Early on July 1, the Chief Joseph Days crew set out for their longest journey yet: St. Paul and Molalla Rodeos. Our journey entailed of an approximately six and a half hour drive and a visit to the Shriners Hospital for Children in Portland. On the way to Portland, we stopped at a Truck Stop Food Court thing in Pendleton for breakfast. I was still full from my bowl of granola, yogurt, and strawberries, but I nevertheless went in to stretch my legs. In retrospect I probably could have done without the blatant stares directed at my hot pink sponge curlers. As if this occurrence wasn't sufficient, we stopped again a couple hours later for lunch. But this time, our curlers were out and our Shirley Temple bobs were in. We, once again, received gawks from all directions. However, we had a lady approach us and compliment us. "Your hair is so great!" she raved. Her daughter, standing next to her in line for Subway, obviously thought differently. "Isn't it great, honey?" her mom rhetorically asked. "Yeahhhh..." she replied sheepishly. In her mind I'm sure she was saying, "Ew, that is disgusting. They look like creepy Shirley Temple clowns." But we made sure to tell anyone who asked exactly why we were sporting this look. Ahhh, the joys of a theatrical look...
Upon arriving at the Shriner’s Hospital, I was unsure of how to feel. The Shriner's Hospital provides medical care for children under the age of 18 - no matter the severity of their condition. From kids with broken arms, to back surgeries, to serious physical and mental impairments, the hospital treats everyone. There I was, a pretty average teenager in my mind, visiting children who could only dream about the experiences I am having on court. As we were taken into each child’s room, whether their injury or impairment was small or great, I was overcome by compassion. I began to rethink what I take for granted. Seeing the smiles and optimism of each family and child in a time of suffering was extremely humbling.
This visit left me with a good mind-set for the upcoming weekend. After settling into the hotel, we had a team meeting to decide what to do on our free night. We opted to attend the rodeo incognito, as it would be our only opportunity to enjoy the whole performance. St. Paul was huge! Thousands of people surrounded the circular arena that hosted top-notch cowboys. The energy was everywhere: the patriotism, the celebration, the competition. I couldn’t wait to be a part of it the next day.
Interestingly enough, we ended up sitting next two a group of friends from Sweden. My mom talked to them in Norwegian, and they seemed surprised at the chance of meeting someone Scandinavian at the St. Paul Rodeo of all places. Serendipity at its best. The Swede’s weren’t the only interesting people we sat next to. My mom was lucky enough to sit next to a creepy old man (with ghastly breath) who kept trying to talk to us and hit on my mom. “Are you two sisters?” he said, acknowledging my mom and I sitting next to each other. My mom straightened him out, but I think he knew the answer and was rather trying to use it as a pick-up line. Throughout the events, he nonchalantly scooched closer and closer to us. Finally, my mom decided she was hungry (which served as a nice excuse) – leaving the creepy man to sit closest to Brooke. Might I say the man’s eyes followed my mom leaving… Haha! My mom returned, and sat on the other side of me, strategically one row up from the man with as much distance as possible. Now Brooke was stuck next to him. To her despair, he moved himself up a row so he was even closer. Brooke started ignoring him more and more, and he started trying harder and harder. Towards the end of the rodeo, everyone forgot about the man, and watched the “Wild Horse Races.” My eyes grew wide as the announcer explained what the event entailed. “Ladies and gentlemen, these men are about to perform one of the wildest events at any rodeo. These teams of cowboys are going to try to hold on to their horse as it gets let out of the bucking chutes, put a saddle on, and ride through the tunnel that leads outside the arena. But there’s a catch… These horses have never been ridden before in their lives.” As they let the horses out of the chutes, the teams strained and dug their boots into the dusty arena to hold on as the horses charged forward. A member of the team would run up to the horse’s ear and hold it and cover its face so it would calm down for the saddle. Another cowboy would jump on and hope to God he wouldn’t get seriously injured as the wild horse jumped, bucked, reared, and galloped around the arena. Trying to stay on was one thing, but trying to guide the horse into a dark tunnel when it had never been ridden before was another thing. Remarkably, each night a cowboy would convince the horse to run through. This usually led to another, and another, and another (as horses like to stay in herds). However, there is always one horse that is completely set on avoiding the deep, dark, menacing tunnel. It took pick-up men and hundreds of circles around the arena to finally coax him in. At the end of the rodeo, the lights were shut off for a 4
th of July fireworks celebration. The fireworks were launched over our horses pasture, but they were still alive the next morning.
Before we went back to St. Paul the next day, we had time to kill during the morning. To our delight, the hotel was two minutes from an outlet mall. Not to break the tradition of past court girls, Brooke and I spent most of Saturday and Sunday mornings walking around the mall in our sponge curlers to ensure long-lasting rodeo curls. Needless to say we received questioning looks. But we did get our shopping in! Helly Hansen Ski Pants (70% off – total score!), nose rings (when my duties are done), and random articles of clothing. I used my money wisely though – promise. I am a Sindum of course. (;
Back at the St. Paul Rodeo… Even though the Grand Entries that evening were limited to a slow pace, we still had a blast. We passed out rolls of stickers and heaps of rack cards. Everyone was so cordial and friendly… and some were a wee bit tipsyyyyy. But that made it easier to pass out stickers! Brooke and I walked around the arena for around two hours until Brinda called us into the stands. We wanted to keep going, but she said we needed to be done. We did manage to pass out quite a few stickers in the stands… one guy wanted them on his butt, but he wanted meeeee to do it. It’s part of the job, I suppose! Haha. When we got home, we were ecstatic that we didn’t have to put our hair in curlers. Brinda was letting us do our hair straight for Molalla. This might not seem like a big deal, but Chief Joseph Days has never gone straight before to a rodeo. Brinda was willing to take the chance, hoping that the directors would be willing for some change, and Brooke and I were pretty pumped. It also made our lives easier so that we didn’t have to stay up super late after the Molalla rodeo to wash our hair, dry it, and put it in curlers when we were getting up really early the next morning. I already have a hard time with mornings anyway… Continental breakfast ended at 10:00 a.m. every day, so I asked Brinda to wake me up at five till (:
Before the rodeo season started, Alex McCadden (last year’s Queen and one of my friends) told me that Molalla was one of her favorite rodeos. She said that the people treated them so well there and the Molalla directors were so grateful to have them there. I was looking forward to the evening, as we followed the winding road through agricultural fields of hops, grapes, wheat, nursery plants, and orchards. When we arrived, we were in a great mood – the weather was beautiful, our hair was straight, an actual run-in! Brooke and I walked our horses to the gate where we expected them to let us in so we could warm up. The man at the gate told us otherwise, “You guys missed the warm-up in the arena. We just closed it fifteen minutes ago. But there’s a pasture over there where everyone else is warming up. It’s fair opportunity.” The pasture he was talking about? Yeah… It was this tiny, steep, oblong piece of the slippery pasture where girls were going around and around in tight circles. In other words, not even close to acceptable as a warm up arena. We looked back at the arena. We planned to come here so we could be mounted an hour early for warm-up. So much for that. And you know what was keeping us out of there? A stupid truck was parked in the middle. If I was a spectator, I would much rather see the court girls and contestants warm their horses up than a stupid parked truck. Oh well. We made shift with the tiny, pathetic pasture. I started to remember what Alex had said to me. Hmmmm… Maybe they have new directors – who haven’t received a lesson in being cordial to the courts that drive seven hours to come to your rodeo.
While we stood outside waiting for the serpentines/run-ins, I started to notice how attached Buddy was becoming to Brooke’s horse, Andy. They were pasture buddies for two nights by now, and it seemed like they were already the best of friends. Every time they rode away from us, he nickered and lost his patience with me. Well the patience thing was mutual after a while. I gave up trying to keep them separated, and stood with Brooke while we waited. A man walked up to us and told us that we needed to be extra cautious when we did our run-ins because their Queen’s horse took a nasty fall the night before. Alright, I thought, there’s no reason to risk it. A few minutes after he left, another man came over and said the same thing. “It took us a long time to get her out of the arena. Just make sure you’re careful.” Gotchya. I do not want to be the re-run of last night. Brinda came over, and I was looking forward to a change in subject. “You girls need to be careful in the arena. It’s really deep and they had a girl go down last night.” Geez, now my stomach was starting to lurch. As if that wasn’t sufficient, my mom came over to warn us. I would rather be warned fifteen times than none, but this was starting to be overkill. When they called us up for run-ins, they asked us to leave a lot of space for the horse in front of us. Buddy wasn’t so thrilled about that. As soon as Andy left, I felt him wind up like a tight spring. He started prancing on his hind feet, rearing up, and loping in place. Great, I thought. When they finally let me in, he immediately expected a run-in. The serpentine was first, so I had to hold him back while he charged through the deep mud. At first I was trying to control his pace in the mud. He acted as if my cues were a fly on his shoulder, so I decided he knew what was best for his safety (hopefully) and he wouldn’t try to kill himself. We lined up in the middle, and I gave a sigh of relief. I sighed too soon. My horse was still the spring that left the arena – winding tighter and tighter as he stood in the line. Buddy was usually an angel in the line-up – standing still and looking perky. Tonight, he was absolutely the opposite. He would not stay still throughout the announcer’s commentary. He pranced small circles behind the line, turning occasionally to see if he could run out of the arena. When I was able to get him straightened out next to another horse, he would rub and chew on the horse next to him in a nervous habit. Then we would repeat the process. But here’s the thing: Molalla shoots a canon off during the National Anthem. “And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air!” I was so ready for the spring to shoot out in any direction. Luckily, all of the horses flinched, but didn’t do anything drastic (It must have helped to have our horses in the pasture under St. Paul’s firework show). Each time the crowd cheered, Buddy anticipated. Finally, it was time to do our run-ins. The moment Buddy had been waiting for. However, I still made sure we were going at a reasonable pace so we avoided taking a tumble. When we got out of the arena, I gave Buddy to my dad so Brooke and I could go hand out rack-cards and stickers. The spring must have still been partially winded, because he hadn’t lost his prance. Crazy horse.
We worked the crowd for a while, but after making five rounds, it seemed like we were seeing the same people. Brooke had her eye on getting an elephant ear, so we walked back to Brinda to get her money. Brinda said it was time to go, so we didn’t have time to run back and get one. Which was alright for me, because I could use without sugary, butter-soaked, deep-fried dough.
When we left, I thought it was a shame that things didn’t go more smoothly. Molalla had the potential to be really fun, but I think my expectations were set too high, and it was hard to compete with the fun we’d had in St. Paul. In retrospect, Molalla was pretty similar to Chief Joseph Days in size and atmosphere, which is why Del and Brinda enjoyed it so much.
We got home pretty late that evening, and our generous mothers put our hair in sponge curlers before bed.
On Monday morning, after waking up at an ungodly hour to eat continental breakfast and get ready, the Chief Joseph Days crew racked in the awards at the parade. Brooke and I won first in the visiting court division, and, along with the Stage Coach and directors, claimed the Sweepstakes award. The energy followed us as we finished the parade and our final appearance at the afternoon rodeo. And Brooke got her elephant ear!
In retrospect, I would say St. Paul is my favorite rodeo thus far. And what better a way to conclude such a fantastic weekend than making it back to the fireworks at the Wallowa Lake?
