“Sophia,
pull back on your reins,” my teacher yelled. I was 8 years old and it was my
first time at M-Bar-C Ranch, a horse farm in the woods on Whidbey
Island. Until that summer, I had never galloped before. As we drove up the gravel driveway, I saw a
donkey, a white deer and horses in the pasture.
The horses were grazing on the dirty green grass. I could hear them
snorting, neighing and whinnying as if they were greeting me. I arrived at the
ranch with a brown paper bag lunch and my pink boots that I had just purchased
from the second hand store in Freeland. I walked into a cold, concrete floored
building. It smelled like a mixture of
Kleenex with hay. Numerous people were already there sitting on wooden chairs
lined up in the center of the room facing a small white board. Others were
sitting around a long, grey plastic folding table, chatting. Some friendly
teenage volunteers said hello to me. A handful of campers were already there
sitting alone, wearing jeans and holding their lunches. My mom and the director chatted.
“Nice
talking to you”, the director concluded. She smiled at my mom and scanned the
room. “Sorry, but we have to start the class.”
I
gave my mom a huge hug. “Goodbye, Mommy” I said quietly.
“Goodbye
sweetie. I love you and you are going to do great. See you at 3:00,” my mother
reassured me kindly. I didn’t want to be left alone but my mom had to go.
 |
|
I
turned my head and looked at the white board. It had everyone’s name on it,
including mine, with the assigned horses for the week. I walked over nervously
to see which horse I had been given. I got a horse called Dancer! After the director spoke for a while, the
group walked down to the horse ring and I met Dancer. He was a chestnut brown purebred
Arabian gelding. During
that week we learned gobs about horses. By Wednesday we were ready to go on a
trail ride in the forest. I tacked up Dancer and grabbed his reigns and took
him to a step stool. I thrust my left foot in the stirrup and pushed myself up
while I swung my right leg up and over the saddle. It was a cool, clear morning
and we were all ready to go. The campers were jittery with excitement to be
going on our first trail ride and we were looking forward to eating a picnic
lunch in the woods. The campers, mounted on their horses, filed up in line and
meandered towards the trail head. I held the leather reigns tightly in my
hands, sitting on the Western leather saddle with a huge horn in the front to
hold onto. My furry helmet was fastened under my neck. Cautiously descending the
first hill, dusty dirt flew everywhere and I was close to the back of the
line. We passed through a dry grass
pasture sprinkled with dandelions still moist from the morning dew.
Suddenly,
Dancer broke from the line and began to gallop full speed. I thought I would
fall off and become paralyzed, picturing myself thrown from the horse and with
a concussion. Terrified, I closed my eyes tightly. Dancer bolted across the
flat turf. I began falling off. My saddle was slipping. Dancer finally slowed
down and suddenly stopped at the beginning of the line, right next to my instructor’s
horse.
“Oh,
are you OK?” my instructor asked.
“Dancer probably wanted to be at the front of the line because my horse
is his girlfriend!” she explained.
I
didn’t want to go on the trail ride any more. I was terrified of galloping
again.
“Trust
me. It will be fun,” my teacher reassured me.
We
continued the ride and went on to a clearing among the trees. My teacher
praised me and was proud of me for holding on. I could see that one of the
teenage volunteers was jealous of me because the teacher was so proud. We tied
up our horses to hitching posts. We had a picnic on the ground next to a big
wooden cross. One of the older
volunteers told us a story. While
listening to the story I saw what I would have been missing if I had not gone
on the trail ride. I understood that day if I face my fears I will enjoy what I
was scared of and find out it was worth it.
