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By Eileen Sisk
April, 1999
The moon rose full and bright above "Wild Horse Mesa"
the night before Janet Fleming Jones and I were to set out on a
pack trip that had been a year in the making. But this night, Jan
lay inside the outfitter's home shoring up strength for our adventure.
Although she was a fifth-generation Hoosier, Jan
considered the juniper-and sage-speckled hills on the fringe of
the Gila National Forest her adopted home. She had sojourned to
New Mexico for years, having taken several trips with her mountain-man
friend, Jim Mater who owns and operates a custom pack outfit. Jan
insisted I take "a pack trip the way it ought to be done, a true
Western experience."
When I met Jan at the Albuquerque airport, I doubted
she could withstand the rigors of six days on horseback.
"I really thought she wanted to get away from home
to die -- out to her beloved New Mexico mountains," a mutual friend
later wrote.
It seemed everyone, save for herself, realized the
toll cancer was taking on the 72 year-old former physical education
teacher. Jan still saw herself as a strong, robust horsewomen who
had no need for painkillers or the disease that ravaged her.
Jan made it up the mountain the next day, but forced
to head back to the mesa after only one day and night on the trail.
I will always remember how tall my six-foot friend looked in the
saddle atop Jim's spirited Appaloosa with Jim leading the way on
foot.
One week later Jan up and died for no good reason,
with the closest she would ever come to a son and daughter at her
side. The best thing was she pretty near died with her boots on
with people she loved in a place she loved.
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