You Fall Off, You Get Back On by Mary Stobie

I spot the lake and inhale the scent of the pine trees. After four hours in the saddle I’m hot and tired. We ride separately on our assigned horses heading for our destination, Hell for Sure Lake, following our packer who guides us.

We start at Courtright Reservoir and ride up the steep trails in exposed granite areas toward Hell for Sure Pass. My parents, my older brother, Bill, and I take a pack trip in the high Sierra Mountains of California.

Every afternoon after school when I put them on, in my mind I became a real cowgirl. Cowboy boots felt the most comfortable of any footwear. My friend Martha McKenna watched my mother put on the braces.įor school I wore clunky shoes with laces tied up to my ankles, never cute flats with straps like the other girls. The doctor prescribed metal braces for me to wear on my legs after school and at night. My mother may have started me riding early because I was born with flat feet and bowlegs. These early experiences with Queenie gave me self-confidence and comfort around horses, a godsend. We put our nostrils close together and inhaled each other’s breath, creating friendship beyond words. She nuzzled them gently off my hand and crunched them greedily. With an open palm, I gave Queenie crisp carrots and red apples. Each day before riding, my mother lifted Queenie’s hooves so I could gently pry out the rocks and mud with a blunt screwdriver. The taller I grew, the higher I could brush her on her shoulders and rump. Before long we moved around the ring at a walk, trot, and gallop.Īs I got older I learned to groom Queenie. The reins go in your left hand so you can open a gate or rope a calf with your right hand.

At first I clung to the horn, but I soon learned how to sit in the saddle with my boots secure in the stirrups. Even before I was born I felt the rhythm of a galloping horse.įor my first real riding lesson, Mom saddled up Queenie, lifted me aboard, and adjusted the stirrups up high for my legs. Everything felt so familiar, perhaps because while pregnant with me, my mother went riding. Grasping the coarse hair of her black mane, I laid my cheek down against her brown furry neck. She began our lessons by helping me clamber up on the bare back of our bay mare, Queenie. When I was three, my cowgirl mother taught me how to ride a horse.

You Fall Off, You Get Back On by Mary Stobie