For one to fly, one needs only to take the reins.
Melissa James
From an early age, this former city girl has always loved horses. I grew up with the narratives of my mother and grandparents and loved the Western tales of ranch life, which, of course, included stories of horses. Generations of my mom’s family owned and raised these wondrous creatures. It’s in the family DNA. In fact, my grandfather was not only a rancher but also a horse trader. When he served his country, he broke horses for the Army and used his own saddle so he could do the job right.
While growing up in California, I had a few opportunities to ride. One favorite place was the stables at Half Moon Bay, and a spirited horse named Rowdy. He lived up to his name, and I loved racing him along the sandy shores. I looked forward to these fun-filled adventures but still dreamed of owning my own horse one day.
In time, that dream became a reality when I received Beau as a birthday gift. He was the perfect horse for this former city girl, and I loved my “baby.” He and I quickly bonded, and my Beau stayed right by my side. Even while working in the yard, I would often let him out of his pen, and my pal stayed close to my side.
Throughout the years, he became a best friend and a confidant. He knew secrets that I never spilled to anyone, but my horse had a knack for listening and providing reassurance when my world turned upside down. Even all these years later, I still miss my friend.
Nowadays, I am no longer allowed to ride since I have a back injury and balance issues. But I still love to visit with these creatures whenever I get the chance. And sometimes, when I dream, I ride a black beauty with a white-blazed face and four white socks. We ride in companionable silence until we hit the open lands near Brush Hollow. Then, once more, we soar along prairie trails, flying as one with our manes flowing in the wind.
Photo by Lindsey Bidwell on Unsplash
Tales of a Family 