And, on to the Rusty Trail! I did try writin' last night, but scrapped the effort; it was o.k., I suppose, but, no wise fair to the question of the meetin', 'tween ol' Rustoleum and the famous horseman from the north.
Ya see, this fella, friend of half a mine, is a genuinely great horseman, least far as I can figure, based on all I heard and read, stories from my friends, spent time with him, articles, books, some of 'em written by friends of my mentors, videos I've watched of him, some time back. But, seems ta me, there comes a time, where the urgency, the glue, that really binds a fella to his craft, comes into question. A fella might get really good at somethin' 'cause it's all he's got and the work, really speaks to a part of him and allows him to speak to that part in others. But, it's when a momentum, an expectation builds, maybe fame and fortune, come into play, when the glue really meets the test. And, to me this is a huge question, as that authenticity is the very thing, really, really attracts us. I see it in myself; I live when it's close and I mourn when it's gone. And, I suppose, I see it in Rusty; it might be the soul of New Mexico. Somehow, since the beginnin' of time, it seems, those that stayed, stayed 'cause it was all they had and they knew it.
So, for these two ta meet, at OK Corral, it was a real question for me, as to who's serious here. This is what I believe, made Tom so great; clarity. The love of the horse was such a real part a him and workin' with horses such a real and heartfelt question, that "the day, the horse and the rider" never escaped his focus, far as I can tell. So, here we had Rusty, an extremely smart and serious old fella, with real concerns about survivin' and maintainin' his sense of "self" and a pretender to Tom's throne. And, so my interest, as the whole story so clearly highlighted the question of integrity and focus, so relevant to any serious consideration of horsework, or life, far as I can tell. And, so it was. Way I heard it the owner, Rusty, Ranger and his daughter loaded up that mornin' and headed for the fairgrounds. Ranger and his daughter, fairin' pretty well, but Rusty had broke out in a full sweat, soon as he entered the arena, full terror in his eye, aware, I suppose, that this just might be his Waterloo; a whole fairground full of horses and people, with big ideas and expectations, fly in the face of every rule Rusty mighta ever come up with on how ta survive, ever and always, himself.
And, a course, it had ta pass, our horseman from the north, noticin' all was fairly well, save one curious horse, in a full sweat, wouldn't have any of it; just walkin' here and there, straight line like he'd always done. I'm told he even came up and considered, he could help, only, after some time, ta figure he didn't have enough for a horse like that, dismount, cuss Rusty and all his ancestors and return to the horses that held some hope of ever livin' up to the name. Rusty, had stumped the chump, and lived, walk all the straight lines, he ever felt inclined.
And, speakin' of happy endin's, the owner had ta take another job and really didn't need a horse anymore and his daughter had grownup and made some choices, took her away from the barn and the horses, so, Rusty and Ranger had come home ta retire, run with my bunch; 1200 acres, five waterholes, half a dozen good friends and for each a paricular mare, that seemed ta like 'em just fine. Rusty, go figure, stealin' the heart a the cutest, sweetest little girlfriend, a fella could ever ask for! That's her, Graceful, up top, and that's her Rusty Barnyard.
Have a great day!
Best,
No comments:
Post a Comment