Hold On To Your Dreams
I pushed my bike up the last half mile of hill, anticipation making my mouth dry. I was almost there, any minute now, I'd see it.
Chestnut Ridge. Just the name was enough to get my heart pounding in my throat.
I stopped in my usual spot, catching my breath and feasting my eyes. The huge barn housed two-hundred-fifty horses, all kinds of horses; three and five gaited show horses, fine harness horses, Tennessee Walkers, and my favorite, jumpers.
Although it wasn't quite seven on this warm, sunny morning, I could see several horses warming up on the main course, the bright show jumps dotting the infield grass with color. It was encircled with a two mile long race track, and several Hackney ponies, showing off their extravagant action, were pulling their little buggies along at a good clip.
Parking my bike behind the barn door where it would be out of the way, I walked into the main section of the barn and drew in a deep breath. Hay, oats and the delicious smell of horse wafted into my nostrils. I'd been doing this darn near every day for the past five years, but the feeling was the same every time. Thrills of excitement rippled through my body.
The barn was a showpiece, even back then, complete with mahogany stalls, numerous tack rooms and every accommodation a horseman could want. Unlike most of the barns today, it was multi-discipline and every kind of 'English' riding imaginable could be found right there, along with some of the top trainers on the east coast.
I said a cheery good morning to Mrs. Chompsky. Her horses had their own private little wing just off the main aisle door. They were three and five gaited show horses, and the private tack room was filled with ribbons that attested to their superior abilities.
“Do you need any help, Mrs. Chompsky” I asked hopefully. She gave me her cold, fishy stare and turned away. She definitely was not one of my fans. In fact, my very existence seemed to irritate her, and she took every opportunity to be rude to me. I never could figured that out. If I could have had all those horses for my very own, I'd be grinning like an idiot 24-7.
“Okay, then, well, you have a nice day.”
I walked up the aisle further, petting silky noses that were extended in greeting. I had a sack of carrots, and my buddies were chuckling at me, begging for a treat.
My favorite groom, Tom, looked over at me and smiled. “Good morning, Lass.”
I smiled back at him, “Hi Tom.”
I loved to listen to him talk and it was a good thing, too, 'cause he sure could talk your ear off. He was from Ireland, an ex-jockey with endless stories to tell me as I'd help him groom some of the horses.
Tom was responsible for the care and feeding of twelve horses and he kept pretty busy. Over the years, he'd taught me everything he knew about caring for a horse. I was only eight years old when I first started hanging around Chestnut Ridge, and because I was so little, at first, all he'd let me do was brush them. Then, I graduated to hot-walking. It was my favorite thing to do.
Chestnut Ridge sat on thirty of the most beautiful, rolling green acres you'd ever want to see. Huge trees ringed the perimeter of the property and there was lots of grass for the horses to munch. I'd take them out for a walk and a snack every chance I got.
When I moved up to wrapping legs, I immediately became addicted to the smell of Absorbine liniment. If you've ever smelled it, you know what I mean. It's sharp, tangy aroma still makes my mouth water.
Little as I was, within a year, I was able to correctly tack up a horse alone. One of the many perks our barn offered to its clients was 'full service.' It meant that, for a fee, the owner could call the barn and arrange to have his horse tacked up and waiting for their arrival. The owner'd hop on, ride for however long, then bring the horse back to the groom, me, in some cases. I'd take the horse, untack it, bathe it, walk it dry, wrap its legs and put it away.
Weekends could get pretty hairy, especially if a bunch of them were riding together.
Not having a horse of my own was the biggest disappointment of my life. I'd begged and pleaded with my parents for years, but to no avail. I couldn't even get them to pay for riding lessons. Horses scared my mother silly and my father just couldn't care less. Parental support, zero.
They never came out to cheer me on at the shows like the other parents, in fact, after the first one, they never came to the barn again. That suited me just fine, actually, but it caused a lot of talk around the barn. I preferred to keep that part of my life private.
So, not having my own horse, I rode school horses in the one weekly lesson I could afford. I baby-sat like crazy, and begged everybody at the barn for chores that paid, spending every cent I earned on lessons.
My trainer, Corky, said I was a natural. It wasn't long before I got good enough that I could be a real help on the trails. He'd take me along whenever we had a big group, which gave me lots of extra time in the saddle outside of lessons.
I was a well-known fixture at the barn. Tom, Corky and I had seen Chestnut Ridge through several changes of ownership over the years, and we had a proprietary feeling about the place. Of course, they had their positions as trainer and groom; I was just the barn rat.
Then we had another change in ownership and things took a decided turn for the better. I'd been sick for over a week, and when the transition took place, I was home in bed.
For whatever reason, that first day back, I entered the barn through the arena. I could hear Corky talking to someone, so I went into Silver's stall and started to groom him.
“I don't know where she's been, George. She's never been gone this long in all the years I've known her. Must be sick or something. But she's a great little kid, I know you'll like her. She's real good with the horses, too. I think she'll fill the bill.”
'Who in the world were they talking about,' I wondered. 'Could it be me?'
I led Silver out to the hitching post and headed to the tack room for his gear.
“Hey, Red, where've you been?" Corky asked me. "Come on over here, I want you to meet the new owner. George, this is the kid I was telling you about.“
"This is George Burns, Red, the new barn owner." I looked up at Mr. Burns, way up, and extended my hand, relieved to see he wasn't frowning at me. Actually, he was smiling, big brown eyes crinkling at the edges as his huge hand engulfed mine. He shot a quizzical glance over at Corky.
"Glad to meet you, Red. How old are you?" I smiled my most winning smile, hoping for the best.
“I'll be fifteen in March.” It was early in May, but that was still the truth.
He looked at Corky with raised eyebrows then shrugged. “Corky says he needs an assistant for the summer. He thinks you'll do a good job, so, if you're interested, the job is yours.” With that he smiled and walked back into his office.
I was stunned, speechless. I looked at Corky, started to say thank you, and burst into tears. He got all embarrassed and tried to pass it off, but I was having none of that. I threw my arms around him and gave him a damp hug of gratitude, saying 'thank you, thank you' over again.
“Okay, Red, enough of that. We've got ten little munchkins arriving in less than an hour and all those horses need to be groomed and tacked up. Let's get going.”
I looked up into his sky-blue eyes and grinned.
“Thank you Corky. I won't let you down. I'll show everyone you made the right choice.”
That summer was the happiest of my life. Not only did my riding improve by leaps and bounds, I'd taken that first step down the long road I'd dreamed of, being a horse trainer.
No matter how difficult the trip was, how many insults I'd had to endure, it was worth it.
Most dreams that come true are a combination of luck and hard work. Well, work was one thing I'd never been afraid of, and now I'd gotten my lucky break. What happened next was pretty much up to me.
