Anyone that knows me knows that I grew up out on a five acre ranch with my family. We bred horses, dabbled in rodeo, held ropings. My sister and I used to barrel race for fun. My mom was a master at green breaking young horses, English riding and Dressage. There wasn't much we did that wasn't somehow centered around the animals that we had, and I grew up in a saddle. Living in the city now is... disconcerting in a lot of ways. Even ten years later, being so close to people with no land is strange, claustrophobic to me. You can't see the stars in town, especially not like you could when we were growing up and we had a light curfew due to the observatory on the mountain. You could get swallowed by the sky back then.
Far more important, I have specific songs that still bring tears to my eyes. My Poppi (my grandpa on my mom's side) and I didn't ever really have much in common, and I was loud, obnoxious and rambunctious growing up, like most kids. My sister was his best buddy. The only thing we really had in common was music, more specifically, one particular song by Alan Jackson. I didn't realize I had it downloaded into my computer, and I actually started to cry. What a sap, huh?
Moral of the Story: Never forget your roots. Don't ever throw away a pair of cowboy boots. Eventually, you'll need them again.
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