Save a horse, ride a cowboy.  That’s what was printed across the front part of her white cut-off t-shirt; just barely covering her upper chest.  She wore a light brown burlap cowgirl hat, denim jeans, and broad square toe rustic brown boots.  Her long dirty blonde hair flowed freely around her shoulders, a tat of a red rose graced the center of her navel area.  As the tractor approaches Claire and Jason quickly gather up their remaining belongings, mashing everything into a large military style duffel bag, and hoisting it into the trunk of his car. 

“Hey there guys,” she says in a strong Southern twang with a hint of curiosity in her tone.  “Y’all not from around here.  I don’t usually see Christina or Blake Shelton in my neck of the woods,” the twentysomething cowgirl shouts out with a wink as her tractor comes to a stop.  She steps off the beast to greet her unexpected visitors.  “I’m Rose, my father owns this land.  I mean owned, he died after a long bout with lung cancer.  We just buried him last month next to our mother,” she says with a crackling in her voice.  “I’m doing what I can to care for the farm until we sell it.  My girlfriend and I are accidental farmers now,” she says half-jokingly as she looks Claire over from head to feet and then fixing her gaze upon Claire’s eyes.  

“So are you both newlyweds?” she says as if she’s playing detective or working as her hometown’s roving reporter.  “I sure hope I’m not getting too personal ya’ll, this is the country; small town hicksville,” she laughs like a young country girl reminiscing of her days flirting with cowboys at the Georgia State Fair rodeo.  You can tell she rolled in the hay many late nights after a barn yard dance with both cowgirls and boys.  Her 5’5″ frame and tight athletic figure would cause the other farm girls to gossip about her love life; the reason the church held many heavily chaperoned socials and strict, scripted preaching on the sins of the flesh and eternal damnation for fornicating with the devil’s son.  Homosexuality and unplanned pregnancies were surely cause for public “flogging” in front of the whole church and a secret retreat to a Jesus Camp where the sinner would get reindoctrinated in the ‘True Path.’  

She was a rebellious teenager, but still loved her Daddy to death.  She’d do anything for him; even if it meant going to hell in his place.  Little Rose was only sixteen when she kissed her first pair of ruby red lips; that of Desiree.  A young college student from the city, who attended Georgia State University, black, busty, and beautiful- she and her were caught one night after a Baptist dance by her preacher dad.  She was sent to Jesus Camp for the whole summer, never to see Desiree ever again; not even to this day.  She was emotionally fucked up to this day however hides it well under her cowgirl courage and that big beast of a tractor which she handles like a pro tending to her family’s plantation.  Karma may be her bitch to grind but she has always felt partly to blame for her father’s early retirement to the other side of heaven…

Advertisements

As a proud graduate of California State University, Chico with an earned BA degree in International Relations, Master of Arts degree in Public Policy, and a past study abroad participant at the University of Tuebingen, education has always been up front and center in both our family and my professional career. My blogging project is an eclectic work in progress and intended to increase global awareness through selections and stories of my studies and travels. As future global citizens we can seek first to understand one another through word pictures and engage our collective creative intellects to change our community; one blog at a time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: