Verna Dreisbach - Why We Ride: Women Writers on the Horses in Their Lives

Table of Contents

In memory of GOSLOVICH, my first true love.

I have been in love with horses since I can remember. And I know Im not alone as I remember images of that first glimpse, sensations of that first touch, and ultimately the exhilaration of that first riding lesson. As a young girl, I was hooked. But it wasnt until junior high that I found my true love.

Like dog owners who profess their breed of dog as the only one theyll ever own for reasons ranging from loyalty to intelligence, personality or just because of the way he makes me feel, horse owners are no different. We choose a horse for her beauty, her ability, or for what we see of ourselves reflected in her. I found beauty in the racehorse, the thoroughbred racehorsea beauty that captured my heart long before a boy ever did. Enticed by slender legs and narrow faces, I treasured the climb upon their back, the long view down from above, and the effortless movement of their strides, the sensation of the ground passing under us as if Pegasus had taken flight. But mostly, I loved their passion to run and the sweat of their bodies glistening in the sun, dripping from their bellies to the grounda passion so intense that it seeps through every bead of moisture that tickles their skin, into every muscle that twitches. The prancing, the inability to stand still, the glaze in their eyes as they near the racetrack. That reveals their spirit. That tells their story.

And while a thoroughbreds passion for life, for the run, has an addictive quality that I can identify with, at times I yearn for a casual ride, to stroll with dropped reins and loose legs, to lose touch with time. Without having to light the sky on fire.

Im learning to enjoy and appreciate the balancewhat other horses, other passions, can teach me. Ive learned that after the sprint, life is also about the slow parts, about the calm where we find our peace. And to that end, I bought a paint and a quarter horse to balance my blazing passion with some much-needed grounding. Sometimes my thoroughbred needs to take a nap.

But what is most true about my connection to each horse I have ever owned is that each has been a catalyst of personal explorationeach horse providing insight and revealing my hidden self, those parts that ultimately make me whole. Just as we ride through life collecting bits and pieces of ourselves, this collection of stories offers a journey through the horse lives of so many wonderfully gifted writers. There are many of us whose lives have been shaped by our horses and whose lives have been made richer for that.

Why We Ride features twenty-seven personal, heart-felt stories by women who I truly hope will transform your life as they have transformed mine. May their voices inspire you to believe that your life is a shared journey. If youve ever dreamt of that first horse, Dee Ambrose-Stahl will share with you that youre not alone. Jane Smiley offers insight into her life-long relationship with horses and the moments of unity we yearn for and sometimes capture. Jacqueline Winspear suggests that we all need to return to the basics, and its her horse that reminds her that the simplest way is right most of the time. Michele Scott, Kara Gall, and Kate St. Vincent Vogl all speak to their relationships with their fathers and how horses were at the very heart of those relationships. Valerie Riggs, Janice Newton, and Samantha Ducloux Waltz discovered that their horses held insight into their marital relationships. And several women, (Lisa Romeo, Vanessa Wright, Dobie Houson, and myself), hold the heart of the horse so close to their own that they sometimes cant tell where the horse begins and they end. For those who yearn to push boundaries, Jill Widner, Linda Ballou, and Therese Zink share in the spirit of the horse, the horse that yearns for its freedom past imaginary fences. Many more stories in between share in the enduring and passionate experiences with our horseshorses that have helped us become better women and, most importantly, better people with richer lives.

Animals can endear themselves to almost anyones heart, but horsesand specifically the bond these women share with their majestic creaturestell a special story. May these stories remind you of your strength and insight in knowing which paths to choose. May these stories show you that your journey with horses is more than the sum of its simple parts. May these stories help you to see that in the end, why we ride and whom we choose to take along to enlighten our journey become not just a part of us but make us who we are. We are all horses of a different color as Penny Porter tells us. And yet our colors melt into others along the way, turning life into a never-ending kaleidoscope of wonder. This is what makes life such a thrilling ride, and what better way to experience life than through the pastures you cross, the hills you climb, and the fences you jump. What better way to journey through life than on the back of a horse.

Back in 1996, I fell off my horse and broke my leg. After I was set up in my hospital bed in the dining room of my two-story house, I didnt have much to do, so I subscribed to The Bloodhorse, and sometime in December, they sent me their annual Stallion directory. I was still lolling about, unable to ride, so I taught myself how to decipher the various coded messages attached to the pedigrees, and one of these was dosage. Dosage is a way of analyzing whether the bloodlines of a given Thoroughbred make him or her more of a sprinter or more of a stayer. Since I was a big fan of National Velvet, I only looked at the stayers (hmm, that word still gives me a thrill), and the sire with the most stayer dosage was a big brown horse, then almost thirty years old, named Big Spruce. I pondered his picture every day. He was completely unrelated to my adored gray gelding (also a stayer, imported from Germany), but there was something about his lookkind, muscular, largethat appealed to me.

Then my leg was healed, I was back on Mr. T., and we had all moved to California. My subscription to The Bloodhorse followed me, and of course I could not help perusing the classified horse-for-sale ads in the back of the magazine, and of course in February, those words Big Spruce popped right out at me. The mare was in California, about three hours from my new house. I had no idea where I was going, but I drove there. The woman who owned the mare was dispersing her band. The mare was not very large, but she had a certain air that could only be called stylishly self-possessed. She could have been in a fashion show. On top of that, of course, when the woman put her back in her stall after showing me how she moved, the mare turned and looked me in the eye, not omitting to rest her chin on my shoulder. I was, as they say, done for.