Early on in our relationship, she mentioned a story to me that always stuck in my mind. Something she did in her pre-teen and teen years that was unconventional for a city kid, but not unusual for someone with the deep Texas roots from which she came.
It was a metaphor of sorts for another future chapter in her life. Or so I thought.
Raised by a dad with an entrepreneurial spirit, he was stuck in a non-traditional career for a Texas man. Her dad sought to reclaim his roots and perhaps his manhood to some degree. He found some acreage outside of Dallas and would run cows on it to raise a few extra bucks, help him keep his ranching skills in shape and give him an outlet for his city job.
This city girl, and her younger brother, were put to work on this “ranch” as soon as they could clear brush and mount a horse. They would work all summer for the proceeds from an end-of-season auction of a calf dad had asked them each to raise.
Along the way she learned horsemanship skills on the pony her dad put her on. She would relate stories of how that pony and she would run the cows and keep track of the stock, in between clearing brush. Little brother and sis spent many hours horseback and working hard each summer into their teens. I’m convinced this built the bond between the siblings I saw when I met them decades later.
She told me one time she tried running barrels with that pony, but he didn’t have the training to make the cuts and round the barrels. Besides, I don’t think she wanted to harm her working horse.
A sidebar story here to help paint a more detailed picture. One day as they were headed home, the ranch dog was nowhere to be found. Dad said that not to worry, the dog would show up in the morning when they returned. She wailed that “you killed my dog” or something to that effect. However, when they returned the next morning the dog trotted up to the truck. Dad told her that the dog was probably hungry and handed his daughter a carbine to go shoot a squirrel or other varmint for the hungry pooch.
Lots of object lessons going on in this tale.
This story from her life before I knew her told me many things about her. Inside this prim, church-going mom and long-time (now divorced after decades) wife was that inside that lithe body and behind that beautiful smile was an adventurous woman looking for the next world to conquer.
However, here’s where the “moral of the story” comes in—I never saw her astride another pony in the two years we were together. And, as far as I know, as she has remarried into a similar family situation (as far as I have surmised) from which she escaped, still hasn’t swung one of those beautiful gams over a saddle. And I will probably never know.
My prayer for her is that, someday, she gets to do this. Not on one of those old nags that go nose-to-tail on trail rides in Wyoming and Arizona. But that she really gets to ride one of those quick, trim, young ponies like she had when she was a teen.
Doesn’t that conjure up a beautiful image? It does for me.
Thanks, God, for answering this prayer for my former friend. She deserves to have as many dreams come true as she has dreams.
We should all be so lucky as to have these kinds of experiences to live—and maybe relive—in our lifetimes.
Relentless
*copyright 2023 by Paul E Maynard
*photos courtesy the author, D Maynard, and A Ward
