Stories that begin on the back of a horse
Ever since I decided I wanted to be a mom years ago, I have been dreaming of my babies sitting on the backs of horses.
I don't know why really, except so many of my memories as a kid growing up out here are connected to horses.
And while I keep the long rides bareback through the pastures in the summer in the same pocket I keep my best thoughts, not every memory I've made on the back of a horse is a good one.
See, I was raised by a sort of horse whisperer. My dad was breaking horses while he was still in elementary school and his connection and talent for working with the animals prove that there are things some people are simply born to do. He's never met a horse he doesn't get along with. And because of that, while he was raising us kids, he spent a lot of his time working with what I like to call "second chance horses."
Or, to be more blunt, horses that other people couldn't get along with.
And when he was near the point of trusting a horse as much as you can trust any animal, my summer job was to put some miles on them. Which I did, but let's be honest, those horses also put some miles on me.
Because I wasn't born with Dad's fearlessness, confidence and horse training instincts.
So it was on the back of a horse I learned the virtue of remaining calm and patient as well as the hard lessons about suppressing fear to solve a problem. And the countless times I was thrown to the ground for one reason or another taught me nothing if it didn't teach the power of getting back up again.
Yes, some of my biggest blowouts and arguments with my dad occurred out there in those pastures, tears streaked with the dirt on my face after my foot stomped or my eyes rolled in his direction. I wanted so much to understand these animals the way he understood them, probably as much as he wanted to teach me.
But from those moments sprung some of the best times in my life, not just with my dad, but with my little sister, my husband and maybe, most importantly, alone. I suppose it makes sense that I want to pass so much of what shaped me along to my children. The same way my dad wanted it for us.
A few weeks ago I called him up. "I have a line on a pony for Edie," I said, thinking there was a good possibility he might think I was crazy for it. "Do you need me to go pick it up?" he responded, the spark in his voice cutting me off before I had a chance to take a second breath.
And so that was that. Off we went the next morning, my dad and my daughter and me, to load up a scruffy, adorable little pony named Mascot.
And judging by her obsession with brushing his mane and feeding him treats, I can only hope that this is the beginning of my daughter's story, one that starts on the back of horses...