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Bernie

Fanfare for Sunshine
25 Feb 2005

Sunshine, my equine brother, was a red roan appaloosa, his whitish gray fur marbled by a fine vintage burgundy. Short, a shade under 15 hands, stronger than his size would hint, he was used to carry men well over 200 pounds on trail rides. His build was classic cutting horse, quick of leg. On the trail he was always kept on a tight rein, per the orders of the barn owner.

I'd been riding regularly for over six months before I was allowed to ride Sunshine, and then only in the ring, in lessons. Physically we were well matched, both of us stocky and strong. He was in his upper teens, and me in mid 30's. Months of ring work went by before I was allowed to take him on the trail, and then only under the watchful eye of the barn owner, a curmudgeon in his 70's. Sunshine was quite a handful on the trail.

Sunshine and I had clicked early on, bonds strengthening as we spent time. I helped teach him to jump, although I was still fairly green myself at it. The carrot method was involved, with someone standing on the far side waving that sweet orange stick, reward for good pony going hippity hop. Carrots were reduced over time; jumping itself became the treat, often the reward for some
laborious flatwork as I labored to learn.

Months went by, maybe a year. I'd put in lots of saddle time on many horses, leading trail rides for customers renting by the hour, the classic hack stable, a genre almost gone today.

I helped out around the farm, watering, feeding, cleaning stalls, all under the tutelage of Frank, who had been helping out around the places for many years. About 20 years older than me, Frank was a font of wisdom in matters equine : care, feeding, behavior, riding; a true horseman. Wisdom that had to be earned; Frank was not one to cast pearls before swine.

On occasion, Frank led trail rides, invitation only, usually a small group of boarders. A requirement was that you were expected to control your horse; transgressors were not invited back. The rides were mostly walking, but in interesting places, with an occasional brisk canter. We explored the terrain, forests, sand flats and so on. The area was sandy, part of eastern New Jersey that in earlier epochs had been ocean floor. It was bounded on one side by a river, with streams in various spots running down to the river.

Sunshine was not yet my horse, despite my offers for him. We were definitely a recognized pair. Even though I was not a boarder, my months of helping Frank, asking questions and listening, had earned us the privilege of Frank's rides, albeit probationary.

The group, about 8 of us, had walked out from the barn a mile or so, and had enjoyed a lively canter. The horses then were snorting and blowing, clearing their lungs, walking more freely. We climbed to a sandy ridge, walking along the height to enjoy the view; then the delicate balancing down a steep slope, measuring each step. I was near the back of the ride, as I was the least experienced.

Walk again, a longer canter, and then more walking, just enjoying the moments, people and horses out upon the land, moving about, savoring the breeze and sky. A scene without time, neither clocks nor calendars; neither year nor century. So ordinary, yet among life's sweetest heartbeats, truly vital, aware, alive, moments that define "to be".

Across the sandy area, we came upon a stream which had cut down into the ground. To cross it one had to carefully walk down a few steps, jump across to the far bank, and then up. Frank was to show us the proper way but his horse refused to step down the near bank. The horse, a buckskin named Jackpot, was experienced and familiar to Frank, but that day, no way. He refused to step down off safe ground, easy footing; Jackpot planted his feet, and had his weight way back, clearly telling all he was not going. After a few minutes of struggle, Frank suggested that one of the boarders lead across. An excellent rider on a well-trained Thoroughbred tried, but her horse was no more cooperative than Frank's. A second boarder tried and failed.

An unstated rule of the Frank rides was that we never turned back. We milled about, somewhat stymied. I brought Sunshine over to the stream, letting him get a good look. He checked it out, and I was not aware of any tension in him. We eased back over to the group, and I asked Frank if he minded if Sunshine might have a try at it. He looked at us for a few seconds, appraising us,
and there might have been a slight smile crinkling his eyes as he consented.

We walked over to the stream as the group grew quiet, some edging over to watch. I remember Frank's coaching for such, to look forward, not down. I quietly told Sunshine what we were going to do, and let him look once again. I sat up and gave a gentle nudge with my leg, urging him forward. One cautious step down the bank, then a second. Then a huge leap across the stream, almost to
the top of the far bank; my hands followed the thrust of his neck, not impeding him.

We were there on the far side, across the stream and over the rainbow. I leaned over, praising him, patting him, stroking him, all I could do to recognize his effort, his heart, his trust.

One by one the others followed our example. As we returned home somehow Sunshine seemed a bit taller, fuller, a bigger horse in every dimension; his step a bit more lively. Now we were at the front of the ride, next to Frank. Arriving back at the barn I could almost hear a chorus of trumpets in fanfare,
saluting us. Frank gleefully related the tale to the barn owner, describing Sunshine's wonderful feat.

Soon after, Sunshine became mine on paper as well as in heart.

Somewhere up ahead there's a stream to cross. With good fortune and enough trust and courage, I'll go forward, and join Sunshine forever.

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