Marble Falls       In the way that expressions stick, whether true or not, it’s not hard to hear people of all stripes and persuasions exclaim, “this isn’t my first rodeo!”  Every once in a while, I wonder if, in fact, these folks have ever been to a rodeo?

For my part, my first, was perhaps the biggest of all of the American rodeos, the annual Frontier Days in Cheyenne, Wyoming.  We were kids of course.  Our dad was a field auditor for the California Oil Company, now called Chevron, which meant from Memorial Day to Labor Day, for five or six years until I was thirteen, our family was on the road all over the Western states, especially Colorado, Wyoming, New Mexico, and the Dakotas stopping for days or weeks at a time in the oil fields.  When we were that close at the right time at the end of July, there we were at the Wyoming rodeo extravaganza.  More recently before Covid-times, when we had a trailer in Manderson, Wyoming, behind a friend’s house, my son and I caught a much smaller version in the Basin/Greybull area up the road in Big Horn County, which was a combo rodeo and county fair.  Chaco told me he had been to one put on by the Professional Rodeo Association in the New Orleans Superdome.  I wish he had invited me!

All of this came to mind as we parked the truck up the pasture along with hundreds of others for the Newton County Rodeo the other night in northwestern Arkansas.  The rodeo was put on by the Arkansas Cowboys Association, and the announcer said this affair had been named the best rodeo in the state ten different years.  The county fair with a Ferris wheel, booths, fried corndogs and more, was in the fields on the other side of the stands, which were packed.  Chaco and I weren’t really prepared to sit on the concrete steps to watch the show.  Most came with portable seats with cushions and arm rests:  make a note for next year.

This is a miniature of what anyone might watch on “Yellowstone.”  The horses were beautiful.  There might not have been more than twenty or thirty contestants in all of the events, but they took it as seriously as the pros might have.  In the calf roping for example, only one of six managed to actually pin the calf.  The bronco riding event was a highlight, fast, and dangerous, with most finishing the ride and being picked off the horse before bruising.

The whole affair started with something called “mutton busting,” which was a children’s event.  A child would hug the neck of the sheep and try to hold on.  Adults would run behind them to pick them up when they fell.  Some two- and three-years old were held on by parents for the entire run.  You “won” if you managed to stay on top for 65 to 75 feet.  This event, like so many of the others, was about supporting and maintaining the culture of raising livestock in the area.

The whole event spoke to a popular, but increasingly niche set of cultural traditions.  Boots and boot cut jeans were common for lanky farm raised teens and adolescents with cowboy hats and baseball caps.  Whole families carried strollers and children up the steps.  America 250 t-shirts were sported by some, while the plaid short sleeve shirts and Wranglers were common.  There were no MAGA hats, but trust me, we started with a rodeo queen in the middle of the arena with a giant American flag while America the Beautiful was sung after the customary opening prayer.  Trump’s name was unspoken though, and there was only one Biden jab from the announcer.  We all called the hogs with crowd raising their voices in “woo, pig, sooie” three times as their hands went in the air ending with a Razorbacks yell at the top of their voices.

For many in attendance, this was clearly the highlight of the summer.  We’ll keep it on our calendar when anywhere near Newton County.  If there’s a rodeo near you, make it your first, if you’ve never been and spread the word.