Pete and Ginger

I wasn't raised in a rural setting, such as on a farm. But I was raised in a small town "in the middle of nowhere," surrounded by farm and ranch country. Maybe that explains my love of such things. Mom and Dad, however, each had first-hand experience growing up in such surroundings.

Mom's folks farmed - Grandpa W. was a wheat farmer, plus he and Grandma W. had the common (back then) assortment of cows, pigs, chickens, a garden, etc. Dad's folks didn't farm - Granddad C. was a carpenter by trade. But he and Grandma C. had a "homestead" going. They lived at the edge of town, and had a huge garden, and I know at one time they had a milk cow. A milk cow that got her tail pulled off. (Another story for another time!)

So anyway, they had the familiarity of rural upbringing from actually living in it, instead of just hearing about it like me. Then I came along with a bad case of "horse fever." A town kid with horse fever is a bad combination.

I got to thinking one day awhile back, that Mom and Dad and my brother and I had all ridden a horse at some point in our lives. Brother and I rode that pony ride mentioned in a previous post. Then after I got my horse, my brother rode him a couple of times. Mom grew up riding a Shetland pony to a little country school. An ORNERY Shetland pony. (Another story for another time!) But I don't think riding a horse of any kind was really Dad's cup of tea. But the one time he rode a horse is the subject of where I'm going today with this post.

(Above: Mom as a teenager riding "Dude.")

We were on vacation in the mountains, as usual. We'd go there for a week every summer, in our little camper. We'd see the sights and do stuff, and either eat out or fix simple meals in our trailer. (Not a vacation for Mom!) As I got older and the horse fever raged, I wanted to go on horseback rides at riding stables. You'd get on a horse, and ride along in a string of other riders for an hour. That sounded wonderful to me!

The first time I finally rode at a riding stable, I somehow got Dad to go with me. Now that I'm older, I can get an idea of some of the things he may have been thinking! But at the time, I was just a kid who was happy to ride a horse, and I thought it was neat that my Dad was going along.

Our horses' names were "Pete" and "Ginger." I had Ginger, a brown horse, and Dad was behind me on "Pete," a paint horse. One interesting thing I remember was how they warned all the men to put their wallets in their front pocket. If they kept them in their back pocket, they could work their way out and fall and get lost as they rode.

Finally, we all took off! There was quite a string of riders clip-clopping along the streets. Dad and I were somewhere in the midst, with Dad right behind me. It was in the city yet, but the scenery was spectacular with the local landscape settings. I WAS ONE HAPPY GIRL. Dad seemed to be doing O.K., as well. Until ...... Pete started biting Ginger on the rump. Pete would nip, Ginger would jump just a little. And they kept it up the whole ride. Every once in awhile --- "Nip!!" "Jump!!" Nothing dramatic, but definitely interrupting a relaxing ride! I was just glad Dad didn't have to be on the jumpy horse. That would've REALLY given him some things to think.

We finally got back to the stables and dismounted our sparring buddies. I was sorry to be done riding, but I'll bet Dad was glad to have his feet back on the ground! As far as I know, that's the ONLY time he ever rode a horse --- a biting paint named Pete.