We be of one blood, ye and I...
                        ~Rudyard Kipling

I did not ask to go on this journey although, for the most part,  I have enjoyed the ride.  It seems that my life is going full circle.  From the beginning, there is an end, then back again to the beginning.

Small children are convinced that ponies deserve to see the inside of the house.
                        ~Maya Patel

The hoof prints are still in my parent's garage, instilled forever in the drying cement floor.  When I was five years old, my family built a house on a parcel of land that was located at the edge of my grandparent's property.  My grandparents had, themselves,  built a horse farm there and moved from their home in the city so that Grandpa could take up residence on the property where he had built the barn to keep his horses.   Even before we moved to the property, my most memorable Christmas gift was a fuzzy little skewbald Shetland pony.  I do not have many memories of him, but only know that I began to ride long before my memory allows specifics.  By the time that we moved to the country, he had been replaced by a larger and very beautiful blue roan Welsh gelding.   The Welsh became, at one time, my best friend, teacher, and nemesis.

The Welsh taught me things that every young rider should know.  The secret was learning the system of warnings.  Two abrupt swipes at the ground with a front hoof meant that it was time for a good roll, saddle and all.  It was not necessary to come to a stop to perform this calculated maneuver, he was a master of agility.  I became a master of the rapid dismount.  There was nothing that could prevent the inevitable, no heel dug into flank, no hasty turn of rein, no antidote known to mankind.  He was going down, and he was going down now.  Perhaps it would have been good preparation for stunt riding but it was no excuse to complain.  It was time to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and get back in the saddle.  We had an understanding, but it was negotiable.   The Welsh taught me the spirit of competition, and Grandpa reinforced it.  I was the tag-a-long grandchild who shadowed the local horsemen and somehow forged her own way into the junior horse community.  Grandpa assured my transport and entry into the 4-H horse show world and we spent many a morning driving the long, dark roads to get there.  I don't think that I slept one night before a show.

My horse's feet are as swift as rolling thunder
He carries me away from all my fears
And when the world threatens to fall asunder
His mane is there to wipe away my tears."
                        ~Bonnie Lewis

Time passed.  I grew taller.  Somewhere around the age of  ten,  it was decided that I should graduate to a horse.  Well, make that two horses.  I was given a two year old Quarter Horse filly to ride and show.   She is pictured in the photo above, with her dam.  In short order, the stallion which was Grandpa's pride and joy, having earned his ROM and completed his career, was gelded and also given to me to ride.    The filly was the daughter of the horse, and the horse is in the photo to the left.  In my world, there was no greater honor.

The progression within the Quarter Horse breed continued and racing came to the forefront.   An eventuality came into being.  There is nothing that compares to the thrill of the chase in horse racing.  It is a chase which is variously goal oriented, and the involvement depends upon the individual.  In our family, the desire for competition is forever an unalterable path.  From the initial entry into the competitive world of horse racing, until the end, of which I am not completely certain, the journey itself is the most thrilling part of the travel.  It is not the final destination, necessarily, but the moments along the way that sustain and nurture an undeniable love of all things equine.

The relationship of grandparent to grandchild is often magical and profound.  From the Malibu Times, January 2006, Remembering one of my biggest fans, by Jonathan Friedman

 Security is mostly a superstition.

It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it.

Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure.

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.

~Helen Keller

Of all the things I do, of this I am most proud, as it comes from the heart without determination of profit.

Thanks, Grandpa, for sharing the experience!