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| My first ride |
The playground whizzed past me as Spangler, my appaloosa gelding, sprinted across the asphalt underneath me. As I passed the monkey bars, my friends Hannah and Camille tailed hot on my heels. We galloped around the drinking fountain and behind the softball cage – still I held the lead. I flew down the home stretch until the yard duty suddenly grabbed my shoulder. I pulled Spangler to a screeching halt. "Don’t run so fast," she said. I started to protest but the bell rang. With reluctance I left Spangler stabled next to the swings and filed back toward the classroom. Only an hour until lunch recess.
When I wasn’t riding Spangler I was doodling horses all over my homework or pasting horse pictures into my scrapbooks. I spent hours playing with my beloved Breyer and Grand Champion model horses. I did extra chores around the house to save up to buy the newest one. One time, my best friend’s mom gave us some wooden blocks for an art project. My friend made a cute little boat. Me? I made a feeder for my model horses. I shucked corn for dinner and saved the hair to use as hay. Yes, I was creatively desperate.
When I wasn’t riding Spangler I was doodling horses all over my homework or pasting horse pictures into my scrapbooks. I spent hours playing with my beloved Breyer and Grand Champion model horses. I did extra chores around the house to save up to buy the newest one. One time, my best friend’s mom gave us some wooden blocks for an art project. My friend made a cute little boat. Me? I made a feeder for my model horses. I shucked corn for dinner and saved the hair to use as hay. Yes, I was creatively desperate.
When I was eight, Grandma started sending me to horse camp. I lived for that one week every summer. "Wimpy" was my first tolerant teacher – a tired chestnut gelding who wouldn’t go unless I had a crop. The next year it was Miramar, a cribber with an enormous white belly. The summer I was eleven, my camp
instructor offered to let me stay around an extra week to help with the younger pony camp. She paid me $20 – I’d never made so much money in my life – and I learned the invaluable skill of how to scoop poop.
That $20 started my horse savings fund. Every cent I made from horse related activities in the next six years went into the pickle jar with "horse owner" written all over the lid. I used to dream of a lost horse wandering onto our property so I could take care of it until the owners came. I knew my parents couldn’t afford a horse, but every Christmas morning I nurtured the sliver of hope that they would say, "Surprise! Look outside." I researched the costs of fencing our small acre and took my plan to my parents. They enrolled me in riding lessons.
That $20 started my horse savings fund. Every cent I made from horse related activities in the next six years went into the pickle jar with "horse owner" written all over the lid. I used to dream of a lost horse wandering onto our property so I could take care of it until the owners came. I knew my parents couldn’t afford a horse, but every Christmas morning I nurtured the sliver of hope that they would say, "Surprise! Look outside." I researched the costs of fencing our small acre and took my plan to my parents. They enrolled me in riding lessons.
When Friday nights rolled around I laid awake, praying that it wouldn’t rain and prevent me from going to the barn the next day. Finances were tight, so every Saturday morning Momma dropped me off at 7:30 AM so I could work to help pay for my lessons. I did everything – cleaning stalls, scrubbing water troughs, scooping paddocks, cleaning the tack room, and raking the barn aisle. As I gained experience my responsibilities expanded to include moving hay with the tractor, feeding from the decrepit flatbed truck, and even taking out trail rides. In return, my riding instructor went out of her way to give this horse crazy girl extra opportunities. While my barn friends all rode their own horses, she let me use her horses to go to schooling shows, participate in an endurance ride, go on camping trips, and ride out to swim in the lake.
When I went off to college I competed on my school’s equestrian team. Amid my busy team schedule, I studied for my equine science degree. It took a little bit to convince Momma that there were career opportunities in the horse industry beyond scooping poop, but once I did, I relished the chance to study what I loved. Even though I was riding lots of horses and learning new things, it came at the cost of old dreams. In light of the realities, responsibilities, and expenses of adulthood, I laid aside the dream of having my own horse.
In the summertime I worked as a wrangler at camp. What could be better than a job working with kids and horses? My camp nickname was "Spangles," drawn from the story of my imaginary steed. Spangler still helped me to demonstrate maneuvers to my students in the arena. Camp turned into a full time job after graduation. I loved the twenty-five horse herd under my care. God fulfilled my dream of training horses, managing a stable, giving riding lessons, and working at camp full time in one fell swoop. But after three years of riding, training, and teaching, I felt tired and unmotivated. Some days I just didn’t feel like riding, and it made me feel guilty. But after thirteen years of pouring my time and energy into other people's horses, my moment finally came.
When I went off to college I competed on my school’s equestrian team. Amid my busy team schedule, I studied for my equine science degree. It took a little bit to convince Momma that there were career opportunities in the horse industry beyond scooping poop, but once I did, I relished the chance to study what I loved. Even though I was riding lots of horses and learning new things, it came at the cost of old dreams. In light of the realities, responsibilities, and expenses of adulthood, I laid aside the dream of having my own horse.
In the summertime I worked as a wrangler at camp. What could be better than a job working with kids and horses? My camp nickname was "Spangles," drawn from the story of my imaginary steed. Spangler still helped me to demonstrate maneuvers to my students in the arena. Camp turned into a full time job after graduation. I loved the twenty-five horse herd under my care. God fulfilled my dream of training horses, managing a stable, giving riding lessons, and working at camp full time in one fell swoop. But after three years of riding, training, and teaching, I felt tired and unmotivated. Some days I just didn’t feel like riding, and it made me feel guilty. But after thirteen years of pouring my time and energy into other people's horses, my moment finally came.
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