone of America, the simple, helpful, small town kind of folks, and we're getting farther away from that every year. I don't want pride in the community I live in to be a memory, I want it to be an active, growing thing.

And I by gawd don't want to read in the local paper about a little old lady that got run over on the highway because she had to walk to get help when she had a flat tire.

Saddles, Saddles, and More Saddles

I've had a couple of discussions, and gotten a couple of questions, about the functionality and purpose of saddle design. Personally I find it an interesting subject, if only because the saddle is the bit that helps keep me firmly on the horse's back.

So. First, let's take a moment to look at the purpose of a saddle of any persuasion:

To distribute a rider's weight evenly and widely across the horse's back, for the comfort and increased efficiency of the horse as a mode of transport.

That's it. The comfort of the rider is completely secondary to making sure that a horse, a rather expensive, but highly useful animal, operates at peak efficiency and comfort while being ridden. Some particular designs are better at this than others, but that is the reason saddles were invented in the first place.

So, when evaluating a saddle, the important point is not English or Western or Aussie or whatever other style you, dear reader, may prefer. The important point is How will this saddle help make my horse more comfortable and free moving while I am riding?

Maybe the first fur strapped onto a horse's back when mankind decided they were useful for labor as well as food was only intended to keep the rider's sensitive bits from rubbing raw on the spine, but today's saddles were thought up to help increase the efficiency of horses as a mode of transport and labor.

I can hear you clamoring, but just hang on a minute. I am not in any way endorsing the newfangled so-called "treeless saddles." For one thing, I simply don't know enough about them to either endorse or decry them. For another, I haven't even had a chance to fondle one, let alone ride one, and until I do, my position will remain: "Hmm. Interesting. But I know this one..."

Now, on to the pictures. We'll start with a basic western saddle tree. I would give you a picture of an English saddle tree as well but they seem to be durned hard to find on the intarwebz, a condition also known as "not on the first two pages of a Google Image search."


This, my friends is a western saddle tree. At the front is the swells, which, in terms of the rock bottom purpose of a saddle, performs the service of holding the bars together in a manner that leaves room for the horse's withers, thus allowing more free movement at the shoulder. Those pieces that form the sides of the tree are the bars, the major weight-distributing panels of the saddle, which spread the load of the saddle over generous square inchage, making it easier to carry. At the back is the cantle, which serves the purpose of holding the bars together at the rear and further assisting in the weight distribution theme.

The horn, and the height of the cantle, have no purpose. Well, I suppose the height of the cantle could be a further method of distributing weight, but I'm not an engineer so I'm not sure how the math works on that. However, cantle height is generally considered to be a rider comfort thing, and the horn, while necessary to certain working conditions and jobs required of the saddle, is an example of specialization.

Now, lets move on to the bits designed to make things better for the rider. There are two major schools of riding in the US, Western and English, which both have their supporters and detractors.

Since I know Western a hell of a lot better than English, that's what I'll focus on. I'm sure someone, somewhere, has gotten into this discussion on the English side, if you're interested.


So. The western saddle. I'm not going to describe every part of it here, because this post is proving long enough as is, but I'll cover the salient points.

A western saddle is designed for long hours, security, and a fair amount of comfort, because the purpose of the saddle demanded such things. Originally, western saddles were designed with the working cowboy in mind, built for days on the range, and the kind of work that the horse and rider needed to do.

The horn... roping a bovine is no fun if you don't have anything to give you leverage, both to keep your butt in the saddle (because believe me, that animal on the end of the rope is a lot stronger than your thigh muscles trying to keep you where you're at) and to utilize your mount's greater strength to hold or drag said bovine. Secondary uses include a handle, a place to hang your reins, and a handy dandy bruise creater in the event of a poorly executed unauthorized dismount.

The swells, as I said before, primarily help to distribute the weight, but cowboys discovered another benefit and altered the design somewhat... it's not shown real well here, but larger swells that come out with a bit of a void underneath provide an excellent leverage point for keeping butt in saddle when things go, quite literally, rodeo.

The seat, as I mentioned, is designed for comfort, the high (relative to an English saddle, though some models do have extremely high backs) cantle also provides a leverage point for keeping butt in saddle during the often violent motions of a horse working a cow. In the English discipline, as I understand it, a gallop or hand gallop is ridden, at least, in two point, with the knees providing the main stabilization points and the butt being emphatically out of the saddle, which is, I am told, very tiring. Cowboys chose another way to go about riding the odd motions of a horse's gaits, creating a "pocket" in the seat to assist in the endeavor of keeping horse and rider together, with minimal effort.

Well, would you want to spend all day riding rough terrain on your toes and knees? Didn't think so.

In the picture above, the bits of leather lacing hanging from front and rear of the saddle are labeled as strings, which is accurate. Just as accurate would be latigos, or tie downs, or pack strings. These are there for attaching things to the saddle for ease of carrying. Secondarily, in today's modern world, they provide an excuse for putting a concho on the saddle and adding more flash.

Large saddle skirts are, as far as I know, extremely limited to the Western style, and they originally had but one purpose: To provide as much coverage as possible to protect the horse from branches, twigs, cactus and mesquite. Of course they're decorative as well with the designs and stamping on the leather, but really, they're a layer of armor between the horse and the world.

The wide fenders serve the same purpose, to help protect the horse from scratches and pokes, while maintaining leg mobility for the rider to cue his mount.

A Western saddle became a matter of identity, as well, for the cowboys who depended on them to make their living. Stamping of patterns into the leather of the skirts increased the strength of the leather, by compressing the fibers together, and made them less likely to get torn up if they did happen to get snagged on something. With the advent of this practical reason to add decoration to one's saddle, when every one was made by hand, each saddle became a work of art and a display for both the skill of the hand that crafted it, and the personality of the cowboy who rode it. Which only makes sense when you consider that a cowboy's saddle was occasionally his only home, his job, and his one true love.

There are a lot of people who proclaim Cavalry saddles in their various iterations to be the most efficient saddle in the world, per the real purpose of a saddle. And guess what? Most Cavalry saddles bear a striking resemblance to a Western saddle tree covered in leather, padded underneath, and bestrewn with attachment points for packs and supplies:


I guess we might just be on to something, huh?

Personally, I view the basic form of a saddle (meaning a tree to distribute weight with some form of assistance to the rider in his endeavor to remain on the horse's back and not in the dust) as one of the most elegant, and refined pieces of physical design in the modern world. Regardless of what your personal flavor is, every one of them serves the exact same purpose, in such an efficient and cost effective manner that the base designs have survived for centuries. Once the idea of bars, connected front and back in a manner that allows a certain amount of flexibility was come up with, everything since has been a refinement, or a specialization.

And, honestly, a Cavalry saddle, stripped of pack straps and rings, is, in my opinion, the epitome of the true purpose of a saddle.

That doesn't mean I'm riding one of those uncomfortable things, however. There's a reason the Cavalry always shows up at the last minute in movies, because they have to treat their saddle sores before they can get on the road!