The Dirt In Our Manes

Anybody's whose spent a good portion of their lives in an enclosed arena will definitely relate to that which this post is referring to.

You spend a better part of an hour or more chasing in calves, opening up shoots, warming up horses and chasing down decent shots for your loop to snare. 

You sit in stands watching how their runs play out and wait for your event to make it's show. 

You practise in quansits. 

It's the horse loving sport. The work, practise, and performance. 

And after it's all said and done and you exit it's stage with your horse in tow. 

Load him up or turn her out. It's over. 

And you eventually feel what has subtly settled onto your hair and eyelashes. 

Dirt. 

Good ol' dirt that's been kicked up and swirled about in the horse-work steam and cattle cry air. 

You can feel it's tangible texture as you touch your head and you can see it visibly on your eyelashes. 

I cherish that texture. 

It's so many childhood memories soaring through. Adolescences. 

From teenage angst. To young adulthood. To well, yesterday. 

For me that dirt hair feel brings more of a memory than a photo can convey. 

It may be an odd way of thinking. 

But it truly brings memories and more of myself into the experience than any device could try to capture. No matter how public I could make it on social media.

That dirt all tangled into my mane is a symbol of rodeo heritage for me. 

The dirt in our manes is beauty wild.

And I'm bestowing it onto her.

Heaven's slice is tangible textures that make memories linger.