My daughter’s first pony Nelson was a stinker. She shared him with her sister, Hanni, and later with a world of little girls at Road’s End Farm in New Hampshire. He was also a stunner. We have had many years of riding together, competitively, fox-hunting and lots of meandering trail rides. I don’t think any one memory will stick in my memory like the ride we had Easter morning.
She hadn’t brought riding clothes but we are similar in size so a trip to the closet provided everything she needed. Of course, with Lex, it all had to match and look stunning. And it did.
Growing up she owned a magnificent Arab gelding donated by her godmother. He too was full of attitude but together they were striking, galloping across a field side-saddle in the hunt. Even when Lex lived in Boston, she couldn’t get the horsehair off her clothes. She obtained her license to drive the carriage horse tours in Faneuil Hall. Her tips were always generous as she dressed in costume and worked a passable cockney accent.
Once we gained the summit trail, I snapped a quick shot and fashion had gone out the window in favor of utility and warmth. She sat bareback astride a round, fuzzy pony from Mountain Lane Farm, where I board my mare. Yes, “Ollie” had a few “holes in his sweater” as we used to say when the shedding began. Every healthy beast who made it through the brutal winter is looking a little moth-eaten include us humans. I don’t know when Lex last rode, to climb aboard an unknown mount after any length of time, bareback no less, is risky. As she settled into a walk beside me I watched as she molded him around a stump and danced him lightly though a puddle. “He is so soft and responsive!” she laughed.
“You just have to sit there, right?” our standard reply to folks who think riding isn’t exercise. She was bundled against the wind; the bushes was brown and bent, but as we walked through streams, cantered up hills and slogged along happily, I realized just how much I wanted to store away this moment, this ride through time.
Therapeutic Misadventures 
Those who have never ridden out on a horse are deprived of so much.
Your daughter sound like a real winner. (Mine rode a gorgeous “loaner” Arab for a while – nothing is more beautiful than a good rider and horse in tune.)
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Phil you are so right. It is poetry to watch the partnership. She is an amazing rider as is her sister…all my years in the saddle and I’m still playing catch-up! Thanks for cantering over with a comment!!
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I think some of the best memories come when we make them with our adult children. I have lots of great growing up memories, but there is something special about talking with, not to, your child. When they can engage with thoughts and feelings all their own, gleaned from their own experiences. To me, it really changes the dynamic. Glad you had such a wonderful Easter.
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Ah you are wise my friend…”Talking with, not to your child…” Does this mean we are growing up???!!
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I may be getting older, but I refuse to grow up!
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No need to grow up, you are perfect just as you are!
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Time together is really precious when they’re all grown up. If your family is anything like mine it doesn’t happen enough.
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Never often enough but just often enough to make you grateful when you do have it.
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Sounds lovely! A wonderful memory to return to again and again…
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Thanks Julie. As my daughters and I grow older, the memories feel more special. I’m sure it is because we don’t get together as often so when we do it is a chance to make those times memorable.
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There are days that glisten and stand out like jewels aren’t there?
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Jewels to be treasured, indeed, Marie.
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