I told my sister recently that I do not remember learning to ride. I do not remember my first feel of a horse's nose. I do not remember the first time I sat in a saddle and felt an animal move beneath me. It must have been in potato fields in Maine, on the back of our first mare, an Appaloosa named Neechee. I probably sat locked between my mother's stomach and the pommel of the saddle as we three walked around and around. I have seen pictures of my mother and Neechee and I like this, so I imagine the first time was similar. But I do not know. It may have happened on my uncle’s ranch in Ohio. Either is possible.
I do remember my first serious fall, off Lucky, onto the wooden walkway, the breath knocked out me. I remember sinking on Tenny into the quicksand, rolling off into the water and then watching her lunge her way out. I remember getting to know my pony, Tate, so well that I could anticipate his every noise, action, step. I remember, in Chile, feeling that my safety, my life, depended on my horse. I remember learning what it felt like to have to put all your trust in a horse. I remember giving myself over to them.
I came home from work this evening and planned to write a blog post.
Instead, I watched the documentary "Buck."
It is sensational. Even if you have never ridden a horse, even if you have never touched a horse, even if you think I am a silly horse girl who devotes too many words to horses, watch this movie. As soon as possible.
I was reminded, despite my adventures on horseback, despite my comfort in a saddle, how little I know of horses and how much I still have to learn.
But in truth, this movie has less to do with horses, more to do with life.
The story of this man, Buck Brannaman, is moving and the movie is poignant and beautiful.
You can watch it instantly on Netflix.
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