Earth Sign Mama Writes: Horses, Horses

I can't remember who this colt is, but the mare is Suzie. And that is me during high school.

I loved horses when I was growing up. I also was scared to death of them. They were beautiful, they were fun to ride, and they were terrifying. At least my dad's horses were terrifying to me. In our family, you were in the saddle before you could walk. A sister would hold you, while Mom led the horse around the barnyard, and then took your picture. We always had horses. In the summer, there was a horse tied up and saddled, next to the fence every day. I didn't have my own bike. I said that once to a friend when I was an adult. She looked at me sadly, acknowledging that indeed I did come from poor roots. But, hey! We had horses!Who needed a bike? There were actually more places to ride the horse, than to ride the bike. We did have a bike--it belonged to all of us. We rode it when we felt like it, and we rode a horse the rest of the time.

I'm probably about 15 months old in this shot, with my sister Connie.

My dad holding a workhorse with the four "big sisters" and

our little brother when he was about six months old.

One summer, a car pulled into our driveway. I didn't recognize the people, but my mother came outside and waved and gave the mother, who was behind the wheel, a big hug. We took the children, instructed by both mothers, for horse rides while my mom and her cousin (it turned out) talked and laughed for a bit. See, as this family had come down from the mountain pass that led into our little valley, the children were anticipating visiting some of their mom's family members. But, they were also longing to ride a horse. Apparently their relatives didn't have animals. So, the mother, mischievously said to her children, (knowing that within a couple of miles she would come around a curve and see her cousin's farm) "Okay, the next time we see some horses tied up to a fence at a house, we'll stop there, and ask if we can ride their horses." The children expressed their incredulity, and then their mother pointed out that RIGHT THERE were horses tied to the fence, with saddles already on them. She started to slow down, and her kids suddenly became hesitant to just stop in at total strangers and ask for a favor. But she turned into the driveway anyway. Now, the kids were just too embarrassed, and shrunk down in their seats. But! What's this? Their mom and this farm lady are hugging?? They had a great time riding our horses, and we thoroughly enjoyed sharing our best thing with them.

My dad loved beautiful horses. We had a mare that was part thoroughbred, and part quarter-horse. She was feisty. She scared me to death! Her leg had been injured in a cutter race, so we didn't ride her, which contributed to her flighty nature. But she made some beautiful off-spring. Men need a hobby and for my dad it was breeding beautiful horses. He'd pay big bucks (at the time) to hire a stallion, and then take Bo-Peep in his truck over to the romantic rendezvous. Each spring, we get a fantastic foal that pleased Daddy so much. Now, we weren't cowboys. We didn't have a big herd of cattle that someone needed to ride the range with; nor did we round-up and rope and brand calves out on the prairie. Milk cows are different. So, we did not need horses like a rancher might. But, beautiful horses was my dad's thing, so we always had four or five of them. He used them in the fall to go elk hunting. We children rode them during the summers for fun. He liked to show them off to his cousins who'd occasionally visit. He would sometimes sell one of the foals, and make a little profit. You know how some people just like having a collection of cool cars, or motorcycles, or a room full of fabric? Well, my dad had his horses.

This is Old Pal and I think the foal is Mickey.

We had Old Pal, a mare that could, and would, hold children from her neck to the tip of her tail. She would patiently allow the inexperienced to clamber aboard, and would walk along patiently keeping them seated. Or my dad could take her elk hunting in the fall, and ride her hard all day, pack out the elk quarters on her, and she would work for him like a champion. Her two off-spring were Mickey (a gelding) and Bo-Peep, a mare. Cutter racing was a big sport when I was child. Two-horse teams pulled a sled down the main street of one of the little towns. Bo-Peep had the legs and the speed, and a man convinced Daddy that she would do well with his horse in a team. Unfortunately, she was injured in a race (I don't know the circumstances, but I think my dad was upset with the driver's lack of judgement) and she was retired to be a broodmare. Her two daughters were Lindy and Susie. One spring, both Susie and Lindy were going to have foals. My dad told me that Lindy's would be mine. My own horse!!

This is Suzie, patient as her grandmother, Old Pal.

Trish, Scott, Shelly, Daddy, Lorene, Lawrence

This is one of Old Pal's great-grandchildren, with a group of

mother's grandchildren piled on her, the way we used to pack ourselves on.

It was pretty amazing. Up till then, I was rather afraid of our horses. I'd had a few exciting experiences: hanging on for dear life when the mare I was riding decided to turn back and run for home because her nursing baby was back in the other field. Or the time my older sister and I packed a picnic lunch, and were going to ride Mickey up the field. However, he was very, very unhappy at the sound of the ice-cubes clanging against the side of the honey bucket we'd filled with water and tied on the saddle with the back strings. We just got through the barnyard gate, and was passing by some parked farm machinery, when he exploded in fury, in an attempt to get rid of that bouncing, clanging thing. We girls both flew off and landed on the ground, and I rolled under the drill to protect myself. He bucked like a rodeo champ, trying to throw off that noisy can. I can still picture his hoofs slamming into the dirt so close to my face, as I huddled under the edge of the overhanging seed buckets.

But, something about getting my own horse made it all different. First: he was just a little baby! He was small and not taller than me. After all, I could look over the top of a cow's back since I was about nine years old. And cows moved slowly. Horses were all legs and stepped lively. But, he seemed calmer than his fidgety mother. I'd read a lot of books about horses (well...ALL the books about horses in the town library...) and I had some ideas. I worked on gentling my colt (named Bucky) and over the course of a year, I'd taught him to come when I whistled, (I bribed him with grain), and to stand calmly while I touched him all over. He grew taller, but I didn't get frightened of him. We had an understanding. The winter he was two years old, I asked Daddy to let him stay with the calves in the field behind the barn, instead of going to the upper fields with the rest of the herd. During most winters, our horses just hung out with the cattle, living a herd life, eating hay daily when we took it to them. But they weren't "our" horses during those months--they became a little band of their own, with the oldest mare as the leader.

With Bucky available for me to talk to, pet, and bring grain snacks every day at milking time, he and I became a little team. I started to tie him up to the fence during milking, and I'd go out and talk to him, and touch his back, and lean on him. Eventually, I climbed the fence and sat on his trembling back very gently. I did this every day until he didn't care anymore. Then, I introduced the saddle blanket, then the saddle, then I cinched it up. Then, I sat on the saddle. All of this was done gradually over the Christmas break,and through the January evenings while we were outside anyway. Finally, at the end of February, when the sunlight isn't gone so early, I had my dad lead me around the barnyard. Bucky was very nervous, walking with that saddle and a 14 year old girl on his back. But, he calmed down when I talked to him. Daddy led me through the gate, so that I could ride him in the pasture, which was three feet deep in snow at that point. Bucky and I rode like that for several weeks, and by the time the snow melted, he was completely comfortable with me climbing up in the saddle and riding him wherever I chose.

I know it sounds like a Laura Ingalls Wilder book, or maybe something by Walter Farley. But, seriously, I just was so obsessed with having my own horse, that I was determined to really make him mine. I've reflected on this two year period, and realized that having my horse helped me to grow up. At the same time I was taming and training Bucky, I was also in Junior High School. Now--picture this: very tall, skinny, knocked-kneed girl with ugly corrective shoes. She is now entering a school with about 250 other students, of whom she only knows about 25. And, although she knows them, and can chat and say "hi" she really doesn't have a "friend"---yes, I did not know anyone who I could say was my "BFF." I was friendly, but not in a group. I look back and realize that I preferred reading books all the time, and that I tended to be a know-it-all because I'd read so many books. I wasn't shy about sharing my knowledge. I was taller than most of the boys, and I milked cows every day. I wore my sisters' hand-me-down dresses, which had been fine up till then. However, fashion changed dramatically in the middle of Junior High, and now my clothes were so last decade. Sigh. Plus...who among us has ever felt "cool" at that age?? (I also realized as an adult that NO ONE loves Jr. High.) So, at school, I was always embarrassing myself by talking too much, or by not having anyone to sit by at lunch, or by getting caught reading a book in my lap, when I should have been paying attention to the teacher.

BUT! At home, I was a confident horse trainer! I helped my parents milk cows, feed chickens, gather and sort the eggs, feed the calves, help with younger siblings, and generally be a competent contributor to our family. I was a decent student. I got good grades. I had writing skills...math?...not so much. But, when I wasn't at school, I lived in a world that brought me a great deal of satisfaction, all thanks to my horse, and the cows, and even the dopey chickens.

See, this is my plan for the little gangsters I see roaming the big city where I now live. They get into gang life for real around middle school age. They're looking for a purpose in life. They need a team, they need to feel value in their existence. School work? Maybe not...It's hard to care about the "author's purpose" when you don't read that well, your parents don't read English at all, and your hormones are telling you that you need to go and show off for the girls. But...if some of these kids had a group of calves to take care of, or a car to fix, or a horse to train, maybe then they could channel some of the youthful enthusiasm into a positive place, and they wouldn't need the fake validation of gangster life.

Here are some more horse photos. I'd post one of Bucky, but I do not think I own one of him. He was a beautiful buckskin, with a black mane and tail. We looked good together.

There are many more horse stories. Someday I might tell them. The horses were just part of the family.