Legacies

     Last night I had the privilege of introducing Jake to the Cabarrus County Fair.  The fair was once my favorite part of the entire year, almost parallel to Christmas if I were to rate my anticipation alone.  I have been going since I was born, pictures of me riding the carousel with my Mom adorn pages of one of my favorite photo albums, along with one of my sister and I hugging Barney while at the fair. Mick and I were even put in the paper one year, sitting and eating barbecue at the Troutman's hut. I love going because it was a time when Mick and I would get to spend an entire evening together.  Last night, I loved watching Jake's "serious face" as he rode the "copters" and "chucks" but my favorite part of the fair still today is to ride with my sister.  I hope one day Jake can say that too, that the rides are fun and all but the BEST part about the fair is how it brings family together.  There is something incredibly exciting and charming about hearing Mckenzie say, "I think I'm going to throw up."  It's ok, she's never actually gone through with it.  I love my sister and even though we've spent a good part of our lives being at odds with one another, even given our differences, we have always been the best of friends if a funnel cake and "spins so fast you're sick" rides are involved.  Not that Jake understands now, but he will one day. Mommy loves this, and I'm having a good time because she's yelling "weee!" like the weirdo that she surely is.  Yes, that is the legacy that I hope to leave Jake.
          
  I really felt like I should mention the fair, although that is actually not the experience that brought "legacy" to mind.  The fair was last night, the barn cookout was tonight.  You know, when I tell people that I grew up on a horse farm they look at me like I'm some mythological creature, that I hopped off the pages of a fairy tale.  In some ways, my life was a fairy tale. Tonight, I watched the 10-16 year olds chasing one another, setting up tents for the camp out, tacking up horses and turning on the ring lights to get one last ride in. That was me only a short time ago.  That was my life.  I watched Harley and Shannon trying to jump over the coop (not on horseback, on foot- it's a favorite challenge for horse kiddos).  I remember when that coop was built.  Furthermore, either Mick or I were the very first ones to jump over the coop, to invent that game.  Before the ring was even built, I was rolling around in the piles of sand until the tractor smoothed it out.  Seeing the bare feet of young ones kicking up that sand behind them as they raced through horse manure and dust reminds me of a simpler time.


      I brought Sonora in to the tack room to show her. At least ten saddles lined up on the wall belonging to the lesson program, teaching other kids to ride. I counted, "1...2...3.." of the saddles used to be mine.  A small crosby, a Synthetic, and then the Pessoa, my very favorite.  The girths, "1...2...3...4" were once my girths or my sisters and they eventually were inherited by the lesson program as we grew older.  My old helmet now belongs to Shannon. I remember the day I got my braid saver, a stretchy fabric that goes over a horse's braids before a show the next day.  Jazz always looked so super fancy and adorable in that thing.  Now it belongs to the grandkid's and their ponies.  I used to not pick up on smells of the barn because it was just part of me, but the leather scent of the tack room stirred such nostalgia.  I remember what it was like.


     There is no self pity in this statement: I never owned a super fancy pony. I owned well behaved, very nice, very competitive ponies and horses. Granted, the barn was not the show barn that it is now.  I guess that's my point.  The kids now all ride adorable ponies, win at these BIG fancy shows, and my parents are horse experts.  But, it started with Mick and I on Secret and Corduroy, not standing a chance at even sixth place at a schooling show.  We were happy though, and we loved those ponies.  And geeze, if there were time machines and I could actually go back knowing what I know now, I wouldn't give up the chance to show Jazzy Lady for the nicest pony in the world.  But, the kids get to do what they do now because of what Mick and I have ridden through, worked our way up to, and then passed the baton onto the next generation of barn rats.  I can remember teaching a lesson student who once said, "I want to ride like you," and I'm pretty sure I responded something like, "I'm sure you will one day."  Now, I want to say to her, "no, you will be better than me!"  And they all will, and that makes me very happy.  


      Sure, there are fancier ponies and horses walking the halls of Ridge Haven.  The shows are bigger, the trucks and trailers are way nicer, and Dave works harder than ever.  But, if you were to stop in front of the barn and dig down below the posts, the hunter green paint will stop, and below are two young hand prints plastered on each side, and those are mine.  The second fence post boasts even smaller prints, those of my sister.  These days, the closest I get to any horse is driving by a pasture and seeing one grazing on the side of the road.  But while I am visiting home I see these kids riding and even though I have an emptiness, an ache in my heart that misses it so, I feel pride. I feel warmth and joy as I see these kids enjoying horses like I once did.  I hope, as one of the original barn rats, that they will enjoy these days. How quickly they pass, as I well know.  But I like to think that Mick and I left a sort of legacy, an invisible hand print on the side of Ridge Haven that includes more than jumping the coop on foot, sleeping outside in tents, riding horses well after the sun has gone down, bathing in the wash pit, riding the four wheeler, and chatting with the other barn rats until our sundrop high wears off, oh gosh, and a million other things, but that horses just make everything better.  That relationship you have with the other barn rats, the lesson parents, all of the laughter, the tie that binds each one that invests his or her time at the barn, you can't find that anywhere else in the entire world.  It's truly special, and I pray that no one gives it up earlier than they have to.  Carry it with you, everywhere and always, and most especially, pass it on.