Getting Back on That Horse

I got a friendly note from my blogher friends reminding me that I have not posted for two weeks. So in order to keep the ads up I need to “get back on the horse.” For some reason when I read the email this phrase popped into my head, and since I sort of lost my groove over the summer and want to get it back I started thinking of things to blog about. Of course there are a million since I was such a slacker all summer, but I decided today to write about literally getting on a horse.

I grew up in an agricultural community where there were lots of animals. Especially cows and horses. We didn’t have anything like that at my house but I would see them every day driving to and from school, church, etc. You would think I would be used to the idea of them, but horses freaked me out, and cows grossed me out. Horses were so big and I was terrified of getting on one and having it run full speed toward the cliff’s edge at high speed, then stop suddenly, kick up it’s hind legs, and boost me up and over into a deep ravine… My imagination had the whole scenario worked out.

When I was about fourteen, there was a youth church activity where we all went up to the mountains and did scary stuff like repelling down a cliff and riding horses. Not being known for an adventurous spirit, I did not want to do either one. But my pride and a greater fear of looking like a chicken convinced me to give it a try.

My bishop at the time, Bishop Gardner, who has now unfortunately passed away but whom I will always feel love and respect for, was leading a group of horses along a ride through the woods. He tried to convince me that it was not a big deal. I was still afraid of falling off and he told me, “just hold tight onto the saddle horn and you’ll be fine. If you do fall, you’d better have that saddle horn in your hands.” So with trepidation I got up in the saddle and rode with the group. He was right, it wasn’t all that scary. The horses were obedient and good at following the guide. However, after several minutes there was a large fallen tree in front of us and no way to get around it except to jump over. When it was my turn I held my breath, closed my eyes, and gripped the saddle horn as tightly as I could. As soon as the horse jumped I felt myself falling down to the ground. When I opened my eyes I was laying on the ground and the large dark horse was rearing up above me on it’s hind legs, probably just trying to get around me, but scaring me so that I froze and just prayed he didn’t step on me. When the horse was under control and out of the way, I was helped to my feet by the bishop who was I’m sure relieved that I was okay. I don’t remember what happened after that, or how I got back to the cabin, but I do know that the bishop and I created a bond that day. He loved to tell this story and laugh at how obedient I had been. The reason I had fallen from the horse was because the cinch (the belt part) had broken and so the saddle had fallen off,  me along with it. And apparently when I fell Bishop Gardner saw the saddle laying next to me and I still had the saddle horn in my hands.

I’m still not big on horse riding, but I have been back on one a few times since that day. So now you know one of my most embarrassing and terrifying moments ever. Sometime I’ll have to tell you about the time I was tricked into cleaning out a cow’s corral and how that scarred me forever too. Needless to say, I don’t envision myself ever living on a farm.