And because Earl Bishop told me last Tuesday, unprompted, that the Silver Ridge Charity Rodeo has raised more money for the county children's hospital than any other single event in the last fifteen years.
He said it like a challenge.
I took it like one.
The arena sits at the edge of town, Silver Ridge Arena, a proper facility with covered stands, a full rodeo setup, and concession areas.
A stage for the live music that apparently runs all day between events. By Saturday morning it's already alive with the particular energy of a community that has been looking forward to something for weeks. Trucks everywhere, families setting up in the stands, kids running under the bleachers and between legs.
The smell of something with brisket comes from a row of smokers along the east fence, strong enough that I can identify it from the parking lot.
Maisie vibrates beside me the entire walk from the truck.
She's wearing her turquoise boots, a new hat she talked me into at Harvey's store yesterday, a Silver Ridge Rodeo t-shirt she put on at six this morning before I was fully awake. She has been ready for this since approximately the moment she heard the word rodeo three weeks ago.
Since then she's been asking daily questions about the schedule, the events, the animals, the food, the music, the merchandise.
She is eight years old and she is more prepared for this rodeo than I am for most things.
Remy is already inside when we get there, which surprises nobody. He has a concession cup in one hand, his hat at its characteristic angle, the expression of a man who arrived early, and has already conducted a full reconnaissance of the situation. He falls into step beside us with the energy of someone who has been waiting to share information.
"They've got a mutton bustin' event for kids under sixty pounds," he tells Maisie immediately.
She stops walking. "What's mutton bustin'?"
"You ride a sheep."
Her eyes go to a size I didn't know eyes could achieve. She turns to me with an expression that closes the case before I've opened it.
"Absolutely not," I say.
"Dad."
"You're not riding a sheep."
"Remy says it's traditional."
"Remy says a lot of things."
Remy raises his concession cup in acknowledgment of this point.
We find Silas in the stands already, sitting with June Calloway, Pearl Bishop, Jolene, Wyatt Boone, Harvey Miller. The whole Silver Ridge crew assembled in the morning sun like they've been saving spots. Pearl looks at me when I sit down with the sharp assessing gaze she uses on things she's decided to adopt.
"Money Bags," she says. "You entering any events today?"
"I'm here to watch," I say.
Pearl looks at Laney, who has appeared from somewhere and is settling into the seat beside me.
She has her coffee, her hat, and the expression of a woman who knows something I don't.
"Mm," Pearl says.
I look at Laney.
Laney looks at the arena.
"You signed me up for something," I say.
