Seems like everyone is talking about heroes lately. It’s even the project topic of the month in the older dude’s 2nd grade class. So while I’m reading tidbits about astronauts and revolutionary leaders, those who stand up for what they believe in, and those who overcome great physical limitations, I can’t help but think about the heroes in my own life.
When I was a kid, my very favorite place in the world to be was at Girl Scout summer camp. I loved being out in the natural world, I loved the independence from anything but the faintest hints of authority, and I loved the craziness the camp counselors brought to the job. Camp counselors were like the coolest big sisters a girl could ever have, the fiercest mama bear a cub could ever have, and the energizer bunny – all rolled into one. And while I had many fantastic wonderful camp counselors over the many fantastic summers I spent at camp, one was instantly my hero.
Imagine standing in a sun-drenched dry meadow with 200 of your best camp friends, waiting for the evening’s flag-lowering ceremony to begin. On the far side of the meadow, a plume of dust is being kicked up by several small brown masses. As the brown masses approach, the ground begins to thunder with the pounding of 8 sets of horse hooves riding in pairs toward the flag pole. An awed hush falls on the crowd and the riders slow, then stop just outside the circle of campers. They dismount and perform a silent flag ceremony, carefully folding the flag into the prescribed triangle. They climb back upon their horses and ride, literally, off into the sunset.
Except one does not ride off into the sunset right away. One shows off her horsemanship skills by asking her horse to spin on its back heel. Freeze. Turn the other way. Freeze. Rear up on its hind legs. She is a loud confident woman who brought her own horse with her that summer to camp. She is rough. She wears a cowboy hat. And I want to be just like her.
Over the course of the next few summers, every time I saw her, I was in awe. I couldn’t wait to be old enough to join the wrangler unit. When I finally was, I was overwhelmed by my fear of both the largeness of the horses and her personality. I probably cried a few times but still I did what I had to do to join that club. I faked confidence until I felt it. I learned how to speak in the biggest of voices or with the softest of touches. I learned how to encourage success. I learned how to care for those that depended on me.
I don’t know if I would have grown to love horses or if she inspired me to, but I did. I don’t know if I would have grown to become a strong independent woman on my own, but I know she taught me that it was possible. I would love to meet her one more time and thank her for pointing me to the path that became my own.
Creating the Feast 
Yippee!
Double yippee!
Bow Wave by Malcolm Leland
100 Years, 100 Stones, by Eve Andrée Laramée 
