I ride.
That seems like such a simple statement. However, as many women who ride know, it is really a complicated matter. It has to do with power and empowerment. Being able to do things that some might had once considered out of reach or ability. I have considered this as I shovel manure, fill water barrels in the freezing rain, wait for the vet/farrier/hay delivery, change a flat tire on a horse trailer beside the freeway or cool a gelding out before getting down to the business of building a warm fire after a long ride.
The time, the money, the effort it takes to ride, calls for dedication. At least I call it dedication. The men in my life call it the sickness. It’s a sickness I‘ve had since I was a small girl, bouncing model horses and dreaming of the day I would ride a real horse. Most o f the women I ride with understand the meaning of the sickness. It’s not a sport. It’s not a hobby. It’s what we do, and in some ways, who we are as women, and human beings.
I ride. I hookup my trailer and load my horse. I haul to a trailhead somewhere, unload, saddle, whistle up my dog and I ride. I breathe the air, watch the sunlight filter through the trees and savor the movement of my horse. My shoulders relax. A smile rides my sunscreen-smeared face. I pull my hat down and let the real world fade into the tracks my horse leaves in the dust. Time slows. Flying insects buzz loudly, looking like fairies. My gelding flicks his ears and moves down the trail. I can smell his sweat and it is perfume to my senses. The rhythm of his walk and the movement of the leaves become my focus. My saddle creaks and the leather rein in my hand softens with warmth.
I consider the simple fact that I ride. I think of all I do because I ride. I climb rugged trails, wade into a freezing lake, canter through the pine trees all the while laughing and feeling my heart in my chest. Because I ride, I sew, and hammer, use power tools, and cut trees. I can use a map and GPS, and load the camper by myself. The daily job I do and long hours I put in, the sacrifices I make, and the other places that I have decided not go. Most everything I do, I do because I ride.
The beauty I have seen because I ride, amazes me. I’ve ridden out tot find lakes that remain for the most part unseen. Caves, dark and cold beside rivers full and rolling are the scenes I see in my dreams. The cliffs, of Tam McArthur, soaring eagles on the wing, the deer and elk that bound through the trees, all add to the empowerment and joy in my heart.
I think of the people, mostly women, I’ve met. I consider how competent they all are. We haul 40 ft rigs and we back into tight spaces without clipping a tree. We setup camp, tend to the horses, cook and keep safe. We understand and love our equine companions. We respect each other and those we encounter on the trail. We know that if you are out there riding, you also shovel, carry water, wait and doctor. Your hands may be a little rough and you travel without makeup or hair gel. You do without to afford the sickness, and probably, when you were a small girl, you bounced a model horse and dreamed of riding a real one.
( unknown author)
That seems like such a simple statement. However, as many women who ride know, it is really a complicated matter. It has to do with power and empowerment. Being able to do things that some might had once considered out of reach or ability. I have considered this as I shovel manure, fill water barrels in the freezing rain, wait for the vet/farrier/hay delivery, change a flat tire on a horse trailer beside the freeway or cool a gelding out before getting down to the business of building a warm fire after a long ride.
The time, the money, the effort it takes to ride, calls for dedication. At least I call it dedication. The men in my life call it the sickness. It’s a sickness I‘ve had since I was a small girl, bouncing model horses and dreaming of the day I would ride a real horse. Most o f the women I ride with understand the meaning of the sickness. It’s not a sport. It’s not a hobby. It’s what we do, and in some ways, who we are as women, and human beings.
I ride. I hookup my trailer and load my horse. I haul to a trailhead somewhere, unload, saddle, whistle up my dog and I ride. I breathe the air, watch the sunlight filter through the trees and savor the movement of my horse. My shoulders relax. A smile rides my sunscreen-smeared face. I pull my hat down and let the real world fade into the tracks my horse leaves in the dust. Time slows. Flying insects buzz loudly, looking like fairies. My gelding flicks his ears and moves down the trail. I can smell his sweat and it is perfume to my senses. The rhythm of his walk and the movement of the leaves become my focus. My saddle creaks and the leather rein in my hand softens with warmth.
I consider the simple fact that I ride. I think of all I do because I ride. I climb rugged trails, wade into a freezing lake, canter through the pine trees all the while laughing and feeling my heart in my chest. Because I ride, I sew, and hammer, use power tools, and cut trees. I can use a map and GPS, and load the camper by myself. The daily job I do and long hours I put in, the sacrifices I make, and the other places that I have decided not go. Most everything I do, I do because I ride.
The beauty I have seen because I ride, amazes me. I’ve ridden out tot find lakes that remain for the most part unseen. Caves, dark and cold beside rivers full and rolling are the scenes I see in my dreams. The cliffs, of Tam McArthur, soaring eagles on the wing, the deer and elk that bound through the trees, all add to the empowerment and joy in my heart.
I think of the people, mostly women, I’ve met. I consider how competent they all are. We haul 40 ft rigs and we back into tight spaces without clipping a tree. We setup camp, tend to the horses, cook and keep safe. We understand and love our equine companions. We respect each other and those we encounter on the trail. We know that if you are out there riding, you also shovel, carry water, wait and doctor. Your hands may be a little rough and you travel without makeup or hair gel. You do without to afford the sickness, and probably, when you were a small girl, you bounced a model horse and dreamed of riding a real one.
( unknown author)
