Witnessing a Different Drummer
Back about two decades ago, my late husband and I packed up our big city LA Lifestyle into a U-Haul truck and the back of the Corvair, headed a hundred miles up the highway and a few decades back in time, and bought a beer bar that teetered between the highway and the northern edge of nowhere.
We met the local horsemen a month or so after we took over the bar, when one slipped in the back door and poked his head around the corner, asking permission to tie up 'a couple of' horses out back while he and his wife came in for a brew. We blinked, then agreed, and next thing we knew, he and his wife and six other couples traipsed in the back door, leaving fourteen horses out back, tied up to a rickety chain link fence.
The human part of the expedition came in and settled down for a few beers. The equine part stayed outside, waiting patiently and obediently, in the heat of a September desert late afternoon. Jim and I took turns stepping out back onto the patio and peering around the edge of the shed at this magnificent display of horse patience. They didn't budge. They didn't make much of the whole situation - just stood there.
The afternoon drew toward dusk, and the party of riders bade us farewell and left by the back door. They saddled up and rode into the vast desert, as silently as they'd arrived. We watched and marveled at the grace of it all - what a vast difference between our just-left hectic schedules and this quiet slow pulse of life we were witnessing - between suburbia at sunset far away, horns honking, traffic jamming, and these fourteen rural riders stepping silently down a darkened dusty desert road.
We met the local horsemen a month or so after we took over the bar, when one slipped in the back door and poked his head around the corner, asking permission to tie up 'a couple of' horses out back while he and his wife came in for a brew. We blinked, then agreed, and next thing we knew, he and his wife and six other couples traipsed in the back door, leaving fourteen horses out back, tied up to a rickety chain link fence.
The human part of the expedition came in and settled down for a few beers. The equine part stayed outside, waiting patiently and obediently, in the heat of a September desert late afternoon. Jim and I took turns stepping out back onto the patio and peering around the edge of the shed at this magnificent display of horse patience. They didn't budge. They didn't make much of the whole situation - just stood there.
The afternoon drew toward dusk, and the party of riders bade us farewell and left by the back door. They saddled up and rode into the vast desert, as silently as they'd arrived. We watched and marveled at the grace of it all - what a vast difference between our just-left hectic schedules and this quiet slow pulse of life we were witnessing - between suburbia at sunset far away, horns honking, traffic jamming, and these fourteen rural riders stepping silently down a darkened dusty desert road.
Comment
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Comment by Nina Kraus on June 11, 2008 at 10:45am -
Wow, I wish we still had those days. Now everything is rush, hurry, get it done. We have become a society of I have to have it now. I can't wait. We can't even get away from jobs or life since the popularity of cell phones. It amazes me when we have traveled or toured places, how many people are on their cell phones dealing with business problems while they are on vacation.
I have a friend with land in Western Wisconsin. When he takes a vacation day or vacation days, he is required to have his cell phone on and check it regularly. He has no coverage where his land is so he has to drive to find a spot where his cell phone works. The same is true with my sister. Every time she goes away to a horse show or on vacation, she has to bring her blackberry and her laptop to make sure she can deal with any issues that arise at work...
These are vacations??? What did businesses do before blackberries, pda's, laptops, and pagers? Are we really on vacation when we still have to work while we're there?
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