Mountains, horses and words to move me

Proofing the December issue of Wyoming Wildlife magazine was especially difficult.  As always, the magazine is filled with stunning photographs and well-crafted stories.  But one story in particular stuck with me this month.

The essay “Partners,” written by Tom Reed*, tells of the connection Tom shares with his equine hunting companions and the joys of experiencing life from the back of a horse.  I’ve always admired Tom’s writing, but this story really struck a chord with me, just weeks after having said goodbye to my childhood horse.

“I’ve spent my whole life in the mountains and desert, outside where I can breathe.  But I never really saw the country until I saw it from the back of my horse,” writes Tom.

I had the good fortune to see plenty of country from the back of my own horse growing up.  After begging my parents for years for a pony and devouring every horse book and toy I could get my hands on, they relented.  The summer I was 10, my parents arranged for three weeks of riding lessons.  I had so much fun and it was such a good experience that three weeks turned into four, four weeks turned into the whole summer, and the whole summer turned into the rest of my life.

Now has you in a saddle on a bay horse, heading up a trail of pines and spruce and mountain, of stream and meadow.

My trusted companion came in the form of a three-year-old chestnut Appaloosa filly named Peppermint.  I started riding her that summer, even convincing my parents to let me enter the end of the summer horse show.  After earning my first ribbon, I was hooked.  Two Christmases later, Santa delivered on a long-coveted gift and put a wrapped peppermint candy in my stocking.  It took a minute, but the meaning finally dawned on my 12-year old self – Peppermint was finally my horse, and would be for the next 18 years. 

Now I’m 30, and she’s 22.  The rigors of my job and changing priorities just don’t leave much room in my life right now for a senior equine.  After not riding or spending any time with her in nearly two months, I made the tough decision that it was time for a change.  Three weeks ago, I sold Peppermint to my boss.

She went to a great home, one where she’ll get plenty of attention, treats and love.  She has 40 acres to roam, another mare to keep her company, and a family of 6 to dote on her.  I knew in my heart it was the right decision, one that was long overdue.  But as I took her for one last ride, I couldn’t help but think about our 20 years together and everything that horse had seen me through.

The memories overwhelmed me.  Falling off and getting back up for the first time.  A lecture from my dad about winning gracefully after receiving my first trophy.  Another lecture from Dad about losing gracefully after shutting the trailer door just a little too hard.  Secrets whispered in a silky mane about the first boy that stole my heart.  Friendships made and lost.  My days as a Cheyenne Frontier Days Dandy, complete with big western hair and fringed shirts.  Lazy pasture rides on a warm summer evening, worries slipping away, lost in the hum of the natural world.  Tears wetting that same mane, now gray with age, tears from the last man to break my heart. 

You call them nicknames as if they were human compadres, drinking buddies. You cluck and coo and talk to them as if they gave a damn about what you have to say. You think they do and maybe, just maybe.

Eventually I outgrew the horse shows and gymkhanas and dreams of being a rodeo queen.  I went to college, took my first real job and started life as a grownup with a mortgage, performance reviews and responsibilities.  But through it all, the one constant was my horse.  Riding was my sanctuary, my center, my life.

And soon there was just one last hug, one last nuzzle for a treat, one last slap on the rump to step up in the trailer and she was gone. 

There will be a special horse, a horse that takes the tough trails, that gets you home.

Maybe I’ll know the joy of watching my own kids learn the same life lessons I learned growing up horseback.  Maybe I’ll find another horse, one to carry me through my next 30 years.  But even if I never throw a leg over leather again, I’ll always know the pure joy in my soul that only a special horse, a partner that gets you home, can bring.

May we all know that kind of partnership at least once in our lives.  Happy Holidays.

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Teresa Cole is the Information/Publications manager for the Wyoming Game and Fish Department.  E-mail her at teresa.cole@wgf.state.wy.us.

*The essay “Partners,” available in the December 2006 Wyoming Wildlife magazine, is the first chapter in Tom Reed’s new book “Give me Mountains for my Horses.”  Tom lives in Montana and is a regular contributor to Wyoming Game and Fish Publications.