The Moonlight Ride
It never hurts to set the bar
high.
I don’t sleep a lot, not even as a kid. In my younger days I tended to sleep with my bedroom window open when I could. We had a lot of dumped dogs and coyotes that prowled at night and if they came for my mare, I wanted to hear so I could protect her.
On this particular night, the moon was full, the kind that cast everything in silver and is bright enough to read a newspaper.
The world outside my window looked like art work. It was beautiful.
What woke me – at first – made me think I was still asleep and truly dreaming; it was the cadenced footfalls of a horse. The rhythm instantly made me think of military drills I’d seen some of the old timers do on horseback but it was one lone horse.
I could hear whippoorwills calling their night song and then my Grandpa’s voice as he praised the horse. That brought me to full alertness & I was into my clothes and out of the house like a shadow. I suspected Grandpa had been doing something with my mare because she’d become different somehow; more tolerant of my inexperience yet more obedient. Her muscle tone had improved also in the past couple of weeks. That seemed impossible because the old mare was body builder beautiful but I noticed the changes. I groomed her daily and knew every scar and ridge on her entire body.
Catching Grandpa at something was like catching a sly fox. He was stealthy.
As it is with most masters, there is a time when students don’t ask questions, because the student doesn’t yet know enough to ask anything intelligent. I was still in that phase of learning. I was thirteen years old.
I slipped up to the barn and followed the sounds of cadenced beats. I heard him softly whistling a tune to the rhythm of the mare’s footfalls. I’d never heard the tune before but it sounded like military cadence with the hooves creating the percussion for the tune. I was drawn to this and for some reason knew it was of greatest importance that I not be caught. I eased around the corner of the barn. Oh it was as valuable a night as I’ve ever had. It would be years later that I would be able to put the names to some of the movements I saw; piaffe, passage, shoulders in, haunches in, serpentines, a variation of the Spanish walk and a rocking horse canter that was elegant and precise.
The mare and Grandpa were dance partners in every way.
He spoke and very gently put her into a slow and controlled rearing stance and asked her to walk a few steps before taking the forelegs back to the ground. Many believe this to be dangerous. They’re correct. It is dangerous when balance isn’t the foundation. Such things should only be done by a master. Lady was talented at walking on her hind legs. I knew this. Let her see a snake and she’d go up like that & strike with the front hooves until the snake was dead or long gone. But what I saw – before my very eyes – was what had been within the mare all along. I simply didn’t know how to bring it out. This was controlled and calm, extremely balanced and beautiful.
Lady and Grandpa were beautiful that night performing things that I wouldn’t see again until watching the Spanish Riding Masters astride their Lipizzaners. I’d never seen that level of collection or artistry before. Every move the horse made was elastic and collected. This mare that could clatter my teeth when she trotted didn’t jar Grandpa. I’d never seen her do the extended trot until that night in the moonlight.
Lady was a Foxtrotter. None of these are maneuvers the breed is known for yet I saw it with my own eyes, in Grandpa’s hands, she did them with grace. When asked, she’d give him the tiniest rocking horse canter and then when he’d turn her loose and let her gallop – oh my- to this day it raises the hair up on the back of my neck! Where her feet hit the ground dirt flew making me think of the war horses of days gone by taking the battle field. The old mare could move! And Grandpa could ride!
Lady wasn’t what most would describe as an elegant mover. Apparently that had little to do with the horse and everything to do with the person asking, for this night in the moonlight she was elegant and graceful. Grandpa was no longer an elder man in the golden time of his life. They were somehow no longer separate. They were unified in this ride.
These patterns were not of a regulation ride, they were in his head, tailored to what the mare needed and what she offered. He was a master at improvising and adjusting. It was the first time I would ever understand the term poetry in motion. And for the rest of my life, this would be the ride I held up as the standard for it would be rare to see one more beautiful. The greater beauty is that it was not done for display but for the joy or riding, for the partnership of man and horse, for the love of this beauty. Grandpa or the mare didn’t need an audience because no one else existed except their partnership.
Once the mare made a mistake and I heard him laugh. Grandpa always talked to his horses. Not nonsense, mind you. I heard him chuckle yet his voice carried a hint of correction, “Aw now, you know better than that.”
In response the mare arched her neck, giving a mighty snort. He asked for another circle and this time got the lead change through all gaits until the mare gave him whatever he sought.
My eyes were untrained so I didn’t have the foggiest notion except tears rolled down my cheeks to soak the neck of my shirt. I knew if I got caught he would stop. For Grandpa, certain things – levels of work – were personal and quite private. He didn’t like that people fawned over these things. It showed a lack of understanding. He knew they saw only the surface. That shallow look offended him because he knew the level of trust and kindness the horse offered in order to do these things together. There was nothing of force or command in this ride, it was asking, receiving, offering and accepting. There were no hard hands or stubbornness here, only a precious magic that happens when two willingly unite in harmony and perfect balance.
In that moment in the moonlight I would have been hard pressed to say where the man ended and the mare began. This unity is what many riders seek for a lifetime.
The pair was an exquisite picture.
My heroes have always been cowboys and Grandpa. That night I had a glimpse of the talent my grandpa kept to himself. He didn’t need ribbons or trophies. There was no desire for anyone to cast comment or sing their praises. He liked to be the best at things but that didn’t mean he needed outside approval. The horse gives everything. It requires the highest level of trust. To make such a ride in moonlight, that requires even deeper trust. I imagine it’s a bit like opening the soul, like putting the horse’s very heart in your hand. He was not a man to betray that kind of trust.
Looking back I can see what it was so easy to trust him without question no matter what he told me to do. If he said, ‘get down’ I dropped. He’d explain the why’s later. If he told me to get on a horse I did it. I understood easily why Lady could trust him in the moonlight with everything she had to give him in that ride. When trust is that deep anything is possible.
He set the bar that night for what I saw as the most beautiful ride I’ve ever seen before or since. For a man of small physical stature, he was ten feet tall and bigger than a mountain in my eyes. I will forever be left to wonder if he ever realized I saw them that night. I never mentioned it. If he was aware of my presence he never mentioned it. Aside from his unending well of love, watching this ride was among the greatest gifts the man ever gave me. A ride in silver moonlight on a big bay, two masters of the dance gave me something to strive toward.
I don’t sleep a lot, not even as a kid. In my younger days I tended to sleep with my bedroom window open when I could. We had a lot of dumped dogs and coyotes that prowled at night and if they came for my mare, I wanted to hear so I could protect her.
On this particular night, the moon was full, the kind that cast everything in silver and is bright enough to read a newspaper.
The world outside my window looked like art work. It was beautiful.
What woke me – at first – made me think I was still asleep and truly dreaming; it was the cadenced footfalls of a horse. The rhythm instantly made me think of military drills I’d seen some of the old timers do on horseback but it was one lone horse.
I could hear whippoorwills calling their night song and then my Grandpa’s voice as he praised the horse. That brought me to full alertness & I was into my clothes and out of the house like a shadow. I suspected Grandpa had been doing something with my mare because she’d become different somehow; more tolerant of my inexperience yet more obedient. Her muscle tone had improved also in the past couple of weeks. That seemed impossible because the old mare was body builder beautiful but I noticed the changes. I groomed her daily and knew every scar and ridge on her entire body.
Catching Grandpa at something was like catching a sly fox. He was stealthy.
As it is with most masters, there is a time when students don’t ask questions, because the student doesn’t yet know enough to ask anything intelligent. I was still in that phase of learning. I was thirteen years old.
I slipped up to the barn and followed the sounds of cadenced beats. I heard him softly whistling a tune to the rhythm of the mare’s footfalls. I’d never heard the tune before but it sounded like military cadence with the hooves creating the percussion for the tune. I was drawn to this and for some reason knew it was of greatest importance that I not be caught. I eased around the corner of the barn. Oh it was as valuable a night as I’ve ever had. It would be years later that I would be able to put the names to some of the movements I saw; piaffe, passage, shoulders in, haunches in, serpentines, a variation of the Spanish walk and a rocking horse canter that was elegant and precise.
The mare and Grandpa were dance partners in every way.
He spoke and very gently put her into a slow and controlled rearing stance and asked her to walk a few steps before taking the forelegs back to the ground. Many believe this to be dangerous. They’re correct. It is dangerous when balance isn’t the foundation. Such things should only be done by a master. Lady was talented at walking on her hind legs. I knew this. Let her see a snake and she’d go up like that & strike with the front hooves until the snake was dead or long gone. But what I saw – before my very eyes – was what had been within the mare all along. I simply didn’t know how to bring it out. This was controlled and calm, extremely balanced and beautiful.
Lady and Grandpa were beautiful that night performing things that I wouldn’t see again until watching the Spanish Riding Masters astride their Lipizzaners. I’d never seen that level of collection or artistry before. Every move the horse made was elastic and collected. This mare that could clatter my teeth when she trotted didn’t jar Grandpa. I’d never seen her do the extended trot until that night in the moonlight.
Lady was a Foxtrotter. None of these are maneuvers the breed is known for yet I saw it with my own eyes, in Grandpa’s hands, she did them with grace. When asked, she’d give him the tiniest rocking horse canter and then when he’d turn her loose and let her gallop – oh my- to this day it raises the hair up on the back of my neck! Where her feet hit the ground dirt flew making me think of the war horses of days gone by taking the battle field. The old mare could move! And Grandpa could ride!
Lady wasn’t what most would describe as an elegant mover. Apparently that had little to do with the horse and everything to do with the person asking, for this night in the moonlight she was elegant and graceful. Grandpa was no longer an elder man in the golden time of his life. They were somehow no longer separate. They were unified in this ride.
These patterns were not of a regulation ride, they were in his head, tailored to what the mare needed and what she offered. He was a master at improvising and adjusting. It was the first time I would ever understand the term poetry in motion. And for the rest of my life, this would be the ride I held up as the standard for it would be rare to see one more beautiful. The greater beauty is that it was not done for display but for the joy or riding, for the partnership of man and horse, for the love of this beauty. Grandpa or the mare didn’t need an audience because no one else existed except their partnership.
Once the mare made a mistake and I heard him laugh. Grandpa always talked to his horses. Not nonsense, mind you. I heard him chuckle yet his voice carried a hint of correction, “Aw now, you know better than that.”
In response the mare arched her neck, giving a mighty snort. He asked for another circle and this time got the lead change through all gaits until the mare gave him whatever he sought.
My eyes were untrained so I didn’t have the foggiest notion except tears rolled down my cheeks to soak the neck of my shirt. I knew if I got caught he would stop. For Grandpa, certain things – levels of work – were personal and quite private. He didn’t like that people fawned over these things. It showed a lack of understanding. He knew they saw only the surface. That shallow look offended him because he knew the level of trust and kindness the horse offered in order to do these things together. There was nothing of force or command in this ride, it was asking, receiving, offering and accepting. There were no hard hands or stubbornness here, only a precious magic that happens when two willingly unite in harmony and perfect balance.
In that moment in the moonlight I would have been hard pressed to say where the man ended and the mare began. This unity is what many riders seek for a lifetime.
The pair was an exquisite picture.
My heroes have always been cowboys and Grandpa. That night I had a glimpse of the talent my grandpa kept to himself. He didn’t need ribbons or trophies. There was no desire for anyone to cast comment or sing their praises. He liked to be the best at things but that didn’t mean he needed outside approval. The horse gives everything. It requires the highest level of trust. To make such a ride in moonlight, that requires even deeper trust. I imagine it’s a bit like opening the soul, like putting the horse’s very heart in your hand. He was not a man to betray that kind of trust.
Looking back I can see what it was so easy to trust him without question no matter what he told me to do. If he said, ‘get down’ I dropped. He’d explain the why’s later. If he told me to get on a horse I did it. I understood easily why Lady could trust him in the moonlight with everything she had to give him in that ride. When trust is that deep anything is possible.
He set the bar that night for what I saw as the most beautiful ride I’ve ever seen before or since. For a man of small physical stature, he was ten feet tall and bigger than a mountain in my eyes. I will forever be left to wonder if he ever realized I saw them that night. I never mentioned it. If he was aware of my presence he never mentioned it. Aside from his unending well of love, watching this ride was among the greatest gifts the man ever gave me. A ride in silver moonlight on a big bay, two masters of the dance gave me something to strive toward.