Not Quite Hi Ho Silver in the USA
A grainy Kodachrome slide shows me sharing a saddle with a park ranger somewhere in California. My look of sheer terror tells the whole story. At the age of five, I made a lifelong decision to avoid horses.
When I was 12 peer pressure caused me to rethink things.
Wanna go horseback riding, my friend asked?
Sure, said my 11 year old daring self, failing to state the obvious. I don’t recall how I managed to get myself atop that stabled horse. I don’t know what I said or did that turned the hay munching nag into its untamed alter ego. I did know enough, however, to hold on with all my might until the wild steed came to an abrupt halt in the middle of a stand of trees, where said horse allowed me to dismount. How either of us got back to the barn remains a mystery.
A few years ago my disabled friend, Amy, mocked my vow to keep my boots on solid ground. Her fearlessness inspired me. Regular horseback riding provided Amy with both recreational and therapeutic benefits. If she could ride, maybe I could ride too. Scared beyond measure, I decided, in the words of John Wayne, it might be time to “to saddle up anyway.” As luck would have it, I didn’t have to travel any farther than Woodbine, Georgia. Palmetto Oaks Stables, a small operation with big heart, provides riding opportunities to the physically, mentally and emotionally challenged. Fifty years of equinophobia surely fell into one of those categories.
A welcoming committee of two greeted my anxious arrival. Not waiting for formal introductions, Alice, the chubbiest goat I’d ever seen, and her sidekick, Sassy, more dust mop than dog, let it be known they were only interested in whatever treats I carried in my pockets. Stable owner, Teresa, tossed some kibble in their direction so I wouldn’t get trampled getting out of the car. Dressed in rust-colored jeans, a sweatshirt and mud-caked boots Teresa possessed a zen-like demeanor — the perfect antidote for my jangled nerves. A firm, calloused handshake belied her gentle nature. Compassionate eyes assured me I’d come to the right place.
Teresa awaited my nod before leading me into the barn to meet the horse that would be my partner for the day. My knees knocked when I first laid eyes on a thousand pounds of muscle, mane and magic, named Thunder. Not Baby. Not Cupcake. Thunder.
The object of my fear did not appear stormy as his name suggested. Tethered to a metal ring, he waited motionless for my approach. Like a shy toddler, I hid behind Teresa as I dug deep into my consciousness for the girl that once sought out adventure rather than live in nail-biting fear. With tentative hands, I reached for Thunder’s withers, then his forehead. Long, slow strokes from his ears to his snuffling nose relaxed me more than him. I peered into Thunder’s eyes, one deep brown, the other milky white. His blindness mirrored my inability to see beyond my fears. Tears trickled down my cheeks as I petted his broad back and bristled mane.
The next step was to get a feel for a horse in motion. Teresa led Thunder out of the barn, then instructed me to walk down a dusty path with horse in tow. About the time I loosened up, Thunder decided he’d had enough walking for one day. He cocked his head longingly towards the other horses back in the corral. Teresa coaxed him forward. When we got to the end of the path I told Thunder, in my most commanding voice, to turn around. I said go. Thunder heard stay. We stayed until Thunder agreed to go home.
That horse had you figured out before you ever said hello, said Teresa.
Along with my fear, I had to give up any decorum I might have had. There’s no way to hike one foot into a stirrup, hold onto the saddle horn, swing your other leg up and over the back end of a horse, and look good. Thank God Thunder understood the importance of standing still. I managed to plop my butt into the worn leather saddle and froze like a bronze park statue. What had I been thinking?
Actual riding, however, involves movement. Teresa held the reins. With the gentlest of steps, Thunder inched forward. Minutes felt interminable, yet as each one passed I relaxed into the horse’s motion. An unlikely pairing, Thunder and I circled the ring as if dancing a slow, graceful waltz. You are so brave, I whispered to the pigtailed girl in the Kodachrome slide.
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