I ride. That seems like such a simple statement. However, as many
women who ride know, it is really a complicated matter. It has to do
with power and empowerment. Being able to do things you might have
once considered out of reach or ability.
I have considered this as I shovel manure, fill water barrels in the
cold rain, wait for the vet/farrier/feed, in cold rain, wait for
a tire on a horse trailer by the side of the freeway, or cool a
horse out before getting down to the business of drinking a cold
beer after a long ride.
The time, the money, the effort it takes to ride calls for
dedication. At least I call it dedication. Both my ex-husbands call
it 'the sickness.' It's a sickness I've had since I was a small girl
bouncing my model horses and dreaming of the day I would ride a real
horse. Most of the women I ride with understand the meaning of 'the
sickness.' It's not a sport. It's not a hobby. It's what we do and,
in some ways, who we are as women and human beings.
I ride. I hook up my trailer and load my horse. I haul to some
trailhead somewhere, unload, saddle, whistle up my dog, and I ride. I
breathe in the air, watch the sunlight filter through the trees and
savor the movement of my horse. My shoulders relax. A smile rides my
sunscreen smeared face. I pull my ball cap down and let the real
world fade into the tracks my horse leaves in the dust.
Time slows. Flying insects buzz loudly, looking like fairies. My
gelding flicks his ears and moves down the trail. I can smell his
sweat and it is perfume to my senses. Time slows. The rhythm of the
walk and the movement of the leaves become my focus. My saddle creaks
and the leather rein in my hand softens with the warmth.
I consider the simple statement; I ride. I think of all I do because
I ride. Climb granite slabs, wade into a freezing lake, race a friend
through the Manzanita all the while laughing and feeling my heart in
my chest. Other days just the act of mounting and dismounting can be
a real accomplishment. Still I ride. No matter how tired or how much
my seat bones or any of the numerous horse related injuries hurt. I
ride. And I feel better for doing so.
The beauty I've seen because I ride amazes me. I've ridden out to
find lakes that remain for the most part, unseen. Caves, dark and
cold beside rivers full and rolling are the scenes I see in my
dreams. The Granite Stairway at Echo Summit, bald eagles on the wing
and bobcats on the prowl add to the empowerment and joy in my heart.
I think of the people, mostly women, I've met. I consider how
competent they all are. Not a weenie amongst the bunch. We haul 40ft
rigs. We back into tight spaces without clipping a tree. We set up
camp. Tend the horses. We cook and keep safe. We understand and love
our companions, the horse. We respect each other and those we
encounter on the trail. We know that if you are out there riding, you
also shovel, fill, wait, and doctor. Your hands are a little rough
and you travel without makeup or hair gel. You do without to afford
the 'sickness' and probably, when you were a small girl, you bounced
a model horse while you dreamed of riding a real one. Now you are
there. I ride.
-- Julia Dake