Childhood Dream Come True

Riding Along the Pacific

When I was a young girl I had near weekly access to my uncle’s small farm. They had chickens. They kept large scary hogs in the woods. The hogs ate the acorns and grunted a lot. My cousin’s pigeons often won best in show at 4H meets. My aunt and uncle also had horses.

 At any given time they had at least four, at one point I seem to remember that they had eight different quarter horses. One beautiful appaloosa, whose name was Babe, was the tallest and favorite of everyone. All the cousins would descend on the paddock. The fastest runner got to ride Babe. Her elegant height and noble head inspired fantasies common to every kid who was knee deep in a ‘horse phase’. I could hardly carry her tack and seldom won the coveted mount. In fact, Old Pokey, the rotund little pony who looked like the Hobbit ponies in Tolkien, was usually my ride. A gang of pre teen cousins would ride the back roads of Michigan’s thumb to a tiny lakeside town to get ice cream.

We would ride bare back in swimsuits with just bridles or lead ropes. It was very informal (and a little scratchy). We rode through woods. We rode down one lane dirt roads, shaded by ancient maple and oak trees. A gentle walk in the summer heat. Occasionally, the older kids would challenge each other to a race, but Pokey with his barrel sized belly was far more interested in the wild grass that grew along our path.  As I gained experience and years I graduated from Pokey up to one of the interchangeable chestnut mares that my Uncle bought and sold.

I rode through cornfields and around muddy cow ponds. In daydreams, I visualized myself on an enormous stallion galloping through the waves on an ocean beach. Every temperamental tantrum I pitched as angst filled teen I WISHED I had my own horse to race across the moors, to run away on my unicorn. Small town girl with a big time imagination. I never believed it would actually happen. As an adult I often rented trail horses and so never lost my seat. As a parent I made sure my kids knew which side of a horse to mount, but riding was by no means, even a monthly occurrence.

On a recent trip to Oahu, to visit friends stationed there, I convinced my pal and my 19-year-old daughter to go trail riding along the beach. We drove across the island to the North Shore and joined up with some tourists to be guided along the pristine private beach.

Clara and I bring up the rear. Christine is just in front of Izzy.

It was early winter so we hoped to spot a sea turtle or two. I was thrilled to see the ocean but had to contain my excitement because both my pal and my daughter were consciously “being brave”. They were both anxious, but game. I explained that trail horses were completely accustomed to the path we would be on. That they were herd animals and would not bolt or even consider throwing their rider.  I discovered it was actually my pal’s first time ever! I knew my daughter’s experience was minimal so I shared funny stories from my childhood such as making a peanut butter sandwich on horseback. One of the few times I got to ride Babe-- I wasn’t getting off her, even for lunch! I made the sandwich through my aunt’s kitchen window. It went well if you ignored the peanut butter on the pommel! I put them at ease, naming the bits of tack they would need to understand. I explained the cinch carefully to my nervous pal. The staff lined up the non English speaking tourists on the gentle animals.  We walked out of the yard and progressed along the shore.

I wasn’t galloping through the crashing surf but it was truly beautiful and everything I could hope for. The powerful blue water, the white sand, the gorgeous sunshine highlighting picturesque palm trees. I didn’t even mind wearing the helmet. I was flattered to learn that the guide had put me on the alpha mare to keep everyone moving along. That was an excellent plan, for as the path turned inland my daughter’s horse decided, much like I remembered Pokey’s stubborn choices, to try and grab a snack. I was so proud of her keeping his head up. It was amusing to hear her steady, “NO, IKE!  Ike, NO!” as he tried to snatch succulent green leaves from the bushes, but she kept the reins in and low and he finally resigned himself, with much disgruntled huffing, to keeping pace with the herd.  My pal did great on her first time ride and she is going to take her neighbor back again!  I completely enjoyed the pleasant ride and it was extremely satisfying to reminisce about my Michigan summer daydreams in this Hawaiian winter reality.

---

The staff at the Hawaiian Polo Club are to be commended. Their animals were perfectly trained, gentle and spotless! The guides were lovely and relaxed. I cannot praise Angie and Priscilla enough.