Samantha Cavin
Jim Irons
English 101
12 February 2014 Dust and Dirt – Memories I Hold Dear
It was August 24, 2010 – hot, hot, hot, and my first day on the job for Gary Stark. I parked my beat up, brown and cream, 1980, Bronco, in the trailer lot near two, very large, fancy stock trailers, and walked up to the front of the barn where it met with the arena, as I saw Stark riding a small, sorrel, gelding around, working on his stopping, backing, and his general ability to move off of his hind end, my life began to be put into perspective, and I knew nothing, but I so badly wanted to learn! I climbed upon one of the hitching posts and rested my feet upon the seven foot panel, watching as this man very effortlessly, loped this young colt, and made it look so wonderfully beautiful, no trouble at all. When he was finished he walked that now sweating, and heaving, gelding to where I sat along the rail, and stepped off of his horse, opened the gate and walked up to me. I quickly slid off of the hitching rail, and rushed to meet him at the gate. He extended his large, muscular hand in my direction, and I snatched it up like a hungry pup snapping at a steak, I eagerly shook his hand, with a sheepish grin. He never smiled, only asked if I was willing to work - hard and cheap. I nodded enthusiastically, six dollars an hour, and all the knowledge my little brain could hold. I looked like a too eager idiot, but I didn’t care, I got a job, and my dream job at that, I never realized what an impact that job would have on my life, and what great knowledge and tools I would take from it. I’ve never really been a sentimental-type well not in a pack rat sense, I’ve always been more of a nostalgic person letting my memories take me back to a better or worse time, at the discretion of the memory, but never really holding onto specific articles of anything to make the memories more real to me, not really at least until Gary Stark braided me a rawhide cavvason for Christmas in 2010.
I spent the next four months working as I’ve never worked before, from sun up to sundown, rain or shine, the hot August sun quickly changed to bitter, cold, October wind, and the icy rain fell sideways in November; but I was happy. Happy to have a job, and happy to be working with such a knowledgeable and handy person as Gary Stark. Even through the weather, and the cheap, back-breaking work, nothing could keep me down. He taught me a lot along the way, not just about horses but about life in general. I will forever feel indebted to Stark for just how much he taught me, and how he treated me like one of his daughters. When Christmas came around I was working every day, up until winter vacation and on this specific December day the grey sky with its heavy clouds began to dump, large, fluffy, snowflakes to the Earth. Gary called me one day as I was leaving school in Meridian, and told me to be very cautious of the roads, and to not worry about coming to work that day because Tee lived closer and could get the stalls for me that day. For the next week or so, every day at about one I would get a fateful phone call from Gary saying, “Don’t worry about it today Sam, roads are too bad to drive.” And after about the third day, instead of jumping up and down with glee at having a day off, I was beginning to feel behind in my learning. When the sun came up to hide behind the clouds the next morning, I decided; I would brave the road no matter the condition, so that I could go to work, and miraculously Gary didn’t call. It was about two days before Christmas Eve, and I confronted the driving rain to Gary’s, the snow now melted by the rain, was still slick, but not as dangerous. When I arrived, Gary was happy to have the help cleaning the stalls in the rain, no horses were to be road because the arena was flooded, and the ground around the property was a clay-like dirt, that with so much moisture became like snot. Too dangerous to move cattle or horse upon, in fear of slipping, and breaking a bone, or pulling a muscle. When we had finished picking all 37 stalls, Gary invited me inside his home to warm up before going home. I sat at the kitchen bar, petting “Maggie” the trusty Australian Shepherd who more or less guarded the barn, and idly talking to Cindy, Gary’s girlfriend, while Gary moved about in the room behind us. We ate cookies, and shared stories of one thing or another, and just as I was about to leave, Gary came out of his ‘work shop’ holding a stiff, braided cord of rawhide in his hands. He handed it to me with a wry smile, and said, “For your fatheaded mare. Merry Christmas.” I took it from his hands, excited at my new gift, and thanked him graciously before skipping out the door to my pickup.
That cavvason, saw me through my best and greatest moments with Gary Stark. A pragmatic tool, something with grit, and use, and use it I did. The mare that I had bought from Gary in the fall was now coming along decently, I used the cavvason, every day, every ride, no matter where we were, or what we were doing. It added class and style to my meager tack collection, it was basic, but so beautiful to me. A practical instrument, used to keep my horses’ mouths from opening wide enough that they could get away from bit pressure. It saw me through my greatest accomplishment with Gary, and my worst defeat.
Two weeks after I had gotten my new cavvason, I put my third ride on my new mare, the cavvason was bright, shiny, and still smelled of the rawhide cream that was rubbed into the rawhide to keep it supple. My new mare Ghost, was having difficulty understanding that I wanted her to back up, she kept tossing her head, and throwing a fit, gaping her mouth open to avoid the pull of the snaffle bit, upon the bars of her mouth. I was afraid to put the cavvason on my mare, in fear that having too much bit pressure in the beginning would cause my mare to panic, and throw a fit, when I needed her to pay attention the most. The rain fell hard, and I kept at my mare, asking her to back, offsetting her face, and catching her on the other side, to no avail, she just kept fighting back throwing her head, and gaping her mouth. Finally after about twenty minutes, she reared – throwing her head back and bashing me in the face, knocking my front tooth out. My mouth now pouring blood, Gary came out, and yelled at me to put that cavvason on her. I pulled the snaffle from her mouth, slid the cavvason over her nose, and behind her ears, and put my bridle back on, and remounted, asked her to side pass, then pulled straight back catching her off guard, without being able to gap her mouth that mare backed right quick and in a hurry, that cavvason helped me fix that mare, and now I just had to have my tooth fixed! That cavvason saw me through the best and worst times working for Stark, I loved it so much. It was such a useful tool, and I never wanted to get rid of it. By the time I quit working for Gary Stark, that once bright, and gleaming white chunk of rawhide had now turned, brown with dust and horse sweat. With such beautiful and painstaking craftsmanship, it was still a sight to see on the face of a horse. I vowed to never get rid of it, keeping it until the rawhide had frayed to bits, or until the bleeding heart knots on the cheek pieces snapped, all until I moved in with my ex-boyfriend and his mom. His mother thought it was such beautiful craftsmanship that she stole it from me, and hid it from me when I moved to Nevada to start colts out of Elko, I later found out that her dog had chewed it up, and my link to my time with Gary Stark was now gone, down to the belly of a dog, and a greedy woman. I still wish I had that old piece of animal hide, it was a reminder of better days, and a time when horsemanship, and life were beautiful, and balanced.