Knots of Time

Time is really starting to toy with me. Its like a cat with a mouse, playing with me, clawing at my memories and snagging on my regrets. There is a woman out at the barn, whose name I can't remember for the life of me, but she used to ride with Gretchen. She has a pretty grey Arabian named Willow and she was in the process of untacking him when Twilight and I walked into the indoor arena. She asked if I'd talked to Margrith recently and I told her I'd been texting her.
Then she told me that she had gone to Flynn's (local horse shop) the other day, which she hardly ever did and had run into Gretchen. At first she had been unsure if it was her, but she'd addressed her anyways.
 It was like a bolt of liquid ice had rammed itself straight down my back. I could feel thousands of questions boiling up, but I kept calm almost casual. "And how is she doing?"
The woman told me that Gretchen had gotten into a car crash in January  and had suffered some head damage which had jarred her memories. "But she remembered me just fine!" she added cheerily.
Gretchen apparently could not ride for six excruciating months and was now happy to be back in the saddle. She had to put down Adam in December, but she still had Navarre, a jumper, and a three year old son of Navarre's. She was semi-retired now, only taught a few girls, but had a dressage clinic a few weeks ago with her new instructing partner. She invited Willow's owner to drop by at her place for their next clinic. Willow's owner also added that she had Gretchen's number.
My heart skipped a beat, I felt like a stalker, when I asked "Um. . .you wouldn't mind sharing that number with me would you?"
I felt guilty asking, Gretchen and I had ended so suddenly almost three years ago, would she even want to hear from me?
Willow's owner didn't have her phone on her, but she said she would text me the number. I wasn't convinced, and I still haven't gotten the number.
I lunged Twilight and walked over to our trailer, thinking.
I felt strangely hollow hearing about Adam's death, he had been such a dear horse to me when I rode him, but I was only a little fazed. This same strange calculating thought process led me to the conclusion that Mark must also be dead.
I wished more than anything that it had been me in the saddle shop, I played different scenarios of meeting Gretchen in my head as I brushed and tacked up Twilight. We would be happy, giddy to the point of tears when we saw each other. I'd give her a huge, and she would return it, and we would immediately start babbling about all that had happened.
Or maybe it would be awkward, we'd come around from opposite lanes, see each other and stop dead, time would stop, breaths caught in our throats. A few shaking words slip out along with some tears, then difficult explanations of all that had happened in our lives till we found a common ground.
Or perhaps, it just be cold, from both ends, neither of us willing to acknowledge the other, and just moving on.
I wondered how much Gretchen had changed. What toils the car crash would of taken on her, what time may have done to her.
As I started to ride Twilight I wondered if she would be proud of us, of our partnership. Twilight and I have been taking lessons with Trina, the owner of the barn. Our first lesson was a disaster, we worked on bending the whole time, Margrith was there, and it was difficult for her, since it was her first time back at the barn. It was difficult for me because at one point Trina had me get off and one of her more experienced riders Tish get on to show me what to do, and to make Twilight do what I couldn't.
Our second lesson was a vast improvement, both Twilight and I responded better to Trina's instructions, she even praised our work three times, which is like finding three nuggets of pure gold in a rocky stream. We worked on bending to the left then the right every ten strides, and having me guide Twilight with only my legs. Trina worked us on extending Twilight's trot and getting her to stop being so head strong, and tried to make me loosen up in the saddle. My upper body needs to relax, and Twilight needs to stop pulling on my hands so much.
I milked the reins, and tapped Twilight with my spurs constantly, driving her forward and asking her to soften simultaneously. It was like patting my head and rubbing my stomach horse back style, also known as a work out.
   Gretchen would have to be proud of us, when we left her Twilight couldn't even canter on command, now she canters ten strides, turns and canters the other way as practice to make her soften and keep her collected. I have to of made leaps and bounds as well.
 I hope I get her number, I hope I can find the courage to call her,I hope she remembers me, and doesn't loath me. I hope that she can tell me where Mateo is, since she doesn't seem to have him any more. I hope I can find it in me to let him go.I want to see her, go to her house and have a messy peanut butter and jelly sandwich again, I want her to scold me for cutting my hair off again.I want to watch her ride Navarre, I want her to watch me ride Twilight. I want her to see how far we've come.

 But I hope more than anything that she's happy, because if she's happy or on her way to it, maybe I can admit that I am happy too.  

Some Pictures from the Barn

                                Twilight looking like a stoic Roman war horse

                                 Three foals at the barn cuddling together

                                Bob the pregnant male goat taking a nap in the sun

                                 Twilight greeting a friend in her pasture

                                             Twilight getting a bath

Creepy Night

I went out to ride Twilight a couple nights ago, it was getting late, the sun was going down and I was there by myself, with a hired worker who seemed new to the ropes. I'd never seen him before anyways.
I was really anxious to ride Twilight because we had a lesson the following day and I wanted to do well. I saddled up and went to ride in the indoor arena. I was not in there long before I heard the hired man's truck pull up next to the arena. This was not unusual, he was transporting hay from the back stacks to the front.
  I trotted Twilight past the entrance to the indoor arena and there he was watching me, I circled the arena three more times and every time I went  past he was just standing there watching me. I felt fear twisting its way up my throat, I took out my phone and tried to call my family members but no one would pick up.
  I didn't want to end riding, I wanted to keep going but I felt like a rabbit in a cage. So as quickly as I could without appearing scared I took Twilight back to our trailer, unsaddled, gave her to apples from our tree at home and released her to her pasture. I had made sure to turn off the arena lights when I left the arena, but when I went by again, I saw he had turned two of them on. The girlish part of me that was absolutely terrified was shrieking its a trap he want you  to think you forgot to turn them off and go in there. The other part of me was saying, he is just working in there. But when I went by again, the lights were off, needless to say I fled.
Sometimes I really hate being a girl, I don't know if there was a legitimate reason for me to be scared I could have just freaked myself out for no-good-reason-what-so-ever-other-than-to-ruin-a-perfectly-good-ride, but how could I know?

Things that Break

   I've noticed time has a tendency to recycle people, take us for a loop and spit us out in somewhere in our past or send us through a maze of half familiar faces or events. Time can choose to make old triumphs glimmer again but it can also cause old scars to ache and fester.
   Twilight has not broken her halter in ages, she has not pulled away from a tie or panicked. I hoped we had moved past it, the fear, the distrust.
  But all it took was a small incident, the slip of a water bottle between my fingers to send her panicking. We were by the trailer, I had her loosely tied  but she reacted lightening fast, I didn't have time to think let pull the quick release knot loose.
  So Twilight snapped her head stall for the third time. I should be vexed simply because its an awful habit for a horse to have, but the halter was a gift from Margrith and Rosie for Christmas. Its made of a dark royal brown leather with a small elegant plate on the side strap that says Wild Black Lassie. Margrith picked those three words right out of my own mouth, and I didn't even know what she was using them for. She asked me one day if I could describe Twilight in three words what they would be and I said wild because of her tendency to be unpredictable and nutty. Black because of her coat color. And Lassie for two reasons;
1) because of Twilight's pedigree  (she is a quarter shire)
2) I had a small part in a play at school which required a brogue accent which I would practice at random at the barn, and when ever I slipped into my Scottish warbling I would start referring to Twilight as Lassie.
  So there is a lot of sentimentality in this halter.
Twilight broke it in a mere second, lunging backwards dropping onto her haunches with a loud bang as she was freed. She lurched to her feet, turned and ran. I stood perfectly still, my mind whirling to catch up. Mechanically I grabbed the rope halter I had purchased for instances like these and jogged after her.
I went passed David a man who has always reminded me of a lumber jack since I first met him in a plaid shirt with a thick brown beard and mustache. Of course the image doesn't quite fit since his voice is not deep and gruff but crisp and tenor.
"I don't want to know what you've done now... your horse is over going all out on the hay" he said,  "but your hair looks great."
David always referred to Margrith and I as sisters or trouble. . .pretty much the same thing.
I found Twilight munching happily and I approached her slowly talking and slipped the halter over her head and walked her back to the trailer. I could feel tears burning behind my eyes, at least ten people had watch our little spectacle.
  I could hear a voice in the back of my head this is one of those times I just want to quit. Get in the car and drive away and never look back. Aren't I suppose to be getting better at all this horse business? 
Why do I do this anyway?
I've been reading a book by Pat Parelli called Natural Horse Man Ship and while Twilight and I were walking I remembered something I read.
"People get into horses because they have a dream. The dream starts off with them and their horses riding off into the sunset harmoniously. Then they get involved with horses and something happens. Eighty percent of people who get into horses get out in the first year. I estimate that 80 percent of the remaining 20 percent get out in the next 5. They do so for the six (only 5 actually) F's: Fear, Frustration, Feeling like a Failure, lack of Fun, and lack of Funds."
  Now was I honestly thinking of getting out of horses at that moment? No, I was feeling the middle three F's. But hey I still saddled up my horse and went for a ride with David in the in door arena. Twilight and I may of had a rocky start that day, but hey by the end we'd had a great ride.
  I worked on my cues with Twilight, signaling with only my legs and got to the point when the reins were slack on her neck, swinging as she trotted in circles at my direction. We even rode with only the halter and lead rope for a while. It was quite enjoyable. So time gave me a little reminder. It could shove the past back in my face, show me that my work with my horse was not always perfect, but that we have come a long ways.
  I took the halter to a little leather shoe repair shop down town. The man who owns it is very old fashion, with large glasses and a dusty brown comb over, but he is very nice, calls me Miss Nelson. I brought the halter in and he immediately recognized me. "What kind of a beast are you riding?" he asked exasperatedly, "I've already fixed that halter for you."
"Twice" I added because I'm a masochist.
He had to create an entirely new head stall for me, and he took no chances on this one, three layers of leather, black on the bottom, reinforced shoe leather in the middle and a leather strap on the top to match the color of the rest of the halter.  
  As I went to leave another teenager walked in dripping with silver pierces, tattoos and sporting a spiked dog collar.
"Miss Nelson what would happen if you tried to bring him home?" the shoe man asked.
The shoe man chuckled, "Have a good day Miss Nelson, hopefully I won't see you again to soon."
Hopefully he won't, but time might have other ideas.