First Outing

The days were getting longer, but the cold still clung to the air like tiny icicles floating through the brilliant clear sky. This didn’t deter me. The season of horse o’clock was here, and the sun was shining. 

Punkin Pie, unsure of the sudden change in my attitude, decided to play hard to get. Halter in hand, I followed her around the paddock until she came to a stop in the shelter and looked at me as if to say “What do you want now?”

Winter is hard on her. I can tell she hates every day of the wet, windy season of neglect. I can’t say I blame her. It’s hard to find pleasure in a life outdoors when that soggy life with a side of freezing wind, but I’m never sure with her if it's the sudden loss of our time together or the weather that bothers her more. 

She led us into her favourite spot in the shelter and stood in protest. It was clear to me that she was happy enough being lazy and the thought of doing anything else seemed like a terrible idea. Having felt this way most of the winter I had a great deal of sympathy for my hesitant mare. 
“It will be worth it,” I offered a hand and tilted my head slightly as looked at her hind quarters. Our sign for If you turn and look at me, I will come give you scratches. 

There was a time in my life my friends called me “Cyndi Magic Fingers”. I might not be spreading the magic of my fingers like I once did, but my mare is still very much enchanted by my touch. 
Hesitantly, she brought her neck towards me, and I delivered the promised affection. Only somewhat convinced that scratches were worth leaving the comforts of the barn, she agreed to let me catch her and we made our way through the muddy paddock and onto the less muddy driveway. 

There’s something to be said about the first outing of the year. That urge to start the season on the foot of perfection has stopped me from riding for way too long. I wanted to have all the tacked oiled and ready, the arena floor down, the trails built, the time to spend two to three hours working with them, or at the very least, a hitching post finished. I want all those things, but that is not the life I’ve been given to live. The life I’ve been gifted is much simpler than that. As I surrender to the possible and stop trying to force myself into the highly improbable, the more life I am able to enjoy. 

There’s a backhoe parked in the small space I once used as an arena. I won’t complain about it because it’s the reason I will ever get a proper arena at all. The tack isn’t oiled. I spent the winter barely able to care for myself, let alone the tack. Letting go of the idea of a perfect has been freeing. Nothing is the way I want to be, but I’ve chosen not to let it bother me. Instead, I have chosen to find joy in the small simple pleasures of life, one ray of sunshine at a time. 

Punkin was happy to be out, but her eyes remained fixed in surveillance mode as she scanned the somewhat unfamiliar surroundings in search of potential threats. As we made our way off the property and onto the trail across from the house, she maintained forward impulsion. I could feel the tension in her body as she clung to the uncertainty of leaving her herd mate behind. 

We went about the business of walking slowly. As the season progresses we will need to cram as much fitness into 30 minutes as possible. Horses aren’t cheap and I plan to retire early. In order to do that, I work 3 jobs. Finding a balance between work, playing with horses, and growing our food will be a big challenge this year, but not a challenge for today. On this day we needed to be comfortable finding our way back to the routine, if we’re going to move forward through the season with any sort of ease. Progressing as a team right now will help us to enjoy the season as we grow into longer and more exciting workouts. 

A cold breeze whispered a chilling reminder from the crisp blue ocean that even though the first shoots of green grass were poking through, winter was not done with us yet. 

Ignoring the prophetic winds, Punky and I continued blissfully on our way, enjoying the short preview of spring. We stopped to visit the enormous trees of old growth forest that line winding path of the seaside trial. We watched icy formations float on tidal currents from their origins in brackish water upriver. We even stopped to snack on the shoots of pasture that line the ditches, her first bites of spring grass. 
Punkin had become less concerned about the world around and more concerned about what she could find on the ground. Her reluctance to leave the comforts of her shelter had morphed into a reluctance to go home. It wasn’t until she tried to eat a discarded beer can that I put a stop to her snackish curiosity and asked her to walk by my side back to the paddock. 

We made our way back up the driveway where Tonka eagerly waited for her to tell him everything about her adventure. As I went about the evening chores, I noticed her face had changed. She looked happy again. Maybe it's the annual sudden loss of our time together that bothers her more.