It was the time of year when a morning was crisp and clean, like a precursor to the filmy heat that would be ever present later in the day. I could feel the drops of sweat trickling down the back of my neck, coursing along the haphazard hairs that had escaped from my super hold hairspray that day. I could hear the ring of my spur rowels as I walked along the gravel road that curled around the back of the arena that was always a flurry of activity. Both roping boxes were occupied, ropers walked their mounts back and forth, some just sat and visited with one another. Cowboys on foot walked back and forth from pen to pen, looking for their draw for the next round. Some muttered, realizing they'd drawn a kicker, some grinned when they found they'd drawn the "money steer". Kids and puppies frolicked past me, a jumble of dirty smiles and wagging tails, bound for the muddy banks of the creek.



A short line was formed in front of the first window, but I walked around it. I sure wasn't buying any beer, and that's what that first window was for, just for buying beer. The second window was my destination, and that was where I ordered my burger and fresh, hand cut french fries. I still remember the taste of those fries, so hot they blistered the tip of my tongue, covered in salt. I waved the flies away from the top of the ketchup bottle and blobbed a pool in the corner of the red and white cardboard container. "Need some help?" I didn't recognize the voice that offered to come to my aid, so I glanced around just enough to see who it had been, to be met with that same smile from earlier. Something about it, I couldn't resist--I smiled right back.

"Naw, I'm alright thanks, I'm not much on the damsel in distress routine." He laughed, a deep appreciative sound that I could tell was as honest as I'd heard. There was that smile again...

I was 16 the first day I met him. My dad was flagging the roping, and I had been tracking cattle out on my horse, trying to take the edge off of her. He was in the A's, riding a good looking gray horse with a long mane that had been braided. His smile was genuine, if a little ornery around the edges. I couldn't help but smile back at him as he rode by me, something about him drew me in. From my vantage point under the massive cottonwood, I could see him step off his horse to loosen his cinches and back his horn knot off. He talked easily with my dad who sat across the fence from him, waiting for the next roper. More than once that day I'd been thankful for the beautiful weather, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and the breeze was just enough to cause the tallgrass to sway.
My other horse was nickering back at the trailer, he must've smelled my mare again. I backed her up and turned her for the trailer, bumping her sides with my feet as she hesitated at the muddy ditch. An early morning rain had been just enough moisture to lay the dust, and enough to make the ditches just a tad soupy. With a smooch and a hop, we crossed the ditch and made our way back to the truck and trailer. My paint gelding was a spoiled brat for the most part, he was only buddy sour when he was the one that was left behind. He'd pace back and forth at the end of his lead rope, sashaying back and forth till one of his herd mates made their way back to him. Foxy wasn't as impressed, she heaved a sigh and cocked a hind foot as I uncinched and slipped her bridle over her ears. No sooner than I had the knot on her halter tied, she dropped her head to graze at the verdant green grass at her feet. It took a rough jerk to convince her to raise her head, long blades hung from her lips as she stood switching her tail at flies. A good squirt down with the fly spray alleviated her tail switching and soon she was content to doze with her bottom lip drooping, just soaking in the bright sunlight. The ice chest lid was dirty from the dust kicked up on the trip in, my wet fingers left muddy pools on the lid after I smashed it shut again. Peach tea and diet pop were my dad's favorites, I stuck to water for the most part in the hotter months, and now was no exception. The bottle felt heavy in my hand as I turned the lid, my damp fingers slipping as they twisted. It would've been easy to drain the entire bottle in one big gulp, but I wasn't fond of the excruciating pain it left between my eyes when I drank it that way, so I sipped it slowly to save myself the headache. The scent of rib eyes cooking made me realize how hungry I was, and that the granola bar stashed in the glove box probably wasn't going to be enough to tide me over, so I set out for the concession stand.

This place was like few others, the arena was big, bigger than most. It was twice as wide as normal arenas, but it was by necessity. This wasn't a place for team ropings or barrel races, they tripped steers in this place. It sat in the middle of a hay meadow, just above the creek that carved its way through the countryside. Dirt and gravel roads all the way in once you turned off the highway, it was not a journey for the faint of heart or those with convertibles.... Depending on the time of year, a circumnavigation would be required to make it back up out of the valley, rain would cause the creeks to swell and cover the low water bridge, making it difficult to cross.