I will never be the rider I once (nearly four decades ago) thought I would someday be.
Watching my daughter ride every week, in fact, underscores the truth that even if I'd kept up with riding, I would never have become the rider I wanted to be.
I know that at some point in my teens, I was capable of posting a trot without stirrups, of getting back on a horse after falling off, and even of sticking on a horse over a three-foot jump...but that took every bit of gumption I possessed.
Whereas my daughter gets back on horses after they've actually thrown her. And can't wait to jump five-foot rails. And rides bareback by choice in addition to posting without stirrups.
At this point, I'd be happy to take lessons just to be able to ride with some confidence as well as skill. And whereas my dream horse once looked something like this--
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| BLM photo |
nowadays it looks more like this:
Ah well. At least, in indulging my daughter's passion for horses, I get to be a hanger-on and enjoy existing in horsy settings, even if I don't get to do anything except sit, drink coffee, eavesdrop, watch, and pony up at the end of the lesson.
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| Dutch Warmblood "Simon." For sale. Don't tempt me. |
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| Autumn rain and mud = dirty horses needing grooming. |
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| Message on stall door re: occupant. |
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| Tack needs cleaning, too. |
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| And stalls, of course. |
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| What every horse-girl craves: a horse saying hello with a friendly nicker. |
