An Up-&-Coming Novel by Trudy Storm
The Premise:
All I ever wanted was to live with the land and be loved. Then why did it take me so long to figure out how to make it happen? This is the story of a wild woman and her dog and the loves of her life that came along for the ride. It’s the story of all rural western women and their dogs. It’s my story too.
The Following is True:
(Note: If I have to pick a genre for the book, the Cassie & JoJo novel is ‘cowgirl fantasy’).
Colorado State University, Ft. Collins, Colorado, circa June, 1970.
I arrived on campus a short three days after high school with the intention that summer session would be a peaceful introduction to the real school in the fall. Peaceful was not an option that year.
In the tumultuous year of 1970, a major building on campus lay in ashes, destroyed by war protesters who started a vicious fire. Years and years of doctoral theses, scientific papers, research, and artwork from generations of present and past students, were destroyed by protesters. Even still, Vietnam war protests continued that year. Wearing tie dye and ripped jeans, the protesters spoke of sex, drugs, and rock and roll as the watch words of their generation.
I was not one of those who bought into ‘If you’re going to San Francisco – Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair’. My friends tried to convert me, it was fun, but at the core I remained the girl who loved the out of doors, swimming, boating, and all the horses I rode in high school.
It was that love of horses and riding that drew me to an event at the rodeo arena on campus that day. I had not seen an English riding horse show in a long time and I was really looking forward to the prim riding habits, the straight backed riders, and the precision riding and jumping, or so I thought that’s what I would see.
In the parking lot I met some of the riders – the folks from Pinedale Wyoming. Two girl friends, two boyfriends, two horse trailers, four horses and one border collie dog.
My first vision of some of the western style horsey reality was a young girl whose name I never knew. Her red faded flannel shirt half tucked in, tangled hair flying loose, chewing snus (snoose?) while attempting to beat a rusty trailer hitch into submission with her cowboy boot covered foot. The dog seemed content to sleep in the truck.
She tried to unhitch the horse trailer so she could move the beat up Ford pickup and its cargo of hay and one English saddle. Her horse was tied to the horse trailer she was trying to disconnect. Rust spots showed through the faded paint of the trailer. The trailer looked like it needed to be put to pasture with the horses. She cursed up a storm and threw a wrench at the hitch. If she didn’t head for the arena in 10 minutes, her entry money would be lost. Her boyfriend had entered in a nearby barrel racing competition with the horse she was going to ride English and he wasn’t back yet.
By the time he got back she had her hair pulled back into a pony tail. She wore a borrowed riding coat – a bright purple jacket with 5 bright brass buttons. A riding crop affixed to her right hand seemed out of place. The slouched, upolished cowboy boots (still suffering from the trailer hitch beating) remained on her feet. A few minutes before, the hitch finally gave up the truck so Stevie could go get them dinner while she rode in the show. She left her cowboy hat in the truck, saddled his horse and left. He took off to get food, the dog by his side.
As I shook my head a friend arrived to go to the show with me. I let her know this was definitely not the organized nitpicky braided manes and tails shows I saw back east. She laughed and we left to go watch the show. Now my friend was also from Wyoming and she took a few minutes to explain about Pinedale, Wyoming and the surrounding area. “Straight up ranch country. Hardscrabble life for the residents.” I took it all in. And enjoyed the rest of the day.
And 50 years later, its finally time to write about them.
