As a young girl from Illinois I could only imagine what it was like to be a cowgirl. I loved horses and spent hours in front of TV westerns and reading every book about horses and riding that I could find. I thought that even though I didn’t live out west that wrangling horses must surely be in my blood. Those daydreams were eventually replaced by new and more complicated teenage fantasies. My worn copies of National Velvet and My Friend Flicka ended up on the shelf in my closet along with my horse statues and the framed picture of my first pony ride.
My adolescent dreams were suddenly reawakened when after High School graduation I landed a summer job on a Colorado dude ranch. I pictured myself once again on horseback leading trail rides and dressed from hat to boots in western wear. When I arrived at the ranch, it was everything I had imagined and more. There was a huge barn, log cabin lodge and out buildings that were designed to look like an old western town. Cowboys, cowgirls and horses were everywhere and I couldn’t wait to step into my fantasy role and ride off into the sunset.
When the jobs were assigned the most experienced with horses became wranglers and much to my disappointment the rest of us became housekeepers, kitchen staff and store clerks. There was no fast track, on the job training for trail guides. I told myself that wrangling potatoes in the mountains was still better than most summer jobs and if I couldn’t be a cowgirl at least I could live in my imaginary world for a little while.
When the summer ended I had to let go of my adolescent dreams and the more mature wisdom of a high school graduate took over. I realized that it was foolish of me to want to be a cowgirl. I would just marry a cowboy.
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