Posting the photo of my sister Patsy on a horse, I began to think about girls and horses. In my childhood some girls, such as Patsy, were horse crazy. She had Breyer model horses, read Marguerite Henry’s books such as “Misty of Chincoteague,” and took riding lessons. She really wanted to own a horse, but we had no place to keep one. I had several friends who were similarly smitten with horses. At the Camp Fire Girls camp I attended there was a special unit called Ranch where girls spent the week riding and caring for horses.
Me not so much. I rode them when we were at the Oregon coast, as in the picture above. Riding horses on the beach was fun and the horses knew their way up and down the sand and then back to the barn, so no skill was required. But that was the extent of my interest.
I last rode a horse 35 years ago when I was at Canyon de Chelly with my daughter who wanted to ride. A Navajo rancher had a few horses to rent and after sizing us up sent me on an ancient horse, my 8 year old daughter on a pony, and his 10 year old son as a guide. My horse was irritated at having to move at all. Meanwhile my daughter and the little boy hightailed it off across the canyon floor, laughing as they went. And proving my genuine disinterest, I didn’t envy them at all.