You know the movie, Dances With Wolves, right? I’m thinking if I had been in it, my name would have been Swims With Horses. This isn’t my own photo, especially since I don’t wear spurs, but it might well have been when I was growing up, because I loved taking our horses for water rides in the summer! There’s no better way to stay cool and still be outside with your horse than riding through the spray of an irrigation system or into a pond or creek for a swim.
Summer days with no cattle work to do often turned out that way. My sisters and I would run barefoot to the barn, watching out for sandburrs and fresh manure piles, grabbing a bridle, catching up a horse, hopping on bareback, and away we would go. I can still hear the hoofbeats on the dirt road, as we trotted off towards the corn field with the irrigation system in view, the big end gun shooting gallons at a time over the edges of the corn and the dirt road that ran through the field. Our horses would get their heads up, snorting a little at the sound of the water on corn leaves, and we’d have to tighten the reins and grip with our legs to get them to walk through it. When the spray hit them, they would usually freeze and stand still, shivering in the cold barrage of water. It seemed they thought it was raining everywhere, and didn’t understand that to move a couple of inches to one side would get them free of the torrent from the end gun. We had to hang on double tight then, because a drenched horse became very slippery when ridden bareback!
Those were the best days, having that freedom of being so young that nothing mattered, and every day presented new opportunities and more exciting events. We were always trying new things and pushing our luck with horses and what we could do with them. Growing up on the ranch, we were sheltered enough to stay out of any real trouble, but pretty much given free rein to do whatever crazy stunt we could think of involving horses or farm machinery! I remember one of our jobs was to carry water to a sick cow that was in a part of the corrals that didn’t have a water tank. We used five-gallon buckets, and the chore became too tedious for my sister Kellie and I to carry on with, so we thought up a plan to lessen the work. We would make Kokomo, our gentlest ranch horse, carry the bucket of water from the tank to the cow’s corral. We tied the end of his lead rope to the handle of the five gallon bucket, held the rope tight across his back so that his back held the weight of the water, dipped it into the tank to fill it, and began leading him toward the corral. A few steps into it, Kokomo decided that carrying water wasn’t his favorite activity, and he spooked and ran, spilling the water and dragging the bucket behind him at a full gallop, kicking it as it bounced along. Thankfully, nobody was hurt, and we got him calmed down and the bucket detached from his halter rope. That was one that we kept to ourselves, I still don’t think Dad and Mom know about it!
Another of our kid schemes was building the Jump Trail. I always wanted to ride English and jump horses like the stories I had read, but my dad had a very strong opinion that there was no place for an English saddle on a working cattle ranch. That didn’t stop us from jumping! Our house was backed by a large forest of trees, many of which were small prickly locust trees that were dead. These could easily be toppled over with the slightest push, and my sister Kellie and I used hundreds of these to stack together to form small jumps across the deer trail that ran the length of this forest. Then we would ride our horses bareback at a gallop, through the trees that were thick enough to keep our horses on the trail, forcing them to leap over the jumps as we came to them. It was great fun! The problems developed when we introduced guests and beginner riders to our Jump Trail. So many promises were made to “don’t tell Dad and Mom!” as we helped the fallen riders back onto their horses and led them home carefully.
Once my sisters and I went out to the Fish Pond to swim our horses in it. I was riding Kokomo, Kandra was riding a horse named Skip that she was currently training for some people, and I think Kellie was riding Smokey. Everything went fine until we headed home, and somehow Kandra’s colt got to bucking and she fell off and he ran home. We were gathered around her, asking if she were alright, and I think she had gotten the wind knocked out of her. The hired man had seen the fiasco, so he came driving up to see if Kandra was okay. While we sat there, me still on my horse, Kokomo decided to lay down and roll, being itchy from our summer-time swim. I scooted across the prairie to get myself out of his way, having suddenly found myself on the ground with no horse under me, and wouldn’t you know it I got the biggest cactus stuck deep in my arm next to my elbow! I cried all the way home, and my dad pulled it out with pliers, adding to my fear and anguish.
Being a kid and having horses and the freedom to do whatever we dreamed up is something I will always be thankful for. Especially the more I learn about this world and what life is like for the average twelve year old! Horses provided me with a work ethic, a sense of responsibility, a desire to do things right, a knowledge of what’s important in life, and the reward of so many happy memories to look back on and cherish. I think I’ll go out this evening and take a ride down to the creek. There are always more memories to be made.
