I ride. That seems like such a simple statement.
However, as many women who ride know... it is a complicated matter. It has to do with power and empowerment; being able to do things you might have once considered out of reach or ability. I have considered this as I shovel manure, fill water barrels in the cold rain, wait for the vet/farrier/electrician/hay delivery, change a tire on a horse trailer by the side of a freeway, or cool a gelding out before getting down to the business of drinking a cold drink after a long ride.
The time, the money, the effort it takes to ride calls for dedication. At least I call it dedication. Both my ex-husbands call it 'a sickness.'
It's a nice sickness I've had since I was a small girl bouncing my plastic model horses and dreaming of the day when I would ride a real horse. Most of the women I ride with understand that meaning of 'the sickness.' It's not a sport. It's not a hobby. It's what we do and -- in some ways -- who we are as women and human beings.
I ride. I hook up my trailer and load my gelding. I haul to some nice trail head somewhere, unload, saddle up, whistle up my dog and I ride.
I breathe in the air, watch the sunlight filter through the trees, and savor the moment of my horse. My shoulders relax. A smile spreads across my weathered face. I pull my floppy hat down and let the real world fade into the tracks my horse leaves in the sand. Time slows. Flying insects buzz loudly, looking like fairies. My gelding flicks his ears and moves down the trail. I can smell his sweat and it is perfume to my senses. Time slows. The rhythm of his walk and the movement of the leaves become my focus. My saddle creaks and the leather rein in my hand softens with the warmth.
I consider the simple statement: I ride. I think of all I do because I ride. Climb rocky slopes, wade into a lily-pond lake, race a friend across the hay field, all the while laughing and feeling my heart in my chest. Other days, just the act of mounting and unmounting can be a real accomplishment. Still, I ride, no matter how tired or how much my sitter bones or any of my other acquired horse-related injuries hurt. I ride. And I feel a lot better for doing so.
I think of the people, mostly women, that I've met. I consider how competent they all are. Not a weenie in the bunch. We haul 40 foot rigs, we back 'em up into tight spaces without clipping a tree. We set up camp, tend the horses. We cook and keep our camp neat. We understand and love our companions, our horses. We respect each other and those we encounter on the trail. We know that if you are out there riding, you also shovel, fill, bathe, wait and doctor. Your hands are a little rough and you travel without makeup or hair gel. You do without to afford 'the sickness' and, probably, when you were a small girl, you bounced a little model horse while you dreamed of riding a real one.
"My treasures do not chink or glitter, they gleam in the sun and neigh in the night."
I don't know who wrote this, but when I received it in my email today, I knew I would be posted on my blog tonight. I do remember playing with horses and dreaming of owning real ones when I grew older. Now that I am older (ok, I'm not anywhere near 87, but that doesn't mean some days it doesn't feel like it, lol) I do have real horses. And I have promised myself that I never will be without a furry, neighing, therapy 'sickness' in the barn out behind my house. Even if I have to be wheeled out in my wheelchair or struggle with my cane to visit them and feed them carrots and kiss their soft noses.
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