Storytime: Cash, the Big Yellow... Arena Horse?

Part 1 of this story can be found here.

**

One Handsome Dude

I had decided to ride Cash, for a variety of reasons. He seemed nice enough, a bit of a dopey cuddle-bug, but never too much in your space. He was attractive - ranch horse typey - big, strong, correct. To top it off, he had really nice calm eyes. For years people have been put on edge by my wild-eyed Jingle, and here I was, afraid of a horse that looked every bit the teddy-bear. Perhaps I am a fool.

At this point in my life with horses, I had ridden my fair share of babies. But, Cash was not a baby, he was an auction horse. I had yet, in my life, ridden a horse that had come from an auction - aka, completely unknown. I had always had someone be able to debrief me on personality, previous encounters with humans, etc. etc. This debrief came over a quick cup of coffee, "Bought him for a steal of a deal, looks solid, get on him and see what he does."

The day I decided to ride him could have been, potentially, very embarassing for me. Three riding leaders came out, as well as one's young child and a non-horsie husband, and we planned a small, nice and easy trail ride. Two of the auction horses would be ridden, Cash, and the little bay mare, Peso. The rest of our crew (including, of course the child) would be on our solid, dependables. If I was going to come off, it was infront of a lot more people than I generally prefer to come off around.

I think, I was a little annoying that day. (No me.. not me... never me). I took my sweeet time with Cash. I round-penned him, sent him through his basic groundwork paces. He passed with flying colours. Butterflies were still doing jumping jacks in my stomach. I tacked him up, he was an angel. Perhaps I was so used to flighty, hyper sensitive horses that I just didn't know what to do with a calm, steady horse. I felt like there was some time-bomb I didn't know about, ticking underneath his big 'ol hooves. Funny how that works, isn't it?

The only qualm he had were the bits I was choosing for him, he didn't like my argentinian snaffle, nor did he like my basic snaffle, I put him in a solid curb, nada. Finally, I pulled out a bit that I had bought earlier that year at a small used tack store. I honestly bought it because I found it interesting, I never thought I'd use it. It had really short shanks, with a roller in the centre, however, it also had two small balls that rolled independently on either side. It was a bit of a contraption. It turned out that Cash loved that damn thing, he's the first horse I've ridden that actually uses the rollers to placate himself. If he were ever nervous, you could watch his tounge and jaw work the bit around and around. The bit helped me with his only problem, a bit of a busy-head.

We headed out, our first test was almost immediate - cross a river. Cash never, ever excelled at corssing rivers in the two months I rode him. He would literally barrel through the water like a goddamn hippo being chased by gunfire. At first, it was terrifying, his legs would sprawl one way and another. Any attempts to slow him down and ask him to politely take his steps were futile. He needed to be on the other side. He hated the uneveness of the big river rocks. He didn't know how to gingerly move through them like all the other ranch horses. My stomach churned as he barreled through the river.

The ride we were going on was our easiest - dubbed "Moss Springs", for the natural spring you arrive at, however, today it felt as if it were full of tests - a river crossing out of the gate, and now a large field. Truly, a lovely field, with a bit of a rolling hill, but nice and straight - great for a good, long lope. I sucked it up and figured it was time to go for a trot. All of a sudden, I felt myself enjoying the most lovely trot I have possibly ever encountered, I sat down, let out my breath and we transitioned into a jog. Finally, I put my leg on and asked for a lope - right lead, check. smooth and controlled, check.

As I was marvelling at what an amazing horse I was riding, one of the riding leaders came up to me and commented "looks like you found yourself a rocking horse", and I certainly had. I soon discovered what my Big Yellow Horse was. He was an arena baby. (well, one can think). I used to envision his past life as we went on our rides. I think he had been owned by an older lady who had some experience, but was simply getting too up in her years to ride anymore. I think she put all the right buttons on him, but realized that she just couldn't swing her leg up anymore like she used too, and sold him.

Cash knew all the moves - sidepasses, rollbacks, back-up, circles, walk, trot, jog, lope, gallop - anything you asked of him, he would do. He could also collect, he'd come onto the bit, raise his back, and away we'd go. It was stunning. He, was truly stunning.

Jingle had been missing for a month, lost out on a neighboring ranches expanse of land. The lady who had supplied me with solid, wonderful horses to guide on the year before was gone. Horses were becoming a tight commodity around the ranch, and I knew I needed a guide-horse. I decided on Cash.

However, similiar to rivers, Cash was a Big Yellow Chicken when it came to things on the ground. Walking him through deadfall - we'd be tripping and bouncey and falling all around. He was a bit of an odd horse, I was able to open a barbed wire gate, stretch it across my leg, sidepass him through it, and then drop it so that my group could come through. However, given him an incline or decline, and he didn't seemingly know what to do with himself.

I quickly learned what an arena baby he truly was, when we encountered our first cliff...

Come Hell, or High Water...

Jingle has now survived two massive floods...

The first occurred when he was a yearling at the Ranch he was born and raised at in 2005...

This lodge, and this river, was turned into this...

This is the right side of the lodge, a dorm called the "Burrow"

The damage was insane... The Flood completely changed the landscape, including creating still-existent riverways that had never been there before.

It turned the Wagon Cube, our area where we did our dances...

(Sidenote: I chose this photo because it's hilarious. Lisa was comforting a very homesick camper, who told her that he really missed his dog. She then told him that she would be his dog at the dance. So weird. So strange. The kid loved it.)

to an absolute mud pit.

I think this photo really gives you an idea of how dirty and damaging floods can be. 

I was pretty young then, and remember crying in my mom's arms as she received the email with attached photos of the damage, saying that the first week of camp was cancelled. For the owners, it was a huge blow, bridges were swept away, tack was ruined, houses were damaged, and the river changed the landscape. Finally, horses were hurt, changed and lost. My favourite story of all time that came out of the flood was that of Tad. Tad was the Rancher's horse for awhile, then he came down the string and ended up being the most responsible and trusting of horses. I've witnessed 3 year olds go on trail rides aboard Tad. He's a wonderful old man. Anyways, after the flood had hit they began to restore what was left, and try to relocate the horses. They were standing in the barn yard, formulating a plan, when Tad ran in whinnying, he then proceeded to run out, and then come back, and then leave again. Finally, they decided to follow him... sure enough, he led them to a mare bogged down. They had to pull her out, and if Tad hadn't brought them to her, she would have definitely died there. He's a hero horse, and a grand old man.

Tad, who spent the summer wandering the lawn and watching over our 5 yearlings. (Seriously, he never let them leave his sight)

A dapper old man

I have a hard time picturing a yearling Jingle in a flood situation. Knowing how my horse can be (haha) I just imagine him running around like an absolute wing-bat, and somehow he survived. Jingle, it seems, is a survivor at the best of times, and at the worst of times.

& in that thought, yesterday I got the go-ahead to start riding my boy again, after three and a half weeks of him being off! The vet came out and did multiple flexion tests, we hand-trotted, we lunged, he even had me get on and ride him. Which was surreal after not riding for over three weeks, and then annoying when Jingle decided that he did NOT want to lope his right lead and spent a little bit of time burying his head and humping around. Nice behaviour infront of our new vet, Jingle. Anyway, the vet concluded that Jingle maybe strained his fetlock, because that was the only test that he showed any signs of being off with. Jingle looked, and felt, great yesterday, but still seemed to be carrying himself slightly off. The vet said that he was traveling "uniquely" in his front, but that it didn't appear to be lameness because it wasn't agitated by any of the stress and flexion tests. He did say that perhaps when he actually was lame, it became accentuated, and more apparent to me because I was looking for something.

The Vet concluded that I should start riding (sidenote: we don't have arenas right now due to flooding and the mosquitos are overwhelming.. ugh) he said that I should start basic and build him back up, but that, for now, Jingle is sound. He also said that if there is a lameness, unfortunately riding will cause it to come back, and once he's back to being off, that is when they can best do more testing. So, a little nerve-wracking to start riding him again, incase it does re-appear, but for now, I'm very happy that I got the go-ahead to ride my boy again. Even if he's decided that loping is just not for him. Sigh... with almost two months off I fear we may be back to square one.

So... come hell, or high water... or bucking fits... we're going to start riding again! yippee.

& for my bates-ers that read this blog, remember these familiar faces? Sigh.. How time flies.

Gotta give a major shout-out to Garry for the photos, love ya buddy and appreciate it!

A Love Letter to Camp Counsellors

My friend, Sarah, posted this article by the Globe & Mail on her Facebook yesterday, entitled "Why being a camp counsellor is great training for becoming a Prime Minister" by Joanne Kates, it instantly caught my attention. Why? because, of course, I was the ultimate camp-kid, my first day-camp experience was when I was 6, then a stay over camp from 8 until 15, counsellor from 16-18, riding leader & "barn boss" from 19-20 until the very sad closure of my camp after this last summer... my summers from age 16 on were camp, nothing else.

The premise of the article is that the Conservative government is attacking Justin Trudeau in a series of ad campaigns that show his many jobs that render him unsuitable to be prime minister - one of them is his time spent at Camp Ahmek in Algonquin Park as a late teenager. Now, perhaps the baby Trudeau won't make a wonderful Prime Minister, but is this in part due to his time as a camp counsellor? I highly doubt it...

The Author states that the Conservative's have made a mist-step, since being a camp counsellor is an important, and high-skill job. She then goes on to list the qualities each camp counsellor has to have, and where those qualities and lessons are created in a camp setting. These examples are ones that every camp counsellor knows well... "Put 10 young kids in a cabin for a week or a month. It can be a powder keg. Sure, camp is fun and 99 per cent of children adore it; but there are inevitable - and sometimes intransigent - struggles." and "Maintaining order and discipline without descending to authoritarianism requires walking a fine line. How do two counsellors put ten children to bed, teeth brushed, faces washed, kindness reigning, all in under an hour?"

Performing a skit at Camp-fire

Well.. I can answer that, at my camp it was the fine balance of bribery, sternness and love. I fondly remember moments of, "Girls, if you are in bed in less than 5 minutes, I will read you two horse stories tonight, instead of just one!" but there was nights too where the kids crossed the line and went from hyped up on sugar, and restless, to plain disrespectful and rude - mob mentality of 12 year olds - and I can still remember the sting of my own counsellors saying to us kids, "I'm really disappointed in you guys, I've decided that there will be no nighttime activity tonight because I am simply too sad, and hurt. Please go to bed now." The lights would flick off and we'd all sit under our sleeping bags whimpering... disappointed...? The word "disappointed" is perhaps one of the most effective words in the English language. Of course, I (as a counsellor), and my counsellors of old, would then go spend time with their counsellor-friends, not being sad, or hurt at all, and by the next evening, the kids would all be little silent gem's, sparkling on their pillows, waiting for a bedtime story. Where else can you learn how to handle a group of swirling dervishes as effectively as that?

At my camp, half the day (and 90% of most little kids minds), focused on horses. I don't know if Justin Trudeau ever had to deal with kids plus horses, but the equation sure is an interesting one. During any morning we could have up to almost 40 kids huddled in the aisles, petting, brushing, saddling and taking out their horses getting ready to ride. Then throw in inexperienced young counsellors. Sometimes, it was mayhem, but it was always fun. Animals, especially horses, in my opinion, teach kids patience, respect and kindness. Our old crotchety mares would let the kids know when they were displeased, kids had to learn to watch out for little nips here and there, kicks and thumps, kids had to learn how to be aware. Such an important lesson. The horses also taught kids how to listen, and how to communicate. It wasn't rare to wander around the barn and hear a little camper whispering to their horse, sometimes it was sweet, "I love you, you are MY horse!", sometimes it was them sharing with their horse, "Today at lunch we had Mac and Cheese!" and sometimes it verged on sad, "Mac and Cheese is what my mom makes me when I'm sick, and I kinda miss my mom this week", and sometimes it verged on scared, "Please don't bash me into a tree today, okay?"

Just as horses taught kids, kids around horses taught us. A counsellor had to be patient, kind, and slow at explaining tough concepts. A counsellor had to be calm, assist when necessary, and let kids do as much as they could on their own. It was a tightrope, with a big horse on one end, and a itty-bitty-little fresh-faced 8 year old on the other, and you had to always walk one line, or another.

So, just as the author says, camp counsellors learn key concepts, lessons and qualities at their time at camp. This article really sums up for me why we did it, we we loved it, and why we'll never forget it. I always tell parents that camp is the BEST choice for kids - for me, especially stay-over camp, allows kids to learn how to be "independent" while still being taken care of and watched over. It forces them to make friends, but the counsellors are there to facilitate friendships with other campers if they struggle. It teaches them who they are, without parents, family, or the outside world that they know almost too well around.

For me, truly and honestly, being a camp counsellor completely changed my life. By the time I went to interview to become a camp counsellor (at my highly competitive camp, that is exceptionally hard to work at), I was taking steps down a bit of a murky, dirty path. Once I got the job, Camp picked me up by the back of my neck and swung me right onto another life path and it thumped me right down and said, "you're going to do well, but you better pick up on this stuff real quick, the kids come tonight." 

I am forever thankful for the lessons I learned there, the qualities that camp has given me and the life-long friends I am made.

Welcome Home Mac!

This is my bestfriend Brigitte and her "new" horse, Mac. Much like Jingle and myself, Mac was Brigitte's Bates "Heart-horse". One of the family members ended up keeping Mac for themselves, and Brigitte was able to lease him for the winter! So on Saturday she brought him home to the barn I board at!! I am so excited to have them at the barn, and probably have another Bates horse trump Jingle in the whole "well-broke, well-mannered" department. hahaha.

Trail Journal: 5

Putting on my chaps and getting ready to head out

**All photos thanks to the lovely riding-partner, Sarah :)

The last weekend until the big move out west! I got there bright and early and waited for a friend of mine (another Riding Leader named Sarah) to arrive. I discovered that The Rancher had gone to the Innisfail auction and brought home 4 new horses! An older, smaller arab (fingers crossed that she'll turn into a little kids beginner horse), a bay who wasn't approachable (ugh), a big stout palomino (perfect, stout is what we need and kids do love pallys) and a big gronky sorrel, who had nice eyes but a bit of an ugly head (you can't win 'em all). Although 4 new horses to the string is exciting and excellent news, it means that yours truly has to find time to ride all of them out before even counsellors can go on them. A broke horse can suddenly rear it's green head when confronted with a new, chaotic situation such as saddling time in the shed during summer. Also... as we all know, just because they seem broke in the sale ring, don't mean anything. A project for next week my friends!

Sarah on Timber... do you want to be on my blog? haha questions I should have asked before publishing your face on the internet

Sarah arrived and The Rancher told us we could go ride out in the neighbors lease where Jingle was, and hopefully find him. He had been spotted down by the fence line by a guy who lives out there during the week, so we hoped for the best and went to grab some horses. What an adventure grabbing horses was! None of my options could be found, and poor Sarah found hers right off the bat. The entire herd thought it would be hilarious to run and totally mob her and she led her big baby Timber around. I started resorting to plan D, E and F, but again - absolutely none of those buggers could be caught. I've detailed before how tremendously annoying it is that our string is so, so bad at being caught... ugh. So, we headed to the barn, saddled Timber (who was having some serious herd bound insecurities at this point) and I jumped on him to chase in the horse I wanted, Navy, who was across the river. Sarah grabbed Navy and I chased the rest of the horses out, opened up the gates heading to the lease and went to close another gate so the horses couldn't cross back into this particular pasture.

Big Coulee, named after the large gorge/coulee that runs through the entire valley

Let me tell you something... never before have I ever been so astonished in the stupidity of the horse I was handling. Timber literally attempted to WALK THROUGH a barbed wire gate. I almost had a panic attack. He was on top of me for about 4 minutes as a wrestled with this particularly crappy gate, and then, calm as ever, he walked right into it and KEPT GOING. I feared the worst, dropped the reins, dropped the gate, untangled the reins and led him back out of the barbed wire mess. Thank the lord he was fine and not a scrape to be seen, but I was pretty grumpy at this point.

Another shot of big coulee

We FINALLY got everything together, grabbed lunch, and headed out. The lease we were riding on is absolutely spectacular riding. There is a bit of a canyon/gorge in the middle, with massive rock walls on either side, and a stream running down the centre - absolutely breathtaking. We rode the ridge of the gorge for awhile, scouted out the land from some high spots, but not a Jingle in site... ugh. 4 hours later we headed home, with no Jingle with us... total bummer. However, the riding was excellent, as was the company - love you Sarah :) so I suppose I shouldn't complain.

We got back, fed our ponies, let them loose, and then went to go see the new horses. We discovered the Palomino and Sorrel had trapped themselves inside one of our shelters, and the Palomino had got his legs very cut up some how, we assume he put them through a panel and pulled back. We brought him in, sprayed and scrubbed him down - he stood like a gentleman, I was pleased, and then I sprayed him with Vetricyn and let him back out. The next day his cuts looked to be healing, and there wasn't much blood - plus he was walking much, much better, so hopefully that little surface wound doesn't slow him down. I doubt it will.

The ridge to the left is our lease

We eventually got dinner (after having to go to two seperate resteraunts), and by the time we got home my head couldn't hit the pillow fast enough.

Sunday, I expected a quiet, nice and easy going down. My arms ached so bad, and my brain was fried. Of course, when you wish for something calm - the opposite always happens. We were pulling our studs, 2 of which came easily and well natured, the other 2 - not so much. I found myself chasing a band of mares, and one of our studs, Leo, off a hillside, in pouring rain and hail, and then sliding straight down a steep incline - am I crazy? Yes, Yes I am. That's the thing with chasing horses and myself - the rational side of my brain totally shuts down, and then I find myself careening down a cliffside, jumping over logs, hooting and hollering, and it's only when I look back on it do I think, "Am I -explicit word- stupid? I should not do -explicit word- like that"

Waterfalls have sprouted up due to all the rainfall

Once I dried off, we planned to get the last stud, check over the mares and babies and then call it quits. Well... a prospective buyer, and her 3 children and 2 friends appeared... and guess we got to take them out for a ride? That's right - me. I could have fallen asleep on the saddle at this point. I took them to our lookouts so she could get a good lay of the land, and by 5 pm the sun was actually shining, and it turned into a nice ride. The lady was really, really nice, and her families experience and name in the horse world really impressed me. With all the saddness that surrounds the sale of my beautiful, beloved home away from home, I truly hope some really nice, genuine people buy it. These people fit that bill, I approved.

By the time I got back to the city, I was ready to sleep for 16 years. What a weekend. Never a dull moment at the ranch!

The "after-ride" photo

Sarah got these wicked shots of this owl on a hay bale.. i love them, they may have to become my blog header.

Trail Journal: 2

So... June has arrived!! Which means I get to go back to my ranch to work in the spring before camp starts. Of course, my mind was only on one thing - bringing my horse in. I'm sure i've discussed this before, but the string is sent to winter pasture elsewhere, then brought back, and kicked out on the back 1800 acres before summer starts. Sure enough, baby Jingle was sent out with the rest of them... sigh. They all need to come in, in two weeks anyways... but, I want my pony - NOW! 

So, with only one saddle horse available - Butterfly, a very old, pretty unattractive mare, that I have never paid much attention too - I headed out to find my horse in the wild blue yonder. I was actually pleasantly surprised with Butterfly, she walked out really nice, was responsive, rarely kicked up a fuss... gold star.

We headed up the Little Red Deer River, checking in on all the usual spots for where the horses could be. Here we are meandering up a clear cut that exits on to some areas horses are known to graze.

We headed to the "Far Lookout" and I hoped off to give her a break to munch some grass, while I surveyed the flats below. I was pretty shocked to find absolutely no horses on the far flats, usually the bigger herd hangs out here.

Here I am, still optimistic.

We came across Billy, and Charlie, our percheron team, and some of the younger stock.

Here's one of our Belgians, Luke.

I find it really cute the Heavy Horses had taken it upon themselves to "babysit" our little ones. Here are two long-yearlings, getting pretty close to Butterfly and I.

A third decided to come see what we were up too.

The tovero filly followed us for about ten minutes, until she stopped to watch us go. She's quite the looker, really flashy in a bit of a different way. By the way - all these babies are for sale!

A storm was approaching from the North-West... we carried onwards.

... Clearing... No horses.

We found Mac, Rapper and Ballet... still no Jingle.

Mac, the anglo-arab bay, took it upon himself to try to get with Butterfly. Manners Mac! By this time Butterfly was quite tired, and I knew it was time to head home... with Jingle nowhere to be found.

Sunday morning came, can you see resident grandfather Tad waiting for his daily bucket of beet pulp?

I love him quite a bit... such a good horse.

Sunday I seemingly found all the same horses as I had the previous day, just in different areas. I came across a couple others, but no Jingle. Poor Butterfly was worn out, and I made her work pretty hard for her supper, I felt a little guilty. I think Jingle must be with the larger herd, and I think I had found where they had been a day or two earlier, but I couldn't find where there tracks were heading. I rode home pretty sore - 7 hours in the saddle, and pretty sad. I really miss my horse, and I would have really liked to see him this weekend.

However - I made a new horsie friend. Butterfly sure is a good little mare, and I'm sad I've neglected to notice how special she is all these years. The only memory of her that sticks out in my mind is when a young boy from Japan came to camp... not only did he let Butterfly out of her box stall one day, she paraded around the barn, but she also dumped his poor bum in the river one day. Can't you see that wicked little glint in her eye? haha. I'd be happy to ride her again.

... but, i'd rather ride my baby.

Where are you Jingle? :(

Home.

This is going to be a hard one.

On March 3rd I found out that the ranch camp, Bates Bar J, I have been attending since I was 8, and working at since I was 16 - first as a camp counsellor, then as a riding leader, was up for sale. I don't begrudge anyone the burden of owning a place like that - completely privately owned and operated, it's the only camp in Alberta that isn't subsidized or helped by a government or outside organization. It's a second generation owned ranch, with a fourth generation now living and growing up there. It's hectic, and I am sure, hard to manage at times. Not only that, but people walk away from businesses all the time, for a plethora of reasons... it's just hard that this particular business is grounded and built on emotion. Yesterday, an official email was sent out to parents of campers - young, and old. My mom received the email, which is so strange because at one point she was such a big part of my camp process, and now I disappear there every summer on my own accord.

Obviously this blog post has been brewing for a long time, and it is probably the first of many, but I wanted to make sure that I knew what I was saying, that I wasn't going to emotionally spew out things that I would later regret. Also, I wanted everyone to find out on their own accord, and process it themselves.

It's hard to explain in words what Bates Bar J means to me... BBJ encompasses my entire soul. Not only is it where I discovered my love for horses, i've made lifelong friends there, and for a greater part of my existence on earth it has been the one anchor in the turbulence that is life. It is pure, beautiful and wonderful. Essentially, in the summer months, it is home. More so, in my heart.. it is always home.

The day after I discovered that camp as we know it will forever be changed as of fall, I wrote down all my feelings. I'll share some of that here...

Where is my mind right now?

I guess i'm in a bit of a mixed up place. I know certain things that I need to do in case of the unforeseeable - the ranch falling to someone who doesn't value the camp's virtues and traditions, or just plainly doesn't want the camp.

- I need to be out there for the entirety of the summer. I need to soak in every single moment of BBJ, and live in every second. I need to walk across the bridge every morning being thankful for what this place has provided me. I need to understand how blessed the land is, and how blessed I am for having experienced it. I just need to breathe it all in, because I love it so.

- I need to buy Jingle. It's funny because in my gut I knew that by September I would have him, but now it's definite. I need to find somewhere safe for him, and somewhere that makes him happy. This is so worrisome, I know that he's my "forever horse", that no matter how many horses I own, or how expensive some of them may be, I will have to keep him, maintain him and love him.

This is a gigantic leap.

I don't want the ranch to change hands, I just want it to stay forever the same. Forever my childhood, forever my adolescence, forever what it is. I want my kids to attend Bates Bar J, my grandkids... it's not even a camp to me, it is so eternally my home, the place where I have found the most happiness year after year

... to think what life would have been like without this place.

All the comments "when are you going to grow up?" etc. all along I knew that none of that mattered, that this place was where I belonged, more than any other place in this world.

& what if i'm to wake up and it's all gone?

i'll be so lost.

I want to treasure the shed, I want to remember the grease river front, the far lookout, all these places where i've left so much of my heart.

Bates Bar J... is my home, my life, my soul and spirit. It is where I leave behind so much of myself and it seems ridiculous because it's only 2 months out of 12... but all of a sudden I find myself realizing more and more that no matter what lofty goals, no matter how high my aspirations are, I always want to return to that place. I always want it to remain whole. Physically, not just in my mind.

I feel as if someone is tearing me apart.

Where will I call home if not beneath this big, blue sky?

Re-typing that I expected to cry, I expected the raw flood of emotions to reappear. To be rocking back and forth just sobbing.. but I didn't. Some days, are better than others, I think. I akin this experience, that of my spiritual home being sold, first to a breakup. When I first found the news I felt like the love of my life had suddenly got up and walked out the front door, leaving me alone and confused. It has now morphed into the process of watching something die, I feel as if I am nurturing every moment, picking carefully through my memories, reliving moments... because, it might all be gone as of September. That is an exceptionally morbid statement, but, I hold it true to myself.

I am trying to stay positive, but, it is hard. Even optimism is a hard pill to swallow sometimes.

So for now, I am very contemplative about the whole situation, but it has encompassed my entire heart and brain as of late. I feel very disconnected, and at times alone in my thoughts... thinking about a future without the place I love so much. I suppose I just wanted to be able to walk away from it myself, as so many people seemingly have. Those people seem happy, and functioning in their older lives, and I'm sure I will be as well. Yet, there is always just that thought in the back of my mind... what would have been?

I'm not sure if any of you reading this, aside from those fellow BBJers that read this blog, will understand this feeling, as I know it is a very particular and hard to place one. It is as if someone has shut a door on my childhood, is slowly shutting a door on my future and is telling me, "just stand there, just breathe, don't move." It's suffocating.

Anyways... that is where I am right now.

If we are lost, then we are lost together. Bates Bar J forever.