As I pondered what I would write on today, it occurs to me that by the time you read my words, Ill be a year older than when I sat down here to write them. This birthday will come and go like any other. Ive already began receiving well wishes from friends and family long before the day arrives. Ive began reflecting on the idea of growing a year older some months before the date. This date is no particular mile post, or at least I hope it isnt, but for some reason Ive felt compelled to take stock. I know the old saw gets passed round at any mention of age that tells us that were “only as old as we feel” or perhaps the one that goes “age is only a number”. Both of these are true. And, … then again, they arent. I dont feel 46. But then what is 46 supposed to feel like? I have no idea. Ive only just got there and by the time Im likely to have settled into it enough to have developed an opinion, 47 will have came a knockin and itll be time to move on. Theres a lot of folks who know me, and some whove known me as long as Ive had any inkling of what Id call “self” who would be quick to tell you, Ive been an old man all my life. Maybe thats it. Perhaps that is why 46 feels no different in my minds eye than 16. But you cant fool the body that houses the mind. The joints squeak and creak as they move. There are strange aches and pains in places that never pained me before and certainly not so much at 16. There is a lot less hair on my head then there was then and the one who remain are a good bit paler than they once were. Maybe theyve gone pale having been witness to the antics that caused those aching pains and creaking joints. 16 when was the age when I flipped the horse over on me and that is most certain the blame of good many of my aches. That is why I look back to there as a starting point. I never mentioned it at the time because it was something I wasnt supposed to be doing. Racing was frowned on for two reasons. The first being that it was dangerous and the second being that I didnt stop at racing. I had to bet to make it worth while and gambling was not a good habit for anyone let alone a 16 year old kid. But really it wasnt gambling when everyone who knew anything about a horse could tell it was a sure thing! That old mare that I called Ethel, could run. As one of my older neighbors liked to say, “She sure does look kinda like a hippopotamus, but I do believe she can out run the word of God!” She was a big old, raw boned, red leopard spotted, Appaloosa and maybe half Thoroughbred to boot. At least she passed for what was called a “Thoroughbred type”. She was tall and long legged. You could tell with one eye she was built to run, and she could run fast enough on a straight stretch that my eyes would water and my shirt tails would crack lack a whip in the wind. I was never able to get her plumb fat, and maybe thats what saved me but even with her ribs showing she would tip the scales at nearly 1200 pounds. She had paid for her self several times over in saddles, bridles, a collar or two and at least one set of antique cavalry saddle bags not mention the cash money, mainly taken in as ones and fives. Ten dollars was a big bet and hard for a young boy to scrape together, let alone chance it on horse race. But the race that broke me from racing and almost broke me in a permanent way was just a short run in a friendly way for the fun of running. The boys behind me on short ponies and light mules wouldnt have thought of betting on a run. They knew Ol Ethel wouldnt let herself get beat but it was fun to give it a try, even if they had to duck the dirt clods she throwed up at them in her wake. The corn had already been cut in the field at the neighbors house when we rode up to the edge. As I looked down the long bottom, I guessed it at just less than a quarter mile. Barely enough to make the mare breath hard. I glanced around at the boys riding with me and said, “Any o you fellers feel like lettin em run? I got a ten spot says Ill be the first to cross the drive way on tother side, but Ill sure give it t the feller what can prove me wrong!” The boy on the mule said, “Ill not bet, but Id say Ol Hellcat will give you a run fer yer money!” “Well”, I said, “Let her toe the mark and well see when the dust settles!” The boy on the yallar pony said,”When I holler GO, Letem loose!” We jostled into some semblance of a line and with the mare and mule rolling their eyes and blowing, snorting and raring the riders leaned low and their necks and waited for the shout. At go, I hung my heels to the mare and she jumped thirty feet before her feet touched the ground. The mule never had a chance and her rider knew it. Thats why he never agreed to the ten dollar bet. But it was all in fun. And fun it was except I had two things that would work against me. One was a rotten piece of leather called a curb strap. It runs under a horses chin from one side of the bridle to the other and when the reins are pulled back it brings force to bare on the jaw of the horse and helps to stop or at least slow down a hard mouthed horse, an Ol Ethel had a jaw like iron. The second thing against me was the fading light. It was just about to be dark and as fate would have it the light would be gone when I crossed the field and Id be running blind. As I neared the edge of the drive I laid back on the reins but I may as well have tried to stop a freight train! With a pop, the curb strap snapped into and we crossed the driveway in a jump. We hit the yard on the other side and I couldnt see a thing. I knew there was a tree swing somewhere up ahead and I thought I would miss it if I veered left so I swung her over,but with a slight miscalculation. There was a loud thunk as the mare hit the the oak 2x8 solid with her chest. The next thing I remember was the mares head coming back and hitting me right between the eyes and thats when the remaining light went out. I have no idea how long I lay there. Many thoughts ran through my head. I told myself, “I think you might be dead.” It was a calm, matter of fact statement and it made good sense. I couldnt think of a single reason to argue and just right then, being dead didnt sound like a bad idea. While my conscience sat in the dark and pondered the state of my existence, I began to hear a curious noise. It started like the squealing of a pig and became a loud drawn out moan coupled with what sounded like someone pumping a pair of old fashioned blacksmith bellows that may have had a hole in them. Intermixed with the sounds of what ever it was trying to draw air were mumbled words of people speaking. They sounded as if they were far off and muffled, like from the bottom of a deep well. At that same instant I had the sensation of someone or something sitting on my chest. The survival instinct kicked in and I trough a punch with all my might at this thing that seemed to be holding me down and and clawing at my sides. I felt my fist connect with a solid impact and then things went dark once again. I felt my body spin in a wild flight as if I were being spun apart and then with a sudden jerk my eyes were open and I was lying on the ground looking up at several faces. “I told you that little ol mare wudnt enough to keep im down!” I heard someone say. “When I seen im knock the hell outta you I knowed hed live!” said someone else. I rolled to my side to push my self up into a sitting posture as I gasped, “Wheres my horse? Is she alive?” “Shes a pickin” came the reply. “She didnt take it as hard as you did, I reckon.” “Well, get me up and get me on her, and I dare ary one of youuns to tell my Mammaw what just happened! Ill ketch hell if anybody hears of it. Who did I punch?” “Hit was me you hit!” said the boy who rode the mule. “And you packed one hell of a wallop! I was checking to see if you was alive and if you had any broke ribs. You opened you eyes for a second and hauled off and punched me! Knocked me flatter than a flitter, the went back out. We all thought sure you was dead!” “ I aint sure but I think I was too,” I said. “It was like I was somewhere dark and quiet just a talkin to myself and discussing things. Then I heard myself trying to breathe and I heard you all a talkin. Then something told me to come on back.” Just then my legs gave out and I crumpled on the ground. I shivered and I cried. I will spare the readers of the gory details but I found several things not as they should be at that point. And I would find more over the coming days. Somethings that happened that night changed my life for ever with consequences I would never imagine. I managed to stagger back to my feet and ask someone to bring me my horse. As I grasped the mane and jumped flat footed back onto her back, I gritted my teeth. I had a few new aches and I felt like I been rolled off a cliff in a barrel of bricks. The thought crossed my mind that if Id had a saddle on the mare, Id be dead. Id heard several tales of mens chests being crushed by a saddle horn from a falling horse. I shook my head and gave a silent prayer of thanks that I could ride away from the scene. It was a long ride home in the dark that night and I had plenty of time to think before I put the mare away in the barn. That was my last race and the last time I was able to ride a horse bareback. Actually my interest in riding tapered off considerably at that point and I began to take more of an interest in driving horses. To think, I might never have put my hand to the plow if not for being rolled on by a big old app mare on a dark night, thirty years ago. Every time I get a twinge of arthritis in my left shoulder and hip I recall that night, and now I can actually almost laugh about it. Almost.
Posted on: Thu, 04 Dec 2014 12:33:24 +0000
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