As a life-long animal lover, horses were no exception in my affections. I had one problem as a young girl. Horses in central Illinois were kept on farms. My Aunt and Uncle’s pig and grain farm near Coal City, Illinois, was this city girl’s only exposure to farm life.
We knew what fun awaited us after Uncle Roger finished a day’s work in the field or pig barn. After we helped Aunt Nonie clean up the dishes from a meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and berry cobbler with a dollop of vanilla ice cream, a tractor ride was great entertainment for city kids.
Uncle Roger climbed nimbly on the green John Deere after he lifted us into place. Who would he pick to ride on his lap and steer the noisy, diesel-smelling tractor in the fields down bumpy corn rows? Usually, it was a younger child that he needed to secure inside the tractor so that they wouldn’t fall off. I remember him putting me on the tractor step and saying, “Just hold on tight, Nancy!” Bumping down the cornrow, the rough corn stalk leaves slapped me on the leg while smaller leaves tickled.
My week on the farm with Aunt, Uncle, cousins, pigs and cats was ideal, except for the absence of a horse to ride.
I can count on one hand the number of times I rode a pony wheel ride at a fair, but riding in a circle for a few minutes with a tired horse tethered to a steel wheel was boring and unfair to the pony. Still, the horse was living, unlike the plastic motorized rocking horses outside the grocery store that moved after Mom or Dad put a dime in the slot. But I could dream.
In the summer, we drove to southern Illinois to my dad’s Uncle, who kept animals. Still horse-crazed at age twelve, the tawny horse in front of me was a dream come true. Overcome with excitement, I barely heard Uncle ask me if I wanted to ride the horse.
Trixie was free to roam their yard. As I walked to her head and tentatively reached out, Uncle encouraged me to talk to Trixie.
“Tell her what a sweet, fine horse she is. Let her hear your voice and smell you.”
I was intimidated standing by a giant horse but too excited not to follow Uncle’s instructions. The feeling of climbing into the saddle and grabbing the horn was exhilarating. Trixie’s sweat-stained saddle creaked and smelled of saddle soap--and sweat. Uncle kept the reigns and led me around while giving me important riding instructions.
“Don’t pull hard on the reigns, and don’t kick Trixie’s side. She is not Lone Ranger’s horse, Silver. She’s older, gentle, and will take you for a nice ride around the yard.”
Still, visions of riding hard and fast to get help for Jimmy stuck in a well with a snake bite flitted through my mind. Maybe the tan and white Rough Collie, Lassie, would bound across the yard and join us on an adventure.
Uncle let me ride for many happy hours, but it may have been only thirty minutes in reality. With his help, I dismounted. My legs were wobbly. I would never trade the time I spent on gentle Trixie over the soreness I felt the following day. Wow, I was sore!
In Tennessee, horses are all over and not limited to country farms. You may keep a horse if you have a minimum of five acres. Our friends have four beautiful horses on thirty acres that they generously let their friends ride. My riding time is ahead after hot summer days turn into cool fall, and the flies are not troublesome for horses and riders.
I will get up the morning after riding stiff and sore, but my soul will ride into the sunset with the Lone Ranger and Silver. Hi ho, Silver–away!
Oh yes, wanting a horse to ride. One of our uncles had some ponies and one day let me ride one without staying to supervise. As the pony went faster and faster it got scary. We of course listened to the Lone Ranger every week.
ReplyDelete