Today.**

**Well, not actually today. It was today when I wrote it… two days ago.

I’m tired. Today was a big day. Today I was invited and enthusiastically interviewed on a Zapala radio station. Today, for the first time, I really enjoyed riding horses. Today I herded sheep. Today I learned that, yes, counting sheep does make you sleepy. And that they actually do a funny little jump as you count them! Today I butchered a carcass. Today I was unbelievably cold. Today left me with squinty sleepy eyes and physical strength only to type these words.

Let me explain.

Susana arranged for me to be interviewed on a local Zapala radio station, FM 96.3. We arrived to the studio to meet Hugo and sit in the small padded room with microphones. I wasn’t nervous, but my heart must have missed the memo because it was beating as though I was. I took a deep breath and reminded my confused beating heart that if I get nervous, my voice will shake. If I’m my electric, smiley, confident, comfortable self that radiates positivity, everything will be ok.

I had a great time. Hugo fell in love with my story. So did the producers. So did the Mormon woman who had her interview directly after mine. I was overwhelmed with positive feedback.

If I can get my little hands on a recording of the program, I’ll see if I can post it!

I arrived at Vero’s estancia all aglow for an asado lunch that left my digestive tract bursting at the seams. So much food. So much of it meat!

Then it was time to round up the sheep.

My horse’s name is Pluma, which means feather. She’s old, lazily sluggish, flatulent, and perfect! You see, when I was very very little, I fell off a horse. Since then I have been utterly terrified of horses, riding them, or having anything to do with them. Let’s just say that I wasn’t a typical ribbon-in-hair little girl who dreamed of having a pony. When I was 13, I tried again, this time in the open plains of Montana. And fell off again. Twice. My conclusion: this riding horses gig is not for me.

But I’m realizing that, since Day 1 of this trip, I’ve been overcoming all sorts of fears, learning learning learning new things, and reflecting back on it all. I’m also learning patience, overall hardcoreness and the fine line where they meet. I took a deep breath and, with it, breathed in a new determination. I will ride a horse… and I will like it, dammit!

Today was my second time on Pluma. The first time was a complete disaster. Every time we tried galloping, I entered in terrified panic. We ended up walking for most of the afternoon, much to the dismay and boredom of the kids who have been riding their entire lives. Today was different. Today I relaxed. Today I feigned confidence, and it yielded real confidence. And besides from finicky stirrups, I had a great time. I actually got the hang of galloping. And I really really enjoyed it. Wind in my hair, arid countryside with millions of prickly bushes, big open blue sky, and yours truly Ms. CityGirl galloping through it all with a gigantic smile. I felt like a real Cowgirl in the making!

So, confront your fears. Look it in the eye and challenge it to faceoff. Being scared is normal… and it’s also the first step in overcoming those pesky and often debilitating fears. Take a risk, slowly at first, let it gather momentum. And then you will realize that it’s not so bad. Whether it’s a fear of eating bananas, of hairy 8-legged creatures, of jumping out of airplanes, of trying a new cuisine, or launching a trip on bike with no set path for an unspecified amount of time. Do it! Go for it! If you keep an open mind and a strong character, you will be glad you did.

Have you ever been driving along and have to stop because there are cows, horses, sheep in the road? It happens quite often in these parts. It’s not so often, however, that I get to be one of those on horseback, yehaw-ing at sheep so they cross the highway. I sat up tall and felt very very special.

And then we came to the counting of sheep. I never quite understood why children are told to count sheep if they are having trouble accessing nighttime dreamland. I mean, I’ve tried it. It’s never worked for me.

That is, until I did it for real. Here’s how this works. You have all the sheep in one giant pen and you scare them into running through a gate to another giant pen. This is a very delicate maneuver. If you have too many sheep running at one time, it is very easy to lose count. And there’s no real way to start over. That being said, are you ready? Let’s begin. 1. 2. 345. 6...7. 8910.….

By number 532, my eyelids were getting heavy. By number 794, I was yawning uncontrollably. I was kept entertained though because, as the sheep passed through the gate, they did a funny little jump. More like a leap. I’m not sure why. There was no obstacle that needed to be avoided. There was no reason for them to prance. But for some inexplicable reason about 85% did this funny little frantic leap. I was very amused.

1051. That’s the final count. Then they were herded and separated. Girls and boys. I’m glad that I’m not an animal-rights activism extremist. And that there were none present. I mean, none of the sheep were hurt, but farm life is rough. It’s rough on farmers and on farm animals. It’s not a sugar coated super shiny cotton candy padded life. It’s tough. And it’s about survival.

In modern urban societies, we are losing touch with basic human knowledge. Children grow up believing that vegetables come from supermarkets not from nature, that money is not only the key to survival but also to being happy, that soil is dirty and should be avoided, that cellphones and internet are life essentials, and that chicken nuggets are real meat. Some children have never seen stars. Some children don’t know that potatoes grow underground, are covered in dirt, and have a green leafy plant. Some children have grown up glued to the screen (tv or computer or cellphone) and eating from the microwave. Some children aren’t allowed to scrape their knees, get dirt under their fingernails, or eat worms.

Some adults have never considered harvest season. Some adults have never thought of killing an animal for food, yet eat meat daily. Some adults don’t know how to sew (with thread or with a hoe). Some adults have children and yet don’t spend any time with them. Some adults live trying to escape life.

And why not?

We live in a time where we don’t have to think about our survival, only about our levels of comfort. Why should we have to know basic human survival practices? They’re so primitive. Why grow food when I can order it to be delivered? Why make instead of buy? Time is money and money buys things. Why think about where things come from? Why leave the comfort of my bubble? Why trouble myself to think about simple things when I can complicated my life with new gadgets, latest crazes, relationship drama, magic pills and diets, and reality shows?

It’s really not my place to say that all that is bad. It’s not. Everyone has their path. I lived in the big city and loved it. I used to turn my nose up to farmers and simple country folks. I used to be stressed, accelerated, overly dramatic, and obnoxiously know-it-all. I used to drink organic soy double pumpkin lattes. I used to spend my time worrying about if I filled my schedule and then complain about not having enough time. I used to play a lot of mental games, with myself and others. And I loved it.

But it’s not for me anymore. I’m cultivating a new Alisa.

Whew. I went way off track on that rant. Back to the story.

After the obligatory 6pm tea time, we went to the carnicería… the butchery. Chan.

When you simultaneously live on a farm and eat meat, sometimes you have to do the dirty work. That may mean sacrificing and carving up a very large animal. At first I shivered in a mixture of repulsion and disgust. Maybe it’s the former vegetarian in me. Or maybe it’s the fear and uneasiness that society has instilled in me to keep me dependent on the system for providing something as basic as food. But with my travels and experiences, I’m realizing that it’s completely natural to provide your own food. Animal, vegetable and mineral.

So when I entered the meat room, I came face to face with very large hunks of meat hanging from large hooks. Let’s get to work!

Manuel sharpened the knife and started carving out cuts with familiar names. Cuadrada. Bola de Lomo. Tortuguita. And then when we got to the bones, we brought out the big guns. The saw. We sawed out portions of puchero, bagged them, and dumped them in the freezer.

I secretly wished I had been there for the actual slaughter.

By this time, the sun had gone down and it had gotten very very cold. All this hard work had obliterated my body and I had a hard time not shivering uncontrollably. I was cold down to my bones. My exhaustion was written all over my face as I huddled near the fire.

I always knew that farm work was tough. From sun up to sun down… and often much longer… farmers are working. And it’s not sit in an office, wait tables, fly through the trees kind of work. It’s real physical work. I got a small teeny weenie little taste of it today and it completely destroyed me. The pay for this work is not in dollars, pesos or euros… it’s in basic life necessities: food, clothes, warmth, security. It’s a kind of work-lifestyle mixture that involves the whole family. It’s cyclical. It makes sense. It yields a sweaty satisfaction, appreciation, and gratitude for things that I’ve never given a second-thought to. It also makes me realize how soft and wimpy I am.

But everything comes with practice.