Monday, September 8, 2014

I Never Wished these Fingers to Grow Back

I Never Wished these Fingers to Grow Back!  
22 years ago today.. my life was changed.
Here is a Piece (Peace) of my Story

 The First week of September in 1992 after moving in with my biological father I was involved in helping him with Civil War re-enactments. Recently, I was re-diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue – a lifetime disease that I would never be cured from. I didn't want to let my dad down, and decided to go to our next re-enactment on this day in 1992.  I am a woman of my word and when I say I will do something,  I do:  sometimes to a fault.

Dressed in an authentic 1880's bustle dress with a real steel corset to match, I was running late. The trip to Zion from Hebron was about 35 miles.  The mayor's son, Daniel, was to come with me. I picked him up and off we went. He was 12 years old.  The Glass Diet Pepsi bottle was sitting between my knees and we were talking, laughing, anxious to get to the production in Zion. I was 24. Time passed slowly and I was driving the speed limit in my little blue Geo Storm that I just bought. A tiny little sports car with a wide open sunroof that day and CD player. 

In front of me there were three cars doing about 35 miles an hour. Carefully, in a passing zone, I passed each car and continued on down the road. The third car was picking up speed…and they seemed to be lost.  On Route 137 near Antioch, she turned her right turn signal on to turn into the State Park.  At the last minute…she turned left into a blind driveway…as I was going around her; at 63 mph.

I remember the rest of this in slow motion. All this happened in milliseconds: My first mothering instinct was to "brace" Daniel. Hold him back with all my might with my right arm. My second instinct was to relax and then I screamed, "Oh my God! We are going to flip".  We hit her heavy chevy and did…I felt one flip, then two, then three, then four, then five. I thought to myself, "When is this going to stop rolling". Finally we came to a rest.  Daniel had blood on him. He screamed at me in horror and then scrambled out of the car. The only thing I was worried about for a moment was if he was ok. He was – thank goodness. The second thing I did, with fear in my heart, I sat up and bumped my head on the parking brake. I was sitting on the roof, the car was upside down and I thought she was "going to blow up".  Scared to wiggle my legs…I held my breathe and said, "Please Lord, I didn't feel a thing when we flipped, please let me NOT be paralyzed".  I wiggled my legs and wasn't paralyzed. I cried for joy. But there was an amazing amount of blood in my eyes. "Oh great, I thought, my face is cut to shreds! I'll have to wiggle out on my hands through the window".  Then I saw what Daniel was screaming at; my hands. Blood was everywhere, they were numb. My right hand looked like a piece of raw meat prepared by the butcher and wrapped in twine to be cooked for a meal. My left hand was as thin as a piece of paper, disfigured into the shape of the letter "Z". I looked at my right hand and said, "Wow, I'm glad I didn't feel that."  But I was more concerned about my face. I looked at my paper-thin mangled left hand and said, "didn't feel that either". I was still more worried about my face. I didn't quite see it the way it really was. I thought my hands were lacerated, nothing that a few weeks healing wouldn't take care of.

I learned later that his name was Scott. He was in a black concert tee shirt. After me saying, "Someone's gonna have to pull me out, because my butt can't fit through this window in this dress", he pulled me out. My sense of humour kicks in when I am in shock! I stood up and walked around for about 10 seconds…calling him a liar because I knew my face was torn to shreds. He got my name and said, "Megan, your face is fine…really, you just have a cut above your eye and that's all."  I said, "I think I better lay down". I lay my head on his crossed legs right there on the side of the pavement. He talked to me, asked me my name over and over, wondered why I was all dressed up in costume, told me about his dog and I told him about mine, told him where I lived as the vandals stole my wallet and the $230 in it which was never recovered.

Thirty minutes later the paramedics came with their bandage scissors and ripped open the steel corset (which saved my life and my organs) and exposed me completely to the public. The leering and jeering about my upper half being naked and the cat call of "nice boobs" rang through the crowd.. the Paramedics shoed teh gawkers away and covered me as soon as they could.  I felt violated and disgusted that while I lay there bleeding and in danger that some asshold had the nerve to say "nice tits!". The ride to hospital was 65 miles away.

I heard them whisper over and over again about stuff I had no idea about. They asked me, "What do you do for a living, and what do you want to become." I said, "I am a pianist who wants to teach English. Music first, English second." Pretty amazed, they were, at the coherence I had on 15 cc's of morphine. They whispered underneath their breath about, "dammit, she's a pianist…what is the best case scenario". I heard them go around and around about it until 6:30 pm that evening. They had made their decision.

The team of 12 surgeons that were the best hand surgeons in the US came to me and said, "Your left hand will heal just fine, the bones are completely crushed and some steel parts and plastic will make it all well again. Four incisions into your wrist and you will be as good as new. Your right hand, however, we will have to take your first and middle fingers"

My parents were there to hear this news. My mom was crying.

I said, "how far will you have to take them down to"

The doc said, "to the first knuckle, maybe second. I am not sure. We are hoping to the first so you can play piano again.  Your thumb might have to be taken, completely, as well. But we have a new technology we would like to try through microsurgery. We would like to try it if you can have your parents sign for you. But first we have to cut those rings off your fingers, sweetie"

"of course, I said".  My mom was still crying and reminded the surgeons that I was pianist.

I screamed at the top of my lungs as the pain I felt seared in my hands. They inserted blunt surgical instruments (they told me these metal forceps were called "steel deal cutters")  into the bloody mess that was my right hand. The first finger was the ring that my mom gave me…was cutting more and more deeply into the wound. It has swollen around it. "Snap"! The cutters made it through the steel easily but my hands were beyond pain. Searing again, the second ring on my middle finger, my Uncle's class ring, this time…and two times in a row, tears poured down my face. The morphine didn't touch the pain. I lost my Uncle's 1939 class ring and above the pain of it all, i cried having to destroy this life momento.

Count backward from three, Neal said.  "Three, two" and I was out. I was laid out on the cold surgical table with my arms outstretched to each side like Jesus on the Cross. My parents said that I looked like I was being crucified as six surgeons on one side and six surgeons on the other reconstructed what was left of my hands.  They said I would be out for six hours and that I wouldn't feel a thing. I dreamt of horses and mostly birds, doves and animals, things that I have never dreamed before.

And exactly six hours to the minute, my boyfriend at the time, kissed me and I awoke from the anesthesia. Love is a powerful thing. This sounds so much like sleeping beauty that it sounds hard to believe. His name was Jerry can ask anyone there.

Both hands were bandaged up to my elbows. Two pinkys sticking out. That' s it. I felt to see if they had taken any skin from my hip like they wanted to. They didn't have to. Another blessing and one less scar. My eye was stitched up from the airbag injury.  The next 5 days, the hospital was to be my new home. I waited, thanked God I was still alive, wondered what they did to me.

The next day Dr. Matloub came in to see me.

He said, "I've been in surgery since you came in. All night I've worked and I'm extremely exhausted".  He had a thick Hungarian accent.

I said, "Please Dr. Matloub, please rest. You just saved my life….stay with me awhile."

After a few stolen moments of rest for him, he explained that he "had to take my first and middle finger down to my second knuckle, through the new technology my right thumb is completely normal looking, but will have limited use, your left hand will be as good as new (they "installed" four steel rods …which stuck straight out of my flesh…kinda gross until I got use to it).

His last words fell to my ears like disharmonic wailing banshees. 

"You will never play piano ever again".

He and I were alone those moments.  My I.V. was in my jugular vein as these words sunk in. He came over to me and I was whimpering and crying somewhat..and he said, "I am so sorry. But you are a brave young lady and technology advances everyday. We saved your thumb and left hand. One of these days, maybe you can have your other two digits replaced."  He hugged me and said he had to go and asked me if I was going to be alright. I said I would be eventually and said thanks for stopping by…and for "all your good work, Dr. Matloub. Come rest anytime you like here. You are good company"

For the next 30 minutes I was feeling disabled, disfigured, disowned, dejected, unlovable, unloved, and every other negative emotion with becoming a new "amputee".   I couldn't play piano, be loved, & couldn't even go to the bathroom without someone's help.   The 30 minutes ended when my new boyfriend showed up with flowers for me…after driving 110 miles to get there. I realized that the sum of my parts is not who I am as a whole. I was the same, just not able to play piano anymore.  He stayed with me night and day for those 5 days. The last day, my mom took me home. Also for the first time in my life I had the awesome experience of my biological mother Paulette .. have a chance to feed me.  She missed that when she gave me up for adoption.  The power in those moments for us were life changing.. she had her baby back in a way that she could never have imagined.

The drive home was filled with anxiety and sadness. My mom barely spoke. I was sleepy. We pulled into the driveway and she let me out. I walked slowly to the back door. I waited for her in the back hallway by our washer and dryer.  She came in and went ahead of me upstairs near the kitchen. I followed her upstairs and there was my piano.  I sat down and looked at my bandaged hands with my two pinkys sticking out. Right there I cried my head off, went back downstairs into the family room and sat in my dad's fat leather chair. I stewed for a minute, the emotion was intense, I became angry, then enraged, then…..MOTIVATED. Then I said to myself, "I'm going to play the piano, I don't care what those stupid doctors say!"

I marched back upstairs sat down at the piano. I looked at  my bandaged hands with my pinkys sticking out and wondered --- what can I play - I only have two fingers sticking out? I thought hard and said, "OK, Somewhere Over the Rainbow".  All these thoughts were in my head. Then I said out loud to my mom, "Mom, come here, I want to play Somewhere Over the Rainbow for you. I think can play it. It might be slow, but I think I can do it."

Key of C was easiest. I started slowly with a left hand slowing plucking out the notes of the chords, one by one, with my pinky. VERY SLOW.  Then I plucked out the melody with my right pinky that went something like this (imagine the tones and tempo by the spaces with the words, you know the melody, I am sure)
"Some                                   where          over the rain               bow             where           birds              fly            (I concentrated harder)              birds              fly       overtherain            bow            why       oh          why cant       I"

By this time, both my mom and I were crying.

My doctors were more than wrong!  They cheered when I gained full use of my right thumb, they cheered when I started to be able to turn my left hand completely over to have full range of motion and lastly, they cheered when I taped me playing the a complicated waltz by Chopin for them for my last hand therapy session.  They said, "we want more!". I taped them Grieg, Beethoven, as well as the Jazz Masters and even Phil Collins! I had to be extra careful when I played now, extra concentration to not make mistakes. This made me a better player, less sloppy, more focused. After all, I was only playing with 8 fingers. Gershwin is a stretch because of the fat chords.  They all cheered because so many people said, "She can't play anymore" and I proved them wrong, over and over and still do to this day.

            When I was in recovery, the doctors were amazed at my attitude. They introduced me to the psychology staff and asked if I wanted to "tell my story" to help other amputees like me to get to the same emotional place that I was in.  Being of kindness, I said, sure…anything that you want. That is what got me started as a therapist and from there I branched out.

            I have had the best musical venues I've ever had after this car accident, played with some famous people, and have told my story a thousand times to those people who "think they can't do it…whatever 'it' is." Argue your limitations and they shall be yours…is one of my mottos that I teach to people, in my English & Psychology curriculum, out in real life, when I do speaking in front of groups, every chance that I get. I don't focus on my hands…I focus on the experience. Because of this accident, my life has been more blessed, more enriched, more EVERYTHING because I know intimately what life changing moments can mean to a person and the positive effects it can have on a soul. You are only as strong as you want to be, only as positive as you want to be, only as soulful as you want to be. I'm not sure which came first, my belief in myself or the belief other people that I loved who I had in my life. I think it really was simultaneous, actually.

            I do not wish these fingers to grow back.  Ever. I do not wish for replacements through prosthetics. They would only get in the way: in the way when I play piano, in the way when I teach, in the way in every aspect.  If the Lord ever wills that they return somehow..then I will deal with it at that time…but until then, I tell my story, remain positive and consider this one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I am honest with myself about this reality that I have…I don't say these things because I am "faking" about how I really feel.  This is who I am and have accepted myself to become in my world. I am more than ok with how I feel about myself.  Argue your limitations and they shall be yours.

There is a bittersweetness to it as my hands degenerate in pain every day that I wake up to use them to do anything.  My grip on things is deteriorating, my hands hurt constantly. If it weren't for the piano (and the horses) keeping them limber, I fear that they would probably shrivel up into decrepidness. I keep them busy.  My hands are busy, but my heart is full.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Post Expedition Lingering and Repeating Thoughts

The sweet acquisition of heart and soul on an equestrian journey happens and blades of grass become clear and focused. Crickets seem to start to whisper the secrets of the world at 3-4 miles an hour.  Gives a reason to think about the "why ride" all the time.  It changes with each mile and each memory.

Usually I would arrive at a hosts house as a stranger and leave as family or family therapist. The backbone and spine of America and every equestrian journey no matter the country is woven within the tapestry of each family we have met and all because the nature of the horse opens doors to people.

The person I saddled up with on the way has not been the same person who arrived home.  There is not such thing as going back to yourself on a journey this size.

Sometimes, we arrive as mysterious as the wind and sometimes for those we meet,  we are in some way that "thing" that they have been waiting for, a "miracle" in their lives...and to ourselves, I am just me doing what passionately comes natural to me.. giving hope & love to the world, setting others free from their own emotional hell or giving life to their dreams.

They see we are the embodiment of hope, future and everything else that may manifest their authentic selves... all because of our horses, our journey..

More than anything else, the best part about an equestrian journey is the journey inward toward ourself.

Conventional Life is impossible to get back to once this is over.  Re-acculturation to the world is alot like coming home from War.. has a similar feeling. Once an equestrian journey is over, a conventional life will never return. I have seen this with several dozen equestrian travellers.  For many, The ache to be back out on the road always haunts us for good. It never. goes. away.  For some, one time is enough. For those who ache to get out on the the road, we seem to be always planning another journey and seems to never be far from the surface to forsake conventional living and head out again.  This is the most bittersweet heartbroken-ness one can experience, in my opinion, in the world.

My emotional journey has been profound since I started taking a horse out on the road almost seven years ago.  What is required of us to acquire our own souls out there is patience, determination, grit and perseverance and for me,  a mighty faith in God (especially when I was directed to leave my tent at home).

On an equestrian journey, sometimes we have to take ourselves by the scruffs of our necks and shake our very self to the core remove our own obstacles, short comings and what not so we can see the deeper meaning  of the "why" we are riding or doing "X", whatever "X" is: determination to keep going.   God was always close by..I could hear Him "better" or at least more clearly on my rides.. His mission was "go I am sending you..."

Having serious health challenges,  I have learned that after shaking and taking myself by the scruff of my own neck (with others help) that I have learned that I can do something that I was told I couldn't do, that sometimes I was not willing to do because I was feeling under the weather. Regardless of health or weather.. moving on was a must! Unless my horse was injured.  Daily miles day in and day out became natural. Travelling 18 miles in 6 hours became customary and getting back to normal car travel I have to admit was quite scary after not using one for several months!

We all have our own place on this planet, our own niche, and belonging. Some of us are lucky enough to find that calling and when we do, we hang on to it because love, acceptance and belonging are at the very heart of inspiring hope and connection to others on the planet. These equestrian journeys of mine taught me this at the very least.

I feel that none of us have the right to monopolize and control others by defining their passions.  Our passions and experience are as unique as each human finger print.  Unfortunately, the human condition has paradoxes, rules, standards and that serve, supposedly, as a checks and balances system so that we do not experience chaos within ourselves and among others during our short time on earth.

What does this have to do with horse travel?  This is the stuff that I hope many riders discover on the road, or many adventurers, for that matter.  The adventurers mind is different than those who take up a hobby sport.  I would like to think that we are here for the journey and not the miles, not the membership, not for anything else but what we were designed to do in living our passions while employing ourselves in acquiring our own souls.

At the end of the day, when we are all old and gray (and in my case, grayer), the legacies we leave behind are the memories and lessons we give to other people. People will not remember us by what we did, but they will remember us by how we made them feel.

It’s not about earning the stripes and gaining membership status, or other statuses, or about living by other’s definitions of what they believe is true or not true for us.  When we live by other’s expectations in what we are passionate about, we miss the point.

No matter how many times as a rider I have been out there by horse with this style travel,  I am forever being transformed, and thrown through life’s and God's screen onto the potter’s wheel and re-molded into something different. Sometimes better in some ways and sometimes in ways that are not as nice or pleasant.

The more clarity, I feel, that I have learned about life on these expeditions, in many ways, the more authentic I get with people. Being more dead honest sometimes has taken people by surprise.  Being authentic with my words still means I have to be soft with my heart and constantly speaking the truth in love.

Without our own embrace of what and who we are and our own definitions of what we do – by not embracing  relative truth…but THE truth which is to ourselves- we will not be able to inspire others to do the same and hope the best for them...ultimately thwarting the ability to pass our legacies onward as we pass into the next life leaving behind that which meant most to ourselves and then on to others.

An expedition by horse is not for everyone...the bittersweet ache of the road follows me every where I go now. My last expedition was a two and a half years ago.  I can say this though.. I can never go back to being the same person I was before I headed out.. God has transformed my heart and for this I am grateful..(and to Evangeline my horse) she is the one who inspires me to be more like her.. my equine partner and soul mate. I have a closeness with her that is indescribable....

I can taste the adventure right around every corner and every breathe I take is encompassed with "when can I leave next." I learned to be content in my current circumstances, no matter what they might be at the moment because they change minute to minute on the road.  I have learned to be content that I probably will never set out on an equestrian journey again.  But God forbid I am told the last time I can ride a horse or breathe in their aura of intuitiveness and understanding.

And at the end of all these journeys: I knew who I was and who I was not. I was not shading my own reality or illusion of some altered truth about myself.  At the same time, I can't describe how at easy I became with being totally vulnerable in the elements for days on end.  And at the end, at least for me Dr. Luke had the best orders.. which made it easier.."Go I am sending you. The Harvest is plenty and the workers are few."

The biggest adventure you can ever take is to live the life of your dreams...and thankfully, I have made all my dreams come true from the back of a horse who said couldn't be ridden who bears the name "Angel Messenger".

Have an amazing day...and if you can dream it, you can do it!

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Buffalo Moon Expedition 2014

Press Release 2014

Buffalo Moon Expedition’s message is simple.  However, the long-distance delivery of that message has a most been most unusual and sometimes unfathomable even for horse minded folks who trail or endurance ride.

Megan Gist is the founder of Buffalo Moon Expedition, an organization that preserves equestrian travel which carries out a social mission via horseback.  Buffalo Moon Expedition was founded in 2008. 

Megan Gist’s last and 9th expedition in 2012,  took her and her horse Evangeline 576 consecutive miles through Texas over 82 days, on a horse trekking journey to help those with emotional need and also celebrate life and share faith and hope as she travels down the trail.      

How did Buffalo Moon Expedition get its start?  Her first journey in 2008 was a large portion of Historic Route 66 from Oklahoma to Chicago but turned into nine separate expeditions over the next five years.   

Since then, each journey has been over 210 consecutive miles with her greatest and most recent being 576 consecutive miles through the state of Texas.Her total miles to date on expeditions like these are close to 1500 miles. Lifetime miles, she has ridden around 25,000 over 30 years.  

In relative terms, that would be equivalent to riding the equator all the way around the world –plus 100 miles. 

Gist also has been helping people heal emotionally the majority of her career. Her graduate degree in Adult Education is all fine and well, but her life is not all about book smarts either. She has had her share of life loss and horses have been a way for her to get through her toughest times.    

These expeditions are all attempts to make it from A to B.  Whether Gist makes it to her final destination is unknown as she says that she is not in charge of this journey in so many ways.   However, Gist’s positive attitude and faith keep her moving down the road.

 “The harvest is plenty and the workers are few,” Gist uses as her Biblical mantra of Luke 10 analogy that more people need to hear hopeful messages in their lives and that their God given purpose is closer at hand than they think.

In 2012,  Gist questioned herself about doing her last Expedition at all, so she turned to her favorite book – The Bible – to help her figure it out.  She stumbled upon some words of wisdom that have given her specific instructions about her journey, what to take with her, where to stay and even what to eat.

“It was an ancient Doctor’s wisdom that guided me to head out throughout Texas on this last journey in 2012.”  The doctor she is talking about is Luke. 

 “You See, Luke was a Physician” Gist’ proudly asserts.  Gist’ also carries a gift of bringing or at least offering emotional (and sometimes physical) healing to those she meets along the way.

Dr. Luke – or known to many as the Apostle Luke - the Evangelist and Disciple of Christ - confirmed through scripture she was supposed to do this.  Not so much for herself, but for those out there who were in need of emotional freedom.   Here are the ancient words of wisdom from Luke, 10: 2-18  and they go like this:

                    “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Go! I am sending you out like lambs among wolves. 4 Do not take a purse or bag or sandals; and do not greet anyone on the road. 5 “When you enter a house, first say, ‘Peace to this house.’ 6 If someone who promotes peace is there, your  peace will rest on them; if not, it will return to you. 7 Stay there, eating and drinking whatever they give you, for the worker deserves his wages. Do not move around from house to house. 8 “When you enter a town and are welcomed, eat what is offered to you. 9 Heal the sick who are there and tell them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ 10 But when you enter a town and are not welcomed, go into its streets and say, 11 ‘Even the dust of your town we wipe from our feet as a warning to you. Yet be sure of this: The kingdom of God has come near."

Imagine Gist and her surprise when she read these infamous words that said "GO! I am sending you out...."  She also doubted the Bible’s prescription to take essentially nothing but a toothbrush.  She thought to herself, "God must be crazy to ask me to do this!!!!" 

She said that the spiritual direction seemed preposterous at first.   More scriptural confirmation came when she read the story of Moses had Aaron as Moses' spokesperson and ambassador.  But who was to be Gist's ambassador?  That was an easy answer -- her HORSE… Evangeline!

On top of that she questioned God about what to take. On the other expeditions she usually carried 15 pounds of gear.  But this last expedition, she was being lead to carry only the clothes on her back, a sleeping bag and a few other belongings weighing in at a tiny 3 pounds.

Gist’s biggest spiritual test came when a new saddle came on board making it impossible to carry a tent or a sleeping bag.  The saddle was a Stuebben Saddle with no dee-rings to fasten gear on the saddle.  “I couldn’t believe that circumstances were leading me to leave my only shelter behind: let alone ride hundreds of miles in a Show Dressage Saddle!  I hadn’t needed that tent yet, but having it with me was a good feeling of security," Gist’ says with a smile, “So with some skepticism, I left it with a host-turned-new-friend in Tyler, Texas at mile marker 379.”

If you readers wonder what happened after that, well, Gist reminisces, “God provided – one million percent- without the tent.”  She continued to whittle down her gear to basically the clothes on her back and deodorant and a toothbrush.  Gist continued to ride on faith and what happened over and over again?  “God provided,” she says.

“Words fail me when I think of all the Hospitality and the kindness of folks in this world.  Words fail me MORE when I think about this leap of faith I was taking and how I just went with it,” Gist says, “Sometimes I get tears in my eyes just reflecting upon how it all worked out so perfectly beautiful. God’s provisions were flawless and He was forever faithful right down to the last mile.”

Gist didn't have but one troublesome host – but she said laughing about it in hindsight, “I went against Luke’s words of wisdom.  You know the part that says not to greet any strangers on the road?  Well, I met a stranger on the road and they offered a place to stay.” 

Megan usually makes arrangements with others a few days in advance through other friends.  But this time she took a chance.  She recalls, “They were upstanding citizens in the community, had good references and were great horse people: philanthropists, too.  But the man of the house became inappropriate when his wife left me there with him.  He started drinking and getting belligerent.  Thank God, I was able to get out of there after my husband made an emergency trip to my location at 10pm. I ended up riding 6 miles bareback with my horse to another stable at 2 in the morning.  I will NEVER greet another stranger ON THE ROAD again!”

Gist’ swears that these instructions will guide her on this next expedition and will lead her where she is meant to go.

Each day of this ride, she looks forward to doing the work she loves best from the back of a horse and living out her trademarked life motto, “Emotional freedom starts on the trail.”

“There are so many people out there who are hurting emotionally and just as many who want to share and celebrate their lives on an adventure like this,” Gist reflects, "Vibrancy comes with sharing our life stories as does hope which creates meaning in our lives.”

Buffalo Moon’s pace is steady and their progress is slower than what most people expect. “We ride a maximum of 15 miles a day at 3 miles per hour.  This and any of Buffalo Moon’s previous expeditions were/are not about setting any land speed records; these expeditions are about savoring each moment and the meaning of it all.

Buffalo Moon Expedition uses community resources to help them travel from point A to B. There is no time frame, no schedules to keep.  Gist always believes in the welfare of her horse first and says,  "We get as far as we get and travel as far as we go.”

Gist says that sometimes it would take her 10 hours to ride 15 miles as she likes to stop and get her message out to as many possible as she travels along the way.

Buffalo Moon Expedition’s travel style is similar to that of the Old West. With less than 3-6 pounds of gear, the duo travels from town to town at a leisurely pace of 3-4 miles per hour.

All horses are not created equal when they on this type of journey.  Some horses really can't stand the daily changes (and are too domesticated in some ways) this type of expedition demands.   

Her gear is always very light.  No heavy western saddle..just a found pounds of gear and a saddle that fits will take Gist on these journeys into the unknown.

“Without my horses, these expeditions wouldn't happen; they are the heart and soul of all our adventures. I always take exquisite care of my horse on our journeys. Their welfare is first."  Megan realizes the amount of effort that goes into care-taking a horse and always goes at their horse’s pace--- not her own.  

The duo will rely on help from hosts and sponsors as they venture the trail. Hosts often by transport gear to the next host, and give them a place to shower, eat and rest.

“It’s not the miles, it’s the meaning,” Gist emphasized again.  " We are here for the journey and not the miles, not the membership, not for anything else but what we were designed to do in living our passions while employing ourselves in acquiring our own souls.  And this time, we are looking forward to having those we meet share their lives to give us meaning."

And for Buffalo Moon Expedition, time and time again, that’s just what the doctor ordered!

Support Buffalo Moon Expedition as they make their way on their route.   Megan would love to have you join her on her Facebook age at