Homecoming

2011-09-19T07:14:00.000-07:00

“All horses deserve, at least once in their lives, to beloved by a little girl.”

My fascination with horses began before I was even bigenough to ride one. Walls plastered withposters of unicorns and Pegasus and shelves filled to overflowing with ceramicfigurines of the same, I was a toddler enthralled with the graceful beauty andwild magic of the creatures. Gallopingabout on hands and knees with a colorful towel or blanket tucked into the backof my pants for a tail, I played even at being one, so it seemed only a matterof course when my parents took me to a stable for the first time.

I was five or so the year my parents decided it was time formy siblings and me to start “lessons” of one kind or another - piano for mysister, basketball for my brother, and horseback riding for me. It was not long after we had moved from the sprawlingmetropolis of Chicago, Illinois, where we lived on an active fire lane on thewest side of the city to the quiet, rolling country foothills of Inman, SouthCarolina. The stable was brilliant whitewith black trim, shining in the sun as though it had only just beenpainted. Acres of rolling green pasturessurrounded the quiet, manicured rings circled with white picket-stylefences. I could see clusters of horsesoff in the distance, grazing serenely, tails swishing and glossy coatsreflecting the sun. It was sopicturesque, so patently cliché, that I smile to recall the memory of itnow.

I rode for several years at that riding school, studyingEnglish style riding and horsemanship, and though I was young the memories ofthat time remain even to this day in vivid clarity. When we moved for my father’s job some yearslater farther upstate, I was desperate to continue riding, at this point myhead and heart filled with ambitions of a life spent in the saddle ridingprofessionally. But though still in arather remote area, there were no stables within reasonable driving distancethat taught English riding. For a whileI rode privately under the instruction of a 4H coach, but eventually even thatarrangement crumbled. Bereft of alifelong passion, I turned to the comfort of my art and with not aninsignificant degree of personal grief, relinquished my childhood fantasiesof being a professional equestrian.

Over the past ten or fifteen years, I have sought out ridingmany times, but for one reason or another each attempt fell through…untilrecently. Through the emphaticencouragement of my boyfriend, I decided to try once again, so I located aschool, scheduled a trial ride, and for the first time in many years mountedagain three days ago. The feeling wasindescribably poignant. It was likecoming home.

The intention of this blog is to catalog my journey withriding from this point forward. Thoughnot a novice, I hope to share my experiences, feelings, growth, andeducation. To offer new riders a glimpseof what might be in store for them and to old riders a fond sense of kinshipover shared understanding.

The Wings of Borrowed Freedom

Homecoming