Hooves, by Pat Gourley

“That horse has left the barn”
When I hear the word “hooves” in nearly any context I think of horses though many different mammals have hooves. My early days on the farm never involved horses so I may have made the association of hooves with horses after watching Gene Autry and Roy Rogers on 1950’s TV.
 I remember that the often ridiculous and blatantly racist TV westerns seemed to distinguish between native American horse-hoof prints from those of the always white settlers, American lawmen and cavalry by noting whether the horses had been shod or not. Native horses had no shoes whereas those of the white folk always did, a simplistic view since many native tribes were quite adept at acquiring horses from settlers and others who shod their horses. On these TV shows, blacksmiths were often shown dramatically forging by a fire while shaping the shoes and then nailing them onto the horse’s hooves. This really is the extent of my connection with the word “hooves”, though I do vaguely recall older male relatives on occasion playing “horseshoes”. That was a game though that never caught on for me personally.
Another memory of hooves was the apparent use of fake cows hoofs being used by moonshiners wearing them to throw off federal agents chasing them during Prohibition. Not sure exactly how this worked since cows have four feet and humans only two. However, wasting time on thinking about this application of hoof-foot-wear as a means to sneak to one’s moonshine still in the woods will do little to address any real-world problems these days I am afraid.
I can though make a tangential leap from hooves by way of horses and cows to the phrase: “That horse has already left the barn”. This implies of course to the after-the-fact reality that it is too late to do anything about whatever. If one adapts this as a worldview these days there are many things that seem too late to do much about whether we want to admit that reality or not.
Climate change sadly is one reality that it may very well be too late to do much about. That horse seems to have galloped away and kicked the door shut with both of his back hooves. Still, in my more optimistic moments I can’t help but think that if we were to embark on a Manhattan Project to save the planet that salvaging an at least livable, though probably less than desirable, planet might be doable.
Laughably perhaps I can hope that the recent hurricane evacuations for both Trump’s Mar-a-Lago estate and Rush Limbaugh’s beachfront properties in Florida might turn into teachable moments. That however does not seem likely.
My go-to person around all things climate change and how this is intimately tied to capitalism specifically is Naomi Klein.
I highly recommend her two most recent works: This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs. The Climate and “NO is Not Enough” subtitle “Resisting Trump’s Shock Politics and Winning The World We Want”. Here is a link to these works and Naomi in general:
It isn’t that the Donald Trumps and Rush Limbaugh’s of the world don’t believe in climate change, I actually expect they do. It is that they realize better than many of us that the only effective possibility for addressing this catastrophe is a direct threat to their worldview and way of life. That their greedy accumulation of goods and capital will save them from the resulting hell-scape, in the end, is truly delusional thinking on their part.
I feel the only viable solution being an acceptance of the socialist ethos:  From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.
© 19 Oct 2017 
About the Author 
I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener, and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California. 

Cowgirls Come on Out, by EyM

Roy Rogers exuded cool.
He wore his neck scarf knot to the side. Roy Rogers always impressed Dale
Evans. So naturally when my little 8 year old wanna-be cowboy body and soul
craved to impress a girl, I copied him. Sure enough that scarf sat over my
jugular as I stood there wide-eyed looking into my Mother’s dresser mirror. My
exuberant rendition of a TV ad “Going out on a date in my Rocket V-8!” flew out
of my mouth full blast and full volume. Shame followed long after with
startling fear that I could have been heard. This magical mirrored moment
undeniably marks my early lesbian feelings.

Before that, my Father completely perplexed me when he shamed me at age 6 for asking if my neighbor, a boy, could stay all night and sleep outside with me in the tent. It took years to know just what his problem was. It took even longer to know that it was all his problem.

In first grade, oh how I wanted to impress Susan. I lovingly wired rag strips from the rag drawer to a piece of broomstick I cut just for her. I strutted on my Schwinn to her house to present the wonderful homemade mop. I grasped the bag at the top of the mop head and thrust the stick handle out with great flair. But ugh, only the stick came out.
It’s icky that I still feel embarrassed by the failed mop mistake, and even worse to hold the fear that my Rocket V-8 date song had been heard. How messed up is that? How messed up was the mid 50’s world that dumped so much shame. Obviously, our work is just beginning if even one little cowgirl or cowboy heart feels shame for who they are.
My Dad never really got it. “Don’t hang out in the back of the church with the boys! It just doesn’t look right!” Boys got to be ushers. He didn’t know how much I was one of the boys.
This year, about 60 years later, you cowgirls Barrel Racers took my breath away. Watching you young women fervently running your horses around those barrels was delicious to watch!
That was me as a teen. What a great full circle awakening. Thank you cowgirls. I don’t care how you tie your scarves. You rock! You RIDE! Oh how you ride, right here in my heart.
© 30 Sep 2015 
About the Author 
A native of Colorado, she followed her Dad to the work bench to develop a love of using tools, building things and solving problems. Her Mother supported her talents in the arts. She sang her first solo at age 8. Childhood memories include playing cowboy with a real horse in the great outdoors. Professional involvements have included music, teaching, human services, and being a helper and handy woman. Her writing reflects her sixties identity and a noted fascination with nature, people and human causes. For Eydie, life is deep and joyous, ever challenging and so much fun.