As the first rays of the mid-June sun pierce through the curtains, he gently shakes her awake. The predictable pattern of the lengthening days and the shortening nights is in full swing. The day is already bright, but the hours since the sunset and her bedtime feel too short for an 11-year-old on the cusp of adolescence. She grunts and turns over, peeking her eyes through the covers. “Sis, the horses are saddled. Get your boots on and meet me outside.” They are going to check the cows.
We have just experienced the summer solstice, the year's longest day. Midsummer, as it is sometimes called, has been marked and celebrated since the Neolithic era. It was seen as a time to honor the earth and agriculture, a time for sun worship and a time when the normal laws that govern Earth were suspended. This deep connection to nature and the rich tradition of the solstice is at the heart of our relationship with Earth, even when we don’t realize it.
She rolls out of bed and pulls on the jeans she carelessly left on the floor. She pulls on her boots, rubs her eyes and stumbles out the front door. Within 20 minutes of waking up, she is on her horse. She can feel the strength of her loyal friend buoying her and bringing her fully to consciousness. She follows her dad astride his big bay gelding as they circumvent the property – riding the fenceline, analyzing pasture conditions and checking water.
Her dad is chatty this morning, full of wisdom and advice. As her mind wanders to pleasant daydreams, he brings her back, drawing her attention to one thing or another about the cows and calves. She knows he is trying to teach her to pay attention – to learn about the ranch and its animals – but her mind flits from one thing to another, and she feels both unable and unwilling to focus on something as mundane as the length of the grass. She knows this disappoints him, and she feels it keenly.
This morning, as the sun begins to shine in earnest and her horse’s coat is warm to her touch, she listens closer as he describes what to look for in a sick calf. She tries, and one day she knows she will care more, but today, she wants to ignore his astuteness and take off hard through the pasture. She wants to feel the power of her horse between her own strong and powerful legs. She wants to scatter the cattle, see them run, settle and group back together. She knows this is hardly the behavior of a good cattlewoman, but today, she doesn’t care. Cowgirls live on, or so it goes. She feels the power of the sun on her back, the power of her horse between her knees, and the power of the earth through each stride.
Solstice celebrations seem outlandish in our 21st century world – full of practicality and logic, starkly contrasting the ancient traditions. And yet, an 11-year-old girl galloping through the pasture is a tiny celebration – an honoring of nature. She, a little breathy and unhinged, suspends the laws of nature momentarily and is as connected to the earth as closely as the ancients. So, Dad – let her run.
