Adventures in Greenough, MT: Chapter 1 - Child's Play

I remember my father waking me up with news that we were moving to the Virgin Islands. I was going in to 4th grade at Lewis and Clark Elementary School in Missoula, Montana, looking forward to another school year with my friends, when we relocated to the small island of St. Thomas where I would go to school until 7th grade. It was a shock to go from Montana, where like 90% of the people are white, to St. Thomas where like 90% of the people are black. 

Living in St. Thomas was a treat and, while I didn't appreciate it at the time, the experience shaped me in a wonderful way. I somehow feel fuller because of it. The culture of the Virgin Islands is very expressive and vibrant and makes Montana seem bleak and dreary and pale in comparison.

Time, like a wave lapping upon the shore, washes away the immaterial leaving behind the essential story and the most telling story to convey the culture disparity between Montana and St. Thomas happened at the island's movie theater in the rough town of TuTu near the Bovoni dump. 

I now wonder if my parents were aware of the island movie theater experience, I tend to think not as they happily dropped my younger brother, Matt, and I off for a showing of "Child's Play". The two of us were excited and nervous to watch the horror movie, however as the curtains came up the crowd came alive! For the next two hours we were ensconced in a virtual melee. Everyone was yelling at the screen and I can still hear a rastaman scream, "Wumon, don't look unda da bed!" It was grand, and considering my brother and I attended a couple more movies there, we must have kept a bit of the insanity to ourselves.

Fast-forward to 7th grade when my father had another huge surprise - he bought a 10,000 acre ranch back in Montana and we were now in the cattle business! On day one visiting the new establishment the agenda was horses. With a small amount of riding under my belt, it was now time to have my own horse, so we pulled up to the barn and I was introduced to Frog, a small grulla who, according to the then foreman of the ranch, could really scoot.

I climbed aboard Frog and began to ride around the large arena next to the barn. It didn't take long for Frog to realize he had a novice on his back and as I asked for a little more speed Frog accelerated to a frightening pace and with zero control over the animal I soon found myself riding upside down as the saddle completely flipped. Into the dust I went. This horse wreck was the first of many for me and I remember my Dad becoming furious with the foreman, who soon, with circumstance beyond my purview, was terminated. 

The rule with horse riding is when you get thrown you have to get back on. This was a hard lesson for me and I remember, with tears running down my face, getting back on Frog and with a tight rein ventured out for another go. This time I managed to dismount on my terms, however I never got on Frog's back again. An appaloosa who I named Scout's Mount became mine and while he was more tame, through the years Scout dumped me quite a few times too.

Turns out neither island movie theaters or quick little horses are child's play.