The Day 3: First Kiss & First Love

Ugh.

First kiss that COUNTED was in the loft of a beautiful old white barn. The barn was much better than the guy it came with.

First love. My first true love was horses. I knew I loved them early on, even though I’d never had one. I loved carousels, and had to always have a pony ride at the fair and wherever else we went that offered them. Plus, ya know, I had all the hundreds of My Little Ponies to keep me entertained. But we eventually sold all the cattle off & my Mamaw leased the property to some horse owners. Oh, happy days! They came over each night to feed them and I was allowed to hold the bucket. Sometimes they let me ride when they had their saddles with them…and sometimes I snuck off and rode bareback, with only a halter and some makeshift reins from baler twine. I was a bit of a daredevil. I also took every opportunity to go over to Uncle Roy’s and ride any of his knothead ponies & horses. I would pore over horse magazines and catalogs, dreaming of all the things I wished I had the money to buy. Any horse program came on TV, and I would be glued to it. I would watch for horses out in pastures any time I went out, & loved visiting Churchill Downs and Kentucky Horse Park whenever I could. I dreamed of all the breeds I would someday own, and drew out plans for barns, arenas, and paddocks.

Eventually, I started showing some halter horses for 4-H and then showed some gaited horses. While I was in high school my uncle kept some horses at the house and I started green breaking them. I preferred to ride bareback instead of fooling with all the riggin’s and dragging a saddle out, so I had excellent balance. This made me a bit of a nerd with my classmates, nobody else was still horse crazy like me, and it was rare to see any other females in cowboy boots. The Vo-Ag classes back then were a bit of a dumping ground for unruly students, and I never felt that I fit in…but when I started attending Walters State at the Morristown campus I discovered a whole world of people like me! It was awesome. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. But, alas, I was still an odd duck, because I preferred my English duds for riding. One of my classes was horsemanship, where we rode a variety of horses at a Saddlebred show barn, and also had the option of bringing our own horses.  I had my own, but no way to haul it. It was like a dream come true, riding horses with friends and getting credit for it. One day, the owners of the stable broke out some “Back 40” horses. You know, the ones who hadn’t been touched in a year or two. They recruit one of the “cowboys” to ride this especially rank Arab cross aptly named Diablo. He rode the buck out of him and dismounted. He was a man of few words, so one of them asked him, “What’d you think?”

I don’t remember his response, but I do remember the next question: “Alright to put somebody else on him?”

Greg spat in the dust, and nodded at me. “She can ride ‘im.”

That was about the most he’d ever said to me, and definitely the biggest compliment I ever got out of him. So away I went. The horse was a powder keg, and if I was trying to sell him, I would say he “moves out”, which is code for “hold on” lol.

But I used to love to ride those crazy ones, hated chugging along. My Saddlebred wasn’t much for trail pleasure, we took him over to Big Creek one time and he worked himself into such a dither coming back we went the whole way back down the mountain backwards. True story. I still prefer a big horse, the little ones can turn and spin out from under you way too easy. And I still love to ride…in optimum conditions, like 70 degrees, on a well-kept path, with a sensible, steady mount. I just don’t like the rest of the stuff that goes with it…like cleaning stalls, or getting stuck in the mud when you go out to feed hay, or hoping you don’t get frostbit when the wind is cutting through you while you valiantly try to bust ice. But oh, to some, it is worth it….to feel invincible, to feel like you’re flying as you ride across rolling hills, the scenery whipping by and the ground solid beneath the pounding hooves. I remember. And sometimes, I miss my first true love.