Train Ride Tales

I created this story shortly after my daughter was born. I wanted to share a piece of my childhood with her.
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I look out at the passing scenery. Each house that we passed I gazed upon wondering who lived there? What was their story? Each car held wonderful secrets, the drivers and passengers with various expressions on their faces.

One house in particular caught my eye. In the yard played a child, probably about 8-9. I could see her smile as she played with a puppy, a new friend to her. She raced around the puppy who tries to keep up but fell, still unsure of his footing. His little pink tongue panting with excitement. He loved his new family but tonight the puppy will have thoughts of his mommy and his brothers and sisters.

How tragic it must be for an animal when it separated from the ones she loves? How must its mother feel? She gives birth to six or seven pups. She lavishes love and care. Teaches them right and wrong. Daily baths. Teaches them how to defend themselves. Just when they get a little bit easier to care for she has to watch them be taken away one by one by strangers, never to set eyes on them again.

In a field there was a lady riding a horse. Western, I believe. She was letting the horse canter a bit. This brought me back to the time when I rode in the gymkhanas with my sister Valerie. I remember my first pony named Chicky. She was tiny but had the fastest legs. She literally flew.

I remember the first time I rode her. I was so scared. Here was this animal that could literally fly. Val was around on her horse (Chicky had been Val's pony first but she graduated to an appaloosa named Pretty Girl). She was telling me to let Chicky go. "Just let her go, Joy. Have fun." We were riding in our field next to the house. My mom was outside sitting in a lawn chair watching us. I kicked Chicky's side a little and got her into a slow gallop. I held her reins tight and hard as I did not want to see her full speed. "No, Joy, let her go. Lean down on her mane and grab ahold." Val was only four years older than I but she was such an experienced horseman.

I can remember riding to the gymkhanas behind Val and Kathy (my cousin). Val would be riding Pretty Girl, Kathy on Blaze (a quarterhorse) and me tailing behind on Chicky. On our way to Chuck Wade's gymkhana about a mile from my house.

I can remember one summer, my mom spent some hard-earned money on riding lessons with Chuck Wade. It was that summer that I finally got to experience the thrill of letting go. Chuck told me that I was safe in this ring. Nothing could hurt me. Just let go and cling to the mane. I remember the literal pain I felt in my heart as I contemplated this decision.

Up high on the bank sat my Uncle Bob and Aunt Joan (Kathy's parents) and my mom. Cheering me on. Near the gate to the corral was my sister riding high on Pretty Girl. She gave me the thumb's up sign. Underneath me was Chicky, anxious to show the world her speed. Chuck came over to me and said very softly . . . "this is the moment you've always dreamed of, Joy." He took the reins from my hand and laid them down. Next he checked the strap on the saddle to make sure it was tight. He took my small hands and placed them on Chicky's mane. I reluctantly grabbed onto two handfuls. I leaned forward instinctively.

"I believe in you, Joy!" Val shouted from outside the arena. "I believe in you, Joy!" sang Kathy. On the hill came encouragement from my family. All around the arena came encouragement from all my horseman friends. I look down nervously at Chuck, stared deep into his brown and gray eyes (one of his eyes was blind from a tragedy when he was a child). He says very low so only I can hear, "I believe in you, now believe in yourself."

I gave Chicky a loud "GIDDY-UP" and kicked her side and off I was flying. The first time around the arena I closed my eyes most of the way but by the third time I had grabbed onto the reins and was encouraging Chicky to go faster by holding her reins loose and as high on her neck as I could. I was screaming, "FASTER, GIDDY-UP". Everyone on the side of the arena was a blur . . . as I become one with a pony named Chicky . . . . the breeze whipping through my hair . . . . her powerful legs working the ground as she galloped gaining even more speed.

There would be other horses after Chicky (Cracker Jack, Little Squaw. . .) But none would ever compare to her. She had been my first and she will always remain the best. That little brown pony with black mane and tail will always have a most precious spot in my heart. I will carry her name on my breath until I can no longer breathe. About five years ago, arthritis and age took over Chicky. It had become painful for her to walk to the food and the water. As a family we decided it was time we gave Chicky her rest. Let her ride in the gymkhanas for all her days. After her retirement from the gymkhanas she had still longed for it. You could see it in her sweet eyes as we rode past her. But, now she would always be in the gymkhanas. . . . forevermore. We buried her in the field. Encircled her resting spot with a white-wash fence. I placed wildflowers inside the tiny corral at times, whispering my thoughts of love and thanks to the creature who had given me such thrill.

Charlie tugged at my sleeve, "Mommy, I'm thirsty." I wiped away my tears and smiled at my little baby. I hold out my hand and she grabs it eagerly. Together we walk back to the dining cart.

"How much longer until we get to the city, Mommy?" Charlie asks as we wait for our order.

"Almost there, Charlie," I tell her, and kiss her on the top of her head.