Mason Marsh

In this essay I will be writing about a very special place. This place would be the ranch I lived at this summer. I arrived at nine pm on the last day of school. It was dark and I hadnt been to this location until now. I had been to the other cabin that was located about fifteen miles north on the desert pastures. This new cabin was named the Rochelle camp, because in 1800 something a man by the last name of Rochelle built this cabin. I walked to the front door and my dad met me, glad that I was there. I was very happy to be here, I had had enough of Fort Collins and all the people, even though I never lived anywhere close to many people. I slept hard wondering what the next day would bring. Honestly I cant remember the much of the first day, except that we unloaded the trailer full of tack and other equipment. We rode a lot, all day everyday almost. My new colt, Rambler was still learning so he wasnt very savvy with the bit and the land. Being as smart as he is he learned every day and made huge improvements. At first I didnt like him but now he has transformed into one heck of a horse, and will do anything I ask of him. He has bucked on me four times this summer. The first time was about middle summer. I was riding in a grassy valley bottom just walking along scouting for cattle. I kicked him up to a trot then a lope when he started loping funny; looked down and noticed he was dropping his head to buck! At that instant I slid done into my saddle, knees pinching my saddle swells, and arms lifting on the reins. He bucked strait forward for about ten or so seconds, I spurred him out just right, perfectly in time with each of his jumps, until he finally petered out. He looked up and was dumbfounded to find me still sitting pretty in the saddle. The second and third time werent to exiting so I will tell you about the fourth time. It was during school; we loaded up the horses around six am and drove to the Denison pasture. We unloaded and rode for about ten minutes, we crossed creek and he blew up on me. I rode him and brought him out of it. Five minutes later we went running up a steep hill and he did it again. This time was different; he was really trying to buck. He bucked straight up the hill, then reared up on his hind legs and rotated around so he was facing downhill. He leaped forward and I started to slide out the back of my saddle. When he landed I hit the tree of my saddle wrong with my hip joint, it popped but I didnt think anything of it. I turned him up the hill and heard my Dad yell, spur his ass!! I did as my dad said and I regained control of him. I stepped off to grab my hat, pain shot up my leg and into my hip. I hobbled over to my hat, grabbed it and hopped back on. My dad asked if I was ok, never better I replied. And into the fray we rode.

Why is this place so important to me? It is so important to me because before I felt boring, life was becoming boring for me. I felt restricted no adventure and I was getting into lots of trouble in school. When I started riding with my father doing what he can do, Cowboying like he can. I have never met a better cowboy in my life. I learned so much, about the land, life, myself, and what I am capable of. I was lost before not sure who I wanted to be, but now I do and I know I can achieve it. This place reminds me of our old ranch, which I miss very much, but this ranch replaced that and I found myself. My dad has shown me how to ride on a whole nother level which I thought I would never be able to reach. I am more confident and I know I can handle a lot more. For example I was left on the ranch for a few weeks to look over the place because my dad had other business to attend. I had to look over 2,475 head of yearling cattle, the fence, the cabin, and the horses. I was in charge; I decided what to do each day and how it would be done. I liked it; I liked the responsibility and knowing that I had it under control. And if something did go wrong I possessed the knowledge to solve it. Another story. Dad, Grandy, and I were doctoring cattle. We spotted a sick stier, we ease up to him and he bolts. We take off after him and a dead sprint across the hills, valleys, brush, and other obstructions. We fly down a steep hill and at the bottom I see a drop, about a five foot drop down to the bottom of the valley. I was afraid, this had never scared me but this time I didnt think my horse would make it. I tried to pull my horse back or at least slow him down, but it was no use. I spurred him up faster and faster, we jumped off the ledge and through the air, I figured my horse would topple over himself when we landed but in fact he didnt, he stumbled a little and came out of it. Once we caught up to him Dad threw a head loop and I caught the heels, we doctored and moved on to the next one. This time we had a heifer roped and Grandy was loping up the hill to help, when suddenly her horse, Waco caught his front feet on some brush and flipped head over heels and Grandy was caught in the middle of it. I couldnt believe it, it took me a second to realize the severity of our situation. I dropped my dally and sprinted my horse over to her aid. I leaped of and ripped to rein off of her foot. I helped her sit up and then she said, No no Mase I better sit here for a minute. I stayed back with Grandy while Dad rode hard west ward to get the truck. A few hours later he arrived and we drove to Rawlins to the hospital. That just reminded me of how dangerous this business can be. Every day you have to wake up with a respect for the land, animals, and all the other things that are involved. You never know what day will be your last, so you must ride with gratitude that you get to do this job, live this life, and see, do, and experience things that not many other people will ever experience. I am grateful that I have been so fortunate to grow up on a ranch, live this way, and I think that has defined who I am. It has given me a whole new respect for the business, the people, and myself. I hope to carry on like this, learning more and more and bettering my knowledge of it.