Kitty in the Hay

There's a kitty at the ranch where I ride who loves people. She's probably the sweetest, most affectionate cat I've ever seen. She was distracted by a horse just long enough for me to get this shot, then she immediately went back to pawing all over me.

I really like being out there on the ranch. It's so quiet, yet there's life everywhere. There are probably two dozen horses, a few cats, a couple of dogs and more barn swallows, barn owls and other birds than you can shake a stick at. The prairie dogs are innumerable and, unless you get within arms length, are completely comfortable sharing their little bit of the prairie with you. Coyotes are a common sight, even in broad daylight. Last week two of them streaked past me just two dozen yards away. There are also a few ranch hands and various other people coming and going all the time, but the place just feels like the clock is ticking a little slower than in the city. It's the kind of place where I can pull up in my truck and instead of a 17 year old lesbian with pink hair, a peace t-shirt and a nose ring hissing with a condescending eco-smirk, "Gawd that's a big truck. What do you need that for?" as happened in the Whole Foods parking lot awhile back, I'm greeted by a 20-something cowboy with a size 30 waist and tight Wranglers who says with an envious grin, "Wow, that's a nice truck. I wish I had a truck like that." (Okay, I'm biased, but fitting in is fitting in!)

It's the kind of place where you can wear a cowboy hat and no one stares at you, and no one asks if they can wear your hat. It's the kind of place where you can just sit in the hay for an hour watching the ranch critters do their thing, and it doesn't matter. There's no place to be. There are no phones ringing. There's no sound of traffic, no electronic calendars, no meetings and nothing plastic or glowing or buzzing or florescent anywhere in sight. Just a cool breeze through the barn rafters, the occasional distant neighing of a horse, and the sound of a tawny kitty purring in the hay next to you.

I've been taking advanced riding lessons out at the ranch, working with different horses, beefing up my riding and handling skills. It may sound cliche, but I think working with animals teaches us a lot about ourselves and the world. One thing about me that quickly comes to the surface is my buried desire for instant results. That surprises me because I thought I had moved beyond that. Probably I have for the most part, but there's definitely some of it still lurking inside my brain. Personally I think that city life does that to a person. Just about everything these days is instantaneous. You want something, you hop in your car and go buy it or go online and have it delivered to you doorstep the next day. You want music or you want to watch a show, you want to talk to someone or meet new people, you want a meal or anything at all, you've got your computer, your iPhone, your restaurants, your car, your internet and a thousand other ways to make your wish come true with virtually no effort and no waiting.

One of the things I like about cooking, eating locally and seasonally, and about not having a microwave in the house is that if I want to eat something I have to prepare it. There is a cost associated with my food beyond the price tag, and that actually makes eating a much more satisfying experience. There are no bags of junk food in my kitchen and no zapping anything so I can't eat within 1 minute 30 seconds of deciding I want to eat something. This also reduces temptation and works as a built-in system for ensuring the quality of my food. It has completely broken me of the habit of snacking.

Working with horses is the same kind of thing in the sense that you don't just go pick out a horse, hop on and expect an experience as predictable and controllable as your car or your microwaved frozen dinner will deliver. Horses are living things. They have brains and therefore have moods, personalities, likes and dislikes. They experience fear and pleasure, and their chemistry doesn't mix the same with everyone. Hop on an exceptionally good horse and you might get what you expect, if he's in the right mood and nothing unexpected comes up. Hop on a horse that doesn't have all these things going for it in that particular moment and you could be in for some frustration, to say the least. From my own experience and from discussions with the instructor, frustration due to unrealistic expectations is a common problem with people who spend more time on a computer or in a coffee shop than on a horse.

I've also taken up guitar recently and have found the same challenge there. Learning to play music can be incredibly frustrating and takes practice, practice, practice, day in and day out, for years. I grew up playing the piano and I remember how difficult it was in the beginning. Actually I suppose it never really got all that much easier, because as my skills improved my instructor bumped up the challenge. But with time and patience I progressed. Everybody wants to play the guitar or learn a foreign language or possess some other skill, but a lot fewer people are willing to put in the work to get it. I'm not ragging on anyone. I face the same challenges and I haven't always been as persistent as I should have been. If something's hard, it's hard not to quit.

It's been said that anything worth having is worth working for and I do believe that's true. People who are given things are rarely as appreciative of those things as they are of things they fought long and hard to get. I think part of my motivation to take up guitar or become a better horseman comes from my desire to have more meaningful things in my life. I mean, don't you ever get bored and think:

"Is this all there is? I've got a good job, I make enough money. I could just eat out all the time and sit at the coffee shop for an hour each morning and never really have to fuss over anything, learn anything new or do anything that doesn't directly contribute to my immediate comfort. So why do I want to spend so much time and money on things that require so much work and that in the end won't even increase my salary?"

Maybe it has something to do with that old saying about idle hands or maybe there's just something restless in me. I don't know. I can enjoy a coffee shop or a nice dinner out as much as anyone, but I'm just not satisfied making my life super cushy. It's like I want to introduce a little pain, a little hard work, a little something so I can feel like I'm alive and not just curled up on the sofa watching life go by. And it needs to feel real, genuine, not manufactured. For example, I'll never get into cycling. It's a great hobby and I think Lance Armstrong is cool. But for me, I'm thinking: "Where the hell am I going?" There's got to be a destination, a greater purpose. Cycling or mountain climbing, while in moderate amounts can be fun, feels like busy work to me. What's the point? But things like growing my own food, harvesting it and then preparing it actually has a very important purpose in and of itself. Playing the guitar and riding horses are similarly justifiable in my mind, as they fit into my grand scheme of self reliance.

Picture this: my cabin in the woods (as I've described many times). I saddle up and take a string of horses into the wilderness for a week-long hunting trip. When I return I've got hides to tan, a new bearskin rug and a supply of elk/deer/moose meat that will last until next season. I've got a garden to tend, a cow or goat to milk. I've got canning to do, meat and trout to smoke, butter to churn, a root cellar to stock, beer to brew, wood to chop. I've got horses and dogs that need tending, a hog that needs butchering, a cabin that needs repairs before winter. And when I'm resting I can fill the air with the lovely sounds of the harmonica or sing lonely tunes to the mountains as I strum my guitar on the back porch on a cool summer's evening. That's what I want. Those are "hobbies" that mean something to me. I get tingly all over when I think about it.

So in the mean time I spend my free time trying to wring the vestiges of the city from my life and my body, ever trying to push my life down that dirt road that leads home, my cabin in the woods.