I’m working on my list of 57 in 52… always leaving room for things that just seem to trot out of left pasture.

Like HORSEBACK RIDING.

This unlikely adventure began when Barry made me sign up I signed up to attend my 40th high school reunion.  Sue Girard, one of my neighborhood friends from way-back-then, was on the reunion committee and somehow or other we hooked up on Facebook.  Facebook is good like that.  I sort-of wavered back and forth as “to go or not to go” while Sue badgered encouraged me with threatening friendly emails.

40 years.  40 years?  Thatz a-lotta time.  When the big night came, I reluctantly happily jumped into my daughter’s LBD and high heeled shoes and drove with Barry to the scene of the crows feet (actually, everyone looked incredibly wonderful and youthful, even after all those years.)  When I saw Sue, I felt that something more like 40 minutes had passed since I’d seen her last.  She has the same beautiful face and smile and mischievous eyes and humor from so long ago.  As we talked, something struck me as rather fascinating.  She knew me when.  You know that when thing… when we were kids and we walked to the bus stop, when we went to high school dances (Sue went to one dance with one of my brothers), when we learned to drive, when my Dad was still alive.  Sue and I talked about my Dad… what a wonderful, warm, welcoming man he was.  It was a marvelous connection to my past.

We talked about life and people and things and we talked about horses.  Sue’s horses.  Sue has a patch of pastoral land where she lives and keeps her horses.  She even invited me to ride with her some day.

Oh.  I don’t ride.

I love animals.  I am an animal defender and a protector of the environment.   But I don’t ride.

There is something about being way up high on a very strong animal that scares the manure out of me.

Then I thought about it some more.  I got a teeny bit braver.  And during one Facebook exchange, I told Sue that I would take up her offer to ride with her.  We made a date for breakfast first… then the ride.  (I swear that jumping out of an airplane at 10,000 feet wasn’t as frightening a thought as getting on a horse and going for the ride.)  During breakfast, we caught up on pretty much all the stuff that’s happened over those 40 years.  Lots of laughter.  Tears.  Decisions. Responsibility.  (Especially being the only daughters among brothers in each family, there’s gonna be lots of responsibility.)

Then we headed to Sue’s farm.  Rhode Island is a beautiful place… The Ocean State… but sometimes we forget how much rural land, glorious and lovely and rolling land there is.  My grandparents owned a farm in Michigan when I was a little girl, and I still remember the shades of green, the smells, the earth, the sun touching it all on a warm day.  It was like my memories of Michigan.

Until I saw the horses.

Beautiful, beautiful horses.  Strong, lovely girls.

For admiring.  And whispering sweet-nothings to… through the fence.

Sue began to prepare for our ride… saddles, reins, bug spray.  Then she casually mentioned that I would be riding Reba, the big horse.

What?! Gabby is so much smaller.  And, and…

But it seems that Gabby is used to Sue as her rider and she might dance around a little if some novice like me is on her back.

Ok.  I’ll buy that.  I think.

And soon enough, Sue was handing me a helmet and giving instructions on how to mount this great big girl. But this girl was a bit too big and Sue had to get me a step stool to finish the trick. 

As Sue was telling me to relax my arms and shoulders so Reba wouldn’t think I was frightened, I was thinking, “I’m gonna die.” Sue walked Reba and me around the corral a couple of times, gently talking to Reba and telling me about the ride.  We were going to go that way, into the woods, up a couple of hills, down a couple of hills, to a big field and back again. 

“How far?” I managed to ask.

“About a half mile each way,” Sue answered. But then Sue said, “If you want, I can lead you around the corral a few times.  We don’t have to leave here.”

That sounded kinda nice.  But it also sounded kinda lame.  And I thought about all the times I tell my grandchildren to try new things ‘cuz they just may like them. I decided to go for it.

Sue made me feel much better by tethering Reba to Gabby with a lead line until I felt comfortable alone with Reba.  And off we went.  Down the street.  Into the woods.  Up hills.  Down hills.  Into a glorious field of high grass and wild flowers.  I felt like I was at the center of the universe… or Michigan, at least.  Greens, wonderful smells, earth and warm sun.

That’s when Sue told me I would be OK by myself.  Untethered.  Just Reba and me. Maybe not Blazing Saddles.  More like Simmering Saddles!

And I was OK. Well, except for the black flies.  The bees.  And Reba wanting to stop and eat all that delicious tall grass. But by then, I was so in love with Reba and her beauty and power and awesomeness that all I could think about was how to keep those nasty black flies and bees off this lovely creature and how to keep her happy.  We sauntered back to the farm, the corral, the barn that Reba knows so well.  She stopped again to grab one more bite of grass… just to let me know who was in control. 

And that was that. But it was way more than that.  It was wonder and majesty and Mother Nature and facing a fear with the help of a very patient, very calm, very sensitive, very kind friend.  An old friend from way back when who transported the girls from then to the women from now.

Yes, it was Facebook.  The 40th reunion.  The farm.  The beautiful horses.  But most especially, it is  a true gift to share a warm, sunny day with an old friend.

Thanks, Sue… for the day, for your friendship… and for helping me cross off one more thing on my list of 57 things in 52 weeks!