Hold Your Horses

I can remember the car rides up to Tilden Park from when I was little. It seemed like a long journey; as I sat strapped into my car seat, I was excited about going to the big park. As my mother and I would travel up Spruce Street, I would think of the possibilities. There was a lot to do at Tilden for a little child —there were farm animals to pet, nature hikes to embark on, carousels to ride, a lake to swim in and a real steam engine to gasp at. But nothing was more fun to me than the pony rides.

When I was little, all I ever wanted was to get bigger. I can remember being quite anxious about this matter when it came time to measure up to see which rides I could go on. At the ticket booth for the pony rides, there was a small mock-up of a cartoon cowboy, made of a flat panel of wood carved out into its shape. If you were taller than the cowboy, you could ride the big horses. If you were smaller than the cowboy, you would ride the ponies. Of course, as an eager three-year-old, I was always keen to measure myself even when I was far from being tall enough for the “big kids ride.” In fact, I was always quite happy to ride the small horses, anyway.

Although they moved at a snail’s pace, trudging around in circles, restrained and controlled, I would wave at my mother madly, proud to be riding by myself. After the ride, I would run up to my mother.

“Mommy, can I go one more time?” I would beg.

“I don’t know,” she would begin.

“Pretty please!”

“Fine. Here’s another ticket.”

So I would pass my time, eagerly sitting atop a pony, without a care in the world. I would just go around and around and around. I really came to love riding and felt very affectionate towards horses.

***

When I was nine years old I signed up for a day camp at Wildcat Canyon stables. I was excited because it was an opportunity for me to be with a couple of friends who had signed up as well, to ride horses, and take care of animals. When we arrived at camp on the first day, the fog had yet to burn off. I walked up a dirt path towards the corral, where the counselors had told us to meet. Inside the corral were various different types of horse jumping equipment. I was surprised that all but one of the counselors were teenagers. I was even more surprised that, after the parents left, the lone adult on staff left to go do something else.

After a morning of milking goats and running around on a steep hillside, we were promised a trail ride for the afternoon. We discussed the prospect of riding eagerly as we ate our lunches. Soon enough, it came time to get ready for the ride. We were fitted with helmets and assigned a horse each. My horse was an old looking brown mare, who eyed me suspiciously as I approached her. I watched the counselor climb up on her horse and then put my foot in the stirrups to do so myself. I struggled to hoist myself up, pushing on the horse and eventually managing to get up. I took a deep breath; I was genuinely excited. I hadn’t been on a horse in a while and I had never been on a trail ride. This was a new experience.

We were led out of the stables and onto a path. The sky was clear and the air smelled fresh. I adjusted my feet in the stirrups, trying in vain to make them feel more comfortable. I felt each movement of the horse beneath me as I got used to the unevenness of the walk. The horses walked one behind the other and very close together. We rode on the path, passing pretty hills covered with grass and ducking under trees. I felt fine, and was enjoying myself.

Throughout the ride, my horse seemed less than enthusiastic. It had obviously been on this path hundreds of times and was not eager to continue. Even worse, it seemed to hold a grudge against the horse in front of us, whom it would snarl and grunt at on occasion. These small attempts to pester the other horse began to happen more and more. My friend Isabel, who was riding the horse behind me, asked, “What’s up with your horse?”

 “I don’t know.” I replied.

 The horse was clearly becoming very agitated and irritable, and I wasn’t sure how to calm or control it. I hadn’t really had more than the couple of words of instruction from the counselors.

Suddenly, my horse began to move aggressively towards the horse in front of us. It sneered and reached out its head towards the other horse, baring its teeth. It tried to bite the other horse! Suddenly, there was pandemonium. The horse in front tried to turn around. My horse backed up off the trail, and would not move forwards towards the path even when I used the reigns. I started to panic. Tears welled up in my eyes and I began to get scared. Eventually the horses were held back and separated by the counselors, and we began to walk back to the stables. Nevertheless, I had lost my confidence. I was hesitant and struggled to guide the horse over down some small hills on the path.

Somehow, we were back and I got off the horse. I made it through the rest of the day, although I was sufficiently flustered. When I got home, my parents wanted to know why I was so upset. I started to explain to them what had happened and told them that I did not want to go back for the rest of the week. Over the summer, I entertained myself in other ways.

***

Over the next couple of years, I had few encounters with horses which made me  happy. I busied myself with reading, dancing, and being with friends. Then, two years later, I went to a sleep-away camp on a ranch. At Far View, everyone was required to take a horseback-riding test in addition to a swimming test. The swimming test was a cinch for me. I loved the water. But, the day of my horseback-riding test, I was petrified. I cried, standing there in my helmet, waiting to go up on the pony. Still, I managed to get on the horse, and since I was so scared, I did not enjoy the ride at all.

That was the extent of my horseback riding up until the next year. When I arrived at camp for the second time, the first thing that I noticed was the new corral. It was in a different part of the ranch and was smaller than the one they had before. Every morning, after breakfast and cabin clean up, we would meet at the corral to find out the day’s activities. All the campers would climb upon to the corral and sit on the fresh new wooden planks. Over the course of the two weeks of camp, we were taught basics about horses: what different body parts were called and the proper way to put on a saddle.

The horse riding instructors were different in my second year. They were real live cowboys. As such, they wore the hats and the plaid shirts, even the boots. Their approach to teaching us how to ride was more hands-on and slower than the previous year. Instead of a test, each camper participated in a lesson before going on any trail rides. Even so, I was nervous and did not look forward to my time with the horses.

On the morning of my lesson, I stayed at the corral after the activities were announced. I wish I could have gone to arts and crafts, I thought to myself. I glanced over at my friend Sarra, who had hopped off of the side of the corral and was walking towards the shed where the helmets were. She seemed fine, and I tried to convince myself that I would be fine, too. Gingerly, I climbed down, carefully watching my step. As I approached the door to the shed, I took a deep breath, attempting to calm my nerves.

Once I was inside, I reached for a small helmet and tried it on. It fit. I stalled for a second, and looked around. The shed was a hodgepodge of things: old bridles, saddles and broken knickknacks. Sarra, who had fitted her own helmet, called out to me, “Are you coming?” “Yeah,” I replied. I followed her out of the shed and back over to the corral. One of the cowboys was standing inside and the other led a horse through the gates.

“Today we are going to get comfortable on horse-back.” The first cowboy looked determined to convince the group of six. “Is there anyone who would like to volunteer?” I shrank back and tried to look as small and insignificant as possible. A boy on the fence of the corral raised his hand. He got down and went towards the horse as Sarra and I moved up onto the fence. I watched as he climbed upon the horse and got in the saddle. The cowboys encouraged him to start walking and then trotting the horse. Eventually the boy moved into a gallop, and he and his horse became a blur as they circled within the corral. My stomach did a flip as I watched this and I kept my hand down at my side whenever they called out for volunteer riders.

Eventually though, it was my turn. I went over to the horse and got ready to get onto it. I put my left foot in the stirrup and grabbed the horn with my hand. Somehow I hoisted myself up and sat on the horse, trembling. Awkwardly, I took the reins in my hands and held them uncomfortably. One of the cowboys walked up to me, “Here, let me show you how to hold those.” He demonstrated the correct placement and then I tried it. “Good, you’ve got it. Don’t be nervous. Now kick the horse lightly to get started.”

The horse began to move and I bounced up and down in the saddle. I was glad that we were in an enclosed space and that there was only one horse. The other instructor called out, “Good job, now try going a little faster.” With my heart racing, I brought my ankles to the horse’s belly. The bouncing grew more intense, as we came to a trot.

I was uncomfortable and nervous. I became even more so when the teacher told me to keep going even faster, yet as soon as the horse got to a certain pace and speed, everything was smooth. I was really surprised, seeing the world around me as a blur. I gripped the horn of the western saddle tightly.  I heard a shout. “You’re ’lopin’!” I started to grin. This was fun! Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, I slowed down on the horse and went back to a walk. Finally I was able to feel comfortable.

Later on in the camp session, I went on a trail ride voluntarily. Instead of being meek and restrained during the ride, I directed my horse and even begged the counselors let me gallop again. As soon as the horse took off, I squinted in the warm sun and looked out at the rolling hills. As I raced up to the lone oak on the top of a hill, I felt proud to be enjoying myself once again. I was having a fantastic time on the horse and it took me back to the fun times I had had when I was little.