A page from an 87 yr old horsewoman's journal.
A page from an 87 yr old horsewoman's journal
I Ride
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/electrician/hay delivery, change a tire on a horse trailer
by the side of the freeway, or cool a gelding 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 gelding. 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 with out 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.
"My treasures do not chink or glitter, They gleam in the sun and neigh
in the night".
I Ride
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/electrician/hay delivery, change a tire on a horse trailer
by the side of the freeway, or cool a gelding 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 gelding. 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 with out 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.
"My treasures do not chink or glitter, They gleam in the sun and neigh
in the night".
Hello. My name is Julia Edwards-Dake and I am the author of "A Simple Statement" tho most know it as "I Ride". I wrote the essay in 2006 and in 2007 it was published in the American Trail Horse enewsletter. It exploded all over the internet. Since then I have been published many times in EQUUS Magazine. My best work might be 'A Simple Statememtn" but my favorite is "Tea With Miss Em" published in Equus Magaizine in Mar of 2009.
Thank you for posting my essay. Oh. And I am only 54. Still don't know where that 87 stuff came from. I was in Montanz once. My husband was buying a long rifle there. Beautiful!
Julia Dake
Thanks again.
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Hi Julia,
Totally loved your poem. It sums up my feelings exactly. A bit disappointed that you are not 87 - that bit gave me hope! Wpuld love to be still riding at that stage.
Rowena.
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