By Margaret Lindsay Holton
BURLINGTON, ON October 12, 2012 When I was seventeen I was in a car accident and broke my back. I was in a body brace for eight months and it took me two full years to walk properly again. During my final examination, the specialist told me that I had been very lucky. He said I could have been paralyzed for life. He strongly advised that I never ride a motorbike, water-ski or horseback ride ever again. As he said, “It would be tempting Fate.” Somber words, yet, even so, as a teenager, I needed to KNOW my real physical limitations. So, within another two years, I got my motorcycle license, went on a marathon water-skiing weekend in Northern Ontario, and, in the Brecon Beacon National Park of Wales, went horse-back riding – for the very last time.
While passing through the quaint farming village of Crickhowell situated on the River Usk below Table Mountain, I decided I wanted to give it a try. Yes, I wanted to ride in that breath-taking Welsh countryside. I found a local farm that offered a ‘trail ride’ on top of the overshadowing Brecon Beacons.
Soon I was mounted up on a lovely tempered 15 hand chestnut mare named ‘Jewel’. Jack, the stable owner, and myself trotted up into the wind-swept barren splendor of those magnificent rolling hills. The landscape was riveting. It was a fabulous, and memorable ride, but not just because of the views.
Jack had offered a word of caution when we had set out from the barn, “Watch out for the wild ponies. Look, but whatever you do, Do Not Engage.” Sure enough, while cantering along an upper ridge, we saw a small herd grazing in the gulley below. We dutifully steered clear, but, it appears we were ‘up wind’ because within a matter of minutes the feisty black stallion from this wild pony herd appeared beside us on the ridge. Jack tried to spook him off but he was not deterred. The stallion watched and paced along beside us for several minutes.
Our horses became very restless and my mare began an intense head bounce that pulled the reins from my hands. Within seconds, she bolted. Mayhem ensued. As she galloped off I held onto her mane for dear life. The pony stallion fell into pursuit and came thundering up beside us. The mare began dodging and weaving. All I could think of was staying on. My legs were clenched tight around her body.
The stallion roughly body-slammed us and reared up, stallion like. I was ABSOLUTELY terrified. Meanwhile, Jack had been in hot pursuit and with his much larger horse body-slammed, shouting, into the rearing and kicking pony stallion. I fell off the back end of the mare onto the ground. The startled stallion abruptly turned on its heel and ran back to his herd. Jack jumped off his steed and ran over. Luckily, I was badly shaken up, but otherwise, fine, nothing broken. Jack helped me back up onto the now jittery (but also fine) ‘Jewel’ and we slowly walked back down to the farm. The gods, in their infinite wisdom, had sent a clear ‘WARNING’. And I haven’t ridden since.
Horses have as much personality as your favourite dog or cat.
I think every child, especially those born in the country, go through a ‘horsey’ stage. One of my first memories of ‘riding’ was ‘cantering’ around the neighbour’s field as an infant, barefoot, neighing, with my friend’s fuzzy head bopping along in front of me. Then began the ferocious reading of various children’s horse stories . followed by the obsessive collecting of porcelain horse figurines and finally, I was fixated on horse films, like National Velvet, , (starring an unknown child actress, Elizabeth Taylor). My friends and I, at the age of 10, were absolutely horse mad.
Over the years, I was taught to ride ‘English’, even though our neighbours rode ‘Western’. I had always wanted to ride ‘bareback’ but never had the nerve. Trust me, it really does take some nerve. My friend would run up then catapult herself onto the back of one of their burr encrusted field ponies and just take off, gleeful. I never had the guts to do that.
After an assortment of riding academies from Freelton to Kilbride, I finally found my favourite ride, Geronimo, a palomino blend with a frisky spirit to match. Those were fun years. Several hours of every Saturday were devoted to the barn: sweeping and hosing down the stalls, grooming the beast, followed by long joy-filled rides back country, blissful under the autumn sun. But, during the mid-teen years, my equine interest began to wane. I discovered the joy – and freedom – of driving a car, and soon, I quietly left all things horsey behind …
Back to the barn.
Except, every fall, when the autumn colours turn vibrant, and the air turns crisp and clear again, I find I still long for a gentle canter with Geronimo along those dusty trails through the hidden back fields of Halton County.
Yet, to do so now, would, methinks, severely test Fate …
Back fields of Burlington, on top of the Escarpment, Region of Halton.
In Burlington, experienced and inexperienced riders can saddle up at the following stables:
Readers are advised to familiarize themselves with individual horse farms to find the horse or pony that best suits their own level of expertise and character. Horses have as much personality as your favourite dog or cat. Judge, and ride, accordingly.
Margaret Lindsay Holton is both an environmentalist and a community activist. She is an artist of some renown and the designer of a typeface. She is also a photographer and the holder of opinions, which are her own, that she will share with you in an instant. She appears as an Our Burlington columnist every two weeks. Unless otherwise stated all photography was done by MLH.
