Half Broke Horses

A Windstorm of Life

Dear Reader, I reckon you might be sitting comfortably, maybe with a warm mug in your hands or a lamp throwing light across your room, casting shadows that dance just out of sight. I'm here to spin you a yarn, not of fairytales and fancy, but of grit and bone and the kind of spirit that gets lodged deep in your chest.

You might not know me, and that's fair enough. My name's Lily Casey Smith, and if life were a horse, I'd say it's half-broken at best.

Now, you might think we're as different as chalk from cheese, but stick with me; you'll find we've got more in common than you'd reckon. I was born in the early 1900s, a time that might as well be another world to you.

Back then, the West was still wild, and folks had to have a backbone made of the same stuff as the mountains just to get by. I grew up on ranches and in wide-open spaces where the sky seems to swallow you whole.

And that's where I learned my first lesson, under that vast expanse: the world's bigger than your worries, and there's room enough for dreams as big as the sky itself. I'd bet my bottom dollar you've got your own worries, just like I did.

Remember, they're just clouds passing through that big ol' sky of yours. Now, I could fill a book with the adventures I've had, and I wouldn't put it past me to do just that one day.

But for now, let me just say that from the moment I could walk, I was riding horses, and before I knew it, I was breaking them. There's something about taming a wild thing, not to snuff out its spirit, but to work alongside it, that teaches you a thing or two about life.

It's about respect, partnership, and knowing when to hold on tight and when to let go. I'd wager you've had to face wild things in your life too, haven't you? Times when you had to decide whether to hold on or let go?

Lessons in the Dust

My daddy, he was a man of the land, and he believed in the power of education, but not the kind you find just in books. He had me and my siblings learn by doing, which often meant getting our hands dirty.

We built our own damn house, can you believe that? From nothing but the ground beneath our feet and the determination in our hearts. I learned that you can create something lasting from the dust, something to stand proud against the howling winds of change.

And I reckon you've built things too, Reader, maybe not houses, but dreams, relationships, careers - all needing the same sweat and stubbornness. It wasn't all smooth riding, no sir.

There were floods that came and tried to wash us away, and droughts that wouldn't give a drop to drink. We lost crops, livestock, and sometimes, nearly our hopes.

But we learned to bend, not break. You've seen your own floods and droughts, I'm sure - those times when it feels the world's against you.

It's then you've got to dig your heels in and push back against the current, or wait out the dry spell, knowing the rain's got to come eventually. And then there was school.

I became a teacher at fifteen, if you can believe that. Standing in front of those kids, I wasn't just teaching them reading and 'rithmetic.

I was showing them, and myself, that we all have something to give, something to teach others. Perhaps you've found yourself in a role you never expected, feeling like a greenhorn.

But I'll bet you discovered something inside you that rose to the challenge, just waiting for its moment in the sun.

Hearts Wild as Mustangs

Love, now that's a beast of a different color. I met my husband, Jim, when I was teaching in Red Lake.

He was a man who could match my stubborn with his own and add a dash of charm to boot. We were two wild mustangs in a world trying to fence us in, but together we found a way to run free.

Love isn't just about the warm and fuzzies; it's about finding someone who shares your brand of crazy, who'll ride out the storms with you and still be there when the sun breaks through the clouds. I'm willing to bet you've got someone in mind, maybe someone who's stuck with you through thick and thin, or maybe you're still out there roaming, looking for your fellow wild heart.

Jim and I, we didn't settle for an easy life. We picked up stakes more times than I care to count, chasing work, land, and sometimes just chasing our own tails.

But each place we landed, we made it ours, if only for a spell. That's something else life taught me: home isn't just where you hang your hat, it's where you make your stand, where you pour your love and labor into the soil.

You've probably found homes in unexpected places too, made them out of moments and memories, not just walls and windows. And when the world went to war, and Jim went with it, I learned about the waiting and the worrying that comes with loving someone.

It's a quiet kind of courage, the strength to keep the home fires burning. Maybe your battles haven't been fought across oceans, but I know you've fought them all the same, waiting for a loved one, worrying in the silence, keeping hope alive like a flame against the darkness.

A Schoolhouse of Life

With Jim away, I went back to teaching, back to those eager or sometimes sullen faces looking up at me. I wasn't just teaching them; I was learning right alongside them.

Every question they asked made me question myself, and every lesson I taught was a lesson I took to heart. Life's a schoolhouse, and we're all both students and teachers, whether we know it or not.

You've been in that schoolhouse too, haven't you? Learning from the people around you, teaching them with your actions and your words, even when you didn't realize you were doing it. Those kids, they taught me about resilience.

They'd come to school with stories that'd curl your hair, tales of hardship and heartache that'd break a grown man. But they showed up, day after day, ready to learn, to grow, to be more than what life handed them.

It reminded me that we all have that fight in us, the ability to rise above, to keep reaching for the next rung on the ladder, no matter how slippery it gets. You know about that fight, I'm sure.

It's in you too, that drive to overcome, to prove to yourself, if no one else, that you're made of tough stuff. And there were losses, of course.

Loved ones taken before their time, dreams that fizzled out like wet firecrackers. But I learned about the beauty in letting go, in saying goodbye with grace and gratitude for what was, instead of bitterness for what could've been.

It's a hard lesson, one of the hardest, but it's one we all have to learn. You've said your goodbyes, I'd wager, felt that hollow ache.

But you've carried on, and that's the beauty of it.

Rivers and Roads

Jim and I, we settled down eventually, more or less. Bought ourselves a little piece of Arizona desert and worked it until it bloomed.

It was a hard life, but it was ours, and I wouldn't trade it for all the tea in China. We had our ups and downs, like the land itself, but we found joy in the small things - a blooming cactus, a full rain barrel, a quiet night under the stars.

I reckon you've found joy in small things too, moments that might seem insignificant to others but mean the world to you. And we raised two kids, two more wild spirits to teach and learn from.

They taught me about patience, about the kind of love that can make you fierce as a lioness and gentle as a dove. Watching them grow, make mistakes, find their own way - it's a journey all its own.

You've watched people you love find their paths, haven't you? Felt that mix of pride and worry, hope and fear. It's the dance of life, and we're all stepping to the music, whether we've got rhythm or not.

Through it all, through every trial and triumph, I've kept learning, kept growing. Life doesn't stop teaching, not until we draw our last breath.

And I've found that the lessons aren't just for me; they're for sharing, for passing on like a precious heirloom. You've got lessons of your own, stories that could fill a book or two.

Maybe you should write them down, pass them on. Because that's how we keep learning, keep living - through the stories we share.

The Unbroken Spirit

Now, I've told you a bit about my life, about the dust and the dreams, the love and the loss. But it's not just my story; it's a human story, one I bet you've been living in your own way.

We've all got that half-broken horse inside us, that wild thing that wants to run free. And we've all got the strength to tame it, to make it our partner on this wild ride called life.

I've learned that there's nothing we can't face if we face it together, that the hardest times often lead to the greatest growth. And I've learned that there's a beauty in the struggle, in the striving to be better, to do better.

That's what life's about, isn't it? Finding the beauty, making the most of the ride. So, dear Reader, if my story's touched you, if you've found a bit of yourself in the dust and the dreams, then I've done what I set out to do.

I've shared a piece of my heart, and maybe it's found a home in yours. And if you're hankering for more, then I'd recommend picking up a copy of "Half Broke Horses" by Jeannette Walls.

It's a masterpiece that'll take you deeper into the world I've lived, show you the full scope of a life lived with grit and gumption. You'll find more tales, more lessons, more of that unbroken spirit that connects us all.

Thank you for riding along with me, for seeing the world through my eyes, if only for a spell. Keep living, keep learning, and keep that spirit of yours unbroken.

It's the most precious thing you've got. With a tip of my hat and a heart full of stories, Lily Casey Smith