I love being the first to ride in a freshly groomed arena. Initially, I cringe at marring the smooth expanse of sand lined with symmetrical patterns from the rototiller; it's the same feeling as when I take a chunk out of the perfect surface of a new jar of peanut butter. But then the first few minutes of riding become a work of art, tracking designs with Ransom’s hoof prints on a giant sand canvas.
The tracks help us make a perfect circle, or show how crooked our line down the rail was. Riding straight is more difficult than it seems. We crisscross the arena with serpentines and figure-eights. A turn on the haunches leaves a semi-circle cluster of prints.
The pasture horses stand on the knoll overlooking the arena, observing our performance with interest, while Jake, the big black tomcat, crouches in the tall grass. When we pass nearby, he looks up and joins the audience.
By the time I finish, the arena is muddled with designs. If I’m lucky, it will be only a few days until I have a fresh canvas.
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