Legs like Jell-O

People in the country are weird. They have character which makes them interesting, therefore I like them. Much like you'd expect most people out here seem to be old and white, owning acreage that was given to them by the government, who stole it from the Native Americans. That being said I could count the number of people I've seen since arriving on my hands, so I'm not here to judge. We did pass a reservation on the drive in though. It was weird looking and depressing, but most of all small. I saw wheat with more land then these houses had.

This is Real

 Today it rained again. Regardless, the horses still needed to be worked so we worked three of them and then took two out. One basically refused to move the entire time, so he would get lunged on the spot nearly every twenty minutes. I rode away from the barn, despite bitter discontent from the horse I was on. I can't say whether it was the bugs or my presence, but Herman, the horse, was less than pleased after my refusing to take him back to the barn. Stopping on a short ledge to attempt as many bucks as possible, we eventually came to an agreement to go to the east pasture, where we worked circles until dizzy. During this time it had started to pour. We were soaked through and through by the time we got inside the house. It was one of those days where afterwards I asked myself, "do you even like horseback riding?" But that quickly turned around cause I totally do. Even when it's fucking exhausting. If I was in the shape I've been lying to myself about being in, I would probably be a lot less exhausted. I've never been sore from riding...in the timespan of the ten years I was riding. I've now had three to four years off and today I can hardly cross my legs.

Herman

Every time I change lifestyles, I automatically expect to become skinny. I had similar expectations here, but at this point I eat Oreos by 9am each day and drink fine wine every night. The Rancher is into wine, so despite the black dirt under my finger nails I still hold my pinky out while sipping it back. You'd think we'd drink whiskey. After dinner, we drove up to check the winter wheat crop. All this means to me is beer. Once we checked the field, we drove out to the breaks where rolling hills and valleys go down to the Cheyenne River, which is gorgeous. Actually the black horse I've been working with is named after the river because much like the river she won't go in a straight line, but instead zigzags in every which direction.

 I feel I've been living so many different lives over the course of my own. I went from a cheerleader to...well Colorado, then became a traveler and a writer, then a teacher, then from a ski bum to a backpacker to a rancher? Who the fuck am I? Just kidding all these things have helped me shape  who I am and who I'm becoming. Those things aren't who I am, they are what I do and there's a big difference.

Oh and I almost didn't have a first today, but then I got chased by a turkey. Thing came out of NOWHERE!

The Devil Himself