Rodeo, again.

I mean, if you follow along with this little blog of mine - even half-heartedly - you had to know it was coming. I am not the least bit sorry. This year was a little different, however. Not only did I go twice (because - who wouldn’t?) - but I was witness to something incredible.

Mud. Oodles of Mud.

And it was a Time…

It all started like this….

Cody - he really is pretty awesome, I mean - if someone comes to the rodeo with me, they are essentially going by themselves. To sit and eat overpriced fries, guard my melting ice cream - alone, in the stands - amidst a sea of people. There really is no way I am going to sit with you in the stands, and visit or watch the show with you - unless it is to steal a fry or two. Why would I - when the ground on the rail next to the shoots is where the best angle is?

It is a funny thing that happens when I say “it will be fun!” - usually something happens that is definitely not fun for Cody. Anyways - he came with me to sit alone and eat overpriced fries. Like I said - he is kinda awesome - because it will be fun I said…

Day one, was as it should be, normal, sun - a little bit warm - nothing out of the ordinary. I have tons of photos from that day as well - yet - Day Two - let’s talk about that Day. It started out like any other day - sunny, blue sky - some fluffy clouds, typical Alberta scene. Perfect day for rodeo.

Sigh.

My spot faces west - which is important to this story because I had a front seat to the storm that was building and working its way toward us. Big and dark. Ominous even. Rumbles and grumbles - the sky was kicking up quite a fuss. It must be a lot of work to create a thunderstorm, judging from the bellyaching that was seeping from the heavens. I mean - rain filled clouds must be quite heavy to hold up - not to mention the rolling around thunder and the spurt of lightening leaking out now and then, maybe it is like holding a bag of squirming kittens - wriggling free. A lot of work I imagine, with the odd scratch for your efforts.

Not to worry I thought - it will miss us, but maybe I should get my jacket and my rain gear for my camera out, just in case.

This sounds more professional than it sounds - ‘gear’ being a loosely rigged waterproof thing I mangled together.

There is a moment before every storm, where you stand (or sit) in front of it and everything is still. It is a moment that is impossibly long and as quick as as shocked breath - full of deceitful hope. A moment where the sky is deciding is it time? - or should I wait? Fickle as a trickster - the sky said - fuck it, let’s send it.

And send it, did it ever.

The wind, a harbinger of what was about to come tore its way through - whipping hats and flags alike - merrily shrieking its glee. I thought to myself - oh man, this is going to be awesome.

And then, delirious rain drops, stinging the air to pelt everything between the sky and the ground. Big arrow shaped drops, thrown with the full force of a sky tired of holding its tormented bag of thunder and rain. With a roar only a sky can make, the storm became.

And of course - cowboys will not let a little wet get in their way.

There was absolutely no way I was going to move. I hunkered down and shot - slightly worried about my camera - but also - fuck it. The scene in front of me was incredible - the rain, the mud - the horses and the cowboys - defying the elements and doing what they were all born to do. I mean - who wouldn’t want to photograph that?

There was one or two points during this - where you couldn’t look the storm in the face - not because of terror, mind, but because the rain was flying slantways straight into your eyes - so you simply had to squint slantways at it too. Glancing back at Cody - there he sat, quite damp under a brilliant pink umbrella, almost alone in the stands - looking at me with a resigned “was this a good idea?” look. The next time I peeked over, he had left to stand under the stands - the umbrella unable to hold up to the whipping winds.

This was one of my favorite moments.

Sitting, mostly frozen in a growing mud puddle, drenched through with water thrown by an angry sky. Splashed and splattered with dun coloured mud as horses stampeded inches by. Fingers numb, and shooting by feel, mascara wiped away and camouflaged by mud freckles. Fighting shivers that threatened at the base of my spine. Watching a storm become, while a battle of wit and will sparred, an age old dance. Watching the stare of a bull untouched and unbothered by a silly storm. And the mud. Slick and sticky - spraying. Perhaps, even - the most wild thing that day. It grew and swelled and flew through the air in the most bawdy way - rowdy and wayward. Rash and brilliant.

Mud - the lawless child of the storm.

I will never forget it.