The Feeling of Flying
By Lois Mannon
It seemed like a good idea at the time. My girlfriend and I approached and caught the old mare. We were twelve back then. She attached a rein to each side of the frayed halter, threw an old saddle across the dirty sloping back, and together we led her out to the edge of the woods. Denise assured me that she rode a lot and there was nothing to learning how to ride. I got up in the saddle, and just as I turned to ask "what next?", the mare broke into a full burning gallop for the barn. I could hear laughter behind me, and I was laughing too, trying to hold onto reins that connected nowhere and sliding off to the side of a saddle that was hardly girthed up. Suddenly, the old girl came to a dead halt in front of the hay bunk and I went tumbling off and rolled across the ground. I deserved what I got that day. I was sore and bruised for weeks after that incident. Surely, it was white knuckle madness, crazy, stupid youth...but it was also exhilarating... the wild freedom of wind and reckless speed, of hoof beats and power, it was the gravity free feeling of flying...
That day suddenly came back to me when the wrangler asked, " Have you ever ridden before?" Let me tell you that at forty years old the idea of riding seemed a lot less appealing than when I was a child. All I could think of was how God let me live the first time. I was here because my husband loved this hobby and he was serious about getting a horse. I didn't realize how serious until later on. So, I looked over the tired group of rental horses, tried to tell myself how I should give field trialing a chance, and picked the most docile creature the man had.
Jack was his name. Now, every breed has its own brand of rough. I know it isn't fair to draw conclusions based on a few bad rides on a wranglers horse. But if that was the "ride of my life," I certainly thought mine was over the next day. I awoke feeling like I had been in a multi-vehicle car accident. Poor barn sour Jack followed the gallery well, and I never had to kick him, so what did I expect ? He had probably been ridden by every inexperienced rider in the northeast.. including me.
I thought about giving up, that is if I could ever walk erect again, but my husband implored me to keep trying. He assured me that if we bought our own horses it would be so much better. So, I stalled my purchase by going to the library, reading a lot on the care of horses, how to buy a horse, and how to ride. My intention was to eventually encourage my husband to pursue this hobby without me. Bob had no trouble buying a smooth gaited walker that suited him beautifully. I did more looking than anything else. In the meantime, this hobby took on a life of its own. We sold our home, bought a farm, bought a horse trailer and we were set. It was kinda' like an old TV episode of Green Acres minus the pig. Suddenly, I was a full fledge farm girl. I found myself living a duel life, high heels and a brief case by day, Carharts and a manure shovel at night. I expanded my job qualifications to include tractor driving and fence mending. We had a rig, a horse, and one pointing dog. I loved the outdoors and didn't mind the farm work, but I was still leery about my place in all this.
If I was going to keep riding, I needed a horse that built my confidence as a rider, that could handle streams, bridges and dogs underfoot . An animal that wouldn't get agitated and try to buck me off or act crazy. Believe me, there was enough of that going on in the gallery. Smooth was a plus, but how smooth could any horse be? At the time, I was following the dogs at such a slow pace, it wasn't the biggest issue or even a future consideration. I convinced myself to just accept my aches and pains and concentrate on kind and safe.
After many "Jacks", I was introduced to "Manny", at a field trial. He was a six year old foxtrotter. He was a small, beautiful, chestnut horse. His registered name was "Warlocks Little Man". It's probably good that I didn't notice the satanic reference until later. The first thing I liked about him was that he parked out for mounting. I know what your thinking: any horse can be taught that little trick. With his small stature though, I could practically mount flat footed...well almost. Finally, I could get in the seat without making a total fool of myself or drawing a crowd of cheering spectators. He handled very well in the gallery and on his own, neck reining with ease and responding well to the slightest leg pressure. I liked this little horse, but I still wasn't convinced or ready to commit. Satisfied with my ride that day, I stopped by my trailer to dismount.
Like the graceful equestrian that I am, my foot caught in the stirrup, and I fell off during the dismount, landing hard onto my back. As I hit the ground, I was certain that I would be dragged across the field like a one legged rag doll... but nothing happened. I opened my eyes to find Manny looking down at me. He snorted hard and looked away. He didn't move a muscle. It was like he had seen it all before. That's when I knew I found my match. I've had him for a year now and we are still learning from one another. He is a better horse because I am now a better rider. But I want to tell you something: when we are moving at a clip and Manny slides into that gait...you know the one, where you feel like your in a rocker, but your moving across the ground like a summer storm; all my senses awaken to... the beat of hooves, the smell of earth, the slash of the dogs through the salt grass, and the sun reflecting off the dew. Maybe its just a moment recaptured from youth, but suddenly there it is again ... the feeling of flying...