More Changes

During this time at the quaint and charming place where Gretchen now resided I found life suddenly becoming a blur of swift changes and busyness. I began growing in height and other places on my body began to develop. . .you get my drift. I felt more awkward and gangly than ever but Gretchen bluntly assured me that I was finally beginning to fit my frame, and that I had been even more clumsy and at loss with my long tripping limbs when she first met me. Change did not only effect my body, but my riding companion.
Miss Ali despite her monstrous temper, and overwhelming stubbornness was a short horse maybe 14 hands at best, and I was rapidly outgrowing her size. I had not however outgrown her lessons. She was the first horse I ever rode bare back on. I can still remember urging her into the trot and bouncing all over her broad back like a rag doll caught in a gale. I almost fell off more times than I care to reveal and was exceedingly frustrated with her as she was with me by the end of our lesson. We continued to learn with each other bareback style till I was decent at asking her to go over trot poles and turn, and did not slip down her side every 7 steps. In my defense she had a extremely exaggerated trot that was uncomfortable and naturally bumpy.
The week after to show how stubborn she could be Miss Ali took off after Derek, the Dane having goaded her into a round of catch-me-if-you-can around the arena with me clinging to her back, laughing as she tried in vain to corner and nip the bounding black hound as he raced around the arena glancing over his shoulder at the frustrated horse ever few steps. Regardless of how fun it was I was completely out of control and the playful game could have ended much differently.
To say the least I was incredibly fond of Miss Ali, even though my legs could dangle to right above her knees, we had shared several unforgettable memories together and I'm sure we would have enjoyed more adventures if my growth spurt had not gotten in the way. I had to transition from Miss Ali to the taller and entirely different Sting. At first I was very bitter about the change. Sting was not as stubborn as Miss Ali but his mouth was made of rock so it was difficult to control him and clearly communicate with him in the beginning. We were schooled together me teaching him, he schooling me both of us under the tutelage of Gretchen who would guide us both or attempt to get the lesson through our equally thick skulls.
It was on Sting that I learned the art of cantering. He was not the first horse I cantered on that memory is a blur, lost in my mind soaked to a fuzz in my mind like an old photograph. But I remember my first canter on Sting. WE were at the back right side of the arena facing the road, and Gretchen told me to urge him into the canter. I knew I was sloppy, I could feel my body surging ahead and falling back with Stings speed and grace when I should of had a steady rocking seat but I didn't care, there is true beauty in cantering that can never be found in the jangling trot. It was like seeing only black and white colors for ones entire life and suddenly discovering a whole spectrum of vibrant purples and greens, and iridescent blues and all the other innumerable colors that exist. I was hooked.
Like anything else in horse back riding learning to canter took time and a lot of patients from both myself and Sting. We finally achieved this new pedestal in horse riding, after that numerous doors began to open up for me.
Instead of one lesson a week I took two provided that I pay for the second one by working in Gretchen's summer camp for three ten year old girls. I eagerly accepted, I found out only a little while later that I would be co-working with another girl named Kenzie who I had briefly encountered in school. I was slightly disapointed by this. Kenzie was a fabulous rider, and she was beautiful, her hair curled in natural ringlets around her perfect oval face, the face of a flawless porclien doll. She was petit and graceful and radiated confedence, I was excidingly jelous and very intimidated by her. I always forced myself to work harder then she did, to clean up the manure in the pasture faster, to make the three young girls like me more than they did her. To recieve more praise than she did. I felt that the only way I could beat her was through physical labor, a danty thing like her certainly could not work harder than a lank determened girl like me.
The problem with my envy of her beauty and riding skills was that it made me blind to what was underneath Kenzie, behind that beautiful face, popularity and skill was a girl who loved horses to the point that she was working at a camp to earn for a single lesson a week, her family could not afford to pay, and eventual she had to drop horse back riding all together because of the finances. I was to blind to see it, to see the ending flaw in a girl I thought was perfect, a regret my blinding jelousy now.

Whoops!

A brief note to the patient individuals reading this blog, the posting Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes should be read after reading The Broken Horse, despite the fact it is shown bellow it on the blog. Thank You!