My Wyoming Summer of Horses (Part 1)
A collection of poems and photos from the most amazing summer of my life
I was horse-crazy growing up in Oklahoma and Indiana. I read and re-read all of Walter Farley and Marguerite Henry. Misty of Chincoteague and The Island Stallion were always in my dreams. My family didn’t have funds for lessons, let alone resources to own or even lease a horse, but I saved my babysitting money and rode my bike to the local barn to spend on hour on horseback riding around and around a dusty ring. I stretched my horse time to two and sometimes three hours with grooming and helping in the barn. I loved being around these gentle giants.
As a teenager, a neighbor had a semi-neglected quarter horse, almost as wide as she was long. I groomed and saddled Cinnamon at every opportunity and rode her around the hillside pasture. We both appreciated the company and the work.
I did trail rides on vacations and rode when I could as an adult, but didn’t take lessons until I was in my mid-thirties. I didn’t particularly like English dressage, but it was what was available and affordable. By the time I progressed to jumping, a fall shook my confidence, and I hung up my boots. I had a toddler at home, and couldn’t afford to be injured.
Twelve years later, I saw the Buck Brannaman documentary, the story of a legendary horseman who crisscrosses the country for most of the year “helping people with horse problems” and “horses with people problems.” Dormant horse-crazy embers flared to life as I learned about natural horsemanship for the first time.
My research for opportunities to ride and learn natural horsemanship led me to Bobbi Wade, owner of Blue Sky Sage in Pinedale, Wyoming. My husband and I spent our first week with Bobbi on the western side of the Wind River Range as guests in 2013. I went back intermittently over the years to spend a remote and rustic week on horseback in the wide open spaces of the high plains, the highlight of many summers.
As Bobbi approached retirement, she reached out to her email list looking to hire a camp jack and an assistant wrangler for her final year. Paul and I jumped at the chance to spend the summer outdoors taking care of seventeen horses and eight different groups of guests.
I’ll write more in coming issues about all that I learned, but for now, please enjoy this first installment inspired by our summer in Wyoming. These poem-adjacent pieces were written as part of the Center for New Americans fund-raiser, 30 Poems in November. I don’t identify as a poet, but I loved the challenge of getting something down each day - a chance to capture enormous feelings in tiny packages.
Please leave a comment about your experience with and love of horses. I read and respond to every one.
Linda
Black Silk Mornings
I step between zippered canvas flaps Still dark, still quiet Cold summer air greets me Wooly hat pulled low Hands slip into mittens A black silk sky sparkles with sequins Thinning to a bright ribbon on the eastern horizon Speck trots to the fence You’re here! You’re here! He nickers. I thought you’d never come. Marty, Peppy and Roach hang back Waiting for my knife to pop the bale An accordion of green flakes Hay fork lifts them into the corral Each new pile carefully inspected A game of musical chairs Before they settle into contented munching
Feeding the Fourteen
The rest of the herd wakes Standing, shifting, circling They move each other This is my place. No, this is my place. Pinned ears, bared teeth, a nip on the hip I was here first. No, I was here first. A double rear kick to the chin I said. This is my place. Rosie leans over the gate Waiting for me to switch off the fence Copper on one shoulder, Roulette on the other They follow along ahead of the rest, who know their places Electric tape in thin strips Hold the herd until feeding I disconnect, one, two, three, four And peel open the gateway They kick up their heels Walk, trot, canter to the round bales Heads buried in hay
Water Hole Management
Bath-tub-sized troughs take time to fill One at a time Uncoil the hose through the fence Weighted end sinks to the bottom Lift the handle Pure mountain water pours in Still cold from melting glaciers Brush and curry, every one No hurry There is time Rebel likes his ears scratched, a slow circle Rivet, his forehead, he leans into my palm Copper noses in, for a scratch to his chin Alex’s hair flies, losing his winter coat all summer Toto is of two minds: his blue eye cautious, his brown eye trusting He likes the brush on his wide rump No quick movements We move slow and deliberate Among gentle giants in afternoon sun
Catching a Horse
Bellies full, they want to work Some make a show of moving away Pretend they don’t want to be caught But, They know Green grass grows outside the corral If they don’t let us halter them easily We make them move, make them run We lift our arms “Haa!” They trot off We follow – applying pressure – making them move “Haa!” Watch for them to slow – timing is essential Stop when they stop – release the pressure Take a breath, deep and slow, in and out Then, move slowly to their side. Loop the lead rope around their neck Guide the halter onto their nose, flip the loose end behind their ears Tie it and lead them out They are yours For now
Lessons from a Horse
Move slowly, Speak softly Be unhurried Know where you are going Watch her eye, watching you She doesn’t miss a thing Watch her ears swivel and flex She hears with her whole body Watch her feet She leans into pleasure, away from pain She wants relief from pressure Give her space to do the right thing Be firm, yet gentle Trust your horse The safest place is in the saddle Give her her head for balance Never underestimate her drive to survive Make the wrong thing hard, and the right thing easy Ask her, tell her, then promise her Do as little as possible and as much as necessary
Are you a creative person?
Writer, poet, artist, videographer, muscian, photographer, scupltor, painter?
I’d love to feature you and your work in a future issue of Starry Starry Kite.
Linda, I am/was so allergic to horses growing up that I couldn't get closer than 20 yards to a horse barn without sneezing and wheezing with asthma. I did once ride my friend's horse bareback--it was unforgettable-- but I broke out in hives all over my body after. As an adult, I went to healer who used horses to heal people of various conditions, and managed to get close and stroke a horse's neck without getting sick. I sat next to Buck Brannaman on the ferry over to the Nantucket Film Festival some years ago when his documentary was featured. I was too shy to talk to him, but saw the film. I enjoyed reading your poems.
This is beautiful! I love the pictures and poems!
My grandparents owned a horse farm and I loved being there. Even the thought of hay tickles my nose and brings me joy. It was an enormous honor each time a horse would come to the fence and let me pet their head - so soft and grand!