In the beginning...

1981 - I learned to ride horseback!


My mom finally caved in after what seemed FOREVER and got me enrolled in riding lessons! I learned to ride english at a barn about 45 minutes from home. Boy, after the SIGHT of horses that close up, I was hooked! I got lessons maybe once per week for awhile. Then I went to "horse camp". That was a Monday thru Friday gig, from about 9am thru 3pm or something like that. We learned a bunch about horses, from tacking to what each part is called, how to groom, clean, etc. and I tried to be a sponge and soak it all up. I guess I did pretty well, as the last day we had a show for our families, and I got my very first blue ribbon! Woooo! I was really going places! Yep! So we continued my lessons. Sometimes. And I managed to squeeze one more (expensive) camp out of my parents a year or so later. Call me Spongy, because I won another blue ribbon! Yeah! I knew my life had to revolve around horses, because...well, it HAD to!

So I lived horses vicariously through Walter Farley's "Black Stallion" series I read and re-read time and again. There was another book called "My Summer Pony" that (I actually kept tally marks in the cover) I read so many times that I can still remember the opening line:
"It was a miserable, gray day in March when the station wagon bumped to a halt besides the shabby barn..." After 25 years of not having read it? Yikes. Any book even remotely horse oriented that I could get my grubby little fingers on wound up covered in my fingerprints and drool.

When it became painfully obvious to my parents that I wasn't going to forget horses, my grandpa took things into his own hands. He offered to pay for AND take me to riding lessons! The catch? Well, the usual. Do my chores at home, don't screw up in school. I was 10 or 11, so boys didn't figure in yet. Oh, did I mention these were western riding lessons? Yeah. Taught by (what seemed to be, at the time) an ancient cowboy, dressed in patchwork vests, sweat-stained cowboy hats and dusty boots.


His outlook was pretty simple. He gave riding lessons. Riders were required to respect his word on how to treat his horses. He suggested four riding lessons with him before letting anyone new hit the trails. I'd ridden english a couple dozen times prior to this, so the transition was easy. He swore up and down that no one had ever fallen off one of his horses after they'd taken lessons, and if it ever happened, he'd close the doors on his business. But he was FUN for "an old guy".
I took lessons, did really well and hit the trails with him and his blessing.


I dreamed of horses. FAST horses. CRAZY fast horses. I was reasonably sure...no, wait...I was abso-freakin-lutely sure that I could handle whatever one of the horses I would ride could hand out. I laughed into the wind as my eyes watered. I gasped with the adrenaline rush from a galloping horse tripping before resuming flight. I never looked for a seatbelt or airbag to save me. I had confidence oozing from my pores when it came to horses. Was I that good? Hell no, I was just that dumb! Everyone around me was, too, otherwise why would I have been allowed to tear ass around like that on a 1,000 pound horse without a helmet?? Ahh, yes, the Good Old Days… *sigh*

Don't get me wrong, I had talent. Just not as much as I THOUGHT I did. But I had enough to get me through. His horses were WELL broke. He would let me tear it up around this quarter mile track that was on the back 40 of his property. And tear it up I did! I whooped, hollered and otherwise rode like my ass was on fire. He just stayed in the middle of the track, with a knowing smile and letting his horse graze.

He bought himself an Arabian horse and taught it to rear on command. To a horse crazy pre-teen, that was simply THE coolest thing. EVER. My dreams were filled with spunky Arabian horses for a long time. Oh, and I never fell off one of his horses.

So, now that I could ride, I started begging my parents in earnest for a horse of my very own. They were too smart to fall for that one. My father was raised on a farm, and I guess he'd shoveled all the crap he felt he needed to, other than what was caused by his three kids. My mom was a city girl with no interest in horses. I didn't get a horse.

So, that's how it started...