It was as if I was in a dream. I was there and then I went flying and landed in a heap on the ground. A few years ago I would have bounced right back up, caught the horse, and got back on, but not today. I lay on the ground staring up at the sky as I contemplated getting up to catch the little pain in the butt that had just launched me. I was sore, but not broken and my breath was still with me, which isn’t often the case when you hit the ground like I had just done. The clouds formed shapes above my head on a blue background; a rabbit, a dog, a person jogging; and I stayed put, staring up at the fluffy characters above me. The arena gate was closed and Hilly was busy finding grass in the center of the ring. Dealing with him could wait a few moments.
Hilly wasn’t usually a bucker; he was just feeling good after a week off. Formally, my father’s race horse, Hilly had retired from harness racing the year before and I’d started him under saddle. I thought the plan was to find him riding home, so put hours of training time into him. Under saddle he could walk, trot, canter, and even hop over some cross rails if asked. Since my grandmother had decided she was keeping him as a pet, his training had become inconsistent. I took him out only when he became bored enough to start taking down his pasture fences and my Nana didn’t even like me doing that. She said he’d earned his retirement and that he did, but by the way he spent his day destroying things out of boredom, I’d come to believe he found retirement incredibly boring.
As the clouds drifted slowly away, the sun shone brighter and I closed my eyes and rested my arm across my forehead to cast a slight shadow across my face. For the first time in my life, I just wanted to stay on the ground where the horse put me and it wasn’t because I was hurt. With my eyes still closed, I listened to Hilly grazing, to his feet stomping and his tail swishing at flies. On the other side of the fence, I could hear the breeze blowing through the tall grass in the hayfield and for a moment I allowed myself to go back.
There was a time when my life revolved around horses and riding. I was a talent in progress, a hard worker, a fearless rider. I felt as if I knew it all and was ready to take on any challenge, any discipline, and any “problem horse” that came along. Falls, disappointments, and bad days never fazed me. Back then all I needed to fix any heartbreak was a trail ride, an hour of grooming my horse, or an hour of lying in a field while my horse grazed beside me. I thought about the times I had sat on Mister loose in the stall, while I read a book. I thought about how I used to skip school to go trail riding. I remembered how much I used to love competing and had enjoyed staying up until 1am braiding my horse, just to get up again at 5am to fix whatever they’d managed to undo. I thought about the multiple hours I spent researching stallions, watching videos, comparing photos, and planning for my dream foal that would someday grow up to help me reach my goals. Almost every goal, plan, and dream I’d had for myself was once based on horses. Somewhere between Mister’s death and life’s happenings, things had become different and my unfinished goals seemed more like failed dreams.
My dream foal was now a yearling and I’d just listed him for sale. I was no longer a fearless rider; in fact I had become somewhat of a timid rider, afraid to fall, but more afraid to get back on. I no longer competed, unless I had to school a horse for a student at a small show and I didn’t enjoy preparing the horses to show. I was proud of my students and proud of my program, but just emotionally drained. Though I had a barn full of horses to ride and a riding program that was steadily growing, I sometimes felt as though I was on the verge of quitting everything horses. I lay there contemplating getting up and just putting Hilly away. Maybe today would be the day I didn’t get back on; the day I quit riding.
Suddenly, whiskers brushed my right hand, interrupting my thoughts and making me smile. I sat up quickly, grabbing Hilly’s reins before he could head off to the other end of the arena. Standing up, I dusted sand off my breeches and fixed the reins around his neck. Going to Hilly’s left side, I took the reins in my left hand up by his whither and untwisted my stirrup. Putting my left foot in the stirrup, I brought myself up and swung my right leg over. “Jesus Christ, did you fall off?!” screeched Nana from across the barn yard, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, “I wish you’d just put him away and leave him alone!”
Smiling back at her, I said as much to myself as to her, “Not today. I think today, I’ll ride”.
