Partway through the summer, two exciting events occurred. First, our Grandpa Kleber came to visit us, riding on his Honda Goldwing with a trailer, all the way from California! He'd brought bicycles for us, too! He didn't seem to mind our living conditions any more than Patricia did. He had lived in the country without fancy stuff in his childhood, had had goats and an outhouse. Grandpa Kleber was nice. He took us for rides on his motorcycle; I was scared to death on the gravel roads, afraid we would spin out, but he knew exactly how to handle the big bike.

Then we heard of someone who was giving away a horse! He was old, over 20 years old, an Appaloosa gelding, but he was free, broken to ride, and gentle. I couldn't believe that I was finally getting a horse of my own! Dad drove me out to where he was, a little less than ten miles away, and I rode Fox back. I rode bareback, as always, and was happier and more contented than I'd been in a very long time. I loved the slow pace of horseback riding, the partnership between myself and the horse, being able to feel the nuances of his movements without the bulk of a saddle. By the time we got home, I was terribly sore, but so proud of having ridden all the way home alone. It was the first time I'd been by myself since we'd lived in Kalispell Bay, when I'd vanish for hours on my walks.

Now, when Raphah and Sarah tied their goats out in the pasture, I went too, to tie Fox out with them. After what seemed like years, I was finally in possession of a horse again.

A photograph taken by Grandpa Kleber around this time shows me with hair falling past my shoulders, worn blue jeans, and my favorite red flannel work shirt, already worn thin. My face is tanned and ruddy, and despite the long hair, I look almost masculine, due to strong, well developed shoulder, neck, and arm muscles and the posture and attitude of an outdoor worker. I loved working outdoors, and the work that I did, especially splitting the wood, was the source of most of my pride, self respect, and identity. People didn't even stack for me anymore. If my sisters helped at all, I just wanted them to set up the round of wood on end and keep the cats away- cats had an unnerving habit of jumping onto the round of wood after the maul was enroute to where the cat was sitting. I threw the split wood to the stack against the house, and a lot of it settled into place on the stack. If it didn't, I'd adjust it later, but most of it did. It was the sort of thing you couldn't do if a house had nice siding, but that was part of the beauty of the cabin- you could just live and relax without having to cringe at the thought of breaking anything or messing up the wall. If we got mad, and Raphah and I got mad a lot, we could kick the walls of the cabin as hard as we liked and nothing would be damaged. I had been hanging around men and working with them for so long that my body movements, gestures, stance and behavior were a lot like theirs, which was possibly another reason why the self assured worker bee in the photo didn't look very feminine at all.

Most of our family called me Becky. Mom often called me Rebekah, especially if she was unhappy with me. Dad and Raphah called me Bucky. Bucky was OK with me, too. What I didn't like were other variations, mostly of Dad's invention: Bucko-Boy, Rebucko, Repucko, Rebukah, Repecka. But even these were better than the myriad insults he threw at me, which usually had to do with calling me a pig, one of the most reviled animals in our family because they were unclean, filthy animals abhorred even by Yahweh. Raphah was usually called "Bubba" or "Bubba boy".

The nicest thing Dad could say to Raphah or I, the highest compliment we could get, was that we were a good worker. When he told us this, our chests would swell with pride and we would glow. We knew it was true, but it was still nice to hear it, even if only rarely. And despite being such a good worker and still coming in at night to do my house chores and massage Dad's back and feet and pop his back into place, it wasn't good enough, because I wasn't ladylike. I wasn't enough like my sister Sarah.