Pause. It Happens.

Personal Narrative

Have you ever felt as if someone hit the pause button on your life or as if you’re moving in slow motion? I have.

Pause. All the sounds of the outdoors silenced, bodies stood immobile, hearts buckled… it was as if I was an outsider looking in to one of the most horrific experiences of my life. I refused to hit play.

It was the middle of October, a quiet, cool, morning in the mountains of Rociada, New Mexico. My face was pasted between the cold iron poles, my eyes wide as tears started accumulating, my jaw quickly dropped, as I stood there speechless, helpless, motionless and watched my mom experience what we thought as the unimaginable.

New Mexico, the land of enchantment, a mysterious yet beautiful place full of wildlife, culture and landscapes, is a place that I frequented growing up. As a child, my family often traveled to our ranch in northeastern New Mexico to a little valley called Rociada. With 18,000 acres of mountains and valleys, this ranch became a part of who I am.

Today, I am often misread as a sorority girly-girl but it shocks people to learn about my love for the ranch. Growing up in downtown Dallas, I’ve gotten the city life down to a T by now. Where I differ from most city girls is the fact that my family spent our spare time in the country. My family has been fortunate enough to have three ranches spread across New Mexico and Texas.

With spreading time between all of the ranches, you can see how my family was very ranch oriented. Horses, longhorns, cattle, buffalo, hunting and fishing are a few of the aspects we’ve acquired on the ranches throughout the years. To put it in perspective, I was put on a horse at three months old. Granted I rode in the lap of either my dad or mom, I have loved being on a ranch ever since I can remember.

I can’t pinpoint what it is that entices me so much but the wide-open spaces and rolling landscapes seem to take the weight of life right off. Being in the country allows me to finally breathe. Breathing is great until the incomprehensible happens.

Since my dad was a little boy, round-up has always been a tradition for our family. By law in the state of New Mexico, each cattle herd must be branded, vaccinated, and annually inspected for any fallacies. As both my dad and grandfather both are invested in cattle operations, round-up is second nature for us. October has always been the best time of year to schedule this event, especially in New Mexico when the weather is beautiful, the cows have given birth, and the bulls have been weaned off. Plus it is always a good excuse for a family reunion away from the cityscapes we are too used to.

What may come as a shock to most “city folk”, cattle operations are one of the most dangerous interactions and engagements. In order to properly check the cattle, it is important to coral them into segmented cattle pins and chutes. My family normally has around 400 head of cattle based in New Mexico. With so many head, we have to have enough horse riders to properly drive the cattle down from the mountains and into the pins.

At only six years old, I was not allowed to participate in the horseback part of roundup. Therefore playing around in the hay barn was a very normal activity while the young kids anxiously awaited the men to come galloping in with the cattle.

As if it was straight out of black and white Western film, at the first sight of the men and cattle, the women and children all hurry to the edges of the cold iron pens. The smell of the iron of the branding stick fills the air. Dust flies all around the pens as the cattle pace the boundaries of the corral. Screams of joy echo in the valley as someone successfully ropes a calf.

The round up is progressing with ease. Because my sisters and I were too young to be in the pens assisting the adults, we were stationed at the fence observing every detail in hopes of learning our roles in this western charade.

Pause. This is it. This is that moment where I stepped outside of my body and watched as the worst happened. My face was pasted between the cold iron poles, my eyes wide as tears started accumulating, my jaw quickly dropped, as I stood there speechless, helpless, motionless. One cow had jumped a gate and headed full speed for my mom.

“Not her, not my mom. Run! This can’t happen to me,” thoughts raced through my head, as I had to watch my mom sprint to escape the direct path of the cow. The inevitable was about to happen.

Play. Boom. I stood there numb, stagnant, watching my mom fly backwards, directly into the fence.

Pause. It happened. My family stood stunned at the situation. My dad had hurdled off his horse by now. My sisters and I stood, tears already streaming down our small innocent faces, as our lungs were filled with the dusty air screaming to wake up from this nightmare.

Fast-forward through the rush to her side, through the

30 minute drive to the closest hospital, through the care flight to Santa Fe, to the moment where we sat in the waiting room awaiting the big man in light blue scrubs to finally appear in the dark hallway. What seemed like the longest four hours of traveling and waiting, also seemed to fly by in one second.

Pause. How had such a beautiful and sacred place suddenly become something I despise with every hint of emotion left in my body?

Fast-forward one more time. Today, as I sat to write this story, I’m blessed to be able to say I was on the phone with no one other than my mom, the most amazing, beautiful, and strongest woman I know. That silent October day in New Mexico my mom lost one kidney and we were blessed to keep her life. Although she had other serious injuries the doctors had to overcome, she is a survivor and one tenacious cowgirl.

My family has continued our fall tradition of cattle round-up ever since. Naturally, round-up now carries a little bit more of an observant attitude, but the tradition continues nonetheless.

My love for the ranch, well, it never really went away. Ranch life is one part of my life that I refuse to let go of. As far as my mom, she and my dad have retired to their dream home on 1,000 acres of pure Texas hill country. Home is where the heart is, and to me my heart lives in the rolling views of the open country.

 

Reviews

[Brian]

"As if it was straight out of black and white Western film, at the first sight of the men and cattle, the women and children all hurry to the edges of the cold iron pens. The smell of the iron of the branding stick fills the air. Dust flies all around the pens as the cattle pace the boundaries of the corral. Screams of joy echo in the valley as someone successfully ropes a calf." From this paragraph on, the story is incredible. Great details, great phrasing. Everything leading up to this was average at best for me. I think you should have just started the story as "It was the middle of October." Nevertheless, your mom is blessed and I wish the best to her, you, and your family. Great story!!