Worth remembering. And I miss LJ.
I had the most amazing ride yesterday.
Life in the morning seemed so glum, so blasé. My head was throbbing with waves building up to a small tsunami, each worry crashing and ebbing only to be replaced with a slightly larger one. The tsunami had been forming for several days, and no amount of will on my part could get the storm to subside.
I decide, flippantly and immaturely, that the solution to this problem is to skip work and have a “me” day - not worry about what anyone wanted of me, thought of me, expected of me or anything else I needed to or should be doing.
So I get into the car and drive away from my life and back in time to one of the places I remember always being happy. There are no bad memories of Calico Hill - maybe some bittersweet ones of horses and friends long gone - but nothing unpleasant. The old sagging barn and huge oak trees wrap themselves around me, I breathe in dirt and hay and leather, feel the sun on my back, and can just BE. The cloud of discontent around me begins dissolve, broken apart by the peaceful spirit that surrounds horses, trees and nature.
I’ve been riding Jasmine, who we got when Levi needed a companion. She was given to us because she was unruly and difficult to catch. She’s a full blooded grey Arabian, and I remember not minding that she was so hard to catch, because it was so beautiful to watch her run. I loved her because she was a horse, but didn’t have her for long before I moved away to college and she went to Mrs. Sibley’s.
Levi has passed on, and Jaz and I are cautiously getting reacquainted. I haven’t ridden steadily in years, and her experience being ridden has been limited. She is fun, sweet, quirky and full of energy. We’ve been working on the canter, trying to teach her to contain some of her boundless energy, so that Mrs. Sibley can use her more for lessons.
Yesterday I walked towards her and in true Jasmine style she took one solid lap around the field, head high and tail flying and outrunning the other horses, before trotting up to me and sticking her head under my arm, as if to tell me she could still be difficult to catch, if she so desired. I was once more transfixed by that Arabian movement - she looks like she’s in the desert, not in a pasture in Alabama, when she runs like that. I’ve jumped Commander and ridden Levi at full speed around the polo field, but I wondered, had I truly, ever, ridden a horse like THAT.
Mrs. Sibley and Scott were nowhere in sight, I groomed her and talked to her and each stroke of the brush made the world go away. The saddle felt like it weighed nothing as I picked it up and Jaz whinnied at me when she saw it as if she just knew. We trotted and cantered and she was doing so well, really listening to me, getting into the rhythm we’ve been working on. We stopped and walked and I closed my eyes and breathed dirt and horse and fresh air and sunshine and floated away.
She whinnied and brought me back to earth, pawing the ground. I dug the fingers of one hand into her mane, and without using any leg, told her okay, go. She whinnied again and threw her head up and hesitated to see if she should slow down, and then she just flew. I heard the hoofbeats switch from canter to gallop, and faster towards the sensation of flight. The kid in me was exhilarated, the adult in me slightly afraid, thinking what if she tripped.
I realized she was running like she does on her own, she knows what she’s doing and we’d be fine if I’d trust her. I leaned into corners with her, like a motorcycle, and ducked branches without thinking, as if this was how I had been born to ride. I became a part of her and she became part of me, she was listening to me and I was listening to her, and we were thinking with each other. She was happy, at peace and content. I could see her shadow on the ground with her head up proudly and tail flying, and she was neighing, enjoying herself and not wanting to stop. I remember sun and horse and ground flying, and those hoofbeats seemed like the only sound on earth. With each hoofbeat a worry went away, a bad thought vanished, and a healed Leslie returned.
I haven’t ever had a bad horseback ride, but it’s not every day that the horse just GETS me and I just GET the horse, and the feeling of freedom that results. When we stopped she wasn’t even out of breath, so I told her go again, and she was thrilled. Finally, feeling slightly bad for possibly undoing our several months of progress, I cantered her and trotted, and she did better than she ever has - as if she appreciated the run, as if it was our secret. We both know we’ll do it again.
The tsunami waves were reduced to nothing more than ripples, and life suddenly seemed worth tackling again. People say that we ride horses, but I think we’re simply lucky that they put up with us. Yesterday, one shared her soul and her spirit with me, healed me from the inside out, and all she wanted in return was a good scratch, and an apple.