I moved to Hollister a couple of weeks ago from a sparsely
populated state called Idaho (which, incidentally, has its own tiny
Hollister). You might have heard of it
– it’s the state with the potatoes, not the one with
Cleveland.
I moved to Hollister a couple of weeks ago from a sparsely populated state called Idaho (which, incidentally, has its own tiny Hollister). You might have heard of it – it’s the state with the potatoes, not the one with Cleveland.
People who have never been to Idaho have many inaccurate impressions of the place. There’s the “it’s full of Nazis” impression (while at one time the Aryan Brotherhood was based in northern Idaho, they moved to Pennsylvania after losing their property in a lawsuit) and the “people there don’t have TV” impression (half of television was invented in Rigby, Idaho, by Philo T. Farnsworth).
But my favorite impression of Idaho is the romantic notion that it’s the last vestige of the Great American West. And while it’s true that Idaho is full of wilderness and agriculture, it’s really no different than any other rural state.
Like people in San Benito County, people in Idaho farm and ranch. Their children participate in 4-H, FFA and rodeo. But just as people outside Idaho have certain impressions about Idaho, so do I have certain impressions about California. One of these is that everything in California is bigger and better (except the potatoes). This impression held true on Sunday at the San Benito Saddle Show and Rodeo, where I saw that rodeo, at least at the county level, is a much bigger ordeal in California than it is back in Idaho.
My California rodeo experience began when I joined the Free Lance’s goat dressing team. I raised 4-H sheep in my youth, so I figured I’d probably have no trouble wrangling a goat. The idea of dressing a goat rather amused me, and I got the impression that the SBC rodeo would be a quaint and amusing event.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
When I arrived at the rodeo, the place was so huge I had no idea where to go. After an ordeal in which several friendly and helpful rodeo coordinators searched for information about where the goat dressers were supposed to be, I was directed to a gate where many of the horses had lined up for the grand entry.
Already I was awed by the size of the rodeo. Hundreds of competitors would be participating, and as the procession went by, I couldn’t help but notice the beautifully conformed horses and the skill of their riders.
After the rodeo began, organizers gathered the goat dressers to tell us what to do. The teams had two minutes to dress their goats, after which rodeo queens would choose the top five goats. The winner would then be selected by audience applause.
We headed to the racetrack for the event. A flag dropped, and we sprang through the soft dirt toward our goats. True to my predictions, handling the goat was not too difficult. Keeping the goat’s clothes on, though, was an entirely different story. As our goat repeatedly shimmied out of its skirt, the Chamber of Commerce’s surfer goat charmed the audience. But despite our loss, I still had a lot of fun.
After the goat dressing, my teammate Nina convinced me to stick around for a while and watch the rodeo. Initially I was just going to go back into Hollister after the goat dressing, because I had always thought I knew pretty much everything of importance when it came to rodeo. Apparently I was wrong. My favorite events turned out to be ones I’d never even heard of before.
My particular favorite was cattle sorting, a stock horse event where two people separate three consecutively numbered cows from a group of about a dozen, and drive them, in order, across a line at the other end of the enclosure. It reminded me of nine-ball, but with cattle.
The events all mimicked tasks that ranchers have to perform as part of their jobs, only with added precision, time limits and a one-shot chance. It was amazing to see the level of skill with which the men and women of the rodeo controlled their animals. Of course, I’m not saying there aren’t people in Idaho who’d do just as good a job. There just aren’t as many.
In any case, I had a lot of fun at the rodeo. I saw my “bigger and better” impression in action, but at the same time I realized that in many ways, California is just like home. Except for the potatoes.
Cady McCowin is the night city editor of the Free Lance. Contact her at cm******@sv**********.com.
