Proof That God Loves Us
Paula and I are living proof that God loves us.
Mostly because we are alive today.
On Saturday Paula was in the area for a massage client, and she swung by the barn to give Dino a massage while we reminisced about our high school years.
Quite frankly, we're both amazed that we survived.
Let's start out with the fact that we somehow managed to live through Watchung Stables. For nearly ten years of our young lives, we rode at this county-run barn staffed by self-centered college students, overrun with cliques of 'mean girls,' and filled with lesson horses in various states of mental and physical soundness. There we were taught to put our heels down, look pretty, and hang on for dear life. I fell off literally over 50 times during my time at Watchung. Not even joking. But we didn't know any better, until...
We both found ourselves at a small, private barn called Willow Pond Farm. Horses there got turned out! They lived in box stalls, not tied in tiny straight stalls! The barn didn't stink of manure and pent-up frustration! THERE WERE NO MEAN GIRLS. Willow Pond was paradise for us as horse-crazy 16 year olds, and shortly we found ourselves running the lesson program there, leasing our first horses, and riding every single day. With that free reign also came the opportunity to do Really Stupid Things. Like blithely getting on whatever horse came in from the dealer as a lesson prospect. Or having contests to see who could stay on a bucking 10hh pony the longest. Or riding bareback, backwards, through the woods over log jumps, and then falling off. (*cough*Paula*cough*) Or taking a group of beginner kids on what was supposed to be a 5 minute trail ride, having them all fall off, and then having to run through the pouring rain to catch 6 loose horses. The police came that day. That was fun. Or let's talk about how the horses I chose to ride were all chronic buckers, bolters, and rearers.
Somehow we managed not to get sued or fatally injured; and learned independence, horsemanship, creativity, leadership, responsibility, and had a hell of a lot of fun.
Then there was the time that some insane person let two 17-year-olds loose with two camp horses through the mountains of New Hampshire for a week, totally unsupervised. Paula was riding a 13hh pony BAREBACK the entire time because the mare had a girth sore. We could have died. But we didn't. And it was awesome.
Cheers to Paula, one of the best friends and partners-in-crime I could ask for!
Mostly because we are alive today.
On Saturday Paula was in the area for a massage client, and she swung by the barn to give Dino a massage while we reminisced about our high school years.
Quite frankly, we're both amazed that we survived.
Let's start out with the fact that we somehow managed to live through Watchung Stables. For nearly ten years of our young lives, we rode at this county-run barn staffed by self-centered college students, overrun with cliques of 'mean girls,' and filled with lesson horses in various states of mental and physical soundness. There we were taught to put our heels down, look pretty, and hang on for dear life. I fell off literally over 50 times during my time at Watchung. Not even joking. But we didn't know any better, until...
We both found ourselves at a small, private barn called Willow Pond Farm. Horses there got turned out! They lived in box stalls, not tied in tiny straight stalls! The barn didn't stink of manure and pent-up frustration! THERE WERE NO MEAN GIRLS. Willow Pond was paradise for us as horse-crazy 16 year olds, and shortly we found ourselves running the lesson program there, leasing our first horses, and riding every single day. With that free reign also came the opportunity to do Really Stupid Things. Like blithely getting on whatever horse came in from the dealer as a lesson prospect. Or having contests to see who could stay on a bucking 10hh pony the longest. Or riding bareback, backwards, through the woods over log jumps, and then falling off. (*cough*Paula*cough*) Or taking a group of beginner kids on what was supposed to be a 5 minute trail ride, having them all fall off, and then having to run through the pouring rain to catch 6 loose horses. The police came that day. That was fun. Or let's talk about how the horses I chose to ride were all chronic buckers, bolters, and rearers.
Somehow we managed not to get sued or fatally injured; and learned independence, horsemanship, creativity, leadership, responsibility, and had a hell of a lot of fun.
Then there was the time that some insane person let two 17-year-olds loose with two camp horses through the mountains of New Hampshire for a week, totally unsupervised. Paula was riding a 13hh pony BAREBACK the entire time because the mare had a girth sore. We could have died. But we didn't. And it was awesome.
Cheers to Paula, one of the best friends and partners-in-crime I could ask for!
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| A page from my barn scrapbook... how time flies! |
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| Paula and her main man, Whiskers |
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