Appaloosa Memories: Wenatchee

Her name was Wenatchee, and she looked just like the horse calendar photo I’d brought with me to summer camp: a blue roan with a blanket, lots of roaning, and a sparse mane and tail. And at nine years old, pretty was all that mattered. I’d lie on my bunk during quiet time, searching for her in the herd of horses I could see out the window. She was the first Appaloosa I loved.

I wanted more than anything to ride her. When the wranglers chose mounts for our horse classes, I’d cross my fingers and silently hope they’d pick me. But they never did. I always got assigned some plain bay or gray.

A painting I did in high school
based off of the calendar photo
that was my Wenatchee "pin-up."

When I came back to work at camp, Wenatchee was still there. Now I was the wrangler making or breaking kids’ dreams based on the horses I assigned. She was older, and being on the small side, I mostly used her for little kids. She was also a vaulting horse. And I came to find out she wasn’t as perfect as my nine-year old self dreamed. She was afraid of spray bottles. And she pulled back often enough to break several halters. After she injured her leg in an accident, she had to be put down.

I never did ride Wenatchee. But it doesn’t matter anymore. What I held onto is that little girl feeling of hope and excitement about an appaloosa.