January Reflection

The holidays may be over but I wanted to share with you a nostalgic moment in an essay that reflects a recurring holiday memory.

I hope you enjoy my stumble down memory lane..

Looking Back

 Celia Ryker 

Thanksgiving morning takes me to another November morning long ago. I’m nineteen years old, I have my first real job that provides an apartment above the barn where I train horses and give riding lessons. Recalling that moment, I can feel the reins in my hands and the wind on my face. 

I grabbed my horse’s mane as we neared The Hill, galloping so fast that my eyes watered. Shabera’s ears flipped forward when I selected the trail that lead to this hill, protruding from a rolling meadow like a volcanic remnant. She knew where we were going and I could feel Shabera’s back muscles tense in preparation.

I didn’t trust myself not to pull at her mouth on such a steep grade, so I held onto her mane along with the reins when she bounded up, and up, and up. Shabera lunged the last strides to the summit and we turned to watch my sister Fay, and her horse Dumdum, pulling themselves up the last few strides. Fay gave a whoop that we all felt.

Dumdum wasn’t dumb, but he wasn’t as fast as my little Arabian mare.  I was told that Shabera meant impressive and strong, and I thought she was.  Fay and I had started the run for the hill at the same time. Fay’s horse was tall and lean, like a race horse, but my little mare took the lead.

“What a great day.” I looked over at the fox den that had been abandoned long ago. The kits no longer played on the earthen apron in front of the hole they had called home last summer. I wonder where they live in the winter.

“I can’t believe this kind of weather at the end of November,” Fay said. “But this is Michigan and we’ll be shoveling snow tomorrow.”

“Fay, you could be basking in the glow of the silver lining and all you would see is the cloud,” I laughed. “We’re riding in shirt sleeves on Thanksgiving day.”

“Pardon me, Pollyanna, for stating the obvious. Let’s ride down past Winkler Mill before the road ices up.”

We walked down the gradual slope on the backside of our favorite hill, splashed across the stream, cantered through the orchard and trotted onto the road near the mill. The crunch of hooves on gravel created a cadence, like a song we were all dancing to. The hollow echo when we trotted across the wooden bridge, near the mill, made me smile.

“I love this sound.” Fay said what I was thinking.

The sun glinted through leafless branches and we were doing one of our favorite things: riding for fun, no plan, just a perfect day to wander around on horses that we loved.

“Why don’t you change his name?” I asked Fay as we walked the last mile back to the barn, to allow the horses cool down.

Dumdum had been named by his previous owners. The Wilson family had owned him for over a year and hadn’t been able to get a bridle on him. We bought him for less than his meat price because, they told us, he was untrainable.

We had ridden double on the day Fay and I led Dumdum home. I was sixteen and could have driven Fay to the Wilson’s so she could lead him back to our barn, it wasn’t far. But we decided to ride together.

“You just like showing off that you can drive now,” Fay said. “I think riding over will be more fun.”

Fay was twelve and didn’t understand that I just wanted to drive because it was new.

She was right, riding was more fun.

The Wilson’s wouldn’t let us attempt to put a bridle on Dumdum, maybe they thought we would change our mind, but they already had dad’s check. Fay sat behind my saddle and held the lead rope; he was going to be her horse.

Dumdum had been in his new stall for minutes when Fay stood next to him, her right shoulder under his jaw, that arm around his face holding the bridle. She guided the bit toward his mouth with her left hand and he clamped his teeth shut. Fay slid her thumb into his mouth, at the corner where the bit would rest, but that didn’t help. In the next two hours we took turns trying to convince him to accept the bit. We were getting tired. Dumdum didn’t seem, at all, fatigued. 

Fay held a handful of sweet feed out to him, containing oats, corn and bran with a hint of molasses; he gobbled it down.  She set the bit on a handful of grain and guided it to his mouth. Hurray, the bit was in his mouth, but not for long. He lifted his head, Fay couldn’t reach to slide the bridle behind his ears and he spit the bit and semi-chewed grain back into her hand.  

“Lets  go home,” Fay said, wiping her hand on her pants. “We can try again tomorrow.”

I was surprised she was giving up but I was tired of this game and happy to surrender, for now.

The next day Fay set a bale of straw next to Dumdum and pulled a jar of molasses out of her jacket pocket.

“Does mom know you took that?” I asked.

“I’m not going to use much.” She drizzled molasses on the bit and guided the sweet treat toward his mouth. He took the bit so fast that I didn’t see it.  He realized he had been tricked and lifted his head, but Fay stepped onto the bale and tucked his ears into the bridle. I was impressed.

Fay likes animals more than people and they can tell.

Dumdum was wearing a bridle and I worried, for the first time. Would he be hard to ride? How much training had he received? He didn’t flinch when Fay saddled him and she was on his back before I could warn her to be careful.

“We don’t know anything about this horse,” I said as Fay calmly walked in a circle around me. Dumdum trotted with a long easy stride. I wanted to ride him and see how that felt, it looked fabulous. 

“Maybe you should stop with that for today,” I said. “He hasn’t been ridden in a long time.”

“Oh no, I have to see what his canter is like.” Fay was smiling ear to ear. I could see that his canter was as smooth and comfortable as his trot. After that day he accepted the bit with ease every time. He was a joy.

Three years later we were, on a sunny Thanksgiving morning, talking about changing his name.

Looking Back

“I like his name,” Fay said. 

“If you changed it, what would you call him?”

“He out smarted the Wilsons,” Fay said.

“If I changed his name I’d call him Einstein. He’s smart and his forelock sticks up like Einstein’s hair. But I think Dumdum suits him and he’s used to it.”

We were back at the barn in plenty of time to get to mom and dad’s house in time to watch the holiday parades on TV.                                        

I’ve thought of this magic ride on many Thanksgiving mornings. This year I texted Fay and asked if she remembered that day.

Her text response read; “I remember that. I want a redo of that day. I miss all of it.”

Sometimes when we share the memory of a joint experience the other person doesn’t remember it that way or they don’t remember it all.

Fay remembered the magic and she sent this image that she found on Pinterest, with her own caption added below. 

 I have this image to add to my Thanksgiving memories.