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Soldier Hollow Classic

9/30/2019

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Mark your calendars!   Labor Day 2020. Soldier Hollow Classic. (https://soldierhollowclassic.com/)  World class sheep dog trials.  Be there!

For years I have yearned to spend Labor Day at the Soldier Hollow Classic.  This year Miles helped make my dream come true. We spent the day in Midway, UT watching some of the world's greatest dogs and handlers work with some of creation’s simplest creatures.   I do love sheep. I really do. And I really, really, REALLY love watching dogs work with sheep. It is truly amazing what one dog and one handler, equipped with nothing more than a whistle and a cane, can do with sixteen wild and wooly sheep on an open mountain range.   

The competition starts with 8 sheep about a half mile up the side of a mountain.  Via whistled commands, the handler directs the dog up the mountain to the flock. The dog brings the flock down the mountain, through a gate (the gate is nothing more than an opening between a couple panels, there are no fences) and into an open area.   On the handler’s command, the dog then leaves the mini-flock and goes up the mountain again to find and bring down a second flock of 8 sheep. The second flock is also herded through a gate and is united through with the first flock.

The dog then brings the united 16 sheep flock down in front of the stands (where we admiring fans are seated), herds them around a pole, and then heads them back towards the mountain.  They go through a different gate (an opening between two panels), across the foothills, through a third gate, and then down in front of the stands again.

In the flock of 16 sheep, there are 8 sheep who wear red collars.   In front of the stands, the handler and dog must separate 5 red-collared sheep.   Sheep are flock animals; they want to stay together. Sheepdogs are flock guarders; their instinct is to keep the flock together.   Separating sheep is not natural for either species; the handlers demonstrate an incredible amount of skill, the dog show an incredible amount of training, and the spectators (me!) experience an incredible amount of awe.   

Even more awe-inspiring than separating 5 collared sheep from the flock is the penning.  The handler and dog then move the five collared sheep across the open field to a corral that is nothing more than a box created by 4 8’x8’ panels.   With no help from fence lines, dog and handler put the sheep in the box. Sounds simple. For one who knows sheep, it seems impossible. But they do it.  All of it. In 20 minutes. Breathtaking. Amazing. Stunning. Miraculous!  

The tension is high.   The suspense intense. The performance breathtaking.  And the dogs heartwarming. If you have never seen it, you ought to go.   Really.

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If you look closely ,you can see the flock of sheep in the top of the photo. Divide the photo in thirds, and look near the top on the left third, just below where the grass meets the sagebrush.
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The dog finds the sheep and begins bringing them down the mountain.....
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.....and through the gate.
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Look for the second flock of sheep. Divide the photo into a tic-tac-toe board (9 squares). The sheep are in the inner corner of the top, left square.
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The second flock of sheep comes through the gate.
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The dog unites the two flocks....
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...and brings them around the pole.
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The next task is to take the united flock back up the mountain and through the gate you see in the background.
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The united flock makes it through the gate....
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...and are herded across the meadow and through yet another gate.
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After passing through the final gate, the dog turns the flock and brings them to an open area in front of the grandstand.
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In the open area, dog and handler separate 5 collared sheep from the flock of 16
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Almost there....
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Done!
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Finally dog and handler work together to pen the sheep in the white corral.
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Getting closer...
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Neither the dog nor handler can touch the sheep. Penning requires patience, skill, and impeccable timing. timing. .
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Done! (in less than 20 minutes)
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A job well done
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Soldier Hollow Classic. Don't miss it!
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Salt to Saint 2019

9/22/2019

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PictureSisters siempre!!
This spring my sister Marjorie called me and asked if she could buy a plane ticket for me.   She was having a hard time motivating herself to take on a job as a substitute teacher, something she needed to do for her family, and wanted to use me as inspiration.   “If you will ride Salt to Saint with me, I will fly you back from Vegas. Looking forward to doing Salt to Saint together will motivate me to substitute teach.”

The Salt to Saint Bike Ride is a Ragnar-type bike relay wherein a team of 8 people ride from Salt City to St. George, UT.   They split the distance into 24 legs, each person riding three legs. This year we had sister teams (no pun intended), Tour de Friends and Tour de Friends Too, so there were two people riding each leg.   My sister and I were on different teams and both of us were assigned to be the 7th rider so we rode legs 7, 15, and 23 together. Genius!

And so fun!   What a treasure my sweet sister is!!!  Our time together is priceless. And, this weekend, we spent a great amount of great time together.   

We joined forces early Friday morning in a parking lot near Hogle Zoo (SLC, UT).   It was raining hard so I jumped (literally) into Marjorie’s Sequoia where she and I and our two car buddies, Henry and Tom, would spend the next 30+ hours together.    Henry, a pistol-packing, retired officer of the law, and Tom, a construction manager whose story telling/amplifying ability would fit well into a Hislop and/or Noel family reunion, rode legs 8, 16, and 24.   Both men love biking, love their wives, and love to tease. And I learned to love them.

Salt to Saint started soggy for our team; the first riders took off in pouring rain at 8:00 a.m.   Rain turned to hail at the 2nd-to-3rd rider exchange, an exchange I was pleased to witness from behind a protective windshield on a cushioned seat in a warm car.  

Either the storm had passed or we had passed the storm when Marjorie and I began about 4 p.m.   The roads were clear and dry, which did not stop me from wiping out about 400 m into our ride.   I took a turn too fast and braked when I should have pedaled. The bike skidded one way and I flew the other; Marjorie said I looked like Superman.  [I would have preferred looking like Captain Marvel but…..] I quickly (as quickly as a 54 year-old-woman with new knees who just flew onto the side of the road can) hopped back on the bike and continued the ride.  Except for a jammed left thumb (that, at the time this letter was written, is still non-weight bearing) and a traumatized sister (Marjorie had flashbacks of our 2017 ride when she saw me fly off the trail) all was well.

Our next adventure began about 2:00 a.m. in the frigid regions of the North Pole.   Actually, it was not the North Pole but it was frigid; 20 degrees Fahrenheit before the wind chill factor.  Brrrrrr! It took us longer to ride the 17 miles of leg 15 than it did to ride the 22 miles we covered earlier in leg 7.  And it took us much MUCH longer to warm up after leg 15 than it did to cool down after leg 7. Oh my frozen toes!!! And fingers…..and thighs ... and ….  

Our final leg was relatively uneventful.  Sunny skies, gentle breeze, short sleeves, Chacos...  It doesn’t get better than that. It really doesn’t.   Seventeen miles of biking pleasure. Glorious.

The whole weekend was glorious.   I was the only non-Nevadan on the team but they included me as one of their own.    I rode through some of the world’s greatest country with some of the world’s greatest people alongside the world’s greatest sister.  Glorious!

Though I swore I would not do it again (leaving my family for a weekend right after being gone for a week in the Redwoods is really tough) and Marjorie swore she would not do it again (her VERY warm-blooded Nevada body was really, REALLY uncomfortable on our frigid ride) already we are talking about next year.  Showers, toothbrushes, flat surfaces upon which to sleep, regular meals and flushing toilets step aside….at least for 30+ hours. Salt to Saint 2020, here we come!!!!

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Me and my car buddies: Henry, Marjorie, and Tom
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Hail on the windshield
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Hail in the parking lot
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Hail on the road
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Laurie Smedley is one of the "most wonderful people in the world" with whom I rode. Thank you and thank you to the Tour de Friends crew for including me. An especially big thanks to Brenda and Kevin for organizing us.
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Pizza, pizza!!!!
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Finding each other in the transition zones at night was made easier by these amazing signs Kevin Smedley made.
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Tour de Friends and Tour de Friends Too 2019
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Lessons I Have to Keep Learning

9/1/2019

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“Really?” I thought as I reached for the toilet paper and found an empty roll.  “This happened to me last year too. When will I learn?”

It seems here are life lessons I just have to keep learning.  “Do not go into the first stall in the bathroom at the country fair on the final day of the fair” is one of them.   By the fair’s final day, the maintenance crews are totally overwhelmed and there is never toilet paper in the first stall.  

Sadly, the first-stall/last-day toilet paper lesson is not the only lesson I have to keep relearning.  “Don’t drink before a movie” is another lesson I keep repeating. It happens again and again and again.  I take a solid drink (solid as in “of a good substantial quality or kind// ex: solid comfort”, not solid as in a state of matter) before the show and live to regret it.  About halfway through the show I start to get uncomfortable and the discomfort level of my progressively distending bladder steadily increases.   Desires to see the entire show and desires NOT to disturb the people I would have to crawl over keep me in my seat. Discomfort turns to pain and pain turns to agony.  The hairs on my arms raise and sweat gathers on my brow. Ultimately and inevitably the desire to empty my bladder becomes overpowering and, once again, I find myself in a bathroom stall asking “When will I learn?”

Not all of my re-lessons happen in bathroom stalls.  Saturday morning, at 2:13, I was in bed when I asked myself, “When will I Iearn?”  When I forget to bring Zorro in the house at night he starts barking in the wee morning hours.  I have to get out of bed and let him in. This has happened more than once. Lots more than once…

When will I learn to clip the car keys onto the handle of my purse instead of dropping them on the counter, in a pocket, or anywhere else?   When will I learn make a list for the store? When will I learn to look at my calendar? And the list goes on…..  

Saturday’s re-lesson concerned concerns.  It has been a rough school year so far. Rough.  A friend who is considering exchanging his business career for a teaching one asked my advice.  “Yikes!” was my response. I found myself fighting back tears in the dentist chair when the doctor asked me how my school year was going.  Yep, rough. ROUGH.

What to do?  I asked my administrator for help (she has been fabulous), I consulted my colleagues (they were also amazing), I sought inspiration in the temple (a good idea), I chatted with Lance (he was super supportive and empathetic) and I pondered a lot (A LOT).  Still the problems persist. Two weeks in and my problems are still very painful.   

Saturday I read about Alma in the Book of Mormon.  He too was plagued by problems associated with people he was trying to teach.  “And now the spirit of Alma was troubled..”  Sounds familiar….  “..and he went and inquired of the Lord what he should do concerning this matter ...And it came to pass that after he had poured out his whole soul to the Lord, the voice of the Lord came to him…”  (Mosiah 26:13-14)

Saturday morning at about 2:25 a.m. (right after I let Zorro in) I knelt and took my concern to God.  I poured out my soul to Him, inquiring what I should do. Though I did not hear a voice, I did get an answer. The counsel concerning what to do with a certain student was specific plus I received a peaceful reassurance that the problems with the 8th grade population in general were solvable.  

It seems that turning to the Lord in sincere, heartfelt, whole-souled  prayer is also a lesson I have to keep learning.     

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    Teresa Hislop
    thislop@msn.com

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