Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Darrel was wearing a dark red cowboy shirt and cowboy jeans and a cowboy belt, and,
oh my goodness, I couldn't help myself from exclaiming, “You even have cowboy shoes?!”
(Yes, I said that.)
Not my most polished introduction, I know. But it's been a long-standing dream of mine
to be a cowboy, and if this trip was all about making people's dreams come true, I figured
it didn't hurt if one of them was mine. I asked them if they had a farm, and when I found
out they did, I offered my services in exchange for a place to sleep.
Darrel and his ranch hand, Seth, had just come into town to pick up some supplies. I
figured if Seth could apprentice on the farm, why couldn't I? Darrel answered me just as
calmly as before, as though he was asked this question every day, “Yeah, we can do that.”
I followed them down the highway and onto one of the most picturesque roads I had
ever seen; it felt like I was driving slap-bang into the middle of the movie Field of Dreams .
The first thing Darrel did was introduce me to his family, all ten of them. They all
seemed genuinely happy to meet me. Entertained by my fascination with all things cow-
boy, they were willing to indulge me, even dressing me up as one and taking me on a tour
of the farm, led by an eight-year-old girl who drove me around in an ATV. I guess what
happens in Nebraska stays in Nebraska, unless you meet some pesky Englishman who tells
everyone your secrets.
I will tell you right now, lest you think I had some previous skills in this area: I have
never lassoed anything before in my life. Ever. So when Darrel handed me a rope and asked
me to lasso one of his cows, which was minding its own business in a nearby field, I felt
a tinge of apprehension. I mean, a moving target? Sure it was a bloody slow-moving one,
but still? Even worse than the challenge was the fear that I might fail and a make fool of
myself in front of my new friends.
All my life, I have feared failure. Maybe that's why I decided it was easier to be the
jester, everyone expects the jester to mess it all up. As I sent the rope forth only to watch it
fall feet away from my intended target, I could feel the mask of silliness rise up and envel-
op my very being. Suddenly, I didn't want to fail at this.
As Darrel walked up to take back the rope, I gently stopped him.
“No, please give me one more try.” I breathed in deep, let go of the jester, and out soared
the rope, falling beautifully across Bessie's neck. (She didn't actually have a name, so we'll
just call her Bessie for posterity.)
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