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Every geographical area has their own clock and calender centered around it's celebrated events. In Riggins, Rodeo weekend means more than too many cars parked up the River Road, big trucks cruising Main Street with 14 intoxicated people hanging out of the back, food vendors in every little slot they can fit in and having to quadruple stock the beer order. It really means it's time to plant your tomatoes. You can't go wrong if you put those starts in the ground on the first weekend of May. ALL the old timers say so, and I have to agree. It's a good omen....and you can almost bet it won't freeze again.
Gramma says, "If your plants like you, honey, you'll have a ripe tomato by the 4th of July." Of course, she plants Early Girls and her plants love her and she ALWAYS has a ripe beauty by then. She knows just what to feed them and when. She knows just how far apart to space them so that they don't get claustrophobic or lonely. She knows that they like people and that they don't like cigarette smoke. I absolutely adore watching Gramma in the garden.
Rodeo weekend also means that the morels are out. You can bet your life on it. Just like clockwork every year. In fact, back in the day, we used to make an annual get-out-of-town-to- hunt-morels weekend, on every rodeo. This was in between our stage of party-till-you-drop and the OH!-we-have-kids stage. These days morel hunting is an adventure and a mainstay for all of us. We gather up the baskets and the pocket knives. We load up the dog and three squealing girls with pony tails. We turn the music on and head up "No-Tell-'Em" Creek. We unleash on that hill like no body's business! Daddy always finds the first mushroom and the girls fight over who has the biggest one and then we all whisper so the baby can get her nap in the car seat. Inevitably, we run into friends up there, that are doing the same thing, and we stop for a chat over the hood of the rig. It's good 'ole fashioned fun.
But, on the first weekend of May we do make it downtown for the Riggins Rodeo madness, eventually. The kids know that the parade means candy and pretty ladies on horses. The parents know it means Bloody Marys are acceptable, and even recommended, before noon. Sunday is the day for our family to get over to the Rodeo grounds and vie for a spot on the locals bleachers. It's the day to hope for sun. There are less crowds and most of the crazy youngins are so hungover they don't head out into daylight until noon.
Last year, we had perfect weather for our Sunday adventure. We parked on the outskirts of town, loaded up our picnic basket, and made the trek across the bridge to the Rodeo action. The first thing that happens in a crowd is that the parents panic and the kids turn off their ears and get the blank stare going. We made sure that the girls were out of imminent road danger and that they were holding our hands, while Daddy started herding his crew to safety, all the while balancing the baby in the back pack. We were quite a scene.
As soon as we got to the edge of the moving mass of people, we saw the familiar faces of some of our good friends. The kids ran to greet each other and we made our way to the booth to pay. I quickly counted heads and we proceeded in the direction of the bleachers on the far side of the arena.
As we slowly weaved our clan to camp Rodeo, the deep voice of the announcer came across the loud speaker, "We have a lost little girl up here. She must have been told not to talk to strangers, because she won't tell us her name!" He chuckled at his own joke. Travis and I looked at each other and laughed. What a good kid, we both thought.
"Where's Charlee?", I heard one of the kids ask. And it sunk in....NO WAY! Where is Charlee???
I looked at Travis carrying the baby on his back, he looked at me, "RUN!", he yelled.
At this precise moment, the announcer's voice said, "She finally decided to talk and said her Daddy's name is Travis Hollon!" PANIC!
I darted through the arena dodging horses and clowns and slipping in mud and muck. I panted as I made my way up the steps to the announcer's booth. No Charlee. They looked at me. I looked at them.
"You must be the Mom? Someone came and got her already." I didn't say a word as I fled down the steps and headed in the other direction. I got around to the road side and there she was holding hands with Rhonda Spicklemire, looking sheepishly up at me. Thank God for good people and a small town!! I hugged my middle child, and felt mad and glad at the same time.
"What happened, honey?!" I looked intensely into her eyes and held her close.
"I was following your legs and then they weren't your legs...they were somebody elses," she replied shakily, trying to smile.
So we lost a kid and we hadn't even been there for 15 minutes! I rounded back past the ticket booth, a sheepish Charlee Beth in tow, and the ticket collector said, "You must be hell in Walmart!" I laughed and sighed. I felt relieved and embarrassed and ready for a beer. It was the start of a beautiful Rodeo.
We are more than hoping, this year, to up our odds on making it to the bleachers with all 5 members of the family! And as we all laugh at the cooler races, the bumps and bruises, and as we "ooh" and "aah" at the bull riders and cheer our hearts out for the locals, we will remember that this is the end of spring and the beginning of summer. We will remember how happy we are that we have this day to laugh and cry with our friends. We will enjoy the innocence of the sweet wrangler butted children perched on the fence. We will hug old classmates and kiss their babies. We will try and drink some water in between the cheap canned beer and we will scream and yell and enjoy the comfort of knowing that the tomatoes are in the ground and the morels are drying on the counter. Happy 2011, first weekend in May, Rodeo madness to all!
