Closing the Distance: Critic, Reader and the Works of James Welch

Abstract

Not long ago I was cruising down the freeway, hauling a quarter horse named Magpie to the Maricopa County Fair Grounds for the Phoenix Rodeo of Rodeos grand entry. I don't follow the rodeo circuit, rarely even go to the local competitions, but the big black gelding I ride makes a handsome parade mount, and I agreed to lend him to a hefty neigbor who was one of the Jaycee sponsors of the event. I eased onto the off-ramp behind a flashy rig. silver pick-up truck pulling a four horse trailer. Montana plates Big Country. They come from all over for the prize money. The distance doesn't intimidate westerners used to open country and fast interstates. We take for granted the mountains and deserts that whiz by our bug-splattered windshields; we look at the Big Sky and check the dial for weather forecasts. But weather's easy if you're a writer, not a cowboy, that is. Even Mark Twain says so. It's the land that's tough. Seasons pass blizzards and black ice; green sprouts in the fields and empty-eyed calves staring through fence wires; dust devils and shimmering heatwaves on the horizon; cutting wind, hay bales, and early dusk. The sky's tough too, because it's part of the land, the horizon.