Those horses get just like the people what owns ‘em

By Terri Jo Bek, Professor, Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture

Jo Bek

I grew up with a dad that thought if a child wanted a horse then he or she should have one. My grandad on mom’s side spent most Junes as I grew up hauling horses to town so everyone could ride in the local rodeo parade. My dad also arranged for kids to have horses to ride in the rodeo parade. The ironic part of the parade situation was the fact that grandad actually participated in only one parade when I was about two years-old. He drove a team of mules and a box wagon, while the neighbor did blacksmithing in the back of the wagon. My dad never rode in the parade until my daughter was 4 years old and he took her on my brother’s buckskin horse, “Bucky.” He couldn’t get over how everyone was yelling and hollering at him and taking pictures. He said, “They act like they’ve never seen me on a horse.” To which we replied, “They’ve never seen you in the rodeo parade on a horse.” Amazing what grandparents will do for the grandkids.

The parade was held in conjunction with the PRCA rodeo held each year on the first full weekend in June in Strong City, Kansas. It started at the park in Cottonwood Falls, went to Strong City and ended on the north side of Strong City at the rodeo grounds. It used to be quite large. They would have as many as 500 horses, various floats and old vehicles. Fort Riley would send its mounted color guard and we’d had the Navy and Marine bands at different times.

A couple of incidents concerning the parade stand out in my memory. Dad found out that a couple of my cousins wanted to ride the year I was an eighth-grader. He volunteered my services to supervise the entire operation. My grandad volunteered to bring more parade-broke horses to town. In the midst of all this my sister, who has Down Syndrome, decided that she also wished to participate. Every time we asked her if she was sure she was going to ride the entire distance, she assured us that she was. We gathered at the park and got everyone situated. Cousin Steve would ride a half-shetland colt we had that Dad was positive would be fine even though he’d never been in a parade. Sister Vicki would ride Grandad’s brown horse, Tick. We were pretty sure that if he was put into the parade with his reins up, he’d walk the route, turn around and return to the pick-up spot in Strong City where Grandad waited for us each year. Cousin Doug was pretty small and hadn’t had a great deal of experience riding so we put him behind me on grandad’s horse, Drifter. Grandad hung around and hung around to make sure everyone was going to be all right in the parade. He finally got into his truck and drove away. I could still see the taillights of his vehicle when my sister turned to me and said, “I don’t want to ride Tick anymore.” Those of you who have been around Downs children are laughing, because you all know that once they make up their mind there is no way to change it. You have to take a completely different route that they might find acceptable.

I took a deep breath and asked Doug if he would be willing to ride Tick. He readily agreed. The hard part came when I said a silent prayer and asked Vick if she’d be willing to ride behind me on Drifter. She looked around and I think since she couldn’t see Grandad, she decided it was going to be her best choice. She smiled at me and said, “Course I will!” I got off my horse, made the switches and had “thoughts” of my father.

I was feeling pretty smug by the time we’d made it through three quarters of the parade. We passed my grandad and came face to face with the railroad tracks in Strong City. The colt came to a screeching halt and decided that railroad tracks were not in his repertoire of things that are safe. No amount of kicking, clucking, and threatening with the reins on his behind caused him to move forward. I knew that Drifter had been used whenever we needed to physically push steers forward, so I got behind the colt. Drifter put his shoulder into the colt’s rear end and shoved him across the tracks.
Grandad was watching and he thought the whole episode was fairly humorous.
He loaded all of us up and took us home after the parade.

Later, I had a little visit with my father and “suggested” the next time he volunteered horses for people to ride in the parade, he could just supervise the operation himself.

The other parade episode involved my brother Jess. He had bone cancer when he was a senior in high school and underwent 18 months of chemotherapy. One of the chemo schedules ended on the Saturday of the rodeo parade. I went with mother to pick him up at the KU Medical Center in Kansas City. He informed me when he got into the car that I was to deliver him to the gate of the park in Cottonwood Falls in time to ride in the parade with his friend, Merl Green. It was about 160 miles to get home. My goal was to get him there without acquiring too many speeding tickets. We put mom in the back of her large Chrysler car and Jess rode shotgun. Mom’s car had a slight vibration at an accelerated speed, so every time she felt the vibration she would make comments like, “I think this car is trying to get its wings out!” and “I’m not paying any fines you all get!” I came to a rather abrupt stop in front of the park gate where Merl was grinning and waiting on one of Dad’s horses. He had Jess’s horse and Jess’s Olathe boots. Mom and I went on to the main street in Cottonwood to watch the parade.

Just as I was sitting down by my grandmother she asked, “Where is Jess?” to which I replied as I looked up the street, “There he is right there.” He and Merl waved at us as they rode by.

I’m sure that if Dad and Grandad were still around they’d be happy to provide anyone a mount if they needed one for the parade as long as neither one of them had to ride in it.

Building a Western Foundation

By Brian Reed

Just days after throwing my cap in the air and closing the final chapter of
my high school career, I found myself cruising down a two-lane highway bound
for a local working man’s rodeo. I was not thrilled to be spending my first
post-graduation Friday stuck on bleachers surrounded by men in tight jeans,
but I recognized my role as moral supporter for a friend who was trying to
fulfill a dream. I kept the thoughts of the lake and the ladies to myself as
the mile markers flew past.

Alone in the bleachers, surrounded by an array of low-brimmed straw hats, I
sat listening for a last name that I had known so long that it could have
been my own. Too scared to go to the concessions or bathroom for fear of
missing my friend’s star moment, I waited, becoming more irritated each time
a name was called that I did not recognize. For years my friend had been
talking about becoming a bull rider but I always blew his excessive
fantasizing off as a need to fuel his ego. Now I sat shocked, toying with
ideas of how I would break it to his family if something tragic happened
during this irrational show of bravado.

I recognized him immediately as he climbed into the shoot. Not once did his
body give the slightest hint of fear as he climbed on the back of the bull.
Only when the people around him had to show him how to tighten his cinch did
a look of defeat slide across his face. That look quickly vanished as the
ring hand pulled open the gate and the bull was free to let loose his anger.
I watched, hands clenched in prayer, as the bull twisted and jumped. My
friend slid forward and back, hand flying loosely in the air. It lasted only
a few seconds and he was thrown to the side, quick to leap up the fence. He
stood there smiling and alive. Realizing I was the only one out of my seat,
I sat back down and continued to watch him walk out of the arena. Men he did
not know shook his hand and patted his back. His pride was beaming with each
step. I saw then that I was not there to help a friend fulfill a dream; I
was there to help him secure an identity.

Looking down at my boots and belt buckle, last name inscribed, a thought
occurred to me: What gave me the right to wear the hat, boots, and belt of a
cowboy? I had always considered myself a country boy, I grew up in a small
town where my dad taught me how to hunt, fish and fix an engine. But my
family didn’t own any form of livestock. I had ridden a horse only half a
dozen times. My nearest association to being a cowboy was a family of
relative farmers (a longstanding debate itself). It occurred to me that
night that my identity had no foundation. It was at that moment I decided to
find out what gave someone the right to be called a cowboy.

As a soon-to-be freshman at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, I was free
to explore the possibilities of a new identity. In the weeks leading up to
my departure, I besieged myself with questions from the night of the rodeo.
Who do I say I am? The thought of being a small-town country boy wasn’t bad,
but I wanted more. I have always considered cowboys the greatest gesture of
American patriotism. Men and women who earn an honest living from the land,
who live up to the greatest of the Christian virtues, and who disregard mere
possessions for what is right. That’s what I wanted for the cornerstone of
my foundation, and I knew for the sake of identity that I couldn’t be a
fake.

My search led me to a club meeting of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln
rodeo team. For a person consciously seeking a designation, walking into a
room of people with a clear sense of identity can be more intimidating than
speaking to a crowd of hundreds. I wandered around the room, quick to pick
up a refreshment for the sake of something to do, begging for a reason not
to leave. I found my reason in a young woman who stood alone in a corner
looking just as awkward. I stood next to her. In a full room, two awkward
people in a corner is always better than one. Still feeling the weight of
being “new” I didn’t say a word to her. After a few minutes she introduced
herself. Feeling a little ashamed in my lack of courtesy, I began asking the
regular college questions. Where are you from? What is your major? Do you
like your roommate? I tried profusely to keep the conversation as generic as
possible because I didn’t want to explain to her that I really didn’t have a
good reason to be at a college rodeo meeting. But it was from this first
awkward experience that I made a life-long friend and got my first glimpse
into the authentic cowboy culture.

This picture was snapped after the wild horse race. I'm on the right.

I learned that night, after divulging my secret to my new friend, that being
a cowboy is a lot like being rich. She explained how it’s easier for a poor
person to enter the “moneyed” class than an outsider to enter the world of
western traditions. People born in that world have their tools and pathways
already laid out. Her insight reminded me of a middle school conversation I
had with my mother about buying a horse. I’m sure you can imagine how
quickly that dream was shattered. Our conversation continued to derail my
hopes. I found out that most of the young men and women in the room came
from ranching backgrounds. They were mutton busting while learning to walk.
I left that night feeling defeated. I never went to another meeting or
attended a practice. Realizing I did not have the background to be a cowboy,
my search took a step in the wrong direction.

Since I wasn’t going to become a cowboy by buckin’ into the college rodeo
scene, I looked for another solution. I was going to become a ranch hand.
Riding the ranges, counting fence posts, alone, rounding up cattle. It was a
long shot, but divine intervention came my sophomore year from an ad in the
campus newspaper, the Daily Nebraskan. I applied for the job. Whether it was
mere luck or because I had promised to work Husker game days, I’m not sure,
but the job was mine.

A half-mile drive outside the Lincoln city limits is a dream world. Houses
with enough rooms to be apartment complexes sit on fifty or sixty-acre lots.
It is the place where church goers take their Sunday afternoon drives to see
if they can sneak a peek inside the fortified compounds.

I drove past a gate that identified the owner as a doctor. Standing at the
end of the lane was a man dressed to the nines in a suit and tie, extenuated
with cowboy boots and a hat. He offered me a cup of coffee and began
explaining that it had always been his dream to own a ranch. With his extra
acreage he was going to fulfill his dream. Being a doctor he had a work
schedule that required strenuous hours and the need to travel often, so it
was going to be my job to oversee things. At that moment two things crossed
my mind: First, whether like the doctor, I could just buy my way into being
a cowboy, and second, I had absolutely no idea how to take care of a herd of
cows.

For three months my life felt justified. Lucky for me the doctor managed the
whole operation. I just had to follow his daily orders consisting of feed
patterns, building fence, and making hay runs to a local vendor. The entire
semester I walked with my head held high in my boots and hat. Glad to tell
people that Saturday I would be on the “ranch” instead of at the game. But
the validity that I felt did not last long.

When I was a senior in high school my father told me to pick a profession
that I could be proud of because it becomes a part of how we define
ourselves.  I felt the reality of that statement the day the doctor told me
he was selling the herd because it was not what he dreamt. Standing there
shaking my head in understanding I remember wanting to yell, “Make the work
part of your dream.” That herd of cows was never officially mine. I found a
lot of purpose in building fences and giving shots, but I left my new
identity the moment I drove out of the gate.

I have written many chapters and partaken in many adventures in my search to
become western, but none of them had an impact more profound than the night
I tried to tame a wild horse. I’m not sure if my friends were looking out
for my best interests or tired of my excessive banter to become a cowboy,
but a close college friend offered me an opportunity to actually partake in
his hometown rodeo. I thought this was the answer to all my prayers.
Flashbacks of my high school friend walking out of the arena flooded my
mind. The molds of the last experiences always melted away; I hoped this
time it would finally stick.

The night plays out in my mind like a flawed circus performance. We were in
teams of three competing against the clock. The first guy, who is on a
horse, has to catch a rope connected to a wild horse, dally the rope and
hold the horse steady while guy number two saddles the horse and guy number
three rides the horse to the finish line. It seemed fairly straight forward,
which calmed my nerves just enough to not throw-up as I rode into the area.
I can tell you for sure that the scenes from movies where time slows down
can happen. Trotting through the gate, looking at the crowd‹I don’t remember
hearing a thing, or exactly what I was thinking at the moment. What I do
remember is an announcer yelling, “Let’s go!” and my world going from zero
to sixty in a split second. How the rope for the horse got in my hand, I’m
still not sure. Maybe luck, quick reflexes‹or as I like to think‹skills of
an actual cowboy, but I’m still not sure. However it happened, it was the
only good thing to come out of the experience. Within seconds of dallying
the rope things started to go wrong. My inexperience led me to only dallying
a couple of times, leaving slack in the rope for the horse to buck and jerk.
I wrestled with the horse and tried to bring it closer so I could wrap the
rope a few more times, but I wasn’t making any ground; the rope was still
too long for my partners to saddle. In a rash decision to take out slack I
drove my horse toward the unbroken. In the maneuver I gained some ground but
it also drove the other horse to run circles around my horse.

The pain was excruciating. The circling horse wrapped the rope around my
waist, squeezing me like an empty ketchup bottle. I tried turning my horse
to undo the twist, but I couldn’t get the rope over my horse’s head. In a
split second decision I undallyied the rope and watched as the horse dashed
across the arena.
In the moments riding out of the gate, seeing my friends standing holding
the saddle, my insides felt as wild as the horse I just let go. My hopes of
getting a ticket into that life were ripped out of my hands along with the
rope

Since graduating from college I have moved on from my dreams of being a
cowboy and created a strong foundation in my religion and career. A part of
me will always want to be the cowboy I dreamed of as a child. Until I’m
movin’ my own cattle or movin’ from rodeo to rodeo, l will feel like a fake
when I put on the boots, buckle, and hat, but I believe that is a testament
to the culture. It is an exclusive breed and no matter the size of your
truck, how intricate your boots, or how loud you play your music, only those
who rope, ride and live the life should call themselves cowboys.

This is a picture of my grandfather teaching me how to drive a tractor. I've never felt like my farming heritage justified my right to wear the boots and hat of a cowboy.

Determination part of Callaway youth’s makeup
High School student is athlete in 4 sports

By Ruth Nicolaus, courtesy of the Adams County Ag Society

Logan Glendy has the heart of a competitor.

The Callaway High School senior hates to lose, and even in elementary physical education class, he couldn’t stand to lose at games. “In dodge ball, I’d get mad if my team lost or if something wasn’t going well. I’d take over and get the team going in the right direction.”

Logan Glendy aboard a bareback horse at a high school rodeo. The multi-talented cowboy competes in 4 rodeo events, plus football, wrestling and track. / Photo by MT Photography

And for the 18 year old competitor and high school rodeo contestant, his hatred of losing has garnered him honors. His football team has qualified for state three years in a row and made it to quarterfinals this year. As a 145 lb. wrestler, he’s the only person in his school who has placed three times at state, and in track, he placed eighth in Class C in the 4×4 in 2009 and fifth in the 300m hurdles last year.

And in rodeo, where he competes in four events, he’s been to the high school rodeo state finals in Hastings three times. Logan loves to compete and pushes himself, his mother says. The Glendy family has some Danish blood, and “they talk about the Danish determination,” Suzanne Glendy says. Logan exhibits that determination. “He gets pretty hard on himself.”

But Logan would have it no other way. Mental toughness is part of his makeup, and wrestling and rodeo especially require that toughness. “If you get hurt, you work through it and don’t ever quit,” Logan says. He isn’t a quitter. “That’s what’s helped me get through all these sports, and everything I do. I can’t quit. There’s been times I’ve wanted to, but I just can’t do it.” Logan helps out on the Glendy Ranch between school and sports. He’s the older of two sons, and he does about everything on the ranch that needs to be done: feed cattle, fix fence, check water, spray thistles, run the baler in the hayfield, and calve. Sports don’t leave much room for ranch work, but he does his share.

Someday, after college, possibly at Dodge City (Kan.) Community College and a degree in ag business, he’ll come back and run the family ranch. But before then, he plans to make it to two more high school state finals: state track in Omaha and state finals rodeo in Hastings. He has the second fastest time in the 300m hurdles in Class C, and he’s leading the bareback standings in high school rodeo, so his chances are good.
More trophies for the Glendy mantel.

Logan is the son of Brian and Suzanne Glendy.

Trainer and champion JD Yates

By Noel Ochoa, Veterinary Technology Student, Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture

Not every horse trainer can say they have won 33 AQHA World Championships, JD Yates can. Yates is one of the most recognized trainers in the horse show industry. With many awards, titles, three Super Horse titles, being a 22 time National Finals Rodeo Qualifier, and having earnings in excess of $1.3 million in the PRCA, it can be said, he is one of the best at what he does.

JD and Dick Yates / Photo by Marsha Vine

It all started for JD on the rodeo trail. He began riding and roping heels behind his dad, Dick Yates, at age 14. With his dad rodeoing and growing up around it, it became a way of life. He found a “nitch” he enjoyed and it continued to grow and escalate into what it is now. He was one of the youngest cowboys ever to qualify for the National Finals Rodeo at age 15. Together with his father, he qualified for the National Finals Rodeo-11 separate times. Eventually, the duo of Yates turned into a trio at the National Finals when Yates’ sister, Kelly Yates, competed in barrel racing. In college, Yates went on to win two college rodeo championships.

Yates doesn’t exactly remember having one specific horse he could call “his first own horse,” since he always rode so many; they all helped him grow as a rider. His favorite event to do while growing up was team roping. He says the size of calves used before compared to those used now are completely different. He has experienced many injuries while riding but states, “There’s always a risk factor, but you just can’t think about getting hurt.” Most of his injuries occurred while he was bulldogging. He has torn up his knees (resulting in 6 knee surgeries) and broken fingers. His riding and rodeoing experience made the transition into training a bit easier. Yates still travels to compete in select rodeos every year.

Hitch Rack Performance Horses is the Yates family business, located in Pueblo, Colo. Dick still helps around the arena and with shoeing horses. Yates’s mother, Jan, is in charge of the bookkeeping and “behind the scenes” tasks for the ranch. Another important part of the business and key component of Yates’ showing and rodeoing is his cousin, Jay Wadhams. He and Yates have spent many hours working with horses and traveling, making their friendship and working relationship very strong. The Hitch Rack Performance Horses ranch has a state-of-the-art show barn, countless stalls and pens, and a large outdoor roping arena.

Just as Yates began his rodeoing with the family, so it continues with his son, Trey. Trey competes in Little Britches Rodeos, high school rodeos and AQHA shows. Alongside Dick, he also competes in the USTRC ropings. In 2009, he won the AQHA World Championship in Youth, Reserve World Championship in Youth Heeling, Reserve World Championship in Youth Breakaway Roping, and a bronze trophy in youth heading.

For Yates, it would be hard to describe what it takes to be a good trainer. He says, “Anyone can do what they want. If they put the hard work and dedication to it, anyone can do it, even if horses aren’t in your background, you can still be successful.” He says in order to make it in any business, whether that of horses or computers, it takes hard work and dedication. Regardless of rain, snow, or any given situation, horses need to be taken care of, the harder you work for them, the harder they will work for you.

Another thing Yates stresses is that those who are getting started and want to be successful should not be ashamed to attend clinics. “When you decide you can quit learning, is when someone else is going to pass you by.” He still attends clinics to get help, take lessons, and further his career. Any bit of information that can be taken is good improvement.

Yates currently has a set of young horses that haven’t traveled before. He is really excited to get them going and is looking forward to a spring show in March and a show in Lincoln, Neb., April 1.

Hard work, dedication, and an open mind have brought the Yates family to a way of life they not only enjoy but are also good at. Yates has taken a lifestyle he was born into and made it his passion. He is an example of how doing what one loves can pay off with dedication and hard work. There is more to come from Yates and the Hitch Rack Performance Horses.

Nebraska 4-H Profile: Annie Cleveland

By Noel Ochoa, Veterinary Technology Student, Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture

Western Nebraska is home to many great attractions, such as Lake McConaughy, the Scotts Bluff National Monument, and Chadron State College. In the middle of all these is the western Nebraska town of Keystone, home to Annie Cleveland, a Nebraska 4-H member with a great passion for horses.

Cleveland has been in 4-H four years. She is currently a sixth grade student at Ogallala Middle School. She is involved in club volleyball, basketball and junior high rodeo. She loves spending extra time with her family and friends.

Cleveland’s family lives on some acreage in Keystone and owns between 25-30 horses. All of the horses are American Quarter Horses except for her brother’s horse. He has a true mustang that they got from a reservation.

Annie Cleveland / Photo by Deb Cleveland

In 4-H shows, Cleveland participates in halter, western pleasure, horsemanship, barrels, poles, and trail. Most of the training for the horses is done by Cleveland and her family. Recently, they sent one horse for training for rodeo events. Cleveland’s father has over thirty years of experience working with horses, training and breaking them for others and himself.

With her father always having been around horses and her mother formerly being very active in the rodeoing community, Cleveland was destined to live with her passion for horses. Her mother helps her with her goat tying and her father coaches her for barrels.

In 2008 she won the Keith County Fair’s Horse Show in the halter class. In 2008 she also won Grand Champion Gelding with her 5-year-old American Quarter Horse named Cajun. In 2010 Cajun suffered a stifle injury, causing Cleveland to have to use two of her other horses, Gator and Mose.

Horsemanship at the Keith Co. Fair, 2009, Annie is riding Cajun. / Photo by Deb Cleveland

Cleveland said she loves working with horses so much simply because of how much fun it is. She stated, “It is my favorite thing in the world to do!” She is one of the few people in her school that lives on a ranch and gets to work with horses. To the surprise of many, Cleveland would rather spend time at a vet clinic than going shopping. Regardless, she does love shopping “dearly.”

In the future, she would like to be either a veterinarian or physical therapist. Lately, she said she is leaning more towards the veterinarian path. She said she is very fortunate in that she is very good friends with her local vet, Dr. Ron Moorhead. This has allowed her to spend time in the clinic, observe many activities and procedures, which she has enjoyed and learned from very much.

Annie Cleveland at the Broken Bow Jr. High Rodeo, October 2010, goat tying on her horse. / Photo by Deb Cleveland

Being involved in junior high rodeo, Cleveland participates in barrels, poles, goat tying and ribbon roping. Her ribbon roping partner is her brother, Brody Cleveland. Throughout the summer many friends and family members join the Clevelands in their arena to rope, socialize, and practice 4-H. Cleveland said she thanks Julie Glinn, Keystone 4-H leader, for making her 4-H year very successful and fun. She also is very thankful to her parents, who help her make her dreams come true.

Cleveland’s hard work and dedication are a prime example of a 4-H member’s passion for agriculture, success and, most of all, horses.

Annie Cleveland and a frield at the Curtis, Junior High Rodeo, October 2010. / Photo by Deb Cleveland

Making good Hands and Horses takes lots of WET BLANKETS

By R.P. Smith

The summer crew is all back in school and I am making the adjustment to being my own boss. I remember the feeling from back in my school days that as school started I had not gotten nearly as much done over the summer as what I had hoped to accomplish. This is not a feeling that I had expected to carry on through my working lifetime.

This fall will be quite a bit different in the fact that we are not chasing so many rodeos. If you include the sessions that were taken in at the National High School Finals in Gillette, Wyoming, I have attended over fifty rodeos in the past year. With my college-age sons competing in two different regions this coming year, I will not be nearly as involved in their continuing careers.

While we were in Gillette for the finals we did not see a lot of our son Zane, who was competing, but we spent a good deal of quality time with our two younger children, Hannah and Caleb, ages twelve and ten. Since we do not have a television antenna up at our ranch, the choices of viewing at the motel was a pretty big deal, but with some parental guidance, we were soon down to two that we felt were OK: the History Channel, and Animal Planet, although I did have to point out some possible pitfalls in theology on some of the Animal Planet programs.

One of the shows that was kind of fascinating was titled something like “Is It Me or My Dog” where a Mary Poppins like character comes into your home and resolves conflicts between the inhabitants, some of which are of the animal variety.

Part of the reason that I thought this show was so interesting is that I had found myself in a similar position earlier in the summer.

See the rest of the story in the September 2010 issue of Saddle Up Nebraska. To subscribe call 1-800-888-1380, only $15 a year!

2011 Miss Rodeo Nebraska Pageant

By Noel Ochoa, Veterinary Technology Student, Nebraska College of Technical Agriculture

With queens and cowgirls as far as the eye could see, the Quality Inn and Suites of North Platte, Neb., was full of excitement and glamour as the 2011 Miss Rodeo Nebraska Pageant was about to begin.

The coronation of the new Miss Rodeo Nebraska, Becky Grimm, with the current Miss Rodeo Nebraska, Miss Rodeo America, the Agri Affiliates sponsor, and the current Miss Teen Rodeo Nebraska.

To overlook the significance of the Miss Rodeo Nebraska title would be a mistake. The reigning queen acts as an ambassador for the state and the sport of rodeo. But before she can wear the chaps, travel throughout the state and country and strut the ever so coveted crown, an aspiring queen must compete for this grand honor at the annual Miss Rodeo Nebraska Pageant held during Nebraskaland Days in North Platte.

This year there were four contestants in the competition for the MRN title: Erika Backes of Bushnell, Tamera Moorhead of Ogallala, Amanda Pflasterer of Grand Island, and Becky Grimm of Harrison. These young ladies completed applications, submitted photos, and underwent preparations for the many events and tasks they’d have to perform in competition. Each contestant also met certain requirements to enter the competition. Each Miss Rodeo Nebraska contestant must be between the ages of nineteen and twenty-six when entering the pageant in order to compete in the Miss Rodeo America Pageant, which comes with being Miss Rodeo Nebraska; must never have married, never have been pregnant or given birth to a child, and she must never have been charged and/or determined to have committed any crime of moral turpitude; nor can she have had any other title removed for any reason. In addition, contestants must agree that if they do become Miss Rodeo Nebraska, they may not get married during their reign.

The new Miss Rodeo Nebraska is decided by three impartial judges that award points to each contestant in the many events that take place, including giving a speech, photogenics, a written test, appearance, personality, congeniality and horsemanship. Before the pageant began on the evening of June 16, I asked the contestants a few questions. Their confidence and enthusiasm demonstrated to me and everyone around them how passionate they were about rodeo and representing it.

When asked what the most stressful part of the competition was, Erika Backes stated, “it is worse than college finals,” as she smiled and giggled with the rest of the girls. Amanda Pflasterers’ response was, “the preparation and studying for the questions, since they can be about anything from the Second Amendment to current issues like the oil spill and President Obama.” When asked what the most exciting part of the whole competition was, Tamera Moorhead answered for all the girls with one word, “Horsemanship!”

Read the rest of the story in the August issue of Saddle Up Nebraska. To subscribe call 1-800-888-1380. Only $15 for a year subscription!