I can't guarantee the accuracy of any of the historical events noted below. My memory isn't what it used to be.
Let me start from the beginning...
So, uh, I grew up wanting a horse. What little girl doesn’t? Maybe I wanted one because my best friend, Andrea, had one (well, more than one!). Maybe I wanted one because they’re such beautiful animals. Maybe I wanted one because it looks like so much fun to ride one. Or maybe I wanted one because I wanted to grow up to be the Rodeo Queen. Regardless of why, the truth of the matter is, I never did get a horse (“Ain’t nobody got time for that.” My dad knew better. Thanks, Dad.), and I’ve only ridden a horse a handful of times. And some more truth is, horses are bleepity-bleep-bleepin' scary, and they’re not very comfortable to ride either. And the final truth is, the closest I came to being crowned the Rodeo Queen was when the rodeo clown mistook me for her, as I helped set-up the concession stand at the rodeo. “No. I’m not the queen. I just work here.” (Tell me, “Why am I invisible to everyone but clowns, kids (who can’t find their moms), and dogs??? Why??”)
Another thing I wanted growing up, was to spend time at the Walthill Memorial Rodeo. Rodeo Weekend made Walthill feel like “The Walthill” my parents used to know – like “The Walthill” I was lucky enough to catch the tiniest glimpse of as a very young child. “The Walthill” that appeared to be prospering and a place you were proud to call “home”. Walthill – "Home of the biggest little rodeo."
To see so many people come together in MY hometown while having, what appeared to be, fun, and to see my parents socializing in town was amazing! And to be able to say, “Cowboy Bob was here,” well…that just says it all!
I didn’t have any MAJOR involvement with the rodeo (see the paragraph above about horses and me). My involvement was quite minor, in fact. I would go and watch the rodeo with my family (on the bleachers), OR I would run around the rodeo grounds with whichever friend who happened to be there that night. To reiterate my very little involvement, I think I was only in the parade twice (once to carry the Walthill Marching Band Banner, and once when the Homer Drill Team was in the parade).
When I was finally old enough to go to the Rodeo Dance, it was a pretty big deal! But I was always too embarrassed to dance (by myself or with anyone…if anyone even asked….it’s hard being a shy teenager!). But when I finally got over my stage fright, finding someone to do “the pretzel” with…well THAT was a successful night!
I remember being at one of the dances at the Legion Hall, and two kids/young adults (who shall remain nameless) decided to get in an argument. Guess who was in the middle of it. THIS oblivious girl. It certainly wasn’t about me. I was just literally “in the middle” of it. I quickly vacated the area just as their friends “broke up” the fight. I suppose that was just par for the course. After all, it wasn’t a rodeo dance (or wedding reception, for that matter) without a fight and “Takin’ Care of Business.” Or was it “Old Time Rock & Roll”? Or was it both of those songs?? ;)
Besides the handful of dances I attended, one of my fondest childhood memories of the rodeo was when I was (a kid) running all over the rodeo grounds with Andrea, and on this particular night, it seemed like a great idea to knock on the clown’s trailer door and run away (over and over again). Hilarious. The clown didn’t think so, but we did. I should mention, it was totally her idea. ;)
One of my least favorite, but probably most memorable rodeo experiences, was when it had rained a ton before the rodeo and the rodeo grounds were all muddy. They had put something down to create “paths” (gravel or crushed asphalt or something) so you could get around without getting all muddy, but if there’s mud, I’ll find it. The rodeo was over for the night, so I was getting down from the bleachers, and decided to hang on the side of the bleachers (like monkey bars) and “work” my way to the end where it wasn’t so muddy. Naturally, I accidentally let go with both hands and fell….right into the mud. My entire right side was covered in mud (head to toe)! My mom was pretty upset with me. “Lindsey! What were you doing?!” She had a new minivan and did NOT want me to get in it (covered as I was). My older cousin from California happened to be there, so we walked to my grandma’s house. Fortunately, our grandma lived in town, and I was able to hose off there before getting in the van! (I’m not sure what my mom would have done if my grandma hadn't lived there!) But the point is – I had to walk ALL the way from the far end of the rodeo grounds through EVERYONE to get out…all while covered in mud. I was probably somewhere between 8 and 10 years old. Humiliating. Happy Trails to me...
My parents usually ended up “getting roped” into helping with the rodeo – maybe it was taking tickets and money at the gate or helping in the concession stand – but they were usually helping at the event at least one of the three nights. When I got old enough, I helped wherever my mom was…usually in the concession stand. (So THAT’S where my anxiety of waiting on people began! Hmmm…interesting!)
As the years went on, a new generation of volunteers slowly took over. The familiar faces I had grown accustomed to seeing that weekend were fading - more and more with each passing summer. I graduated from high school. My parents moved off of the farm. But for a while, it was still an important tradition to go to the rodeo at least one night each year, and to always go to the parade. Even in college, I made it back to town to take a picture of the big tree across from the Rodeo Grand Stand for one of my projects…I don’t remember what class it was for or what the project was, but I do know it had something to do with things that were important to me. That tree made the list!
The last time I remember REALLY getting into the rodeo was during the town’s Centennial celebration. 2006. (Someone please fact check for me! Even with the power of the Internet, I have no desire to use it!) I wasn’t quite 23 years old and had been married for just over a year. (I’m not sure why I’m sharing that, but those details seem important – maybe to help me put the time in perspective!) Was that also the year there was a sand volleyball tournament? With hot lava instead of sand? Okay. I’m exaggerating, but it was a SCORTCHER! And the dance was held on Main Street, instead of the Legion Hall or Fire Hall. It was WAY too much fun! There seemed to be a lot of activities and so many more people in town. Who remembers that weekend??
Centennial aside, family dynamics changed, and traditions couldn’t be what they once were.
I was married and was working full-time, and it just became increasingly difficult to squeeze in a hot sweaty weekend in a town that was looking less and less like the town I had remembered and more and more like the remains of a war zone…and then I had children, and it became even more difficult…because I was terrible about bringing them ANYWHERE. Kids need so much stuff…and I am just an awkward clumsy mess! And did you know that when you have young children, 100° feels like 1000° (and it's always 100° during the rodeo)?? Did you know that when you have young children, the thought of lugging a child (and eventually children, you know, plural…) into a hot, sticky, dusty environment during a precious moment of downtime (called the weekend) doesn’t sound that appealing? And that’s how it began. My slow departure from supporting the rodeo.
But this last weekend, the last Rodeo Weekend ever, we were actually out of town – at a wedding. We had a “good” excuse to miss Friday and Saturday night’s performances. We were HOURS away. But when we got back home on Sunday afternoon, we were all SO exhausted, and we had promised the girls a little time at the pool. And when all was said and done, we were just too tired of being hot and tired to get BACK in the car to go to the parade and sweat. Just couldn’t do it. So we didn’t.
And I think that’s what happens to a lot of people and a lot of small towns. They get tired, hot, and sweaty. (That was a joke.) But seriously, no matter how sweet or important the memories, once your family and friends are gone from the area (the central congregating zone for the whole weekend), once your responsibility is gone from the event (you know, the reason you HAD to be there in the first place), once you have a family of your own, it’s hard to put forth the effort it takes to just “show up”.
Life has gotten complicated. Too complicated to even enjoy the simple things. Maybe it’s just a season. Maybe someday we won’t feel so overwhelmed by everything that we think we have to do. Maybe someday it won’t feel like such an inconvenience.
But whether it’s a season or not. Whether things change or not, I’m sorry to say goodbye to the “Walthill Memorial Rodeo”. I’m sorry to say goodbye to a town that isn’t what it once was. But thank you for being what you were when you were and giving all of us the memories that we have.
“I’ll come back. I’ll come back. I’ll come back, you know I will. I’ll come back to that little town of Walthill…..”
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