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April 9, 2007 – Shannon’s Personal Journal
RIDING
My passion.
My Dream.
A far-fetched Dream
Or a
Reality?
Riding is my passion and my dream, and now it is becoming a reality. I’m so excited to be taking this journey once again.
Introduction and Methodology
Although her “journey” began over twenty years ago in the world of horses, mine began just six weeks past, with me, the young, inexperienced ethnographer and husband in a world that I definitely knew existed given the stories my wife would sometimes allude to yet never really got into with me despite her apparent passion for it. Being a male, and not necessarily conditioned for such an emotional connection to even my wife, I, in my apparent bliss, didn’t then realize the true meaning of those stories; that the trunks full of riding equipment, bags of blue, red, and yellow ribbons (first, second, and third place, as she rarely earned anything otherwise), and album after album full of pictures that we have lugged along with us with each move, from Denver to Colorado Springs and back to Denver, were artifacts of these stories and of my wife’s entire life – that they represented the place that she affectionately calls “the Barn”, within which she “grew up” to be the independent, responsible, and loving person that I have, in a very husbandly way, taken for granted for four years.
However, thankfully, it wasn’t until my journey within an ethnographic study of this place – the Barn to her and now me, but more formally known as the Colorado Horse Park– that any of this made sense, or that I had truly known Shannon, her individual sense of identity, her prevailing notions of family, and her (or should I say our) future. Likewise, although I am her husband, I never knew until I began to truly listen and observe how much this place and her past with it could, or would, mean even to me on both an intellectual and emotional level. Most of all, though, I never expected this place and its many discoveries to challenge me so, not only as an ethnographer and scholar, but as a husband, father, and hopeless romantic who always – literally always – ‘dives in head first’. However, as I am now learning through my wife and my newfound ‘listening-skills’, that in spite of my enthusiasm, the Barn, and the research process itself, are not the ideal places for such naiveté. This I could only have discovered by both circumstance and as a result of my wife’s feminine wisdom.
To label my wife, Shannon, as the “gatekeeper” in this ethnographic study would be utterly irreverent and irresponsible, given that she not only secured my direct access, but also my success in the study of the setting. Although not aware of it at the time, when I shoveled manure, groomed the horses, set up jumping fences, and fed the horses their favorite treat, carrots, I had been given a unique gift and privilege, especially for someone who didn’t “grow up around horses”. The exclusivity of this place, I have discovered, is not necessarily a result of its elitist pretensions (in which there are certainly a few), but rather because of the careful prudence that this community actively uses in keeping it safe from outsiders (like me) who might compromise its sanctity and the close relationships fostered and nurtured there. Shannon is no exception, and although at first I interpreted this as a direct threat to my manly ego, I know now that she was also trying to protect me in her infinite, feminine wisdom.
In fact, when I first approached Shannon about the possibility of this study and of this particular place where she has spent so much of her time away from me (and, as she later admitted, to “get away” from me), she initially reacted with a deep concern, almost like a mother would, yet one that values the limited independence that a woman in today’s patriarchal world would carefully relish. She didn’t want me to interfere with, and especially “ruin” the only place that she “can truly call my own”, and where the connections between human and animal, and thus human-to-human, can be both extraordinarily loving and agonizingly obstinate at the same time. Naturally, she seemed hesitant to allow me access not only to these complexities as I might not understand, or worse misinterpret, them and thus her. Her concerns seemed to be more rooted within how these complexities manifest themselves within the people there, and herself in particular, making all of it vulnerable to my patriarchal ideals, especially as a white, male ‘academic’. However, after a few days I successfully convinced her to share this place with me, yet not until I had likewise shared with her my other intentions (besides the ‘academic’ ones) in observing, studying, and writing about the Barn; with sincerity and the best intentions I assured her that I simply wanted to explore what makes her ‘tick’, why this place has been her lifelong passion, and how I hoped to gain a better understanding of her and her past through it. From this first encounter, even before I had begun any formal observations, I began to realize that a more feminist approach focused on empathy and understanding would not only secure a prolonged access to this place, but would ironically provide a level of ‘trustworthiness’ in my interpretations, as it seems I had been (like the more traditional forms of ethnographic research have been) too dependent on the masculine ego-ideal. Let’s face it, why else would manure fascinate me so?
On the other hand, like the French poststructuralists have long argued, and within which many early Feminists rooted their beliefs, to speak of the ‘self’ as a separate and independent vessel may not be at all possible, especially given the political realities that often guide interpretation; yet they would agree that to attempt this is certainly a noble and intellectual pursuit. In my case, I must consciously remember throughout my research and interpretation of it that I am a man, and have enjoyed the many patriarchal benefits of it even in my own marriage, so to assume that I could successfully and efficiently observe and interpret from a feminine lens without a deep epistemological struggle would indicate a flawed methodology. Worse, it could result in a contentiously familiar and masculine depiction of the barn in this, my final report. Therefore, this lends to the deconstructionist assertion that to find a healthy level of objectivity in the face of this subjective-self when interpreting any situation foreign or familiar, one must consciously, and carefully, pay particular attention to the ‘details’ of experience, through reflective journaling, descriptive vignettes, and most of all, a specific theoretical lens, or even lenses. For me, although a detailed field log can also be included in this list, and as an integral part of my ‘triangulation’ of sources, I nevertheless took a minimal amount of notes while on site, given that (as my first Research Log entry indicates in the forthcoming section) I literally had to become an active participant if I was to truly embrace not only the feminist lens and secure long-term ‘access’, but more importantly to literally feel what being at the Barn is like so that I might better understand my wife and enjoy a happier life as husband and father. The irony of this, however, escaped me at the onset of this study, just as it has for almost four years of marriage, but not so much now. Now, as Derrida and his compatriots would likely argue in their work and research on the “subject writing the self”, I have found that writing of the “self” as a “subject” not only is possible, but also raises especially unique possibilities for learning. Furthermore, like these theorist and sociological philosophers, I have discovered through this study and the writing of it that a “partial, plural, incomplete, and contingent understanding” might be all that I can, or should, strive for, and that it might even better facilitate learning and the construction of knowledge more than the traditional stance of the researcher of “analytical distance or detachment” (Gannon, 475-477).
Therefore, I have tried to, in everything from my Research Log to my field notes and interviews, embrace myself as a “body connected to other bodies”, and specifically my wife’s in the “social space” of the Barn. However, on a more utilitarian level, not only does my inexperience as an ethnographer curb my ability to do this, but so did the actual events that unfolded over six weeks of the study. Without a pluralist approach, and one that had included countless informal conversations and formal member-checking with Shannon, in addition to the more formal research practices such as field-notes, keeping a Research Log and Theoretical Diary, then these my goals, and thus my entire framework and lens, would not have naturally evolved and ultimately manifested itself in an understandable form. What’s more is that if it weren’t for at least a willingness to experiment with the “self as subject”, not only within the context of this study, but moreover within the context of my own life, would I (and thus now you, the reader) be interested enough to continue with such an arduous task of the ethnographic study of a loved one (and also you in your interpretation of this report).
Adding to the emotional strain of this, are the inevitable demands of the social sciences, and of the field of research across disciplines, within which one cannot – or should not – be entirely subjective in one’s use of the “self”, as it would certainly distort the data and thus any study’s ‘validity’. So, for this one, I cannot, and did not, forget this, and hope that I will effectively address it through both the form and content of this narrative/paper, much like Derrida, Foucault, and others would have likewise attempted in their own uniquely postmodern fashions and within whatever theoretical framework mused them. Therefore, in this tradition, if I were to put any kind of label on the subsequent narrative, and the form of this entire report, I might be inclined to call it a “Poststructuralist Auto-ethnography”, and an experimental one at that.
However, so that I may further understand, and thus articulate, both the ontological realities and the benefits of such a subjective and experimental approach within the limited scope of the Feminist tradition, I have chosen to model John Van Mannen’s Confessional Tale; particularly, and purposely, this will help me to find a much needed “balance between introspection and objectification” given my eventual, yet inevitable, personal involvement with this study (Van Maanen, 93). Furthermore, through a Confessional format and voice, I hope to provide the “gift” of a “self-reflective meditation of ethnographic understanding”, exposing the many ironies surrounding the research itself, while also vicariously sharing the gift of the Barn in a way that even she, a true purist of the equestrian kind, would likewise encourage and be happy with. However, like Van Maanen also recognizes, so that these many ironies do not interfere with the aesthetic quality of the read, or worse “suck its author (and reader) into the black hole of introspection”, leaving only a “single-minded, abstract representation of fieldwork”, I will additionally employ a common literary strategy that writers often use to creatively conceal, yet also reveal, their intentions, both for a epistemological effect and for the interest of the reader – that of parody. In particular, I have chosen to write a meta-narrative based on the Joseph Campbell’s heroic model and adapted from his 1948 masterpiece, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, in which he analyzes and compares ancient mythology from various cultures from around the world, finding striking similarities within the form and archetype of the “hero’s journey”. Therefore, just as he did in his research, I will similarly (yet on a much smaller scale of course) attempt to bridge multiple cultures (that of the Barn through my wife and the academic community through me) and find balance between the journey’s experience in and around the Barn, and the metaphorical journey of the research process itself. Furthermore, through this archetypal model and meta-narrative style I hope to create a living “dialectic between experience and interpretation” with which I can share both of these stories, and do so within a format that most readers would appreciate, understand, or recognize in the traditional heroic narrative (Van Maanen, 93). Therefore, the rationale is simple; given the apparent cultural homogeneity that Campbell applied to his astoundingly grand, yet very highly regarded, research study of the mythical stories told and valued by cultures across time and culture, to model his approach might likewise do so for this study.
Finally, then, to remain loyal to both Van Maanen’s approach, to Campbell’s classic model, and to the meaning of this place, the Barn, I will begin with the heroic narrative’s most recognizable device, and pick up on my – or should I say OUR - story in the Greek fashion of ‘en media res’ (‘in the middle’ of the action). I will also use Campbell’s own descriptions of the different stages of the heroic journey to transition between each vignette to show how the story likewise emerged as a ‘journey’. (In addition, however, although valuable as an allegorical tool for my study, Campbell’s decision to polarize the sexes in the language of the descriptions by only referring to a male “hero, my stories and their intended voice do not value the same masculine ideal. In fact, as mentioned before, it is the feminine that the “Barn” values, what my theoretical framework is based upon, with which my research flourished, and what I found can heal emotional, intellectual, and even physical woes. Moreover, when he does refer to the “hero” in his descriptions of these stages, I wish to use the narrative vignettes pulled from my various resources to portray Shannon, my wife, and NOT MYSELF, as the “hero” – if anything, I was just her ‘sidekick’.)
Stage One - The Call to Adventure: “The call to adventure signifies that destiny has summoned the hero and transferred his spiritual center of gravity from within the pale of this society to a zone unknown. This fateful region of both treasure and danger may be variously represented; as a distant land, a forest, a kingdom underground, beneath the waves or above the sky, a secret island, lofty mountaintop, or profound dream-state; but it is always a place of strangely fluid and polymorphous beings, unimaginable torments, superhuman deeds, and impossible delights.” (Campbell, 1).
April 9, 2007 – Research Log
Today, I completed my first ‘official’ observation of “The Barn”, and after approximately three hours in the field, and nine trying to theoretically deduce what I observed and experienced there, all I can definitively come up with is…wow, did I get dirty, and man, did I like it. Yes, I undoubtedly saw a lot of ‘stuff’ that would be very deserved of scholarly study and discourse, yet all I can - or want - to remember, is that I stomped through mud, cleaned one horseshoe on a real, live 1000 lb. horse (while it was ON her), and willingly shoveled up what felt like at least a 20 pound pile of horse &%$#. Needless to say, I did ‘get my hands dirty’, and although I performed only a few items of any real importance in this new and exciting place, my status as a lowly neophyte nevertheless makes me want to come back for more...I already anxiously await and anticipate my next visit on Friday, where I can spend more time with Olivia, that 1000 lb. sweetheart whose power and grace has smitten me…more time watching my wife jump with Olivia OVER multiple and successive three foot fences without losing a step, and when she rarely does and almost runs headlong into the steel ring’s walls, how she rather than dismounting wary of her close call she and instead laughs and willingly loops around for “another run at it”…more time to try and steady the video camera as Shannon dauntingly leaps about with a confidence that I have never seen in her and that I’m still whirling over…and yes, more time to whiff, step in, shovel, and strangely enjoy the potently liberating smell of fresh manure.
Now home and in the safe recesses of my office, typing on my more tame, 1.5 lb. best friend, I don’t want to change my clothes, rather admiring the dirt under my fingernails, freshly calloused hands and mud-caked boots. Worse, I am avoiding taking a shower, as the wafting smells of my exciting ‘field-trip’ to the Barn keeps me enraptured in the romantic grasp of this place. Yet, again, it is my wife’s intuition with which I have survived all day that will ultimately pull me out of my smelly stupor and into the upstairs shower. She knows better than to let her day at the Barn interfere with her ‘other’ life at home, and to allow too much of her life at home into the Barn. I have yet to master this balancing trick.
April 11, 2007 – Research Log
Although I didn’t visit the barn with Shannon today, as planned (our nanny cancelled and I had to parent), Shannon and I, as usual, nevertheless talked about the happening there and her experiences. It seems she is beginning not only to show more enthusiasm for my interest, talking to me very openly about a place that she has told me was “her’s”, and even started to likewise take notice of some of the nuances, idiosyncrasies, rituals, etc. for ME and this study, even though I haven’t formally asked her to. In this particular conversation, which has become somewhat of a ritual for us, Shannon shared with me that she had gone “head-over-heels” while jumping Olivia today. I’m glad I wasn’t there and so was she, as it was somewhat of a “bad fall”. Knowing my tendency to over-react and to over-embrace my masculine role as her ‘guardian’ and protector t one that “just happen sometimes”, yet apparently with few serious injuries.