Finally, that long, long road-trip ended at a lake, with a house on it full of fun, fun people. Lots of hugs. Lots of voices. Lots of cousins. Lots of fun things to do. Good thing Wranglers and cowboy boots had made the journey there with us, 'cause...

Just up the hill from that house full of fun, fun people, was a pasture with two horses and a pony. And a barn. In the barn was a saddle.

A tiny little saddle with the brand lazy U, U on the fender - the brand that my husband grew up with, the brand of his family's ranch. And he remembered when...
From the time he was big enough to sit upright on a horse and hold on, he'd wanted to be in on all the horseback riding action that happens on a working cattle ranch. Enough of the times when he'd had to watch all the hired men, his dad and his sisters ride out the corral gate and down the road without him. Enough of the times when he'd had to stay home with his mama while she cooked a big, hot meal for when all the riders returned hungry. Enough of pretending to ride round the living room, complaining that he wanted to 'go swip a cow' with his little whip, too. Enough of that.

He was ready to get on a real horse, take the reins, and ride bareback, if he had to. He was ready. And he did ride, every chance he got - him, his little cowboy boots, the gentle horse, a bridle, a saddle blanket and a buckin' rig, to hold on to.

Then one day, after he'd been riding with the buckin' rig for a few seasons, his grandpa, Pop, they called him, gave him something that set him in the ranks of the real cowboys. His very own saddle. It was made of smooth, chestnut-colored leather, with simple leather conchos at the saddle strings and contrast top stitching around the skirt. It was a perfect fit. His saddle.
Over the years, that boy and his saddle logged many hours on round-ups, cattle drives, and ninety-to-nothin' races across wide-open fields. He rode alongside hired hands, sisters, cousins, his uncle, his dad, and Pop, learning what and what not to do along the way.

When, one day that boy was a man, riding a man's saddle, the little chestnut-colored saddle was put into the tack room in the old stone barn where it sat waiting for other little riders to come along. It waited a long, long time, but they finally came. Cousins. Lots of cousins rode, laughed, and played cowboy from that little saddle, and it held them all as well as it had its very first rider.

Then, on a sunny May day, 2010, three little boys in Wranglers and boots gathered in a corral in front of a barn that was just over the hill from a lake and a house full of fun, fun people. They were ready to have their very first ride on their Daddy's first saddle.
The grins on their faces were eclipsed only by the grin on his.
And, when the last rider stepped down, and they were done for the day, excitement still hovered around.
Because this man and his three boys were taking the little saddle home!
(Thanks, Karen!)