Continued from page 7 .
You ’ ve got to have a little stick-to-itiveness here . To survive in this parched ocean . Navigating the waves of it all . The thorns and traps . The vast expanses of directionless earth , only the scorching sun to guide you .
Searching for my horse Dex , a one-night stop turned into three . That first day , drones , helicopters , and ATVs worked in tandem following his prints , large , soft and hollow in the shifting desert sand . Threatening to disappear each time the wind changed direction .
I spent my second day enveloped in the white dust of caliche roads , the blistering sun and 100-degree temperatures , searching for signs among the pump jacks and sand traps . Water and feed in the truck bed , dog riding shotgun . Pistol on my hip .
I followed that horse at least nine miles northwest of the park , stopping at every intersection in that empty land . Scanning the dirt for tracks and readjusting my path . Afraid I would be going home alone yet determined not to , keeping an eye out for circling buzzards along the way . Finally , his northward journey to where I don ’ t know ended . His trail blocked by fencing . My composure fell like a heavy jacket , and a trembling moved through us both . I looked into his drawn , hollow eyes , gaunt from two days in the desert . “ I ’ m here ,” I said , and bowed my head to his . “ I ’ ve got you .”
The town came together for me that day , local landowners and public servants alike . Law enforcement , park rangers , ranchers and game wardens . Not a soul accepting a dime in return .
Sitting here in these dunes now , it ’ s hard to shift my gaze from those silos standing so tall in the distance . But I rise , brush the sand from my legs , and follow the sunset back to camp , sinking with each step as if the ground beneath me has no end . The dogs run ahead , fading into the desert glow , and I follow behind . Walking my own path . Making my own way as I always do . As I am blessed to do . The only one I really know .
In life it often seems that looking in the mirror is harder than looking through a window . Sometimes the flaws and mistakes don ' t want to be seen , don ’ t want to be realized and brought to life . I return to the sandhills at times for strength and forgiveness , and I lose myself there in the dunes . In this place where I learned what I am made of .
But I find myself , too , and I remember : that I am the girl who can track a horse through the desert . And I love him even more for showing me that . �
14 Big Bend Real Estate Guide • December 2023