My little sister the Horse woman
My sister is a horse woman. Since I can remember Simone has been infatuated with horses. At the age of two she would follow my mom around the house throwing a horse book at her and say “ Ride horsy ma, ride horsy!”
When you enter her room you are immediately struck with images and figurines of horses. Her walls are scattered with posters of them, but one in particular catches my eye every time I enter her room. it’s a powerful scene of a heard of horses charging thru a stream, each crashing hoof expelling water in all directions, mains and tails dance behind the beasts as they run. But what is most attractive about this image is the animals eyes, fierce and full of life just like Simone. Being a horse woman takes a ferocious personality dealing with such large and robust animals. One must show whose boss right off the bat.
The summer of 2004 my mother, brother and I accompanied my sister to the ranch. Bright Valley Farms is the name, a large wooden bored stands at the gates entrance, in purple are three silhouetted cowboys on horse back riding to the for ground as if coming to greet visitors of the ranch, and the name is printed underneath them. The ranch is split into two parts. One part is known as “down bottom” and the other is known as “up top”. Down bottom is the saddle station , the barn, where customers pay for their trail ride, a pasture, which is on a hill side, the large arena, and the horses accumulated shit piles. Up top are about eighty corrals, hey bails stacked about fifteen feet high, and a few mobile homes. Bright Valley is located off the 94 east at he 125 split. We arrived in the mid afternoon, a light breeze was descending from the west and Simone began her routine. She first gathers a few things from her tack shed: various combs and brushes of different shapes and sizes, and a bottle of ointment for Rebels eyes and ears. After gathering her tack she calls Rebel from the pasture. A chestnut horse perks its ears in our direction and turn it head, a strip of whit fur runs from his forehead down to his nose, three white sox don his left front and both hind legs. Once he recognizes whose calling him he slowly strols over to Simone, taking his time. At the Simone fixes him with a halter and a lead rope and walks him to a saddling post. Simone starts by inspecting his hoofs, gripping a tuft of hair right behind the joint that would be equivalent to that of our ankle and rises it in-between her thighs and squeezes it in place. With what looks like a bent flat head screwdriver, she begins to pick out dirt and pebbles out of the v-shaped craves of his hoofs. Next she begins brushing him, starting with a meal round cookie cutter comb she begins to remove numerous clods of caked on mud and heavy dirt. Switching to a thick haired brush Simone smoothes out all the rough spots and removes the fine dust that was left behind by the cookie cutter comb. Lastly simone combs Rebels mane and tail with a huge afro pick. She the fits him with a bare back pad and we are on our way. Simone, using both hands, grabs Rebel’s mane and swings her self up on his back with ease, no need of a stirrup or an assisting hand. We go at a walk, down the dirt road, passing horses in the pasture to the right, and to the left the barn. Right after the barn is the arena. The arena is the size of a football field, and it is closed in by a thick barred fence that rises up to about four feet. The floor is carpeted by wood chips, and there are three hurdles situated in the center of the arena, all varying in heights along with a circle of large orange cones standing beside one of the hurdles. I open the gate allowing Rebel and Simone passage. Wail Simone rides thru I close it behind her and the three of us settle our selves down on the fence like spectators at a small rodeo. I watch my sister take Rebel thru a few of his gates. First a walk, then a trot, and finoly into a gallop. Horse and rider moving in sink as though embodying a single entity. Simone carries herself with perfect form and the confidence of an experienced rider. Their rhythm never falters, like a foreign language they communicate with each other, concentration never halting, not for an instant, even as a passing horse is spooked and takes its owner for a ride. After performing a dozen laps Simone brings Rebel to rest in front of us. She tells us he is calm and is ready to be ridden by another. Genaro, my brother, hops off the fence and walks over to join next to the horse. Not showing the agility and grace that Simone demonstrates so diligently when mounting the horse, Genaro on the other hand resembles more of an unsteady drunk. Simone must assist him, squatting down and offering both interlaced hands as a step, helps Genaro mount. With one rein in Simone’s hand and the other end in Genaro’s, she leads him one lap around the arena. Rounding back once again stopping in front of my mom and I, Genaro hops off. It was now my turn. I too am clumsy, trying with much effort to climb aboard Rebels back. It takes many attempts but finally Simone comes to my aid and helps me hoist mount. Being full headed, I try and master the animal myself. I start off at a walk, and in one moment its easy going, then in the very next I lose control. Rebel, obviously sensing my inexperience takes me off guard and bolts. With each stride my bottom bounces further and further to his rear, each bounce expelling sound of unease until I ran out of horse for me to land on. This whole episode ends in a blink of an eye. I jump to my feet with great urgency for fearing Rebel may about-face and run me down. Now on my feet, I hop the fence and go join my brother and mother, both of which were making no effort to stifle their laughs.
My sister is a horsewomen. Her calling began at two, and her pathe was found at eleven, when she discovered the existence of the ranch. This quality she holds with such pride fills my heart with honor and pleasure for having the opportunity to be the brother of such an admiral human being.