Janine is as rugged and beautiful as the mountainside where she resides for cattle grazing season. Last summer she took a job managing about nine hundred head of cattle on the Western Slopes of Colorado. Her cattle experience before applying was limited to handling beef at a local butcher shop, but that didn’t hold her back (“because little experience wouldn’t stop a man”). However, horses were no stranger to her and essential to living this brutal lifestyle - a woman, a one room cabin, no power, no water, no service, miles away from town, alone.

​ We met at a friend’s wedding this past June. I gave her a lift to the local lawn mower race down the road. This small town event was covered in dust so dense you could chew it gritty. Manipulated motors sang a tune that sounded like hick, while the announcer harmonized to the crowd going wild. The fuel fumes drifted through the air and smelled like a man wearing well-earned-plaid, and Wranglers; the kind of man that knows how to fix things; the kind you’d want your father to meet.

​ After our encounter, I did what every fan girl does in our digital age and started following her on social media, admiring her feral western content. Sometime between July and September Janine invited me to come ride with her. I have never ridden that type of terrain or moved cows, but had always wanted to. To be honest I was really surprised by the invitation because we didn’t know one another well. Her invite led me to think deeply on the idea of going. I had no idea if it was a safe choice to say yes, but maybe the best prescription for my recent battle with anxiety, panic attacks, and night fears of death. Horses and mountains, what could go wrong? The invitation gripped me, my need for lighthearted play led me to say yes.

​Along with spontaneity and very few details, my friend Erin, my dog Goose, and I headed out in the early morning hours with a packed car. We left home in central Oregon en route to some “cow camp” in the national forest outside of Paonia, Colorado. We never could have guessed what would greet us upon our arrival.

​ We were hyped up on coffee, excitement, deep talks, and podcasts about the paranormal, but after so many hours in the car, we decided to camp and finish the drive in the morning. Once we were on the road again, we received a text from Janine asking us to grab coffee, a French press, and to let us know she was going riding with her boss, along with the following: “If you don’t hear from me, keep coming up past the reservoir, take the third road on the right and you’ll know Cow Camp when you get there.” That’s it? Check!

​ The paved road turned to dirt a few miles outside of town. We looked at one another, grinning, and said something along the lines of, “I can’t believe we just drove from Oregon to Colorado to do this!” Our giddiness was quickly interrupted. A Sheriff’s truck came speeding up to us from behind, and I thought it was probably a bored local cop ready to hassle the out of state driver. Annoyed, I pulled off the narrow road putting my window down. The truck stopped beside us in a hurry with his window down, “Did you call this in?!” The officer asked abruptly, to which I replied, “Called what in?” “Never mind,” they said gruffly and drove away as fast as one can on mountain roads. My gut sank. I didn’t have a good feeling about this. I looked at Erin and said, “If they take the third road on the right, something happened to Janine.” We sped up, trying to keep them in our vision. Erin counted our rights out loud…“one, two…three…” Shit. We took that third right as well as two more sheriff trucks.

​There was a man, clearly a hunter, walking past the cow camp as we approached. Frantic to find out answers, I called out, “Where’s Janine?” I just assumed that everyone knew of this untamed woman living on the mountain with her herd of horses and dogs named after a pond theme: Duck, Toad, Goose (yes, another Goose), Cattail and so on…The hunter, a mountain man, with shock in his eyes and wearing concern like a beard, told us what happened.

​ There was a horse accident, there was a death, and SHE, the indomitable Janine, was waiting for the sheriffs at a lower stock gate with a key to open the way and lead them up to the tragedy. I felt a conflicting relief, knowing Janine was alive. The hunter proceeded to warn us about the drive before we drove further up. We were determined though to catch the sheriffs and were quickly confronted with a very rough and deeply mudded road. We managed to not get high centered or stuck as we weaved our way over around and through. We turned a corner and abruptly stopped. We caught the three Sheriff trucks, only to realize the first one was nose deep in mud. The road was washed out from all the rain. None of us were going any further.

​ The sky began to look more ominous by the minute as we stood outside of the vehicles talking to the sheriffs, perplexed about what to do next. I shared with them that we literally just arrived from Oregon to meet Janine, an acquaintance at cow camp for the weekend. It started pouring rain, thunder rolled in like a wave at high tide, and lighting, too close for comfort. This was not good. It was likely we would get stuck too. The wet earth quickly became clay. We needed to get out of there, fast. As Erin and I drove down the mountain haunted by heavy sadness for Janine and the man’s family, we felt the weight of the day, and decided to go back to the reservoir where there was cell service and wait for answers, wait for the rain to stop, wait…

​ We were not the only ones waiting. Family members were also waiting there; for the body to be driven down the mountain in an ATV, the only thing that could make it up there and back. It felt intrusive being there. Watching them hug one another, hearing them cry. Considering I didn’t know Janine well and felt some level of responsibility for my friend Erin, I questioned if we should leave all together. I called our mutual friend, Leah, who’s wedding we met at, to ask for her opinion on what to do. Leah advised us to go back to cow camp and wait for Janine, believing that it was no coincidence of our arrival, the timing of it, and assured me that she would want friends close.

​Just as we made the decision to head back up to camp, a sheriff stopped by to let me know the roads were safe and that Janine was bringing the horses down the hill. That’s not all he shared. With worry etched into every line on his face, and a hint of protective father in his voice, he said, “that girl isn’t having much luck up there. This is the second death this month.” My insides squeezed, I wanted to vomit. What were we doing here? Did I bring us to Colorado to die? Disassociation quickly became my companion. We went back up to camp.

​ There couldn't have been a more dramatic scene. The artist in me wanted nothing more than to grab my camera and document her arrival. But the human in me felt it inconsiderate and heartless. The mud was thick, she looked as though she was painted for battle, in hand, her boss’s bloody scraped horse, called, Dog. She approached smiling. “Hi friends,” She said. I wore somber like a suit knowing full well she was in shock and yet I still asked confused, “how are you smiling?” We hugged as she responded, “It’s part of the job.” We put the horses away, fed them, said goodbye and thank you’s to the hunters that stopped to check in. Janine stood outside the old cabin in the rain with shaky hands, lit an American Spirit and inhaled the soothing calm of nicotine while she shared what happened. I wanted one too. Even though I don't smoke, I felt myself craving the same relief she found in her cigarette.

​ Out of respect for the family that lost their beloved cowboy, I will not go into too much detail of the death. What I will say is that the mountain can be unkind despite all of her majestic beauty. The deep mud had created a very slippery embankment, and tragically the horse, Dog, slipped, and went over backwards crushing his rider.

​ The darkness of night was quickly upon us. Janine asked if we could make dinner while she drove down to the reservoir to make some calls. Without hesitation, Erin and I made dinner by candlelight on a two burner propane stove that is older than your grandmother. A long while later, Janine returned with a friend. That evening as we ate, we processed and experienced the gift of togetherness. She shared more with us about the two deaths she encountered on the mountain, and that she felt like a black widow, as death followed her. We shared our tears while I tried to keep any indications of being afraid to myself and off of my face. We never really spoke of the tragic events again during our time there, but I think we all felt sensitive to the reality that life is a fragile gift.

​ As the morning greeted us, so did that familiar feeling of fear, heavy like a rock, sitting on my throat. I did not want to ride. I did not want to die. The rain finally stopped. Everything was wet. The earth washed itself clean from death, and something had lifted in that meadow. I carried my riding gear for the day as we walked from our camp to the cabin. Erin paused, inviting me to look up at the sky. I don’t often see signs and wonders. But this, a saturated supernatural glow appeared, a rainbow, reaching across the entire sky like arms of peace. My fear melted, and I was reminded that all our days are numbered.

​ I can not control life or death, but I can control how I approach every day there is breath in my lungs. I embraced this peace that calmed the chaos inside of me. There wasn’t another day on the trip I didn’t give living my all. We encountered beautiful terrain, camouflaged hunter visits that couldn’t hide their concern, moonlight rides, cattle driving, fixing fence, and the grace that kept us safe.

​I will never forget our trip, Janine, and the place she calls, Cow Camp.