The very first memory I have is of my dad and me standing by a corral that contained several Shetland ponies. Dad always told me that I was three years old when I learned to ride horses, so I must have been that age at the time I was thrilled just to be standing so close to the pretty ponies, so when Dad asked me if we should bring one home my heart leapt with joy! He brought two home eventually, with fancy little saddles and pretty studded bridles. Of course the ponies were ornerier than cat poop, but I did learn to navigate our little “Lightening” and “Thunder” ponies with time. I’m told now that Shetland ponies are not the best horses for children, but I firmly believe that Dad made a good choice for me, because I think that he knew if I could learn to deal with and grow attached to these ponies that I would love horses all of my life, as he did.
We lived at Mounds View at the time, and kept the ponies at Uncle Bill’s acreage. It was my job to ride my bike out to Bill’s to water them daily during the summer, so Uncle Bill’s acreage must have been fairly close, because I don’t remember it being much of a challenge to bike out there. There was one day, however, when it felt like I was a million miles away from home and my mom. I had tripped while watering the ponies and fell onto a sharp and greasy metal object, which promptly inserted itself into my lower left calf. I had a stream of blood trailing behind my bike as I pedaled home that day. It was my first experience with stitches. The wound became infected and festered and I still carry the nasty scar as a reminder of that otherwise happy, carefree summer! Uncle Francis and Aunt Doris must have had a farm or acreage with horses about that time, also, because I can remember a pair of Palomino’s. I don’t know if they were Francis’s or dad’s horses, but I do remember my dad pulling me up in front of him in the big saddle, and riding , while wrapped securely in dad’s arms, what seemed to me to be a massive horse that I think they called “Sun”. I was distraught the day my dad called me to him and told me that we had to sell the ponies. We couldn’t have them in town anymore. In those days Mounds View was just a small suburb of the Cities. More small town than big city, but the times had caught up with my dad, and we were now city dwellers, where no horses were allowed. My dad corrected that situation very promptly! The next new thing I saw sitting outside my dad’s garage was and old “B” tractor. A sure sign of the things that were to come! Mom and Dad moved us out to the New Market Farm when I was in 3rd grade. With the move came my first taste of primitive farm living. It was January, so the water was frozen to the house. Uncle Dean had found some black plastic to cover all of the broken out windows, so that winter it felt like we lived in a tomb. The oil burner was not sufficient enough to heat the house, so we had an old “Warm Morning” wood stove in the kitchen. We spent many hours cutting wood around the farm, for that stove. When we complained we were cold while cutting wood that winter, my dad would cheerfully tells us to “breathe deeper”. I think he was right about that one, too, as it did seem to make me feel a tad bit warmer! We would bathe in front of the wood stove, in an oval tub, in water hauled from the well on top of the hill, and warmed on the stove. Financially, I’m sure times were hard for my folks. Dad still worked in the cities, and it was a bad winter for commuting. We didn’t have a telephone, and mother walked the floor looking out the windows when the snow fell, hoping dad would be home soon! Once, during a nasty storm, he didn’t make it home for two whole days. With spring came the miracle of thawed and running water! That freed our spare time for something new called farm chores! Bailing hay, learning to milk two cows (by hand), and cleaning barn. There was also time to explore the deep recesses of the farm. The ponds in the woods, the hills, the corners of the huge hay mow, were all great expeditions. With all these wonders came another miracle we named “Sugar”. He was a pretty, even tempered little bay horse, whom dad had saved from the glue factory. He had been blinded by a carelessly maneuvered pitchfork. Soon, dad added “May” to the stable. She was a big paint, built to pull dad’s wagon, but also saddle broke. Many times May hauled groceries and supplies up that half mile long mud hole we called our driveway, with my dad firmly holding the reins. Dad looked every bit like a pioneer when he had a draft horse or two on the end of the reins! About that time we got new neighbors, the Bemis’s. They were horse people! Pat Bemis had a stable of jumping horses, and trained horses for the ring. Kathy Bemis, who was a couple years older than me became my best friend, and constant summer companion.(I am still in occasional contact with her, after all of these years!) We spent several summers exploring the back roads, hills and valleys of our small world. Dad even let me take a few hours off during the day to take May over to the ring. I would work for an hour or two in the stable and then I would go out and learn to ride “English” style. Massive May must have looked ridiculous with that tiny English saddle on her back! I learned how to “post”, which saved my battered backside much trauma while trotting. By this time I had a well developed hatred for school, and lived for my hours on the back of my horse, with Kathy by my side. We never did get May to even step over a dead log, though, much less jump! I renamed her “Maybe”. Maybe she would learn to jump or maybe not. I should have just named her “Maybenot”! There were many different horses coming in and out of my life during those days. Denise, who is not much of a horse lover, had Macbeth. (Denise could write a story about her dogs, though.) He was a sway back old black, without much fight left in him. He had a sweet temperament, and a gray muzzle, and suited Denise’s need for a horse quite well. Dad bought a team of draft horses, and hay rides became the rage of the farm for awhile. We even hosted a hay ride for a group of my young New Market friends once, and it was grand fun! I was so proud of the way that dad handled the team. I don’t know where dad ever found my next horse, Pedro, but what an impressive sight he was. I was the center of attention with all of my riding buddies around the New Market farm while I sat on Pedro’s back. He was a large and muscular bay, and pretty as a picture. He was head strong and a challenge to ride. I never tried to jump him in the ring. Kathy had fallen out of vogue that year. I found a new group of people who turned out to be more interested in Pedro than myself. That was one of my most valuable life lessons! I soon found myself seeking Kathy’s forgiveness and companionship, which she gracefully offered, thank God! Then it came time for another big move. Pedro came with us to the Dakota’s. Mom and Dad purchased the Cochran farm near Elkton, SD. Our Dairy herd now had grown to around 70 cows. (Thankfully, dad joined the modern times and purchased a pipeline system for the barn). There were still a lot of chores to do on the Cochran farm, one of which included herding the cows in the ditches during the summer. This chore was made a little less tedious when I has firmly seated in the saddle which rested on Pedro’s back. Letting Pedro graze I would lean back across his rump and rest for awhile, though I never knew when Pedro might take exception to, and advantage of the situation, and take off at a dead run with a thrown in buck or two! I never did find another riding companion like Kathy Bemis in the Elkton area. I still spent hours riding Pedro around the sections surrounding the Cochran farm. They were always quiet times, where Pedro patiently listened to the woes and concerns of an emerging young woman. With my hormones running amok, and teenage self doubt settling, he heard it all. I know why my dad loved horses. They always listen, no matter how asinine the story! They never judge, either. They do, however take advantage of any situation that may get them home, and you off their backs a little sooner! I never had much of a conversation with a horse headed home at a dead run! The following year found my hormones taking control. My interest in horses gave way to other interests. Boys, dating, teenage friends, parties, high school dances and games became more important to me than my Pedro. He still made a pretty picture standing in the pasture, but with none of my new found friends being horse people, Pedro faded from the picture. I married young, while still a senior in High School. My new husband, Marshall, took no interest in horses what-so-ever, and with my advancing pregnancy, riding was out of the question. Dad telephoned me one spring day to ask me if I wanted to come over and say good-bye to my forgotten Pedro. I never asked dad who he sold him to, but my tears flowed freely on the ride over to the Cochran place. I knew that I was ending an important era of my life, and that I would never have a horse of my own again. I was ashamed that I had so easily forgotten Pedro. Dad could never ride Pedro. I think it was because they were both so head strong! The folks still had horses, but none were like MY horse. Valerie can write her own story about Pokey, and tell you stories about dad’s cutting horse, Tony. I rode Pokey many times, and perched children on his gentle back more times than I can count.. I rode Tony once-just once! He was as much dad’s horse as Pedro was mine, and I could see we would never see eye to eye. I was no longer a skilled horse woman, and Tony was more horse than what I could handle by then. How dad laughed the day I got on Tony’s back! The horse could win the Kentucky Derby, and turn on a dime! By the time I got him back in the truck yard I was leaned forward in the saddle with my hands planted firmly on the bit in his mouth. I have so many wonderful memories involving my dad, and me-and the horses; I wouldn’t know where to start listing them. This has been just a sampling of them! I always feel close to dad whenever a memory of those times passes fleeting through my mind, or enters into my daydreams! Remember, cousin Melodee, riding those draft horses of your dad’s? It was like trying to straddle a table-top! But then, that is another story----- O8-04-03
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