Our ranch in southern Colorado was a land of rocks, trees, sagebrush, cactus, and cavernous ravines. I loved my home - it was the perfect place for a boy like me; rowdy, out-of-control and in need of space to roam and play.
One day, my father allowed me to ride Bulldozer, my favorite steed, around the pasture. I had been hoping that he would come along with me, but as usual, he was too busy working on time-consuming weekend projects.
I led the steed through the dense brush, as branches snapped and hooves clobbered the ground. We came to a stop, with trees encircling us. I pointed my middle and index finger forward, thumb toward the sky in a makeshift gun. I believed that I was a pioneer, scanning the trees for savages and wild, deadly beasts. .
I nudged Bulldozer, my command for him to move forward. But he ignored the gesture and refused to move. I dug my heels into his side again; a little firmer this time. With that, he lunged forward, bolting out of the woods, leading my face into a branch. I stare at the sky, while lying in a patch of cacti. Crying, hundreds of spines coating my back, I realized that I was not the boss of that horse.
I tend to separate myself from nature, making one definition for humans, and another for everything else. Riding horses throughout my life: getting bucked off numerous times has ensured I have an appreciation for nature. Yet, I still go back to the notion that humans over-right nature. On my first day of college my professor asked what I think nature is; instantly knew the answer- anything that is not human. He looked at me, puzzled and asked, "is a bird's nest different than a house. " Immediately, I examined my brain for the answer, drawing a blank, nothing was there. The question stumped me. I continuously analyzed it, when I finally came to conclusion; yes, humans take more than they need, where a bird will only take as much as it needs to ensure it survives.
