Hobby Horse
Manure’s odor is a an eau du cologne for moi.
Perhaps some of my mother’s inclination toward anything equestrian-related
seeped into my fibers for the nine months I waited in her womb. All I know is
that the grassy, grainy, earthy scent of a horse’s excrement is a balm to my
soul. Rather than a chore, cleaning the waste from the old barn my horses
occupy is a task looked forward to instead of dreaded.
Diane Ackerman, in A Natural History of the Senses and A Natural History of Love, toys with why some women are so enamored
with horses. Perhaps there is an ancient primal need to control – or it is the
thrill of sitting astride a moving mass of muscles. Serena, in the novel of the
same name by Ron Rash, instills mythic-proportion trepidation into the minds of
rough and tumble lumberjacks because she simply rides through the forests on a
white Arabian. Zoro may never have become legendary if not for the grand
entrance he made on a majestic, coal-black Friesen he named Tornado.
But my reasons for a lifelong hobby involving horses
is simplistic, and mostly sensory. I love the way they smell – not just what is
deposited – but their coats; a mixture of briny sweat and honeysuckle in the
summer and pine wood and hay in winter. When I’m particularly edgy, a close-in
whiff is all that is required to quiet my nerves. And the feel of their velvety
noses and silky manes and tails …
Whinnying, nickering, chewing grass, munching
oats, sucking water – I hate to cliche say it, but yes, music to my ears.
And then, just look at them. Take a minute next time
you have a chance, to truly look at a horse. God got a lot of things right. But
the horse. What the Mona Lisa is to the art world, the horse is to the animal
world. Splendor on four legs. Hues and sizes in myriad variations. Sometimes I
just look at my horse and marvel at how she is made. And now, with her white
winter hair giving way to a burnished golden brown – contrasted by her wavy
thick mane and tail. I’m envious!
But I guess, overall, this horse hobby of mine has
connected me with people. As soon as I could sit up my mother had me in the
saddle, arms wrapped around me from behind for protection. I did the same with
and for my children. My mother, sister, and I spent years during my growing up
competing every weekend with our horses. And, as an adult, the highlight of my
week is exploring on horseback together with my sister old mountain logging
roads and deer trails.
Horses are my gym and my therapy – and I hope to be in
the company of horses well, like Jackie Kennedy Onassis and Beryl Markham –
until that very last day.
