As a member of the circus audience in her hometown in northern Michigan, I caught her eye from the bandstand three years earlier. Beverly was a tall, longhaired beauty. After tear down that night, an evening of petting initiated our mutual interest in each other. We became pen pals, requiring her to be diligent about writing back to the address I always included of our future destination.
I experienced a sensation that I had never noticed before. The whole world seemed to glow as I went through my established routine. The tasks seemingly fell away, and my usual particular attention to detail seemed fortified with a joyous regard and enthusiastic zeal. The faces of the patrons seemed to have a glow all to themselves too. I just knew they could see it too. This sensation expanded throughout the summer ahead and seemed to lighten any load and fuel me with zeal for whatever was in front of me.
She had a summertime job working for a man with a tourist shop that made souvenirs out of Petoskey stone, a regional geologic phenomenon. Millions of years ago, ocean bottom corals were abundant in this area. Over time the precise pattern similar to a honey comb became imbedded in stone. Now these stones are abundant in this area of Michigan. To make souvenirs the stone is first sliced into thin pieces that reveal the precise pattern and polished. Then the thin sheets are carefully cut by hand into interesting shapes to be made into earrings, pendants and the like. The most popular shape is the outline of the state of Michigan. This is what Bev did. Sitting at the bench with a special saw, a variety of shapes were cut out of the stone and made into merchandise that was also on sale in the shop.
At the end of that season, I had several projects to tackle. I spent the winter at my parent’s home outside of Chicago and built my camper that would also house my drumming bandstand. I was most anxious to show off my handiwork to Beverly.
After the completion of my camper late winter, I drove up to see her and meet her family. Her father had built an A-frame home in a lovely setting in the woods outside Traverse City. I was introduced to music I hadn’t heard before; Seals & Crofts, Cat Stevens and Carol King, and their backwoods lifestyle. We enjoyed an evening of snowmobiling and togetherness prior to my heading south to a warmer climate. Our correspondence continued. As a result, she stayed abreast of my aspirations and adventures on the circus. Our communication covered a variety of interests and spanned our infrequent visits.
One benefit of the tented circus going broke earlier in the year and my hooking up with the Voorheis Circus was that I would be performing in her proximity twice more that year. I couldn’t wait for her to see these ponies. When the show played near her home, I anticipated her visit. I was so proud, standing in the truck, ankle deep in hay, with my beloved ponies. When she arrived, Beverly instantly fell in love with these cute yellow beings and spent the entire afternoon and evening with them, brushing, primping and pouring out affection and love. I saw something special in her that night that validated the warmth that had been growing inside me. I asked her to join me and come along. We could be a family. Her, Superdog, the ponies and myself.
We had a wonderful time together during that visit. The ponies performed flawlessly. She appreciated the level of ability we had achieved. Too soon, the time came for me to head out to the next town. For reasons I may never know, Beverly did not join me on that itinerate pursuit. Our letters continued, but began to wither as my travels and ambitions took me farther and farther away.
At the conclusion of that season, I headed to Clarklake, picked up the rest of the ponies and began the trip to Hugo. I was learning one of the first of several lessons about how this rigorous lifestyle is jealous of any other love. Being in love and not knowing what to do would be replaced with a clear career path. For now, my mind and all of my energy was occupied. I had a big dream and much to do. I became completely immersed in all that was in front of me.
The relentless pace of one day stands on a big top circus can switch from the regular rhythm in a moment, into a turbulent situation for an ever expanding list of reasons. Like all aspects of nature, show business is involved in an evolution. At one time, circus acts shared the theatric venue called vaudeville. Entertainment changed with the advent of motion pictures and the displaced acts either evolved or died. Change is constant. I was in the midst of learning the lessons that come from upheaval from the solution I had found at the beginning of the year, having turned into a dead end. Having found an alternative, scrambled to embrace this new opportunity, but was to find it was not without additional demands for change.
The first season with the beginnings of my young liberty act were not immune to trouble. As the animals became familiar with the chaos of working in front of an audience and became consistent with their routine, other factors interrupted our momentum. After the whirlwind experience of being on the Barnes & Dailey Circus that folded mid season, getting the livestock relocated, racing to get equipped by buying a truck, selling the camper and getting the new rig racked to haul all my circus equipment, prior to landing a five week contract with my three pony liberty act in the fall of 1974, I arrived in a parking lot of a high school in a small town north of Detroit. I was glad to find work.
My tour on Circus Voorheis provided my first experience of performing with an indoor venue. I was to learn several distinctions exist from the grass lot big top version of doing one day stands, here on a school house circus.
The first difference was the footing for the ponies on the gymnasium floor. A school house circus was perfect for unicycle, roller skate and juggling acts that suffer on a bumpy dirt lot, but the slick floor was a detriment to my pony act. I had to invest in Celetex or Homosote sheeting to lay on the gym floor under the canvas ring mat to provide proper footing for the ponies. This is a thick insulating board made from a loose cardboard-like material.
This circus was different in other ways too. Since each gym had bleachers, none of the big top or seating equipment used on a mud show was necessary. The show only had to carry props, lighting, sound and concessions. We also had a different daily routine. The show was not welcome at the building until school let out. Rather than enjoy the daily camaraderie I was used to on a tent show, here between towns everyone was on their own. With different needs, the various trucks and trailers of the staff and performers were parked hap-hazard at shopping plaza parking lots and various other convenient places to wait until the school building became available. I had entered a new realm of entertainment. With my reclusive pattern of identifying problems, creating solutions and accomplishing things on my own, this new itinerate routine was quickly adopted.
My immediate daily needs along the route were for water and a place to dispose of manure, so truck stops and remote areas became frequented and fertilized. I had livestock to tend to, so I sought grassy places on which to put my picket line and let my three ponies graze each morning and enjoy some sunshine. The rest of the time they lived in the truck. Hay mangers were rigged inside with cross ties so they could live just like in the barn back at Hugo.
I had to be one of the first ones at the building each day when school let out, to get my celetex floor in the gym. Because of this, my truck was typically parked next to one of the gym doors. First, I would carry all the pieces of Celetex sheeting inside and arrange them on the floor. This was then covered by the prop crew with the ring mat. The ring curb was then added along with the lighting, sound, and props for the rest of the acts.
The experience of working the rookie pony act on a gym floor each day had one attractive aspect when, one day Tex decided to jump out of the ring. In his defiant scramble for freedom he discovered the floor was slick, and that he had no control. In the midst of his forward momentum outside of the ring, he lost footing and fell to his butt sliding into a pile of props. Gently, I stopped the other two and went to get Tex, kindly guiding him back into the ring. He never jumped out of the ring again.
Aerial acts that enjoyed the ease of existing rigging in the big top had a different challenge here. On a daily basis they had to find suitable places in the ceiling or rafters to secure their rigging. Doing this rigging overhead was a daily challenge dependant on whatever opportunity existed. Because we set up when school let out, last minute preparations were still taking place as the first show crowd arrived.
Once the ring was ready, the time came to primp and groom these pretty yellow ponies and get them ready for the show. This activity took place in the truck along with the harnessing. Horses really are wonderful animals. I remain impressed with their willingness. I had a concern about the ponies pooping while we were in the building, something that would be both inconvenient and embarrassing. Other circus animals were conditioned to poop prior to performing. I learned about a way to promote their bowel movement for the sake of cleanliness and adopted this technique at the beginning of my tour.
The harnessing procedure prior to each performance began with laying the apparatus across the back of one of the ponies. All of the features of the harness were then convenient. The headstall was hung on one of the check reins, martingale on the other, and the back band that lead to the crupper hung alongside the kidney drops. The first step was to lift the tail and carefully put the crupper in place. Then the girth is secured by reaching underneath and grasping the belly band and threading the strap through the buckle and pulling it tight. At this point, early in the tour, I took an eyedropper filled with mineral oil, inserted and squirted the contents into the anus. Soon thereafter, the bowels promoted elimination right there in the truck. I only had to do this procedure for four days in a row to condition the desired response. From that point on, all I had to do was lay the harness on their back and they knew it was time to poop
I was not needed to play the drums here on this show because Colonel Bill Voorheis was the drummer. On a tent show I could listen for the music going on and by recognizing the tune, know which act was taking place. Now on this show, the music was contained within the walls of the gymnasium, so a quick hike to peek in the side door was required. When I knew what portion of the show was going on, I could be ready in time for my turn to go in and perform.
When the time loomed near for my act and the ponies were ready and standing in the truck, I would quickly change into my costume. I wore straight leg, vertical stripe, high waist tuxedo pants with boots. This combination accentuated my height and made the ponies look smaller. A ruffled tuxedo shirt with bow tie and a jacket with claw hammer tails completed the look. I would grab my pointer whip and lash whip and guide each pony down the ramp from the truck, one at a time. Soon I was standing next to the building, ready to go on with three palomino ponies with red leather harness and feather plumes at my side, hooked together with come-alongs. When the whistle blew and the door was opened, our entrance promoted oohs and aahs from all in attendance. The quick paced animal presentation provided contrast from all the other acts that were predominantly performing people accomplishing a variety of athletic, balance and dexterity feats. All the other acts except one.
A man with a clean converted bread truck with an eight ball mounted on the front and a travel trailer hooked on behind had a baby elephant and three kids. When he entered the gymnasium with baby “Tika,” accompanied by his gorgeous red-head daughter, this elephant was on her hind legs, walking towards the ring prior to their entertaining routine. Since Smokey and I had the only performing animals on the show, aside from a magician with poodles in his act, I naturally gravitated towards this man and his enterprise. I was to find, not only a common interest of animal training that became a passionate topic of discussion between us but also access to the foundation of his personal philosophy that would positively imprint my soul.
The daily routine of liberty pony training in winter quarters at the fairgrounds in Hugo, Oklahoma by this time included my being in the ring, working the three ponies proficiently with just a few weeks until the time arrived to go open with a circus. The final step, prior to this opening was to get the ponies “crowd broke,” or used to the noise, music and the applause they would experience at the show. During our training sessions, Bob clanged trashcan lids, played a record player and created other distractions in the barn while I worked them. This was in an effort to introduce them to working amidst chaos and disruption, but nothing would get them used to the real thing.
As the time came to think about the new season, Bob did his best to prepare me mentally for what to expect when I began performing in an actual ring on a real show. As I continued accumulating my understanding, Bob explained to me that the horse trainer actually wants the animal to make every conceivable mistake. It is during guiding the pony through these mistakes into the behavior that is desired, that the pony learns thoroughly. He told me that the first time a colored circus balloon would land in the ring; the ponies would probably be so terrified that they may bolt out of the ring. He went on to tell me that I would have to remain calm and guide them through all these circumstances because every conceivable thing that can go wrong will go wrong and with each episode I had an opportunity to teach my steeds again. Little did I know that all of these stories, the coaching and the encouragement would not completely prepare me for what was actually going to happen and that as a perfectionist dealing with the immense variety of combinations of mistakes possible, I had created a future with a cacophony of confusion, blunder opportunities and a performing career with industrial strength frustration.
I made a deal with Jimmy Silverlake to present my 3 pony act on his circus. He had left the family and launched a show called Lewis Bros circus with a partner the previous year. Now as the sole proprietor of his own circus, he was willing to give me a position where I could present my unproven act. Typically special consideration is given to a rookie animal act due to the training that will continue as the animals settle into their routine. With a green act and no truck to haul the ponies, I also needed a situation where I could expose these rookie ponies to the pandemonium of working in front of an audience and also have a place for them to ride. Jimmy had room in one of the show trucks for the livestock. Additional preparations were taking place at winter quarters for the upcoming season and he appreciated my other talents being available prior to opening.
In the spring I moved my camper, ponies and calliope trailer from Hugo to Medora. I was welcomed again to the Silverlake family winter quarters I was already familiar with from my Clark & Walters and Fisher Bros Circus days. My abilities as a fabricator and sign painter kicked into high gear, as we made many final preparations and I decorated his fleet.
The Barnes & Daily Circus opened in the spring of the year in a nearby small town in southern Indiana. I put up the small tent purchased from Buzz Barton as a stable and provided many other skills for the two inaugural performances. Perhaps, as a hint of the unpredictability to come, I had a rude awakening the next morning. Although the show was torn down and loaded, the location where I had the ponies stabled was in a low lying area on the lot. After a late night rain and resulting flash flood, my ponies were standing in knee deep water. After sloshing through the water to rescue and load the ponies in the elephant trailer and tear down the little tent, our 1974 season began in earnest.
The series of one day stands began their relentless rhythm and each day ran a little more smoothly. Our tour opened in southern Indiana and the route took us north through farm country to Michigan. The show was a testimony of efficiency, designed by a man who knew how to move a circus. Traveling on three trucks and trailers, the big top was a bale ring top, as opposed to the push pole tents of previous shows. That meant the poles went up first and the canvas was hoisted up the poles. This method of handling the canvas makes it last much longer. This circus was conceived, built and created by the brother of my original mentor, and was clearly a clean, efficient, attractive, and in my opinion, the neatest little circus anywhere.
Each day on a new grass lot, I put the ponies out on the picket line and would turn frail Teddy loose, as he would just hang around the others anyway. Little children gravitated to his peaceful presence and enjoyed petting him on the circus lot. Although too weak for any other role, Teddy remained as our loved mascot. Anyway, three green liberty ponies was a manageable size group for a novice to handle.
Soon the pattern of having the ponies on display in their little stable/tent on the midway, along with my Calliope, added to the visual appearance on the lot. I played the calliope before each show as a preamble to the performance, and for the “blow off” (when the patrons leave when the show is over.) I played old time tunes like “Daisy Daisy” and “Bicycle Built for Two” in the afternoon prior and between shows. While the ponies were in this situation, I observed the animal’s magnetism and the kind air that the patrons enjoyed. Through this exposure to the public, the ponies developed acceptance, tolerance and love for our audiences.
Inside the big top, my pickup truck with the drums bandstand was backed into the tent alongside another calliope. Bobby Green provided the music having migrated from the defunct Clark & Walters. Also here, Dot and Sonny Burdett added a touch of class to the show with their presence. Sonny always dressed to the tee assisting his tall lovely wife with her rolling globe act in the show. Billy Griffin worked in the office and dressed as a clown for the performances. Marilyn, Jim’s wife, performed aerial web and ladder.
I learned as a child that even an ideal social environment is complicated. Around a circus, egos get fed by the ongoing approval of the crowd. The narcissistic element that is inside all of us sometimes gets inflated beyond its intended purpose. Blind to the origins, sometimes tension develops between personalities. Egos clash. Without interruption or intervention, the caustic condition infects others, sides are taken and chaos reigns.
On a circus there are seasons when the personnel combine seamlessly to form a team that works well together and the experience along the entire route is heavenly. Then there are seasons where individual agendas take precedence over what is best for the show. Bickering and back stabbing take on a life of their own, resulting in an unhealthy experience. With the sincere attitude of regard present in the personality of Jim Silverlake, his pleasant, altruistic mindset radiated outwards to influence others and prevail on our show. That season came quite close to what may qualify as heaven on earth.
Needless to say, at the beginning of this tour, I went through a major learning curve. The pony act, although pretty, with animals the color of a shiny new penny, with contrasting red leather harness and feather plumes, suffered visually when a mistake occurred and I became clearly frustrated and it showed. I was to learn that among the skills appropriate to develop in my new role as an animal trainer was to mix acting along with training, as I guided the ponies through each mistake. Visible frustration was clearly not received well by the audience. The procedure of correcting an animal in the public eye needed some shiny gloss and a fixed smile. With some encouragement from the circus owner, I began to learn finesse. I became quick to maintain my smile, loving radiance, and kept my discipline discreet. As the weeks went by, the ponies caught on, becoming consistent each time we performed, and I could concentrate more on the acting, presentation and connecting with the audience during the act.
A few weeks into the season the dreaded balloon I had been forewarned about finally did drift into the ring during the act. I watched in horror as the lead pony “Buttons” went up to it and sniffed it. His response was to jump over it and resume the routine. I was surprised and so proud of him. The other two ponies “Buster” and Tex” concentrated their attention on following and doing whatever “Buttons” did, so although they shied away, they didn’t think much of the balloon either. What a relief.
The circus wandered north, criss-crossing the state I was already familiar with due to my first two seasons on the road. At one stop in a very picturesque town on Lake Michigan called Harbor Springs, I took a walk into town to enjoy the splendor of the quaint old vacation homes, tree and streetlight lined avenues and the beautiful natural setting overlooking the water. On the return hike through this utopia, I found a path that went through the woods. The natural beauty of these surroundings elevated my emotions to an unprecedented height of gratitude. Around each turn on the path, my feelings took flight.
The quiet nature walk among fernish greenery and chirping wildlife allowed me to find a secret place within that promoted a peace, oneness and joy. As if in a dream, around the final turn that lead out of the woods, I found a lush grassy field with a pretty little circus set up in the middle. This lovely picture remains unforgettable in my mind. The one ring, two pole big top with flags flying, an appropriate sized marquee to welcome the patrons in front of it, and the highly decorated trucks and travel trailers efficiently arranged around the lot made a pretty picture. I walked into this scene and four little yellow ponies looked up at me from their picket line in the grass.
This was a jewel of a show, the masterpiece of a man who, not only knew the logistics of how to properly put a show up and down each day, but how to load equipment efficiently on a minimum of trucks. As a finishing touch on the lot and to add an interesting feature, my calliope trailer and ponies were situated at the outside edge of the midway to greet the patrons as they arrived each day. As the rhythm of up and down each day combined seamlessly with the pleasant attitudes of the personnel, a feeling of oneness grew inside me. I was truly proud to be part of this show while simultaneously entering a new chapter in my life, and some of the best artwork created to date was on this fleet. I felt that this must be what is referred to as the piece de resistance or quite possibly the “magnum opus” of circusdom. As the season progressed, I thought; what could go wrong?
Advertising in any proximity that the locals gather is a strategy many businesses utilize. A sense of community dedication associated with civic groups is created with these gestures. Hand painted paper signs with the names and ads of these local merchants hanging in the big top is one way of making extra money around the traveling circus. Becoming the banner salesman on the Royal Bros Circus season of one day stands in 1973 was an enterprise that required my sister’s participation to fit into our routine. Our custom was already up early in the morning – Paula would wake me and crawl into the cab of the pickup to resume her sleep while I drove to the next town. When we arrived at the next town, I would jump out of the truck downtown with my steno pad and begin to visit the merchants in all the stores. Paula would then drive the pickup truck with camper pulling the trailer with the calliope and drums, to the edge of the show grounds where the big top was being set up. There she would recruit the canvas boss to drive the rig into position on the lot near the “back door” of the tent.
At the beginning of the season, John Frazier had given me a spiel to use and sent me downtown to do my best. I simply found the decision maker in each store and rattled off my memorized pitch, wrote down the particulars of each sign and announcement and collected eighteen dollars for each one. Downtown, my role took me in and out of each store and business, to give the spiel for buying a “banner ad” that would hang in the big top, and the accompanying announcement that would give merchants presence during the afternoon and evening presentation of the circus. I was learning presentation skills plus how to get around the employees in charge of intercepting disruptions and deflecting them. I learned to not disclose my purpose until I got around to talk to the boss.
As the circus banner salesman in a new town every morning, I had the opportunity to meet an endless stream of interesting people. In Perth, at a candy store, I entered an old time glass store front, going through a heavy wooden door that triggered a bell that rang each time it was opened.
After listening to my memorized spiel, the elderly woman who otherwise beamed in response to my presence responded with “I’m not going to buy one of your banners.”
After asking me about my role with the circus, I was then invited to listen as she told me about herself and sat down at the piano. Prior to World War I she had been a piano player for the silent films shown in the local theater. Emotion, drama, excitement, danger and elation were communicated through the flavor of the music created by a live piano player in these theatres. As she played, these examples of how music enhanced this genre of entertainment, my mind was transported to a time when this was state of the art. During the war, she became a bus driver for the war effort and when the war was over, “talkies” had arrived on the scene, so she had to pursue another vocation. This was just one of the many encounters with interesting people that imprinted my heart.
While I was in town selling banners, Paula had one duty during set up, and that was to take two pullies with long loops of rope and snap them into the lace lines of the big top while it was going up. This facilitated hanging the paper signs later, and was a duty that forced her out of her shell to interact with the crew during set up.
When I got back to the lot with all the orders, I had to scramble to get the rig backed into the tent and the drums set up, while Paula got busy painting signs on large pieces of white paper with a shoe polish applicator and getting them hung in the big top before the show.
Paula never did become an enthusiastic showman, partly due to her reclusive nature and partly because I had become a hot headed teenager that had never learned to be gracious as we attempted to get all these tasks done together on a daily basis. Perhaps I was following the example of our father’s strict perfectionist manner of wanting everything done just right, and that added to the already frustrating situation of her being in the turbulent outdoor entertainment business. All I could see was the “perfect” way it could have been done.
Our comfort was at the mercy of the weather and plagued with egoic whims, moods influenced by situation and selfish ambitions of others, which was more of what we had found on the playground of our youth, yet on a grander, rawer scale. The rigors of one day stands, relentless demands from me and the multitude of twists that occurred in this turbulent lifestyle began to wear on her. Something in my sister had been hurt. She could not show enthusiasm. She remained frustrated and became referred to as poor Paula amongst my trooper friends.
One morning after having a successful series of banner sales, I returned to the lot to begin with the process of setting up and getting ready for the show, but I could not find the rig on the lot anywhere. I asked the canvas boss if he knew anything, and he sent me to see the elephant man.
When I asked Dick, he said, “The rig is over there” and pointed north of the lot.
So I began to walk.
About a mile from the lot, I found my sister completely frustrated, sitting on the ground, with the truck stuck up to the axels in someone’s front yard. Apparently while driving the rig from where she dropped me off downtown and heading for the lot, she missed the entrance. Thinking she could just go around the block, Paula continued down the road and instead found that it went straight for miles with no place to turn around. Exasperated, she pulled up someone’s driveway and attempted to make a big loop in their front yard. But the lawn was soft, and the truck sank up to the axels.
When I got there, I was not the loving, supportive brother that she needed at that low point in her life. I became a hot head and screamed and yelled at her. I had to hike back to the lot and recruit the help of the elephant to pull the rig out of that situation. As I look back at my behavior of that day, I realize that my response did more to damage my sister, who already had the tendency to shut down and withdraw. This event caused her to retreat even further into the security of isolation. If I had it all to do over again, I would have become comforting, compassionate and lovingly explained to her that we all make mistakes. The damage of that event set the tone for the rest of our lives. My sister never saw an admirable trait in me from that point on. When I did see her years later, warmth and regard was gone.
Holding a grudge seems to be a sin of our father, who had his front teeth knocked out on a family water ski excursion by his brother (interestingly, who became a dentist). Making amends or entering the procedure of forgiveness, as taught by Jesus, was not exampled in our family in spite of our father being a minister. Resentment persisted becoming depression as part of our father’s experience.
After an otherwise busy and fun summer season across picturesque Ontario, we had much to relish and savor from this adventure but a contemptuous “not knowing” for both of us, forced self reliance to the front and we grew apart. My sister and I had survived a turbulent childhood exposed to the vast spectrum of behavior coming from others, to prefer a smaller circle of influence. At the end of that season on the circus in Canada, we trucked back to the Quad cities where, after dropping her off, she began her next semester of college. That was her only experience on a circus.
I headed east to pursue a fall tour on another show, a small circus with a five week tour through Michigan that performed in school gymnasiums. At the end of that turbulent year, I ventured to Indiana, gathered up the new crop of babies at the Palomino farm, picked up the harness commissioned at Shipshewana and headed for Michigan.
At Hayes farm, I unloaded the “wiener” babies and prepared to gather up the now grown “yearlings.” One colt had died.
Hayes told me the story of Lewis Bros Circus, a show owned locally that thrived during the thirties and forties that wintered east of Jackson on Fox Road. He had gone out there in the past to snoop around but the owner of the farm wasn’t keen about visitors. Fortunately the farm had changed hands again and Hayes made friends with the new owner. He saw the left over equipment that had sat for several decades but not before many of the rotting wagons had been burned.
Since he was friendly with the current owner of the farm, during one of my visits to Clarklake, he suggested that we drive up there and look around. In his green station wagon we went to Fox Road. Behind the large white home in a rural part of the county, a sunken driveway lead past a row of tall trees up to the back where two large barns stood. Inside the first one was a low ceiling and a labyrinth of aisles and stalls, obviously where the animals for the show lived during the winter.
The other barn was a massive, high ceiling structure with sheet metal on the floor where the elephant was housed. Up on the second floor, a large room was where the wardrobe, canvas repair and other preparations took place.
As Hayes and I explored the place we saw and inverted elephant tub being used as a coal hopper and recognized other pieces of equipment strewn around. The owner told us to take what we wanted. I found a complete set of liberty horse harness and an elephant bracelet.
Part of the challenge of living on the road involved an inability to collect things. My choice to keep something usually meant that another belonging would have to get discarded, but this find was too good to pass up.
After some additional artistic projects Hayes had accumulated for me to complete, I headed for Oklahoma with four yearlings to begin the creation of my new palomino liberty act. I was about to begin the experience that would positively imprint my life in many amazing ways.
This business I had selected in an effort to make an improvement came filled with extremes; from encouraging friends that would become a positive influence for my lifetime, to crooks with agendas that inflict selfish devastation. Instead of receiving wisdom from the lessons learned on the road, our response was more of what we had established as children. To seek on our own, to cherish self reliance and independence for surviving in this turbulent society. The ponies would teach me something vastly different.
Letterfly Writes 