In the Night Farm…Your Ride is Here.

Timing Isn’t Everything

On a hill overlooking Oregon’s Willamette Valley, there is a house with a large yard. Beyond the yard is an overgrown walnut orchard. At the edge of the walnut orchard is a yellow barn. And in the yellow barn sleep the memories of my first endurance horses. They whisper among the cobwebs, curl like cats upon the beams, press their hoof prints in long vacant stalls.

They were Arabians, of course. A black-bay mare, elderly and kind, with a stripe and snip and one white hind. Another bay mare, agitated, ever pacing. And a rose-grey gelding, the first I raised and trained from youth, the horse of my heart. Who can tell how many miles we traveled, those Arabians and I, bareback and fleet among the wheat fields and vineyards and woods that made our home?

In those teenage years, I knew nothing of the sport of endurance. I rode for sheer pleasure, alone for hours at a time with the wind cool on my temples and a horse hot between my knees, my fingers tangled tight in reins and manes. I wore sweat pants and t-shirts, paddock boots, never a watch. The shadows kept time as the trails wound on. My only rule was ‘home at dusk.’

These days, I surround myself with layers of data. Rides progress from planning chart to stopwatch and stethoscope to spreadsheet. The resulting lists and graphs intrigue me, and I find no sin in this.

But lately, these October days beguile. Shall I ride hills when the trees are aflame with autumn in the valleys? Must we canter when the last rays of an Indian summer could, if only we walked, cloak us in remembered warmth?

And so I slow my horse’s pounding feet. I close my eyes, sway upon his back, absorb his breaths as though they were my own. Speed and mileage mean nothing today. These, after all, are the rides logged not on paper, but on our very souls.
_______________________________________________

Want to read more posts like this one? We deliver!

Subscribe to The Barb Wire

Advertisements

8 responses

  1. Tamara…this post is so beautifully written. Great descriptions.I like the idea of the Indian Bosal and went to the site. Can’t figure out what to get. I have a 14’2 POA that would love it. She is big cob/small horse. I think I will have to call her. Currently I have a rope halter. Any suggestions? Can I get everything in black from her?Lori

    October 28, 2008 at 2:31 pm

  2. Thanks, Lori! :-)Debbie at Crazy Ropes has a sizing chart and measurement instructions on her website (click on “how to measure your horse.” I wasn’t sure what size to order, so I measured my ponies and sure enough, my Indian bosal fits beautifully.Yes, you can get everything in black (or a host of other colors.) See the “yacht rope colors” link on Debbie’s website for options. And of course, be sure to enter the contest (rules posted yesterday) get win you Indian bosal for free. 🙂

    October 28, 2008 at 2:41 pm

  3. Beautiful writing style Tamara… Love your posts… keep up the great work!

    October 28, 2008 at 3:59 pm

  4. I love this.It’s inexpressibly poignant.Beautiful.This is my nomination for your “best of.”sj

    October 28, 2008 at 4:21 pm

  5. beautiful!

    October 28, 2008 at 5:37 pm

  6. Brought tears to my eyes!

    October 29, 2008 at 2:35 am

  7. This is indeed one of your most eloquent and poignant posts. I’m torn now on which to nominate for Best of!

    October 29, 2008 at 3:37 pm

  8. All — :’-) Thanks.

    October 31, 2008 at 4:08 am

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s