cowtown
The tradition continues. Girls weekend in Calgary for Stampede. The pilgrimage to Calgary (aka Cowtown) started in 2007 and I returned last night from my third consecutive year at the Stampede. If Krista didn't live there, I probably wouldn't go to Stampede. But she does and the annual event serves as a good excuse for the girls to get together and have fun. So we do.
In preparation for the weekend, I dust off the cowboy hat and brace myself for endless country tunes, meat markets, and girls with low self esteem (if there's a Canadian equivalent to Daytona Beach during spring break, it's Calgary during Stampede). Needless to say, it's not my scene. But it is an interesting scene to observe.
In some respects, Stampede reminds me of my rural youth. Despite the urban setting, Stampede has a rural feel. Especially the rodeo. There's something about the rodeo that brings back memories of the guys in my grade driving their tractors to high school and visits to agricultural fairs and playing in barn lofts amongst the hay bales. Maybe it's the smell of barn in the air or maybe it's the presence of farm animals, but it's not really the rodeo itself. Although entertaining to watch, tie-down roping, team roping, steer wrestling, saddle bronc riding, bareback bronc riding, bull riding, and barrel racing don't have any real sentimental value for me.
As much as I welcomed the transition from rural to urban when I left home (I consider myself a city person through and through), I have a soft spot in my heart for the farm. Back in the day, I wanted to be anywhere but there and I did not appreciate farm life. But now, I'd love to travel back in time to 1993 and spend a day or two on the farm. Milking the goats. Collecting the eggs. Feeding the rabbits. Picking corn and shelling peas. And going for a walk through the fields and into the woods. Feeling rejuvenated by it all.
I do realize that I've left out all the unpleasant aspects of farm life - shoveling manure, bailing hay, weeding, chasing stray chickens, getting up at 5 am in the winter, transforming animals into meat. In my time travel farm fantasy, I choose to conveniently ignore the less romantic dimension of farming. Otherwise it wouldn't be much of a fantasy.
