Summer 2013

I have always loved winter best with its fresh sparkling snow in the morning, early evenings and soft sunsets fostering a natural turning inwards. But for the first time, summer holds great appeal. It is as though somehow my natural composition has changed to absorb the heat, to allow it to change me instead of resisting its energy. And there is so much to be experienced. I’m up at 5:30 a.m. now, a whole extra thirty minutes of sleep. When Dan and I go into the babies’ room, two little heads pop up out of cribs like gophers. ”Momma!! Daddy!!” they squeal, as if we are Christmas morning, every morning. We bring them to our bed where they run and jump on us and play and wait for the sun to rise. I still have Gram’s picture on my bedside table, and most mornings, either Kalvin or Grace, and sometimes both, will reach for it and plant a kiss. It’s a joyful kiss, not at all sad, but full of love.

Early summer has arrived in full, and Kalvin and Grace love to be outside. They love to feel the grass on their bare feet and the grain of the wood that makes up the deck. They want to touch the trees, Kalvin likes to move rocks, and Grace likes to play in puddles. They love to feel the wind and the rain and the wonder of it all. They fall down a lot, but that is part of life. They cry, they get bumps and scrapes, and then they get up, and I celebrate their resilience. When they have to go inside, Kalvin arches his back, pitches a fit, and crumbles into cries of protest on the ground. We should all feel that way about being separated from nature. Our bodies also need to feel the sun and the wind; we also need to marvel at the smell of trees and fresh rain on a forest floor. Kalvin and Grace and Woody remind me of that when I forget.

Last week, the step stool I was standing on tipped over, and my shin made abrupt and horrible contact with the edge of a metal table. Two days later, half a softball sized purple and red bruise extended from my tibia and protested profoundly as I stuffed it into my cowboy boots.

“I’m not sure how this is going to go today,” I said to Dallas. “But I missed my Woody boy.”

“We’ll just try and modify as we go.” My shin was fine in the walk and trot, but when we went to lope, it disagreed with a prudence that ex-athletes know to obey.

“Take your feet out of the stirrups, and hang your reins over the saddle horn.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Trust me, just do it,” Dallas laughed.

I eased my legs out of the stirrups and let them hang down on either side of Woody. Slowly, I hooked the loop of my reins over the saddle horn.

“I feel a bit naked up here.”

Dallas just laughed again. “Woody knows you’re there. He’ll take care of you. Now ask him to walk.”

I squeezed my calves and Woody started walking. Actually, he lowered his head and walked perfectly straight along the rail, ears back, listening for direction. “Now do a few circles around the cones,” she said.

I laughed again, but Woody seemed to know what I wanted and circled the cones perfectly.

“Let’s do one more thing,” Dallas said. History had taught me that “one more thing” was always the stretch. That, plus the excited tone of Dallas’ voice made me a bit nervous. “Walk him to the center of the ring. You’re going to spin.”

“With no hands and no feet?”

“You can do it. Right foot forward, tap him to the left, sit up straight, lean back, and tap tap tap.”

I knew I had a tendency to fold into fetal position when uncertain so I straightened my spine and threw my shoulders back, like Gram always did.

“Keep going, a bit more, really mean it.”

Woody wasn’t sure what to do. He was turning circles, his back legs stepping out to the side.

“Sit back, tap tap tap.”

Then I felt Woody’s hind end come up beneath us as he began to spin on his back hooves.

“Arms up, out to the side, like an airplane. Keep going.”

Suddenly I had the distinct sensation of floating, a sort of suspension, almost as if my arms had turned into helicopter blades and were creating lift. I knew I couldn’t levitate atop a horse, but it was the closest thing I’d ever felt to flying.

“A bit more, that’s it!” Dallas was excited. “Now sit back and say whoa.”

My feet went forward, thrust oddly into mid-air, as I leaned back and Woody slid to a stop and immediately started backing up. “Whoa, good boy,” I said. I was laughing again as I folded myself over his neck. “Good boy, Woody, you are such a good boy. I love you.” My heart felt full, too big for my chest. I hopped down and hugged Woody around the neck. When Dallas joined us, I hugged her too.

“That horse loves you,” she said as I turned back to Woody, rubbing his forehead and neck.

“Thank you Dallas.”

“You did it.”

“Woody did it.”

“And you.”

“Yes, Woody and me.”

And us all.