It might be a few decades ago, but it feels like only yesterday when the boys on the farm next door used to grab the mane of the closest horse, fly upward, and land with ease as the beast was immediately in full gallop. A quick stop and a helping hand on my foot propelled me upward where I hung on for dear life to the slim young waist in front of me. I'd soon see a shake of the head as I sometimes fell right back off again. It was definitely not my sport. But the brothers went on to compete in our local rodeo in Carstairs, and later on around the circuits.

I was able to relive some of that excitement recently when we spent the weekend in Rockyford, a town which grows from 350 to 3500 for this event. The pace of the day started building with a pancake breakfast, parade, and a re-enactment of an old time street shooting.  All this while the rodeo competitors got ready for the day. A torrential series of downpours the previous day created a primordial soup in the infield - great for photo ops, not so great for those who unceremoniously connected with it face first.

What drives these athletes of all levels of experience to endure the bumps, bruising, and countless unsuccessful attempts to reach the 8 seconds, or rope that calf, or get around those barrels just a bit cleaner than last time? Is it some ingrained spirit let loose the first time they conquer the mutton bustin' event as little tykes? Or the adrenaline from the pounding hoofs and thousands of pounds of specially bred mean-ness? Maybe some special gal or guy watching from the stands in their tight jeans and easy laughter waiting for the day to be over and the campfires to be lit? It will probably take the rest of the summer and longer to find the answer - but we are definitely heading out again! See you there!

Check out the photos in the Rodeo section under "History, Culture, and Industry" below.