Horse Camp

I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting when I signed up to work with the equestrian crew at a Boyscout camp two summers ago.  I had filled my head with romantic notions of helping young boys overcome their fear of giant lumbering horses and getting to lead trail rides.  I had worked as a volunteer for two summers, for the most part keeping up with the paid wranglers.  Being on staff just meant I would be on payroll and not have as much time to see friends in the summer.

I showed up with a sleeping bag, various “necessities”, and ambition.  I left with the sleeping bag, some trail dust, and a better view about what was important to me.

First unnecessary necessity: soap.  When you work at a summer camp with horses that need fed and groomed daily, “dawn to dusk” takes on a much more visceral meaning.  When you wake up at six to feed, turn out the horses from the last trail ride at nine, and it takes an hour for you to wind down, energy becomes a valuable resource.  I had never realized how much energy it took to do menial tasks until I found myself trimming fat at the end of the day.  Talking took calories.  Standing took calories.  To that end, showering took calories.  So when we headed to the shower house at night, I was faced with a decision: call Alien (then my boyfriend) with the relatively better reception, or actually clean my filthy body?  More than once I chose the phone call.  Sometimes I would finish the phone call with just enough time to tear off my clothes and throw my stanky self in the tail end of the hot water, put on the same dirty clothes, go home and fall asleep.  And when you’re surrounded by pubescent boys all day in the hot sun, ain’t nobody gonna say you smell.

Second unnecessary necessity: cash.  I had brought some pocket change with me to spend at the trading post whenever I caught a spare break.  Spare breaks never happen at a horse camp.  When resting a sore and blistered foot is seen as lollygagging, the dreams of a frozen trading post slushie quickly died.  So the cash sat in my wallet, silently crying to be converted into tiny ice crystals and juice.  Instead, it (and most of my paycheck) was converted into gasoline every other weekend in order to visit Alien.

Third unnecessary necessity: dignity.  As a first year on staff, anything and everything I did had to be taught to me by someone else.  This can get particularly frustrating when the Boss (who runs things on paper), Slender (who knows how to run things in actuality) and Alpha (who ran everything in her mind) all ask you to perform the same task differently.  I quickly learned to apologize for my every shortcoming, and watch my back before scrubbing the horse tank.  Because if you used THAT broom when Alpha was watching?  Well, there went ten minutes of your life.  Besides performing every task incorrectly, there was the matter that you were forced to live in close quarters (and I do mean close) with the same people for three months out of the year.  Dignity becomes an unknown entity as your campmates watch your silly habits.

And finally, an unexpected necessity: Friendship.  Without Slender and Red, I wouldn’t have lasted a week out at that camp.  Slender acted as my protective big brother, making sure the scouts didn’t steamroll me during merit badge classes, and showing me the ropes of wranglerhood.  Red’s bright spirit kept me going through the storms, both literal and emotional, that camp inevitably brings.  They both made sure I drank water and find times to give me a break during the hottest part of the day.  We traded trail ride shifts when one of us was tired, usually with Slender picking up the slack for both of us.  We spent our evenings sharing stories, from the day, from previous camps, and from life in general.  Through the shared trials and tribulations, I forged a strong friendship with the pair.

That summer taught me more about “honest work” than I could have ever asked for.  I know what it’s like now, when the only option is to keep going.  I know what it’s like to be so bone tired that walking and eating become reflexes instead of activities.  I’ve learned what joy there is in teaching (and learning from) young children, and in working with horses.  It wasn’t always magical, and for what it paid, I can never go back.  But that doesn’t mean I’m sorry to have experienced it, and I will continue to urge my colleagues to take similar challenges.  It’s amazing to see what happens when you’re pushed to your limits.  It’s rarely painless, but it’s always informative.