Tiger, Make Room for the Horses

Apologies to Tiger Woods, whom I salute for giving Tucson huge recognition and economic stimulus this week via the PGA Tour. While you're out there on the green of Dove Mountain, I'll be focused on a dusty corral in downtown Tucson, rooting for the old-fashioned-yet-oh-so-fabulous Fiesta de Los Vaqueros and our annual rodeo.

Ranching is in Tucson's blood. It's what started our economy and gave us our destiny after the Spaniards brought their cattle to our environs in the 1600s. The rodeo, begun in Tucson in 1925 to celebrate the cowboy, is a part of ranching life and thus entwined in Tucson's heritage. With Accenture Match Play packing in the glam and the tourists up in Marana, I worry that my poor cowboys won't get their due.

Those guys in spurs and buckles need attention too, Tiger. I certainly wish you many awe-inspiring plays next week, but in my heart I'll be crying yee-haw for the cowpokes and their horses and their barrel racing downtown.

May both the slick (Tiger) and the down-home snazzy (cowboys) stand tall and grow as proud traditions of the Old Pueblo.

Home (?) on the Range

My fascination with cowgirls began while I was growing up in Brooklyn, where the closest I got to horses was the carousel at Coney Island. Ride ‘em I did—every summer – and my love of the cowgirl and her lifestyle grew. I read novels about romance in the wild, open spaces of the frontier and biographies of famous cowgirls including Annie Oakley and Calamity Jane.

OK, I never became a cowgirl but now I live in a place where I can taste the spirit of the West, visit ranches and see rodeos prevail. I even know some cowgirls, and during this week of yee-haw celebration (Tucson Rodeo) I’ll introduce you to two of them.

First up is Karen (see photo), proprietor of Solarwind Ranch. While I was still a New Yorker, Karen gave me my first taste of pioneering life. I loved the times I could visit her ranch, where I was awed by endless wild Arizona spaces and mountains, and where I first learned to haul hay to the horses and Karen’s “ark” assortment of ducks, goats, sheep and border collies. Karen may not call herself a cowgirl (she’s a county fair supervisor, border collie rescue and breeder, herding and obedience trial judge, friend and loving foster mother rolled into one). But, to me, Karen personifies the independence and strength of extraordinary women called cowgirls. They were the foundation of the families who helped settle the American Southwest. I tip my hat to my cowgirl friend Karen (shown here with Silver, in a pix taken by Leigh this past summer.)