All the Pretty Ponies

"No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle." ~ Winston Churchill

Learning to Love Horses 

Riding Blue in the Lake District

I spent several formative years of my life in Oxford, England. While my dad worked towards his doctorate, I walked a mile down cobblestone streets to begin my first day of school in a British primary school. Like many young girls, I loved horses. I learned early how to tie a "jerk knot," or a quick-release knot. I followed directions in a book and practiced until I was sure my plush horse Brownie could not escape.

I had a knack for finding horses wherever we went. I remember Blue, a white horse I rode in the Lake District. I remember feeding ponies across a fence in Germany. I remember my short little legs sticking out as I straddled the back of a giant Shire horse in southern England.

Unlike many girls, I never outgrew my love of horses.

Everyone in Texas Rides a Horse to School 
And so, when we moved to Texas, I knew that a horse would soon follow. Everyone in Texas owned a horse.

Or so I thought.

My vision of Texas as the Wild West of the nineteenth century, populated by cowboys who tied their horses outside the saloon, was not completely accurate. I was disenchanted to learn that, while there are many horses in Texas, my family would remain horseless.

Not one to let my dreams die, I have spent time with horses whenever possible. I even earned the Girl Scout horseback riding badge twice, just so I could have another chance to ride.

The Art of Exercising a Horse 

But now I get to ride once a week. Every Friday I head to the outskirts of town with a friend and exercise horses for another friend while she is away at school in Boston. I have now been riding three sturdy Quarter Horses, Junebug, Soldier and Tigger, for almost two years.

Running Soldier in the round pen

I'm riding Soldier this week. He's a stubborn young sorrel who nevertheless responds well to his rider's cues, unless I am cuing him away from green tufts of grass. We trot around the arena before I squeeze my legs and kick him into a lope.

Soldier's muscles bunch beneath me as we surge forward, spinning around the arena.

It's exhilarating and in this moment I long to ride off across the Texas plains, herding cattle, flying faster than the wind.

Eventually, Soldier is ready to be done. His trot slows and his walk is lazy.

We close out our afternoon rides by winding around the trail that circles the property. I yank on the reins in an attempt to direct my horse's nose away from tantalizing grass. But the mesquite branches are at eye-level and he's smarter than me. Without stopping, Soldier turns his head and strips the thin leaves from the tree beside us. I urge him on as he munches on his snack; the horses certainly seem to enjoy eating mesquite.

The wind ruffles the grass beneath my horse's hooves. It stirs the mesquite leaves and the muffled sound of leaf on leaf sounds like applause. The wildflowers are blooming, and purple and yellow flowers dot the grass.

Eventually I point Soldier towards the barn and suddenly his energy is back.

"Easy, boy. Just walk." I lightly pull on the reins, putting pressure on his mouth until he slows to a fast walk.

I slide off his back and as soon as I loosen the reins, Soldier's head is buried in the grass.

This is Texas 
Every time I put my foot in the stirrup and hoist myself onto the back of a horse, the world just feels right.

I am convinced that you can't get closer to Texas than this. I now understand that not everyone here owns a horse. But I can't think of Texas without thinking of the horse.

Cowboy boots, saddles and bluebonnets. Mesquite trees, round pens and spurs. This is Texas.

Junebug and her foal