Big Dreams

An Excerpt from “Something More” A Memoir Of Service to Orphans,

by Jan Hanson

When do big dreams begin?

It’s hard to identify exact moments when life-change begins. I hardly noticed when the seeds were sown, watered and then took root for my big dreams to blossom.

The seeds to help orphaned children were probably planted early. They could have been sown while I stayed with Grandma Clara’s as her unconditional love poured all over me and her arms pulled me in for a loving hug. I must have been four. Some of the watering could have been done at sixteen when Sally Struthers, the 70s actress from TV who showed starving children in Biafra who needed just a few dollars a day for food. It was most likely those things and other not so subtle experiences that cultivated the soil in my soul, providing the water and the warmth to blossom.

By the age of 26, I had four children of my own and always wanted more. Having little ones at my feet felt like love to me. Like most mothers, I treasured the years when my children were growing and soon fifteen grandchildren chased in and out of my house laughing and giggling, slamming doors and chasing butterflies. It brought me the greatest of joy to hear the voices of children ringing like church bells at Christmas. The seeds to give the same kind of love to abandoned children were planted and watered, and one day toward the end of a successful banking career they were about to bud and bloom.

One day while still at work, I ran across a miniscule, classified ad in Horse Illustrated for membership in the Cowgirl Hall of Fame in Fort Worth Texas. It would cost $25 a year.  I had never been to Fort Worth, and even though I owned a horse, I did not consider myself a cowgirl. But for some reason I was intrigued and made out a check to become a member. One day shortly after, I received a promotional postcard inviting me to the 1^st Annual Cowgirl University sponsored by the Cowgirl Hall of Fame Museum. And of course, it would be held at a ranch in Utopia Texas.  

I deliberated long and hard on whether I should go and finally decided to take the plunge. The trip would involve a flight from Minneapolis to San Antonio, and then an eighty-five-mile van ride with strangers to Utopia Texas. I had a fear of flying then, so traveling alone to a strange place for a long weekend with people I didn’t know gave me pause. My stomach tightened just thinking about the travel, and yet, as I reread the itinerary, it enticed me. The 1^st Annual Cowgirl University would offer classes with many of the Museum’s Hall of Fame inductees. Renowned cowgirls like Western Photographer Barbara Van Cleeve would offer Sunrise Photography class, there’d be calf roping lessons with Pam Minick, Champion Team Roper, and then we’d get to rub shoulders with professional horse breeders such as Sheila Varian of Varian Arabians. The long weekend included trail rides, swimming in a cold fast rushing creek, hat shaping lessons, calf roping demonstrations, and a lovely French menu by a Cordon Bleu trained chef. All those amenities were provided while staying on a private ranch and wildlife refuge in Utopia Texas.

Ok, so why would I hesitate? Working stressful long hours for my demanding boss who also happened to be my dad, made a few days at Cowgirl University in Utopia Texas feel like a daring escape. My Dad/Boss frowned on his key employees taking vacation, considering the idea an affront to his business. Still, the pull was too strong, so I sent in my down payment to reserve my space.

When my plane landed, I searched for the van, following a few other women in cowboy hats. In San Antonio, the cowboy hats were more common than I realized, so that plan didn’t work. I stood with my luggage on the curb trying to find my people. Soon, they found me with a sign held high with my name on it. I waved when they saw me approach them smiling. The highway to Utopia was nothing noteworthy, lots of rural fields and hills once we left the city. There were horses and cows, and a few feed lots as I gazed out the window. One woman dominated the conversation, and I pretended to be somewhere else. She talked incessantly about herself and her ranch in Montana. She was obviously on a reconnaissance mission of sorts to scope out the guests and compare venues. It felt like an invisible tug of war between herself and herself as she positioned her accommodations as both hospitable and fun with the others in the van. This again? I had hoped I extricated myself from the strains of marketing for a few days but not if I had to be around her during my stay. Her self-absorption was off putting. I didn’t expect self-aggrandizement of that magnitude wore a cowboy hat. She tried so hard to sell herself, and I remained laser focused on the terrain. Soon, I closed my eyes to pretend I was resting. I had no interest in engaging with her rambling 85-mile advertisement. I learned later she indeed was auditioning for her ranch to host the 2^nd Annual Cowgirl University. She would be an acquired taste and I sincerely hoped the other guests would not be like her.

We finally arrived and the driver dropped me off at my accommodations. I was staying off site from the ranch where most of the others were staying. Those who registered earlier got first choice to stay on the ranch in some of the former ranch hand cabins and guest houses. I checked out my roadside hotel room and was satisfied it would do. I hoped to not spend much time inside while at Cowgirl U. Its Walmart western décor inspired me to put on my jeans, a dressy T-shirt, and my cowboy boots as I rushed the finishing touches, a quick brush through my hair and teeth check in the bathroom mirror. The driver informed us our group was the last flight in and we’d be last to arrive to the reception dinner. As our driver pulled up to the spacious ranch home, I stood in awe. This central Minnesota girl didn’t see many ranches, let alone sprawling designer ranch homes with pools, custom kitchen and every wall trimmed with western décor. The entry way was covered with oversized framed original western art, Native American artifacts stood on pedestals, and the living room was complete with rich leather couches and wingback leather chairs set strategically for guests to share intimate conversations or simply discuss the latest horse sale or land purchase. Each hallway was decked in a western ranch motif from years past to present and corners were topped off with metal spurs, iron horseshoes, lariat’s, saddles, brands, and bridles.

I perused the room, put on a smile, and introduced myself to anyone who would grant me an audience. I easily mingled in the crowd of strangers and enjoyed the chatter from conversations that filled the room. From the den and bar, complete with Texas sized animal heads mounted on the walls and roughhewn furniture, the space was buzzing with tipsy women and a few out of place men sprinkled about.

I met the generous hosts who I learned were members of the Museum and offered up their expansive ranch property to host the 1^st annual Cowgirl University. The white clothed tables arranged around the large pool deck were set with fine China and wine glasses. A stage held the podium with a microphone, and I heard someone clink their spoon on a glass to get the attention of the mingling guests. My eyes searched the tables until I spotted an empty chair and I raced to claim it.

Our table was in the center of the pool patio. From the podium, a woman in cowgirl hat, dress jeans, cowboy boots and a bolo tie welcomed us heartily. She asked each of us to introduce ourselves to those at our table and then choose a woman to introduce to everyone. The microphone began to go around the room and each one of us got a chance to share a story about someone sitting next to us. Many of them I had just met. It wasn’t clear if I was the only one who didn’t know anyone in the crowd, but I did my best.

When it came to our table, I asked the lovely stranger next to me her name. Emily Neal shared succinct answers to my interrogating questions. She was a teacher in a Houston suburb grade school and helped children tell stories with photographs. Her husband Bob owned a large Houston Ford dealership. She said he bought her the weekend away at Cowgirl University for their anniversary gift. Her smile turned sour, and she finished off the wine in her glass. As I took the mic, I proceeded to embellish her story and made things up about her that seemed fitting. She was lovely, and even though I had no idea about her real life, I began to make things up. I shared with the group how she lit up a room when she entered, and that I was drawn to her immediately. Emily dressed like a well-coifed cowgirl obviously acquainted with Texan ways. Her kind gentle drawl was syrupy sweet, and her appearance immaculate. A pressed white cotton shirt and turquoise belt buckle complimented her silver and turquoise wrist cuff. The silver belt buckle held her pressed jeans to her trim waist and her brown leather cowboy boots had silver tips at the toe. Emily smiled from ear to ear, enjoying my attempts at enhancing the little bit I just learned about her. It may have been the glass of wine I had at the bar, but it was great fun.

I loved Emily from that night on and we became inseparable. During our time getting to know each other, we shared the deepest hurts, our most outlandish thoughts, and dashed dreams. We laughed and giggled while trying on cowboy hats at hat shaping class. We swung ropes trying to hit the hard plastic calf head practicing roping till we got it. We took the jeep with a few others to swim in the rushing creek and felt the elation of grabbing the heavy thick rope tied to a tree branch and swung our bodies into a cold rushing creek. While gathering the courage to let go midair and plunge into the freezing water, I squealed with delight hanging on for dear life as I timed my drop perfectly landing in the middle of the swift current. Others were swimming around watching and came to rescue me on their innertubes. We laughed like kids playing hooky from school.

Emily and I shared secrets late into the night. We talked about heartaches, marriage, families, and the job she loved. She listened to my prattling like a lifelong friend, as I shared my frustrations I experienced working with my dad. “What would you do if you didn’t work for your dad?” she asked gently. “I would help orphans,” I answered confidently feeling at that moment that I knew exactly what I’d do. “I don’t know how I would help orphans, but I would try in some way.” Emily was one of the first to hear in depth about my longing to do something more with my life. My big dream to help orphans was being watered abundantly those few days at Cowgirl U, budding into a bloom of happiness. Ideas flowed freely from deep inside me. I hadn’t known those seeds to help the orphan left alone in the world had germinated as much as they had until I was able to express my hidden dreams to a loving stranger.

The first bud of my big dreams of helping orphans blossomed that May of 2006. By the fall, I made plans for an international volunteer trip and searched for an organization that offered trips with orphan care opportunities.

Things were getting serious. By January 2007, I was in Ayacucho Peru volunteering in a boy and a girl’s orphanage. By midyear, my mission statement was written, articles of incorporation and bylaws were filed with the state of Minnesota, and we had incorporated and 200 Orphanages Worldwide was born. JH