I’m happy to share with you this delightful short account of our recent trail ride in West Virginia. This is my mom, in the pictures. When I think about her riding this horse, I almost squeal with delight. If you know her at all, you understand exactly why. For those of you who haven’t yet met her, here’s the story.
Square in the Middle of the Saddle
-Joy Stalvey Barefoot
-Joy Stalvey Barefoot
As I read about “patterning the masters”, according to Natalie Goldberg, well-known author of Writing Down the Bones, I was, indeed, inspired to write.
So inspiring was it for me, knowing how many marvelous folks I had patterned after, that I immediately set about penning one memorable experience of patterning.
That accounting was about watching many cowboy movies as a young girl and truly feeling that I knew how to mount a horse. You know; left foot in the stirrup, hand on the saddle horn with reins in hand; up and over! That was all there was to it. Now, that’s a lot to learn for about ten cents a movie on Saturday mornings at the Sunset Theatre.
I’m now seventy-five, but at least twenty years ago a brother-in-law wandered onto the farm property with a horse in tow.
The idle conversation led to the question put to me, “Have you ever ridden a horse?”
Well, no, I hadn’t, but I knew how to get on a horse, I assured my brother-in-law, whereupon he suggested, with perhaps a bit of a dare, that I exhibit the talent discussed.
Without a thought given to it, I put my left foot in the stirrup, right hand on the saddle horn, with reins in hand, and landed square in the middle of the saddle, surprising myself as well as the group.
So much for that, but I believe one of my daughter’s got the crazy idea, after reading the penned poem, that somehow I mourned the lost opportunity to ride a horse. So, after planning a trip to a nearby State Park, she decided that we should all go horseback riding; nothing like getting Mom on a horse and fulfilling that “bucket list” wish. Well, that might have been her thinking, but when I heard it, I didn’t think too much of the idea, although I didn’t want to be a spoil sport and it certainly was nothing I ever mourned, at least consciously.
Standing just inside the fence and waiting in line for a nice trail ride, I began to think about this thing a little more as the skinny young dude loaded up the folks and I heard horses called Maggie and Alice and Tom.
About that time that skinny young dude looked over in my direction and said “Okay, Mam, you can get on now”. I looked at him, sheepishly, “You talkin’ to me?”
“Yeah, come on!”
Well, “loaded” is truly the proper term for all my exquisitely learned “mounting of a horse”. I put my left foot in the stirrup, gave myself a little push but I didn’t go anywhere. Then he grabbed hold of me and said “Put your arm on my shoulder”, which I did, and then he just threw me up on the horse. I didn’t land too squarely in the middle of the saddle but did get it adjusted, while I could hear the laughter of my children standing by and waiting their turns to get “loaded”.
It seemed to be important to folks to find out the name of their horse, so I inquired about my horse’s name, sure it would be as gentle sounding as Maggie, Alice or Molly. Well, in his good old West Virginia twang he just said, “Twe-ister!”. I took it to mean Twister, invisioning a writhing, twisting, bucking bronco.
“Oh, my lord!”, I exclaimed, to the sheer delight of the waiting riders. About that time Twe-ister headed for the lineup as I bobbed along.
Now mind you, I had never ridden a horse before, and this felt mighty strange, with the immediate realization that I felt a little unbalanced and in need of a seatbelt or something secure. A wave of panic set up in me to get off that horse, but I knew my girls were counting on me as they struggled with their own horses behind me and it was a long way to the ground, so I calmed myself and hung in there. I don’t deny that it was scary and the old straw boss, or whatever you call the man leading the trail ride, was somewhat gruff.
All in all, it wasn’t so bad and I began to really enjoy the ride, through the woods and sludge and rocks, as autumn leaves fell. I even began to do a little maneuvering with Twister’s reins, and feeling his response to the gentle tugs, until we got back near the stable and he decided to eat grass, whereupon, I felt as if I might tip right over his head. He was stubborn about that grass.
Well, patterning is what most of us do in life, as we observe occasions, events and, certainly, folks we admire and wish to imitate. We, carefully, watch each step of the action and feel it in our bones and muscles until, eventually, our spirit absorbs enough of it to feel confident in our ability to perform, as our masters have shown us so well.
Maybe you won’t have to ride a horse to show you’ve learned a thing or two from some masters, but I hope you have as much fun re-living your experiences as we have had and I hope Twister has all the grass he can eat.
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