Chapter Fifteen
With the arrival of Sunday morning, Mirabelle was eager to go riding. After breakfast, she told the ranchers of her desire. Michael and Joseph volunteered to go with her. Kirk and Bobby went instead to Bobby's family's farm.
After having readied their horses, Mirabelle, Michael, and Joseph rode them across the ranch from the barn and through the gated trail that led to the hillside pasture. Their destination was a small lake further west into the hills. An adjoining trail that lead to the lake could be reached from the pasture. As they rode, Mirabelle occasionally looked down at the path. It had been etched deeply into the hillside by the daily pounding of the cattle's hooves as they had made their way up and down the hill.
When the trio came to the foot of the pasture, they stopped their horses for a brief moment to survey it before crossing. Mirabelle looked around. It was a large rectangular field of grass on the eastern side of the hill, about half a mile by three-quarters of a mile in area. The ground had a modest slope: the gradient lessened here before the hill began it's steeper upward climb again. Before having been logged for lumber many years ago, ponderosa pine once grew where the pasture now lay. The cut had never been replanted and it soon had converted to grass. Michael had obtained the rights to graze his cattle at this spot when he had purchased the ranch. As he saw nothing notable from his quick survey, Michael started ahead and in a short while the three riders were across. They circled around the hill, heading further west.
Riding in single file, they continued on through the forest of pines. Michael led the way, followed by Joseph, then Mirabelle. The monotonous clopping of the horses hooves was the only sound in the forest except for the occasional cry of a bird or rustle of bushes.
Joseph turned to Mirabelle and smiled. "Better watch out for bears," he said. He wasn't kidding, you never knew what you'd run into out here.
"Don't go scaring the girl," said Michael as he turned with a smile, reprimanding Joseph.
"Hmphm," went Mirabelle, who frowned at their patronizing manner. She straightened her black stetson on her head. "Men," she muttered under her breath.
They continued on their way in silence. Mirabelle turned her head from side to side to take in the forest around her. She inhaled deeply, then released her breath with a sigh. "Ahh. It is so nice out here. What a perfect way to spend Sunday morning," she thought to herself. So far, ranch life seemed to consist of one chore after another. There seemed to be barely a moment to stop and collect your thoughts before you were on to doing another job. Thankfully, they had Sundays to relax and Michael had said that there were odd moments of free time during the day.
When she had lived in town she had met the occasional rancher or farmer and, although she had lived on a farm herself, she sometimes would wonder why people would choose an occupation involving so much physical work and long hours. What could it's appeal be?
She looked at Joseph and Michael. Though she couldn't see their faces she could tell by their mien that they too were deeply at peace. As she watched them sway and bob in rhythm with their horses' movements, Mirabelle began to understand the appeal that this kind of life had. She could see why Michael had chosen not to retire in a town. Ranch life involved a lot of work, but the daily paces and routines were done at a relaxed pace, for the most part. As you relaxed and got into your work, you developed a sense of peace where you could feel life flowing smoothly along. Living on his own ranch also meant freedom and independence for Michael. Keeping things interesting, was that there was always a challenge around to tackle, every day. You would never stultify as there was always something to do and a whole bunch of other things that needed to be done, as well.
Mirabelle returned her thoughts to the forest around her. The dark and quiet forest evoked a feeling of magic and mystery in her. As she looked at the trees, plants, boulders, and dark brown earth, she wondered what secrets the forest would disclose to her if she were to go off of the trail. Did gnomes and elves lurk behind the bushes watching their every move? To believe that they did was an act of the imagination, yes, but as a child when she was outdoors, she had oftentimes felt as though these beings were really watching her.
Who wasn't to say that they were being watched? She had often had a feeling that someone was staring at her, only to look around to find that someone indeed was. That feeling wasn't any different from the one she felt now, although looking around she could not see a single human being out here but for the three of them.
How thin was the border between fantasy and reality? In olden tales and legends, there lay hidden in the dark recesses of the forest, glades of light and sparkling dew, where the fairies lived and danced and played. What was the basis of these stories? Imagination or reality? If it was imagination why were there so many of them and why did so many (on a deeper, perhaps unconscious level) feel that there was a ring of truth to them?
"Was it wrong to fantasize?" she wondered as she turned her gaze to the trail before her. Her parents certainly thought so, she knew, but living without fantasy was so deadening to her. What was life without dreams, without mystery, without magic? Empty and shallow? A cycle of monotony? Life without the imagination seemed to be living already in the grave, to Mirabelle.
The fantasy world also had it's own dangers, though, she remembered: She had almost drowned herself in the river. What she needed was a balance--a balance between fantasy and reality. Without fantasy, the world seemed dull and lifeless--dead, rational, and mechanical. At the same time, the demands of life needed to be met: Becoming lost in a fantasy world of unreality also divorced oneself from life.
Before them, the trail opened into sunlight. As they carefully made their way, they rode out of the forest's darkness and into the light of midmorning. They were on an exposed part of the trail, the highest part, that had been cut into the hillside. The narrow, rocky pathway crested high around the hill amongst large boulders, earth, and stone. Above, patches of trees lay interspersed among stone walls, soil, and rocks; while sheer rock cliffs loomed immediately below. The trail had been cut into the cliffside a century ago. Miners prospecting for precious metals had explored these parts during the gold rush leaving trails like this one. Far in the distance below rested the lake, a dark blue amethyst jewel set in a sea of evergreen forest.
"Magnificent view, yes?" Michael asked Mirabelle as he turned in his saddle to face her.
"Yes," she replied breathily. It was breath-taking.
"What do you think, Joseph?" Michael asked him.
"Beautiful," he responded, "but it makes me worry about going over the side of the cliff or having the hillside come down on us." He said as he looked at their precarious perch.
Mirabelle began to feel uneasy. It was a long drop down and Joseph was right about the hill coming down. This was a place to cross with the utmost caution. Slipping or having tons of earth falling upon her was not a thought she cared to harbour.
"Joseph, you've been here before, so take Mirabelle's rein and guide her along... her horse that is," Michael said, joking.
"Funny," said Mirabelle with a queasy looking smile. As she continued to peer over the cliffside she began to feel increasingly nervous.
Joseph turned in his saddle and took Mirabelle's horse's rein from her. "Nervous?" he queried.
"Uh huh," she replied.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of you," he said to her and smiled, his teeth sparkling in the sunlight against his brown face and long braided black hair. Mirabelle gave a half-smile back. Due to his confidence, she felt a little more assured of remaining alive.
The three crossed the exposed section of the trail without incidence and reentered the forest. It had been a more harrowing experience than Mirabelle had imagined it would be: She sweated and shook nervously in her saddle until they were safely across and were finally away from the precipice.
The trail's descent to the lake was steep but the threesome went down slowly and carefully, winding their way along the trail. Though not as sure-footed as a burro, Mirabelle found the quarter horses to be (to her relief) amazingly adroit at negotiating the path. Soon the trail leveled out and neared the lake.
They came to a stop at a small grassy field that emerged from the forest just before the lake. After dismounting, they led their horses to the water to let them drink, then let them graze in the field. Taking their provisions from their horses' packs, the trio then sat down on the field to eat their lunch.
Michael took a deep breath and patted his chest as he let out his breath. "Ahh. Nothing like fresh mountain air," he said. Technically, they weren't in the mountains yet, but their forms could be seen in the distance, beyond the forests at the far side of the lake.
Mirabelle smiled and looked around. It was really beautiful out here. The shimmering blue waters of the lake reflected in their depths the dark greens boughs of the encircling trees. Beaches of sand and rocks stood out in stolid grey from under the brown trunks of trees and dashed here and there alongside the dark-coloured earth. The distant dark blue mountains with their snow-capped peaks towered far away in the turquoise blue of the sky. An earthly paradise. A feast for the senses. Mirabelle closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sun's rays upon her. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the scents of the pines, dry grasses and fresh water. She grasped the long grasses in her hands and felt their stems slip out of her hands. It was sensual ecstacy: like being in love with the world, with life.
She opened her eyes and turned to look at Joseph who was sitting beside her. "This is the perfect spot," she said to him, "It's so beautiful here."
He smiled as he gazed at the lake. "Yes, it is," he replied, "but even better is that it's not infested with mosquitos." Mirabelle let out a chuckle.
The three ate peacefully, enjoying the warm, sunny day. When they had finished, Michael began to speak.
"This land is so beautiful. It's the only country I've ever known. When I breathe, when I arise in the morning, while I awake, and when I sleep in the comfortable night, I always feel like I am loved, embraced by the land and the earth, like I am it's child and it watches over me," he said as he looked across the lake with a faraway look.
"It is like the earth and I can communicate; that we have a connection, a link. When I touch the earth or feel the sun or wind upon me, I feel a oneness. A oneness few people will ever know," he went on to himself, then stopped.
He turned to look at Joseph and Mirabelle. He had not realized that he had spoken out loud his thoughts and feelings. Joseph looked at him with a knowing look while Mirabelle looked at him dumbfounded. He spoke to Mirabelle.
"I'm sorry Mirabelle, I just got lost in my thoughts. I know that some people don't like anything that alludes to the mystical," he said to her.
Mirabelle was still stunned. This man, Michael, had expressed in his words the feeling and connection that Mirabelle had with nature all her life. She had never thought anyone else felt this way towards nature and yet here he was at last--a kindred soul, someone who could finally understand her. She spoke:
"All my life I have felt the same way towards nature. People thought I was just being immature or foolish, being in love with life. I always thought myself as some sort of nut. No one I knew ever felt like I did or could understand what I tried to express."
Joseph spoke to her, "To love the land is the ancient way, the eternal way. Oftentimes I have stood on a mountaintop to pray and tears would fall from my eyes because of the beauty of it all... of life." He smiled.
Mirabelle could not believe her fortune. She had finally met two people, someone, anyone who could understand her and her view of life. She had been coming to like the ranchers. They had been friendly and kind to her, but now she could see that her coming here was indeed fortunate. At long last she had someone she could talk to and express her feelings, someone who could understand her, someone who would not lambaste her for being romantic.
She looked at the duo: an old German-American rancher and a long-haired Indian. "Life certainly brings together odd associations," she thought. What had brought these three diverse and different people together in this lifetime, on this day?
The sun had well past the midday mark and Michael decided they had best be going. After letting their horses take one last drink, the three began the winding ascend up the trail that would return them to the ranch.
When they had reached the exposed, high, hilltop crossing, Mirabelle spoke out:
"Michael, Joseph, I don't think I can cross on my own," she told them. She was overtaken with fear--she remembered the long look into oblivion she had made earlier.
"I'll take your reins," said Joseph to her.
"No, I'm too frightened," she said, "I'm afraid I'll fall off and tumble down the cliffside."
"Just hold on to your horse," said Michael.
"No, please," said Mirabelle, obviously in anguish.
"Michael, lead my horse," said Joseph as he dismounted. He handed the reins to Michael. He walked back to Mirabelle's horse and then climbed on behind Mirabelle's saddle. He took the reins from her and enclosed her in his arms. "Here, I'll go with you across," he told her.
They began their crossing. Michael led with Joseph's horse behind, while Joseph and Mirabelle crossed on her's. Mirabelle quivered as they crossed right next to the abyss. She didn't want to look over the side again. She felt she'd be overcome with vertigo and fall over the side. Falling, falling for eternity.
Joseph brought his arms around her closer. "Don't be afraid," he said to her, "Just keep looking forward. It is your fear that weakens your spirit and would cause you to fail." He embraced her gently in his arms and rested his head upon her shoulder. "Just look straight ahead. We're almost across. Even out your breathing; that certainly helps."
In a short while they had passed the cliffside crossing. Joseph dismounted and returned to his horse. Mirabelle thanked him as if he had just saved her life.
"You're welcome," he said casually, as though coming face to face with the ultimate life experience was nothing to get excited over.
The three then continued through the forested trail. Mirabelle gazed at the two men as they rode ahead of her. They were so quiet and unassuming. They never made much of a show of anything. They were confident in themselves and didn't have to go around trouncing on weaker people, unlike some other men she knew who found it necessary to belittle others to bolster their own impotent egos. "Maturity was how Michael and Joseph were different," Mirabelle thought, "and also something else..."
Once again they came to the pasture. A light wind had picked up and was blowing the grasses before them in a series of waves like the ocean's tides. The three riders crossed the pastures, side by side. As they neared mid-way across, the wind picked up and blew Mirabelle's hat off. It tumbled away before them.
"I'll get it!" shouted Joseph with a wide grin. Michael smiled as he watched Joseph spur his horse. The hat continued to tumble away, far ahead of them in the wind. Joseph was off at a full gallop chasing down the hat. As he neared it, without slowing down a bit, he leaned out of his saddle and snatched the tumbling hat off the ground. He pulled himself back in his saddle and turned his horse around. Trotting, he led his horse back to an amazed Mirabelle and a smug-looking, arms-crossed Michael. Michael looked at the amazed Mirabelle and spoke:
"What is even more amazing is that he managed to keep his own hat on."
Joseph smiled and handed Mirabelle her hat. "Better hold on to that," he
said.
"Where did you learn how to do that?" she asked him, still astonished.
Michael spoke up, "Joseph's a trick rider. That's how we met--at a rodeo."
Joseph brought his panting horse back beside theirs and they finished crossing the pasture, this time keeping hold of their hats. They made their way further down the hillside and came to the ranch. The horses took a drink at the stream then were untacked, groomed and given hay to eat in their stalls. Done with the horses, Mirabelle started making dinner while Joseph and Michael sat on the porch, talking.
"What an amazing day," she thought. Coming to the ranch had already brought Mirabelle adventure and experiences she never imagined she could have had. She thought of the dashing trick rider who held her in his arms. "Joseph...Yellowsomething," she thought to herself, "I wonder what his story is?"
