I have the best memories of going to see the horses in the field across the street from our neighborhood. My dad would take my brother and I and I loved it. I was very young but those giant creatures with the deep intriguing eyes were calling me. My father would tell me that I had chestnut coloured hair just like the chestnut mare in the pasture. That meant the world to me.
My father passed away young but my brother would take me to the stables now and then. I loved it. The man who lived in the stables and cared for the horses was a kind man named Congo Jones. The only thing I feared were the Chinese chickens that seemed to run in circles absently. They were creepy.
I’ve only sat on a horse a few times in my childhood. I dreamed of riding. My favorite TV show was National Velvet. I use to ride my imaginary horse to the bus stop and tie her up to a bush until I got off the bus at the end of the day. If I walked with a friend I just “secretly” untied my horse and she walked behind me.
I never stopped dreaming of riding a horse (don’t worry, I gave up the imaginary one many years ago). And I want to tell you to never give up your dreams no matter how big or how small because at my age of 59 I met a young lady who offered to give me riding lessons in exchange for cooking lessons! Yes, it’s true. I had one lesson so far on the back of Pochantos and my friend learned to make lasagna. I can’t wait to get on that horse again. The smell of a horse barn is sweet to my senses and I want to learn it all. I’ll even clean a stall!
I believe that this thing I have for horses is a gift from God. Don’t give up, beautiful dreamer.
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