City Girl or Country Girl?
When I was younger, I dreamed of life in the country. I knew it would be wonderful, living in a big white farmhouse flanked with white wooden fences stretching off in both directions. Horses would graze on one side, cattle on the other, kittens would play on the hay bales. Morning would start with a big breakfast and the smell of coffee would mingle with the maple smell of syrup.
Yeah . . . no. It really hasn't worked out quite that way. But a girl can dream, right?
I got my feet wet in the country-arena when I was in the 6th grade. 6th grade was a big year for me. I got kissed for the first time (my first "real" boyfriend), I learned that I could escape into writing, and I got my first job. The kiss wasn't nearly as big a deal as the first job. It was a quick little peck on a dare in the library. Over and done with, whoopee do. Not quite what my pre-teen mind had imagined it would be (and it sure as hell wasn't like the ones I'd seen on TV). The first job on the other hand, was way more than my pre-teen mind had imagined.
It all started when I spent the night with my friend Amy, who lived in the country (I can still feel those jealous pangs!). We walked across the road to see the neighbor's horses - it was a riding stable, just like in the books I read! I plucked grass with my fist, yanked so hard that the edges of the grass made tiny cuts all over the edge of my palm - but I was so thrilled at the thought of being so close to a horse, I didn't even notice at the time. The owner came out, showed me how to feed the horses the grass without losing a digit and mentioned that she needed someone to help at her riding stable.
Gulp.
Could that be me? I stood there in my cheap jeans and garage sale T-shirt and no-name tennis shoes and thought that, perhaps, just perhaps, I could finagle riding lessons out of this deal. There was no WAY my parents would ever spring for riding lessons, but maybe I could barter? I had dreamed of such an opportunity, and often fantasized about approaching horse owners and offering myself up as slave labor for the opportunity to ride. And here was an owner right smack dab in front of me, ripe for the picking. But that meant I had to actually talk to an adult. Negotiate. For someone as shy as me, that was like walking the plank. And then, worst of all, I'd have to talk to my mom. We were miles out of town, no way I could ride my bike that far, especially not on such a hilly curvy road with no shoulders. I'd have to talk her into it, and she wasn't easy to talk into anything.
But, I pulled myself up as straight as I could and asked Beth if she'd be willing to let me work for her in exchange for riding lessons. To my utter surprise and horror, she said yes! I could work from 8 - 12 every Saturday and during that time, I'd get a one hour lesson. WOO-HOOO!!!
Oh, crap. I remembered that a major hurdle still stood in my way. My mother. It's funny now, all these years later. I remember how much courage it took to ask Beth to work for lessons, but there's a total blank about asking Mom. What I do remember is that she agreed. And so, for two summers, I was in heaven. My Saturdays consisted of cleaning saddles, raking the barn (a/k/a scooping shit), painting fence (by the way . . . If I ever get that big farmhouse, the white fence is going to be something I don't have to paint!), and cutting weeds with a hand scythe. It was hard, hot work, but I loved every minute of it. That's when I knew that horses would always be part of my fantasy life. In reality, the farmhouse has been replaced with a modular home, the fence is cattle panels and woven wire, and the horses are miniature . . . but there's still nothing like sitting in a barn with horses snuffling softly around you, their hooves kicking up little puffs of dirt, with the fragrant smell of fresh hay hanging in the air.
Yeah . . . no. It really hasn't worked out quite that way. But a girl can dream, right?
I got my feet wet in the country-arena when I was in the 6th grade. 6th grade was a big year for me. I got kissed for the first time (my first "real" boyfriend), I learned that I could escape into writing, and I got my first job. The kiss wasn't nearly as big a deal as the first job. It was a quick little peck on a dare in the library. Over and done with, whoopee do. Not quite what my pre-teen mind had imagined it would be (and it sure as hell wasn't like the ones I'd seen on TV). The first job on the other hand, was way more than my pre-teen mind had imagined.
It all started when I spent the night with my friend Amy, who lived in the country (I can still feel those jealous pangs!). We walked across the road to see the neighbor's horses - it was a riding stable, just like in the books I read! I plucked grass with my fist, yanked so hard that the edges of the grass made tiny cuts all over the edge of my palm - but I was so thrilled at the thought of being so close to a horse, I didn't even notice at the time. The owner came out, showed me how to feed the horses the grass without losing a digit and mentioned that she needed someone to help at her riding stable.
Gulp.
Could that be me? I stood there in my cheap jeans and garage sale T-shirt and no-name tennis shoes and thought that, perhaps, just perhaps, I could finagle riding lessons out of this deal. There was no WAY my parents would ever spring for riding lessons, but maybe I could barter? I had dreamed of such an opportunity, and often fantasized about approaching horse owners and offering myself up as slave labor for the opportunity to ride. And here was an owner right smack dab in front of me, ripe for the picking. But that meant I had to actually talk to an adult. Negotiate. For someone as shy as me, that was like walking the plank. And then, worst of all, I'd have to talk to my mom. We were miles out of town, no way I could ride my bike that far, especially not on such a hilly curvy road with no shoulders. I'd have to talk her into it, and she wasn't easy to talk into anything.
But, I pulled myself up as straight as I could and asked Beth if she'd be willing to let me work for her in exchange for riding lessons. To my utter surprise and horror, she said yes! I could work from 8 - 12 every Saturday and during that time, I'd get a one hour lesson. WOO-HOOO!!!
Oh, crap. I remembered that a major hurdle still stood in my way. My mother. It's funny now, all these years later. I remember how much courage it took to ask Beth to work for lessons, but there's a total blank about asking Mom. What I do remember is that she agreed. And so, for two summers, I was in heaven. My Saturdays consisted of cleaning saddles, raking the barn (a/k/a scooping shit), painting fence (by the way . . . If I ever get that big farmhouse, the white fence is going to be something I don't have to paint!), and cutting weeds with a hand scythe. It was hard, hot work, but I loved every minute of it. That's when I knew that horses would always be part of my fantasy life. In reality, the farmhouse has been replaced with a modular home, the fence is cattle panels and woven wire, and the horses are miniature . . . but there's still nothing like sitting in a barn with horses snuffling softly around you, their hooves kicking up little puffs of dirt, with the fragrant smell of fresh hay hanging in the air.
HOW WONDERFUL, YOU ARE SOOOOOO TALENTED. It makes me proud to know you. hugs Lori.
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Thanks so much, Edna! Hugs right backatcha!!
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That's something I like about you Lori, how you are so true. Great writing and emotions!
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Thanks, Ericca! That's something I've worked on - trying to be authentic with my writing, so that I can use bits and pieces of reality to make my fiction believable.
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