We are so lucky to have such great people come to our little town nestled away in the San Juan Mountains. Recently SixEleven (a filming company visited out town to snow board and film their adventure here in Silverton Colroado.  One of our towns more active extreme athletes found the video below online and shared it with us on Twitter. Seeing the video I had to ask if SixEleven would consider allowing me to share it on my blog and thus offered for them to guest blog as well.  Below you’ll find their response – what great guys!

(Guest Blogger)

FEBRUARY FLIPPY FUN

Silverton is a really rad town that is nestled high in the San Juans. Growing up just an hour away in Durango I never really knew what I had lying in my backyard. The amount of terrain and features in and around Silverton is absolutely endless and each time I go down there we end up finding a new zone or new features to hit. It is truly amazing that I had so many of these spots accessible to me as a child and didn’t even appreciate it. The people of Silverton have always seemed to open people of the snowboard community with open arms. Our last trip down there was one of the most memorable. We rented a house downtown for the month of February and were very anxious to get up in the mountains. We actually almost had more fun riding in town then up on the pass. The locals were nice enough to push jumps with their Bobcats, they even let us jib a public works dumptruck. Within a few minutes of setting up the dumptruck word had gotten around town and we had an audience. Even the local Deputy cut us a break for skitching behind the truck down Green Street, something that is most likely illegal and not all that safe. All in all the town of Silverton is a great place to visit, and the laid back homey welcome we received from everybody in town we came across will ensure us to not only coming back again, but to make it an annual adventure for SixEleven.

SixEleven February Flippy Fun from SixEleven on Vimeo.

You may want to plan your next winter vacation in Silverton Colorado…

About SixEleven Productions…

On June 11, 2004 SixEleven Productions was founded with the desire to provide a new outlook on filmmaking in the snowboard industry. For all of us at SixEleven, snowboarding is not only a hobby but it is also a way of life. Through the production of our films we want to show our love for snowboarding as well as the fun, passion, and comradary that exists within the sport.

SixEleven has a reputation as being a driving force in Colorado snowboarding. With films like “Far From Finished”, “Football! and “This Is Serious” we have proven we can produce a high quality, marketable, and entertaining film. The new film, “Stop…Hammertime!”

will be the fourth full-length snowboard film produced, filmed,edited,promoted, and distributed by SixEleven. With new additions to the crew, we plan on delivering the same fun and entertainment that people have come to expect from a SixEleven film, while tailoring it for a much broader spectrum of people.

In past videos, our limited budget has only allowed us to film in Colorado and surrounding areas. This year we hope to go far beyond the normal realms of what we have done in the past, from a circuit of premiers in other states to international viral edits released regularly, as well as distribution both online and in snowboard shops across the country. In other words, we are setting the bar much higher for this next season.

For more interesting film adventures please visit SixEleven Productions or visit their Facebook page.

Popularity: 7% [?]

Please enjoy Cowboy & Cowgirl Life – The Code presentation Part ll – Cowgirl Prairie Rose Henderson. (or was it cowgirls?) Written by Shirley Morris – Shirley Morris is a writer/filmmaker and author of Oh You Cowgirl! The True Story of Unsung Hero’s of the West.

THE PONY EXPRESSION is proud to bring you a two part TRUE story of Prairie Rose Henderson – a story full of the Western Code of Life.

So here we go – Part ll

A FAMILY SECRET

“Rodeo is family … you don’t reveal your family secrets to anyone…” -A cowgirl performer from JE Ranch Rodeo

THE TRUE STORY of PRAIRIE ROSE HENDERSON

The world learned the sad news of the fate of Prairie Rose Henderson from newspapers across the country in 1939. She went out into a snowstorm in 1932 and her remains would not be found for more than seven years. Yet, all the time she was lost Henry Clayton tried to get the press to listen to his plea, “It is my mother, Rose Clayton, who is lost out there. Not Prairie Rose Henderson.  It was Rose Clayton-Coleman whose bodily remains were identified by the coroner and she still lies in an unmarked grave in Rawlins, WY. But what became of the famous, flamboyant cowgirl who thrilled rodeo crowds across the country, Prairie Rose Henderson?

Waverly, New York, 1939

The kitchen was warm and filled with an inviting aroma from the morning baking of breads. Tiny bits of flour danced slowly upon prisms of sunlight streaming through the window above the porcelain sink as Dolly washed the sticky dough from her hands. Grabbing the gingham towel from the side of the wood stove, she gently patted them until they were dry. Gazing out the window above the sink, she saw the hired ranch hand and part time JE Ranch Rodeo clown Pichandle, chopping wood by the shed. Taking both hands and opening the wood framed window, she called out, raising her voice just loud enough for him to hear,

“Pichandle! Come on over here when you have a minute. I have a chore or two for you to do for me.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there shortly.”

Pichandle didn’t mind at all doing chores for Miss Dolly. He knew she would repay his efforts with her baked goods and that was better than any amount of money. He smiled wondering what kind of “chore” she would come up with to justify her fine gift of warm bread and muffins. Pichandle looked back toward the reflection in the window of the almost fifty year old woman affectionately. She had always treated him fairly and with the kind of respect usually reserved for workers of much higher stature. But then, that was simply her nature.

Dolly closed the window tightly and walked over to the square wooden table in the middle of the room. Pulling out a heavy wooden chair, she sat down and moved the large yellow mixing bowl over to the side. Hoping to ease the pain of age and years of youthful abuse, she cupped her hands around a badly swollen left knee rubbing gently, but as usual, the pain persisted.

A newspaper, The Lethbridge Herald from Alberta, Canada was still on the table where she had left it along with several other newspapers from across the country, all exhibiting the same frontpage headline. Dolly knew the story well. Even so, it was unbelievable to read the words in print. Picking the folded paper up and holding it just far enough away so her eyes could focus upon the words, she read the story one more time. Up and down, side-to-side, her eyes moved with purpose, desperate to see those words again. And there, on the front page, they were. The bold, black, hot set headline confronting her eyes, challenging her to read on.  Furrowing her brow she read; “SKELETON OF MISSING RODEO STAR IS FOUND”

Squinting, with eyes now affected by years of Diabetes, she blinked twice trying to refocus upon the words from the beginning. The news article continued; Rawlins, Wyo. July 25 –(AP) The skeleton of “Prairie Rose” Henderson, rodeo star who disappeared in a blizzard seven years ago, was found in the Green mountain section yesterday…”

She read it again and again. God willing she would somehow believe it. She could feel her racing heart all the way up her neck and down into the tips of her fingers. Closing her eyes tightly, she held the paper a moment longer before returning it to the table. Gently placing both hands upon the story Dolly covered the black words, so exposed upon the stark, white sheet of newsprint. She sat quietly, barely breathing.

Finally, resurfacing from oceans of thought, she gasped and captured a long, deep breath of warm air. Everything that meant anything to this woman was there at that moment; her husband, Col. Jim Eskew,  sons Junior and Tom, the ranch, the show – everything she loved, everything important. All she and Jim had worked for in a lifetime. Recalling all she had surrendered, left behind in the past, she cloaked herself in the wonderful baking aroma, the smell of home, the light that filtered into her soul from the golden morning sun, streaming into the kitchen. Somehow, this sanctuary offered safety and permission to raise her closed eyes and move deep into a memory hidden long ago. A faint smile lifted the corners of her lips and just like that, she was away in another time, another place, another life.

Cheyenne, Wyoming 1911

“Over here, boys! You want pictures of the great cowgirl, Prairie Rose?  C’mon over here, she’s a-waitin’ for you.”  C B Irwin, a giant of a man and one of the founders of Cheyenne Frontier Days, smiled and with one hand atop her shoulder, pointed with the other hand to the young, pretty, feminine girl standing beside him. He looked down at the girl, no more than nineteen, twenty years old and instructed her, “OK. Now you smile and tell ‘em what they wanna hear. Don’t you forget, they are here for the show – you make sure you give ‘em a show.”

At the same time, an older, suntanned and weathered woman was exiting the arena, far away from the crowd now surrounding “The Prairie Rose”. Rose Henderson had just finished riding Gin Fizz in the Ladies Saddle Bronc Riding Contest and the crowd had gone wild. She made her ride in expert fashion and walked away from the cheering crowds without fanfare. C B called out to her as he left the rodeo arena, “Good ride, Rosey. You and Jimmie comin’ out to the ranch for supper Sunday?”

Beating the dry, white dust from her purple split skirt, she nodded yes, she would be there. Still feeling somewhat wounded that C B would bring in a ‘ringer’ for her, someone younger and prettier, to talk to the press, she just could not bring herself to make eye contact with the consummate showman, C B Irwin, owner of Irwin Bros. Wild West Show. She thought to herself, “I’m still the better cowgirl and that’s what the blasted newsboys and photographers should be interested in.”

The woman known as “Rose Henderson” had been born in 1875 in Nebraska, Lillian Rosetta White. She had always used her middle name, Rose, and liked it better than her first. She married a blacksmith, Ira Mealman, a Swedish Immigrant who spoke little English and the couple had two children. Her youngest child died in childbirth and Lillian decided she could no longer stay in a loveless marriage. She gathered her five year old daughter, Daisy, and left to join her married sister, Hattie in Colorado.

It was in Colorado she met a cowboy by the name of Tom Henderson. He told her she could make some money, good money, enough to support herself and daughter, if she were willing to get on the back of a buckin’ horse and stick for just a few seconds. “It’s not that hard, Rosey, we’ll tie your stirrups and with hobbled stirrups, you won’t be goin’ nowhere ‘til the pickup man comes to get ya.” Tom thought for a minute and realizing she was a divorced woman, unchaperoned, traveling alone, she may have a problem gaining admittance as a rider in the show. It was a common problem and good heartedly suggested they become “married” for the sake of the towns folk who objected to loose women and poker. The name stuck and Rose Mealman, by way of jumping the proverbial rodeo marriage broom stick became Rose Henderson for the rest of her professional career. Much to the consternation of Tom’s true wife, Maude Tarr, another rodeo cowgirl.

Rose found she loved the thrill of riding saddle broncs and became quite good at it. There weren’t many rodeos at the time but there were scores of wild west shows and circus’ and she had no problem finding work.

She was hired as one of the cowgirls for Irwin Bros. Wild West and C B had a habit of only hiring the best cowgirls; Ollie Osborn, Fanny Sperry Steele, Goldie St. Claire, Fox Hastings, and his own expert cowgirl daughters, Pauline, Joella and Francis.

Rose not only found fame and fortune with Irwin Bros. Wild West, she found her husband, cowboy and ranch hand, Jimmie Danks. The cowboy and cowgirl were married in Nebraska in 1908.

The best of the best. Fox Hastings, Joella Irwin, Tillie Baldwin, Ollie Osborn, Rose Henderson, Gladys Irwin, Pauline Irwin.

Dolly Michaelis posed in the middle of the arena for all the newsmen and rodeo photographers. A German immigrant and runaway from Pennsylvania, she embraced the persona of “The Prairie Rose”.

Dolly learned to ride rosined horses and became a ménage rider before becoming a headliner and star for the stage production “Young Buffalo”. Her act was described as:

“Display No. 12.

Roping and riding the wildest and most untamable horses procurable anywhere, introducing the world’s greatest subduer of the outlaw equine, Prairie Rose, Beyond cavil the greatest and most intrepid female rider in the known world.”

Her job also included being in charge of all cowgirls in the show. She not only was beautiful, she was the feminine match to C B Irwin and a natural at marketing her abilities and talents.

She told the newsboys what they wanted to hear – all about her ride on the bucker Gin Fizz and offered advice to American women in the process: “Riding is good for you and will help you keep a glow to your cheeks and your girlish figure.” The newsboys wrote, “ Prairie Rose is beyond a doubt the most fearless lady rider in the world. Dolly smiled as Ralph Doubleday told her to look into the camera and show America who “the sweetheart of the rodeo” really is.

Her costume was unlike anything anyone had ever seen, soft velvet cordouroy with sequins, Maribou feathers, Mink and the largest, most flamboyant Sombrero-like Stetson hat anyone had seen. Her smile was wide and inviting. Her eyes danced as the newsmen and photographers asked their questions and camera’s captured the image of what America wanted and needed to see, a very feminine, perfectly coutured young woman exhibiting the strength and courage of the western cowgirl.

The persona of Prairie Rose and Rose Henderson have combined along with the cowgirl who lost her life in the Wyoming snowstorm in 1932, Rose Gale-Clayton-Coleman to become a larger than life legend. All three women, unsung heroes of our Western past and heritage.

Cowgirls of the JE Ranch Rodeo with Miss Dolly Eskew, The Prairie Rose

Popularity: 12% [?]

Our third entry for Cowboy & Cowgirl Life – The Code comes to us in two parts about famous Cowgirl Prairie Rose Henderson. (or was it cowgirls?) Written by Shirley Morris – Shirley Morris is a writer/filmmaker and author of Oh You Cowgirl! The True Story of Unsung Hero’s of the West.

THE PONY EXPRESSION is proud to bring you a two part TRUE story of Prairie Rose Henderson – a story full of the Western Code of Life.

So here we go – Part l

THE STORY OF ROSA ANNA GALE
by Shirley Morris

A Rose Is A Rose, Is A Rose …

February, 1933. Snow was beginning to fall fast as Sheriff James Thompson drove up into the Green Mountains of Wyoming. Temperatures had been dropping and he wanted to get this business done before the mountain roads became impassible. The heavily rutted dirt road was now coated with snow as he made his way toward the ranch house. Stopping under the big Pine, he stepped down on the floor break and turned the motor off. Thompson opened the car door to a bone chilling wind and pelting snow to his forehead. Quickly placing his hat upon his head, he stood up and pulled the heavy woolen collar high on his neck, adjusting his belt and holster,  checking to make sure the cold, metal cuffs were in place on his belt.With wide, heavy stride, he stepped up to the wooden porch and knocked hard on the front door. Readying himself for whatever should come next, he cocked his head to the side and listened to the sounds of footsteps coming toward him from within the small house. Slowly, the door opened revealing the darkness of the room. A woman’s voice inquired softly from the other side of the door, “Sheriff?” “I need to speak with your husband, ma’am.”

Sheriff Thompson spoke kindly and quietly to the woman. Fifty, Fifty five, no more than a spit of an old woman, she carried herself slightly hunched at the shoulders. Thompson recognized her face and deep brown eyes and recalled how they had appeared years ago on a much younger and athletic body .

“She was really somethin’ then,” he thought to himself.As a young girl, Rosa met and fell in love with A.C. Clayton a young, good looking cowboy raised on the Kansas plains. A.C brought Rose to Wyoming from her home in Bristol, Ohio. The two of them married and were happy for a time. They had two children, May and Henry. Competing in the annual Frontier Days events was a family affair. A. C. won the cowboy’s saddle bronc event a couple of times. May and Henry both won their events. But Rosey was the real star. She entered the 1904 Cowgirls Relay Race with three borrowed horses and won in a thunderous blaze of glory narrowly beating out Joella Irwin. Two years later she participated in the very first official Cowgirls Saddle Bronc Event and took home the winners Gold Cup for her efforts.

Hailed  a local hero for a time and known throughout the area as “Prairie Rose” Clayton, she had been among the first of many local girls who competed in the Frontier Days celebration. As a young woman, Rosey was a strong willed, adventurous spirit and some swear they can remember the time she demanded a ride on a bucker at the festival in 1901. She questioned the judges and told them “If you can’t produce a rule that forbids me to ride then you must let me have a spot in the contest!” The judges were hard pressed to come up with any ruling that would prohibit girls from riding with the boys in competition. They simply could not understand why in tarnation she would want to! Rosey pressed her point and legend has it  the judges let her ride. But nothing was recorded in the official results. In fact, nothing was ever reported in the local papers and the event was for the most part forgotten.

A.C. and Rose weren’t carnies or shipped in by train from some wild west show in the east. They were hard workin’ local folk, come to town for some fun, escaping from the day to day sameness of the ranch, just showin’ how they do it on the ranch, just showin’ how they do it real. Rose Clayton poses with the three borrowed horses she rode and won the 1906 Cowgirl Relay at Cheyenne Frontier Days.

Photo courtesy Marge Earlywine, Mabel Strickland Cowgirl Museum.

Somewhere along the line, the marriage unraveled and the two very unhappy participants had different versions of a failed and hard marriage. One version may be just as true and no truer than the other but the sad reality was simple; Rose became a divorced mother of two. She was left on her own and it was her duty and sole responsibility to support herself and her children. As any mamma bear would do, she resigned herself to go wherever and do whatever needed to be done to feed and clothe her children. Someone told  her about a job in Utah for a cook in a mining camp and without any further thought, she and the children were packed and on their way to a new future. It isn’t known how long she stayed but eventually, she found herself in California where  son Henry eventually became a plumber in Los Angeles. It was in California that Henry would find his wife, Anna Robbins from Ohio and Rosa would find and marry Charley. Life always seemed to find it’s way.

Sheriff Thompson found himself smiling, recalling those early days of the famed Frontier Days celebration. He wondered how she ever ended up with the likes of Charlie Coleman, a man who was no stranger to trouble or the inside of a jail cell.Thompson rushed quickly back into the present moment as Charley came to the door and stood behind Rose. Coleman had become a familiar figure in town. He had been trying without much luck or skill to make something of that small piece of dirt he and Rose had bought a couple years ago but it just wasn’t meant to be. Money ran out and he butchered another man’s property. Now he had to pay the price.

Thompson opened the screen door and took Coleman by the arm leading him away from any sanctuary the man may have found inside his home. “Charley, you’re under arrest for cattle rustling and butchering.” He glanced back into the doorway of the house toward Rose, now visibly shaken, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. Not really surprised, she silently accepted her husband’s fate. She watched as the the cold cuffs clicked shut on her husbands’ wrists. Thompson led him down the steps, across the snow and into the backseat of the car.  Without protest, Colman adjusted his body and lowered his head shamefully offering a barely audible  explanation, “We were hungry, sheriff.”

Thompson glanced back at the woman standing on the porch, wrenching a dish towel between her shaking hands. Knowing there was nothing more he could do for her, he focused his eyes squarely on the road ahead and drove away.

Rose stood on the front porch crying as the car slid down the driveway and out of sight. She had been the one to talk Charley into trying his hand at ranching and move with her, back home to Wyoming. It hadn’t worked out well. Charley was not above expressing his displeasure with his fists and had let Rose know many times how unhappy he had become in Wyoming.

Looking through her tears Rose allowed thoughts of freedom to enter her mind, in maybe a small way. She wondered how she could escape her husband’s wrath if she somehow rekindled her courageous spirit and left this place. Her mind raced forward to a safe place with her son in California. Just as quickly as her spirit soared out of Wyoming, fear and guilt would bring it back and once again she would find comfort and familiarity in finding yet another reason to stay with the man. It simply never occurred  to her that Charley was who he was and there was nothing she could have done to change him. Snow was falling heavy in a frenzied, sideways journey, rushing across the pasture and sticking to anything in its path. Mrs. Coleman knew there was little, precious time to bring her pony to safety and out she headed toward the barn for a halter. Grabbing the halter, she held it close to her body and disappeared into the cold, blinding whiteness.

Once back at the office, Sheriff  Thompson’s thoughts returned anxiously to the woman up on Green Mountain. His deputy had just returned to the office and was warming his hands above the fired up wood stove. “I had to bring Charley Coleman off the mountain today but his wife is up there all alone. Would you pick up some supplies and take ‘em on up to her? I’m worried about her bein’ there all by herself. The snow’s getting’ real bad and she’s gettin’ up there in years. Knowing the nearest supply store was several miles away from the folks who lived on the mountain the young deputy didn’t hesitate. He swaggered over to the coat rack by the door, grabbed his heavy green jacket, still wet and soggy, and headed back out into the storm.

The deputy loaded the car with several boxes of  food and supplies and drove back up the mountain to deliver the package to Rose Coleman. “Oh, man it’s a comin’ down now.”  He took his hand and wiped the wet foggy mist away from the windshield. Slipping up the driveway and skidding to a halt, he was surprised to find the house empty with no sign of the woman anywhere, inside or out. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called loudly, “Rose! Mrs. Coleman!” Squinting, he  attempted to focus through any small space in between the barrage of blinding white flakes. He looked desperately for the woman loosing hope with each passing moment. Finally, he acquiesced to the cruelty and power of the storm.

The ride back to the office was devastatingly slow. Fearing the worst, he dreaded facing the sheriff with the bad news. Thompson’s words boomed off the walls and echoed throughout the office as he heard his deputy’s report. “Damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have left her up there.” The next day Thompson and two additional men returned to the ramshackle ranch to look, once again for Rose Coleman. Time and again he would make the trek back up to the harsh, loneliness of the mountain country, now blanketed with deep snow, hoping in vain to find some trace of her. Sadly, he would concede; Rose Coleman was forever lost somewhere on Green Mountain to the winter storms in the season of 1933. Charles Coleman pleaded guilty to butchering cattle and spent more than one year in the state prison.

Newspapers reported the missing woman as Prairie Rose Henderson. They reported  the world famous rodeo cowgirl was lost in a snowstorm and died in the Wyoming Mountains. They recounted her marriage to Charles Coleman and the report was carried by many national newspapers despite the protest by Henry Clayton, Rose Coleman’s son. In fact, the local paper even ran a story quoting Henry as saying, “It was not Prairie Rose Henderson,” but his mother, Rose Clayton-Coleman who died in that snowstorm. He went on to say “I’m sure the real Prairie Rose Henderson is quite surprised to be reading her own obituary. She is living in Burbank, California.” Still no one listened and the story of the death of the famous Prairie Rose Henderson persisted and gathered momentum.

Fog Horn Clancy, the famous promoter and rodeo announcer picked up the story and wrote about it in his column in Hoofs and Horns. Oddly, no report or story can be found of the many friends or colleagues of Prairie Rose Henderson who were to offer condolences at a funeral or graveside service. Nor could any words of remembrance be found in any of the many papers that had covered her every move and action at the various shows and rodeo’s she performed in. Close friends Mabel Strickland, Florence Hughes, Bonnie Gray and  Lorena Trickey said nothing and nothing was ever reported about any grieving family members. There was never any kind of memorial or funeral service for the great Prairie Rose Henderson. No official obituary. No death certificate. No coroners report.  Not for the great Prairie Rose Henderson. A woman died in a terrible blizzard in 1933 and Prairie Rose Henderson ceased to exist.Seven years later a fire broke out in the Green Mountains on July 17, 1939.

Charles Coleman was out of prison, putting his life back together and was one of the firefighters battling the blaze that day when a sheepherder named Martinez, also battling the flames ran toward him. “Coleman! Come over here quick, come now!” Charley could see the man was peering at something heaped beside a rock and he ran fast down the hill, kicking the hot, dry smoky dust into his eyes and sucking it deep into his lungs with every open mouthed breath he took. The sheepherder looked up and into Charlie’s eye’s as he rushed up, just within two feet of a small bit of half buried, crumpled blue material. Bones, barely recognizable as human could be seen within the torn trousers. His soul aching with the chilling certainty of what he was looking at, Charley couldn’t take his eyes from the gruesome discovery. It was all that remained of Rosa Gale, daughter of Ezra Gale from Bristol, Ohio. A.C. Clayton’s first love, Henry and May’s mother and his wife. Charley looked over, just to the right of the body and recognized the leather remnants of what was a pony halter. It was the one Rose had grabbed from the barn that stormy morning seven years ago.

“Ah, no. Oh, my Rosey.”  It was more guilt than sorrow that brought Charley to his knees as he wept beside her body.

The bodily remains were formally identified as Anna Rosa Gale-Clayton-Coleman by Rose’s son, Henry and her brother, Elmer Gale in the official coroners report. Cause of death was listed as “exposure to the elements. ”Unbelievably, amidst Henry’s very vocal protests, as well as the coroners report, newspapers across the country continued to report the death of Prairie Rose Henderson. Bold headlines screamed, “Body Of Famous Rodeo Star Found.” Finally, the world was convinced with absolute certainty the fate of  Prairie Rose Henderson and Henry Clayton returned home to California to grieve his mother.

Rumors spread that the skeletal remains of Prairie Rose Henderson were identified by a championship belt buckle she had won was still shackled to her body. Some say she had conquered her fear of storms and after her husband was arrested went out to look for her favorite pony to bring him to shelter. People would agree, “Yes, that does sound like the Prairie Rose. She did love those horses.”

Once away from the house, she became disoriented and snow blind and perished for eternity. It is curious that the famed rodeo cowgirl, Prairie Rose Henderson had many friends but not one came forth, as friends do in these times, to remember her and maybe even shed a few tears as they said goodbye.

No one came forward to claim the bones of Prairie Rose Henderson, World Champion Cowgirl and Saddle Bronco Rider, the Sweetheart of the Rodeo. Rosey Clayton’s tragedy was forgotten in the apathy of time just as completely as if it had never happened, there on Green Mountain.

The legend of Prairie Rose Henderson lived on in newspapers, stories, books, all continuing throughout the years to report the hard end of the great cowgirl up on Green Mountain, in a Wyoming snow storm.

Coast to coast news of her death shocked the fans who had watched her ride the pitching bronc’s, winning countless championships, dressed in her own remarkable creations of Mink, Maribou, ribbons, sequins, velvet and beads, always wearing her famously large Sombrero.

Knowing the true identity of the ill fated woman who died on Green Mountain, Rose Clayton-Coleman offers little comfort for, if it wasn’t Prairie Rose Henderson who died in that snow storm, what did happen to her? Why did she simply vanish, never to be seen or heard from again?  If she didn’t die in that snowstorm, what did happen to Prairie Rose Henderson? Why did she leave her great legacy behind in the west? – Shirley Morris

Stay tuned for Part ll – Prairie Rose Henderson – The Secret

Shirley Morris is a writer/filmmaker currently in production for the film, “Oh, You Cowgirl!” In 2007 her research took a 180º turn when the path led her to the true identity and story about the famed cowgirl of the early 20th century, Prairie Rose Henderson. The rodeo cowgirl known for her flamboyant, sometimes outrageous costumes and unstable, unpredictable personality, may have had a good reason for being unpredictable, there were more than three women who made up the persona and legend of Prairie Rose Henderson.

The best known and most photographed of the Prairie Rose characters turns out to be a true unsung hero of the west. An entire generation of cowgirls owe their career and ability to continue riding rough stock well into the mid 20th century to this woman who was matriarch of a family known as a “Rodeo Dynasty”.

Because of her research into the Prairie Rose Henderson Legend, “Oh, You Cowgirl!” will feature this very special woman in the hour long documentary to premier early this summer.

Popularity: 37% [?]

THANKFUL THURSDAY by ZEBRAFINCH (guest blogger)

This week, a blizzard hit our region with astounding efficiency. Everyone stayed home, work was canceled, and even traffic nearly disappeared. People realized this storm was the real deal and did not argue with it. The resulting giant white vacuum chamber got very quiet within hours.

What happens when life goes from overwhelm to a stand still? Again, gratitude was my tool for mining stillness and empty space. But there really are no empty spaces, I think. If anything, maybe empty spaces are the moments we miss, because we were never there.

My ritual “count my blessings” walk across the “largest unreinforced concrete structure in the world” the bridge outside my door—

(This amazing image of the William Taft Bridge in Washington DC was taken by Declan McCullugh – Please check out his work)

( Wikipedia William Taft Bridge – http://tinyurl.com/yzq47dk )

—was more interesting for the twilight-spooky snow. The railing between me and a creek 125 feet below seemed frail and small. I was more aware of the spaces between balusters and the frosted treetops. The entire landscape was so quiet you could hear a mouse burp. I was reassured by cars rolling slowly by and glowing lamp lights.

I began: “I exist, I grow, I love, I explore, and I thrive.” This was my energy healer’s mantra for me during the darkest days of my Lyme disease. It now helped to propel me 1,000 feet across the ice. By force of habit and intention, thankfulness began crowding out my fear of slipping or falling. I pondered how many seasons I had missed by not really being present to their passing. I resolved on the bridge to anchor the loveliness of this winter by being consciously thankful for its structural gifts: darkness; lamplight; soft snowfall; blessed cold, fresh air; silence; even restrictions.

I continued: “I am grateful for my friends, seasons, peace, my warm coat….” Snow attached to all that made my week so special. Dear friends and I had lunch before a fireplace and watched feather-like flakes descend. We later had wine in a beautiful hotel. It was a rare day when our schedules were cleared for friendship, nature, food and conversation. I learned something new about people I had known for over 30 years. Snow will help me remember this rare and special time. Thanks, snow.

Seasons and weather as reminders of abundance kept coming back to mind. What is it about weather that many people resist? Blizzard? Yay! It insulates the soil and protects little animals. Rain? Bring it on. Plants and animals will drink all summer, and trees will have big, shady canopies. Sun and heat? (OK, I’m working on this one.) I do not need memories of summer—or any other time—to get me through winter. I am thankful for this winter for what it brings now. We’ll see how that adds up.

Blizzard Washington DC Feb 19, 2010 by Zebrafinch

Popularity: 6% [?]

The second of our Cowboy & Cowgirl code series posts: please welcome guest blogger John Brand of Buckaroo Leather.

THE COWBOY SOCIAL WORLD

Over time, the cowboys of the American West developed a personal culture of their own, a blend of frontier and Victorian values that even retained vestiges of chivalry. Such hazardous work in isolated conditions also bred a tradition of self-dependence and individualism, with great value put on personal honesty, exemplified in songs and poetry. Over the years many of us have developed a romance with old west songs, poetry, stories and movies…

I have many fond memories of my grandfather Del, and father telling me family history and stories while taking me fishing and hunting. And not realizing until later in life when it was time to teach my children the values of the code of the west and the cowboy way, how much I had learned from my fore fathers. Important things like how to treat animals, respect guns and their use, and other people. Guns have become a big social issue because it is easy to blame the gun and not the core reason of the person using it and their upbringing…

My grandfathers family the Bradford’s homesteaded in Hemet, California in 1903 in a tent raising cattle and dry farming crops relying on mother nature.

After time and hard work they were able to afford to build a shack and my grandfather was born in 1912.

He had 2 sisters and 2 brothers who all learned family values while doing their many daily chores.

(Plowing in Hemet)

As now in tough economic and social times it becomes more apparent how society would benefit from parents and kids of our future taking to heart the values of the code of the west and the cowboy way to the core of their everyday lives. Here is one of my favorite hero’s-

HOPALONG CASSIDY’S CREED FOR AMERICAN BOYS AND GIRLS-

1. The highest badge of honor a person can wear is honesty. Be truthful at all times.
2. Your parents are the best friends you have. Listen to them and obey their instructions.
3. If you want to be respected, you must respect others. Show good manners in every way.
4. Only through hard work and study can you succeed. Don’t be lazy.
5. Your good deeds always come to light. So don’t boast or be a show-off.
6. If you waste time or money today, you will regret it tomorrow. Practice thrift in all ways.
7. Many animals are good and loyal companions. Be friendly and kind to them.
8. A strong, healthy body is a precious gift. Be neat and clean.
9. Our country’s laws are made for your protection. Observe them carefully.
10. Children in many foreign lands are less fortunate than you. Be glad and proud you are an American.

DOES A CODE OF THE WEST STILL EXIST?
Self reliance continues to be a Western trait. For the first time since the Civil War, the federal bureaucracy is being seriously challenged. Washington is being asked to prove why it is a more effective trustee of Western lands and their resources than the locals who live, work, and play on those lands. I think welfare especially rankles Westerners because of its implied insult — that men and women are incapable of earning a living on their own, or are unwilling to help those temporarily down on their luck to get back on their feet. In the West I believe there remains a willingness to trust a person rather than trust fine print. Unquestionably, the Westerner’s symbiotic relationship with the land has never been lost. The value placed on the region’s traditional industries, like ranching, has never diminished, even among many urban Westerners. The West was as much a state of mind as it was a historical phenomenon. And the Code? Like I said, it’s unwritten, how are you to prove it still exists?

Quote by: William H. Forbis. The Old West: The Cowboys Time-Life Books. 1973.

I heard about a lot of this after the 911 attacks…

BEING NEIGHBORLY

The story is told of an elderly couple approaching the night clerk in one of Philadelphia ’s older hotels. The man indicated that he and his wife had been looking all over town for a room, but because of a convention, none was to be had.

The night clerk had pity on the couple and, although there was no vacancy in his hotel, offered them his room for the night.

The next morning while the elderly couple was eating breakfast, they asked to see the night clerk. When the clerk arrived, the gentleman astonished him by asking, “How would you like for me to build a big, beautiful, luxurious hotel in the city of New York and make you the general manager?” Astounded, the clerk simply responded, “Wonderful!”

The elderly man introduced himself as John Jacob Astor. The Waldorf-Astoria was built, and the night clerk became its first manager.

Be a good friend and neighbor. It can be a reward to everyone.

At Buckaroo Leather American Made is not just a sales slogan, standing tall behind our Buckaroo logo is honesty, hard work, dedication, sacrifice and integrity. In our journey of the last 30 years we have met many amazing artists, business horseman and women , craftsmen and customers who still live, as us by American Made. Our family has been dedicated for 30 years in serving the Western Horseman the safest most durable Quality
American made leather horse tack.

Thank You, John Brand – BuckarooJohn
Cell #530-545-0139
1-800-873-0781 Fax #888-652-6621

Twitter: @buckaroojohn

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THANKFUL THURSDAY by ZEBRAFINCH (guest blogger)

I have become surprised by the attraction of thankfulness. It’s more than habit. It creates a yearning to be really grateful, and the alternatives do become less appealing. Having complained so long and loudly in my life, I never thought I’d see this happen.

What, then, if there is a tidal wave of blessing?  Lately, a lot has been happening in my life. Deadlines, dreams, friends, work schedules, medications, environment all shifted. A nearly supernatural gift literally fell in my lap. Two people I admire tremendously included me in their work. One of my dearest friends is in town. Someone I had never met showed me healing techniques for free. As I write now, so much more floods back to memory, that I realize just how much I missed. What a great week it was.

Yet it all felt like disruption at the time and threw me off balance. I began to complain, because deadlines are not my friend. I felt sad, because I had wanted to achieve more. In the process, I missed my daily walk across the bridge (where I meditate and give thanks). Did I thank others? I missed an evening gratitude ritual or two. The point is not to worship a habit, and I don’t dwell in guilt. Counting my blessings at the time might have changed life for me and others, and even outcomes. Noted.

The point is not that I had a task called “be thankful.” The point is how gratitude, woven into each moment, creates something.

(Photo found on Yogi Zen Dude)

I was deconstructing, not creating. Thankful Thursday is here again to remind me that people, events, time and space are perfect supports, not obstacles. So, I want to say thanks for everything that happened this week, in perfect timing. How wonderful it is to be in process, becoming more aware and linked with others who keep me in the circle of gratitude.

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THANKFUL THURSDAY by ZEBRAFINCH (guest blogger)

Something is broken, so I am back to mechanics. Being thankful is a simple, reflexive response, right? We know what it looks like, right? I wish it were so simple for me, so I am getting at the root of reflexive gratitude, recovering many simple responses. I found a few pathogenic ones in the process.

I am being given more than I can receive consciously these days. Friends are keeping me sheltered. They enable me to receive critical medical care, when otherwise none would be possible. Their persistent encouragement gives me hope.  I want to thank them. My gratitude stops when I attach to feelings of shame, fear and pride.

A dear friend drove me to the doctor on Tuesday, as she has done for a long time. She helps me navigate the entire doctor day. The myriad ways in which she shows compassion are so layered and sensitive as to defy recording of them. Her heart is breathtakingly beautiful.

I feel powerless after these appointments for various reasons. I fall apart the following day, despite extraordinary blessing of medical care, friendship and nourishment. Should I offer a grand gesture, a list of thanks or devise a simple “thank you” ritual? What could possibly suffice as response? How can I absorb the magnitude of this kindness without collapsing under inadequacy? It makes me wonder how or if I express gratitude well for smaller things in daily life.

I never expect others to thank me, and when they do, I am always surprised and moved. I resolve to be authentic and simple in gratitude. I know what it looks like, after all. My teacher is the same friend, above, who set me on the path to healing my brokenness in the first place. All I have to do is let go of the feelings that are not thankful.

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THANKFUL THURSDAY by ZEBRAFINCH (guest blogger)

Energies out of balance are an immediate sign to me that I am losing touch with thankfulness. I am beginning to see that if I am angry, frustrated, sad or fearful, it is usually because I have left thankfulness behind. Trouble is, by the time I realize I’m out of touch with thanks, I’ve been in that state for too long. Lately, I am observing the ways in which thankfulness and other energies interact.

I call them energies, because that is how I experience feelings. Anger, sorrow, frustration, contentment, happiness—these feelings have distinct vibrations. Abraham Hicks puts appreciation at the top of a scale of energetic vibrations.

(Abrahim Hicks website:  “Contemplate This” – “The Emotional Guidance Scale” – Follow the link above)

Sacred texts and shamans cite the power of gratitude. The Bible is very explicit about the power being thankful in all things. Fear, hopelessness, and unforgiveness can pull me down into an undertow and keep me there. Frustration is a little lighter, a transition phase, a frothy mix that offers at least a glimpse of the next step. Feelings, then, apparently have some sort of energetic DNA. So, I am trying to find my own authentic pathways from bad feelings to gratitude, and ultimately to joy.

Regaining balance from lifelong illness means leaving a lot of confusion and scattered feelings and energies behind. I was overwhelmed for decades. As treatment progressed, I thought I would feel happier. Instead, I seem to be feeling anger—that I was ill for so long; about monstrous, irreparable losses; and even about looking a little better now. Oh yes, strangely even that makes me very angry.

What an odd, counter intuitive response. Nobody warned me about emotions through the healing process. The doctor knew what was coming, though. When I first felt anger after a few months of treatment, he simply said I was right on time. Apparently this is a pretty common phenomenon. So, the trick seems to allow the feelings, then to consciously start speaking thanks out loud, to jump the undertow.

Last year, I began practicing outside, while crossing the bridge near my home. I use that bridge every day, repeatedly saying thanks for this or that, as I walk. It’s my little ritual. I never realized until this very moment that my little bridge ritual is a metaphor. Gratitude is my bridge to balance.

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THANKFUL THURSDAY by ZEBRAFINCH (guest blogger)

Christmas was so peaceful, and the holiday spirit at home and with friends was bright. I felt like a child gleefully making angels in the snow even while performing the simplest of tasks. We had plenty of snow, which created a quiet wonderland.

I spent Christmas eve with dear friends I have known for years. We laughed, knowing each others’ funny bones, and cried over lost loved ones. The dinner table glittered and glowed. I came home feeling so complete for the experience.

Giving, receiving and gratitude enlarged my holiday. Friends overwhelmed me with their generosity. Christmas morning, I opened packages of favourite homemade cookies and beautiful objects. Each gift was so perfect for me, that I felt the privilege of knowing and being known. I felt no letdown when solitude set in again. Love was all around me. I was thankful to have had some small presents to give, too. In recent years, I have adjusted to giving less in material terms. Ways to give somehow work out.  How that happens varies,  but resourcefulness is not always needed.

This year, I wanted to take a special gift to my dear friends on Christmas eve. I had found something that seemed just right, but it was out of my financial reach. I went to view it anyway for no reason at all. As I was leaving the store, something struck me. A store display ten feet above me (note: also out of reach) fell directly on my head. Startled but not badly injured, I informed the store manager that she might want to check displays for stability. She took my name as a matter of procedure, and I left. I remembered right there and then to be thankful that I was not hurt and that the display had not fallen on the child walking in front of me.

A week later, I had the gift for my friends in hand. To my surprise, the store sent me a gift card in just the right amount to cover the cost. This was my not-so-little Christmas miracle.

I want both to give and receive to feel whole. This does not mean quid pro quo. Giving, by definition, is unconditional. Receiving also feels best when allowed unconditionally but seems harder to do without resistance. So how, when and where does gratitude materialize in the process?  I am thankful as much when I am able to give as when I receive. This may sound trite, but it does not feel trite. Then there is the factor of time and space. During the past week, giving and receiving revolved around Christmas, an event.  As if by magic, memories of the past year’s ongoing exchanges washed over me with new awareness. There was a natural, timeless flow to it all.

I realized this Christmas how present and continuous thankfulness can really feel. I am beginning to feel it as it happens, in the “now.” It changes things. I want to keep that feeling going.

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THANKFUL THURSDAY

Sometimes being grateful is the hardest thing we do.  When we are faced with  difficulties in our lives raising up to be thankful for the smallest things is a monumental task. Redundant – so what!  It can become painful to even think about the things we have to be grateful for.  I know – I went through it when I lost my mother, then when I lost Kindlewood and Future within weeks of each other.  I continued to write my Thankful Thursdays in the face of my pain refusing to reflect the lowest point in my world.  I still cant talk about Kindlewood or Future without threat of sobbing. I am so thankful that I knew those two souls.  GOD!  I MISS THEM! Losing my mother was like losing my life line, I cant describe how lost I felt. How lucky was I that I had “Jo” for a mom, for her I am thankful.

Okay enough! Contrast is good.  The struggle to be up beat when it hurts empowers us and with every effort we become stronger.  What I am most thankful for is the strength I have gained throughout my life to weather through the hard times. How much I appreciate those around me who witness those hard times and still remain steady buds.  Good people!

I walked outside this morning into a warm ray of sunshine with the brisk air tingling my senses thankful for the way it made me feel.  Thankful for the smile upon my face.

Dragon has finally fallen into his two month slumber, I’ll miss him.  He sat on my chest last night and snuggled down closing his eyes to nap there warm and content.  This is a lizard who just enjoys hanging with me.  I so enjoy his company. Later in his house he tucked his head into his special spot so he could sleep. It was early for him. So I asked him if he really wanted to sleep. He peaked out with his wise little eyes looking up at me with an approving gaze telling me – “I’m so tired”.  He looked like he felt so safe and new he was understood. Expectant that I would do as he wished. So I turned off his lights and covered his cage.  Good night Dragon until you awake again.  I love that little beast to death.  Thank you Dragon for being my bud!

My needs are simple, my dreams are…  well…   sorta simple or they can be simplified with some effort. I am so thankful that I have taken this route in life – it is so emancipating.

Just sitting here enjoying my few knickknacks - the Fire Pony – the Alaskan clay wolf and bear and the Navajo wedding pot made with Asad’s and Madrid’s mane fired into it.  They truly loved one another I wonder how Asad is doing now that Madrid has passed.

Did you know that in China back in 1954, when I was born, it was the ‘Year of the Fire Horse’, and that all girls born in the month of April and maybe other months too were put to death because it was believed that they would be too independent to become good wives.  Like fiery horses they would protest and seek freedom.  In my Native American beliefs I am “She Who Was Save By Her Horse”, and ” She Who Sees Far”.  I have much to be thankful for!! Being born an American citizen is a BIGGY!  I’m alive!!!  Saved by HORSE to be independent and free! I’m FREE!!!!  Thank YOU!

Please read on  to the next post for another Thankful Thursday by guest blogger ZEBRAFINCH.

For more gratitude/thankfulness please visit these sites: Akal Ranch – Tired Dog Ranch – Enlightened Horsemanship Through Touch – From The Horses Back  -  Grateful For - Jonathan Lawson of mysnowpro.com and of course our guest blogger Zebrafinch,  OUR CIRCLE IS GROWING

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